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dethoratsTitle: Reflection
Rating: G
Pairing: Shanks/Ben~ish but can be taken as nonromantic, LuZo in the same vein
Word Count: 1601
A/N: Spoilers for up to the timeskip/current anime episodes. Also not really sure where this came from
The journey back to the New World was quiet, subdued. There was none of the usual chatter, no endless card tournaments on the fore deck or good-natured sparring on the aft. Even the clink of glass on glass was muffled each evening, not joined by merry voices in song and cheerful insults. Lucky Roux ate still, a constant in an ever-changing world, but it seemed to Yasopp that it lacked his usual gusto as they held up the wall to the wheelhouse together, cigarette slowly disintegrating unnoticed between the sniper’s fingers. They were watching Beckman watching the captain, something he always did but he’d been a lot less circumspect about it since the funeral. A ship survived on the will of its captain as was certainly true on the Red Force, but Beckman had long served as the crew’s bellwether and he’d been twitchy since they set out for Marineford. Blackbeard had forced Shanks’ hand, upset the delicate balance they had all worked so hard to earn and to maintain, and at the moment no one, seemingly not even the first mate, had an inkling of what the captain intended to do next. Whatever it was, he needed to do it soon. They weren’t on war footing but no one felt easy enough to relax. Sleep loss alone was going to trip up someone sooner or later and accidents weren’t pretty things at sea.
“Too bad we can’t risk it,” Roux said, placidly gnawing on another bite even as Yasopp jerked next to him at the unexpected comment after an hour’s silence, cigarette slipping from absent fingers. The sniper ground out the remains of his smoke and settled back into his spot along the wall with a sigh. The tableau before him was unchanged, Shanks still up at the figurehead, fingers wrapped around the hilt of his blade and Ben standing back by the mast with the next shift’s helmsman and pointedly not looking in the captain’s direction. “Yeah, that only worked the one time and I don’t think this situation is really…wait, what ‘it’ d’ya mean?”
Eyes inscrutable behind red lenses glanced in his direction before Roux shrugged. “An open alliance with Marco. Captain would like nothing better; the old man’s lands aren’t all going to be able to save themselves and the fleet’s pretty diminished.” Yasopp nodded, brain getting back on track. The big man had a good point. He knew Shanks and Whitebeard had a rocky past but there had been legitimate respect as well, evidenced by the regard shown from both parties at the funeral. “But that’ll just incite Kaidou even more and who knows what the Navy still has up its sleeve. ‘Sides, I don’t think Beckman could talk them both out of going after Blackbeard at the same time if they got riled up one night. And much as that bastard needs taking care of, we all know we don’t have enough intel. Captain doesn’t have first claim, either.”
“So what you’re sayin’ is that you’ve got about as much idea as the rest of us as to what’s going on.” The corner of Lucky Roux’s mouth twitched into a vaguely unhappy semblance of a smile. Yasopp eyed it, lit up another cigarette to buttress his nerves.
“What I’m saying is that Marco’s weighing on a lot of minds. I don’t know what’s going to happen next and part of the problem is that Captain doesn’t either. We got too many variables at work and the negative outcomes are looking all the worse for the results of this war.”
“How d’ya mean?” Yasopp didn’t think he was going to like the answer but morbid curiosity was a powerful force in a sailor’s often boring life at sea and he had to ask.
“Take that bit of news we got about the Tyrant and Luffy’s swordsman. Boy’s his second in all but declaration and he’s as big a damn fool as the rest of them. Too apt to go off half-cocked and do stupid things when it’s down to them or their captains. How many times have we watched Beckman, who’s usually more levelheaded than the rest of us, go off and do something stupid just because Captain’s got himself into a bit of a fix? Too many times to count.” Yasopp acknowledged the truth of this statement with a murmur, took a deep drag on his cigarette. Beckman could be a real pain in the ass sometimes, although he was a better actor in a crisis than the few times Shanks had proven to be when they had to go rescue the first mate instead.
“The thing is, Marco’s got a good head on his shoulders and the old man set him up with too many responsibilities to just go and get himself killed for vengeance’ sake. It’s probably tearing him up inside but he can’t meet up with the old man without seeing to a few things first. That Roronoa kid and Beckman, though, they don’t have those ties. If they don’t go first, they’re going immediately after and damn anyone, nakama or foe, who tries to get in their way. Add in the fact that the old man finally went down, that poor Portgas did too, both of them logia users, and I’ll not deny I’m feeling all too mortal lately. We can accept our own deaths but I don’t know that Captain or Beckman has gotten past the idea of accepting each other’s just yet. This hit a little too close to home and they’re forgetting how many times they’ve been on the brink before. Till they remember, or until they put it aside, we aren’t going to have a clear plan. The world’s changed and though the goals are the same, the players are different. We’re back to gambling with our lives instead of guaranteeing and none of us are as young as we used to be.”
Lucky Roux punctuated his final statement with two sharp cracks, the first of the bone he’d been gnawing on as he broke it open to suck down the marrow. The second was his back as he shrugged away from the cabin wall, left Yasopp to his thoughts as he went hopefully off to see if first chow time was on yet, a full three hours ahead of schedule. Vision that was still as sharp and clear as it had been on the day he’d kissed his wife goodbye for the final time, ruffled his young son’s curly hair, settled on the familiar flatness of Shanks’ left side, flitted over to a gray head with its scarred temple. Roux was probably not entirely wrong but there was still iron will in the captain’s soul and a matching streak of stubborn patience in Beckman’s. Yes, one would follow on the heels of the other, but it wasn’t as if the rest of the crew wasn’t ready and willing to do the same. It was more, Yasopp figured, not a matter of just the negative options but all the options in total that kept them sailing vaguely back to their territory without any obvious trajectories across the Grand Line.
Yasopp was just heading for his bunk when one of the night watch ran by to pound on the captain’s door. Shanks ran back past in response, heading for the comm room, barefoot and shirtless, shorts riding low on his hips, and Beckman followed hard on his heels, still dressed and shedding maps and charts and other papers in his haste. Yasopp picked them up, bemused, and dropped them on the barely rumpled bed in Shanks’ cabin before seeking his own rest. Whatever it was, it could wait until morning or blast him out of bed.
The newspaper making the rounds at breakfast told him all he needed to know, Luffy looking young and older all at once in his solemnity and Rayleigh’s name blazoned in the headlines. It was a bold declaration and it dictated their immediate future for it was to be an instant turf war, no time for maneuvering and brinkmanship. It was time to go back, back to the New World and the farthest reach of the Grand Line, back to their haunts around Raftel to keep all the young punks from snatching away the dream Shanks had helped spark years before. When he finally had a moment to catch a smoke break after the brief council the captain called, Lucky Roux was already resting his back against the wall.
Smoke filled his lungs and Yasopp let it slowly out, the pleasure of a bad habit’s satiation all the more satisfying for the improved mood of the ship. “So,”Yasopp drawled, “it seems we have a plan. A ridiculously daring and dangerous one if that means anything.” Lucky Roux took another bite and chewed, paused long enough to grin before he swallowed and sunk his teeth back into his third breakfast. Up at the head of the ship Shanks had managed to perch on the dragon’s head, reveling in their speed and laughing at his first mate’s teasing attempts to get him to come down and do some real work. Whatever Beckman was saying had to be pretty hilarious because the crew around him that was supposed to be cleaning small arms were all too busy leaning on each other and guffawing to do their job. Yasopp couldn’t hear the remarks over the general cheerful noise on deck and he clapped Roux on the shoulder and headed for the bow, calling out an gentle insult of his own and adding another voice to the din.
Rating: G
Pairing: Shanks/Ben~ish but can be taken as nonromantic, LuZo in the same vein
Word Count: 1601
A/N: Spoilers for up to the timeskip/current anime episodes. Also not really sure where this came from
The journey back to the New World was quiet, subdued. There was none of the usual chatter, no endless card tournaments on the fore deck or good-natured sparring on the aft. Even the clink of glass on glass was muffled each evening, not joined by merry voices in song and cheerful insults. Lucky Roux ate still, a constant in an ever-changing world, but it seemed to Yasopp that it lacked his usual gusto as they held up the wall to the wheelhouse together, cigarette slowly disintegrating unnoticed between the sniper’s fingers. They were watching Beckman watching the captain, something he always did but he’d been a lot less circumspect about it since the funeral. A ship survived on the will of its captain as was certainly true on the Red Force, but Beckman had long served as the crew’s bellwether and he’d been twitchy since they set out for Marineford. Blackbeard had forced Shanks’ hand, upset the delicate balance they had all worked so hard to earn and to maintain, and at the moment no one, seemingly not even the first mate, had an inkling of what the captain intended to do next. Whatever it was, he needed to do it soon. They weren’t on war footing but no one felt easy enough to relax. Sleep loss alone was going to trip up someone sooner or later and accidents weren’t pretty things at sea.
“Too bad we can’t risk it,” Roux said, placidly gnawing on another bite even as Yasopp jerked next to him at the unexpected comment after an hour’s silence, cigarette slipping from absent fingers. The sniper ground out the remains of his smoke and settled back into his spot along the wall with a sigh. The tableau before him was unchanged, Shanks still up at the figurehead, fingers wrapped around the hilt of his blade and Ben standing back by the mast with the next shift’s helmsman and pointedly not looking in the captain’s direction. “Yeah, that only worked the one time and I don’t think this situation is really…wait, what ‘it’ d’ya mean?”
Eyes inscrutable behind red lenses glanced in his direction before Roux shrugged. “An open alliance with Marco. Captain would like nothing better; the old man’s lands aren’t all going to be able to save themselves and the fleet’s pretty diminished.” Yasopp nodded, brain getting back on track. The big man had a good point. He knew Shanks and Whitebeard had a rocky past but there had been legitimate respect as well, evidenced by the regard shown from both parties at the funeral. “But that’ll just incite Kaidou even more and who knows what the Navy still has up its sleeve. ‘Sides, I don’t think Beckman could talk them both out of going after Blackbeard at the same time if they got riled up one night. And much as that bastard needs taking care of, we all know we don’t have enough intel. Captain doesn’t have first claim, either.”
“So what you’re sayin’ is that you’ve got about as much idea as the rest of us as to what’s going on.” The corner of Lucky Roux’s mouth twitched into a vaguely unhappy semblance of a smile. Yasopp eyed it, lit up another cigarette to buttress his nerves.
“What I’m saying is that Marco’s weighing on a lot of minds. I don’t know what’s going to happen next and part of the problem is that Captain doesn’t either. We got too many variables at work and the negative outcomes are looking all the worse for the results of this war.”
“How d’ya mean?” Yasopp didn’t think he was going to like the answer but morbid curiosity was a powerful force in a sailor’s often boring life at sea and he had to ask.
“Take that bit of news we got about the Tyrant and Luffy’s swordsman. Boy’s his second in all but declaration and he’s as big a damn fool as the rest of them. Too apt to go off half-cocked and do stupid things when it’s down to them or their captains. How many times have we watched Beckman, who’s usually more levelheaded than the rest of us, go off and do something stupid just because Captain’s got himself into a bit of a fix? Too many times to count.” Yasopp acknowledged the truth of this statement with a murmur, took a deep drag on his cigarette. Beckman could be a real pain in the ass sometimes, although he was a better actor in a crisis than the few times Shanks had proven to be when they had to go rescue the first mate instead.
“The thing is, Marco’s got a good head on his shoulders and the old man set him up with too many responsibilities to just go and get himself killed for vengeance’ sake. It’s probably tearing him up inside but he can’t meet up with the old man without seeing to a few things first. That Roronoa kid and Beckman, though, they don’t have those ties. If they don’t go first, they’re going immediately after and damn anyone, nakama or foe, who tries to get in their way. Add in the fact that the old man finally went down, that poor Portgas did too, both of them logia users, and I’ll not deny I’m feeling all too mortal lately. We can accept our own deaths but I don’t know that Captain or Beckman has gotten past the idea of accepting each other’s just yet. This hit a little too close to home and they’re forgetting how many times they’ve been on the brink before. Till they remember, or until they put it aside, we aren’t going to have a clear plan. The world’s changed and though the goals are the same, the players are different. We’re back to gambling with our lives instead of guaranteeing and none of us are as young as we used to be.”
Lucky Roux punctuated his final statement with two sharp cracks, the first of the bone he’d been gnawing on as he broke it open to suck down the marrow. The second was his back as he shrugged away from the cabin wall, left Yasopp to his thoughts as he went hopefully off to see if first chow time was on yet, a full three hours ahead of schedule. Vision that was still as sharp and clear as it had been on the day he’d kissed his wife goodbye for the final time, ruffled his young son’s curly hair, settled on the familiar flatness of Shanks’ left side, flitted over to a gray head with its scarred temple. Roux was probably not entirely wrong but there was still iron will in the captain’s soul and a matching streak of stubborn patience in Beckman’s. Yes, one would follow on the heels of the other, but it wasn’t as if the rest of the crew wasn’t ready and willing to do the same. It was more, Yasopp figured, not a matter of just the negative options but all the options in total that kept them sailing vaguely back to their territory without any obvious trajectories across the Grand Line.
Yasopp was just heading for his bunk when one of the night watch ran by to pound on the captain’s door. Shanks ran back past in response, heading for the comm room, barefoot and shirtless, shorts riding low on his hips, and Beckman followed hard on his heels, still dressed and shedding maps and charts and other papers in his haste. Yasopp picked them up, bemused, and dropped them on the barely rumpled bed in Shanks’ cabin before seeking his own rest. Whatever it was, it could wait until morning or blast him out of bed.
The newspaper making the rounds at breakfast told him all he needed to know, Luffy looking young and older all at once in his solemnity and Rayleigh’s name blazoned in the headlines. It was a bold declaration and it dictated their immediate future for it was to be an instant turf war, no time for maneuvering and brinkmanship. It was time to go back, back to the New World and the farthest reach of the Grand Line, back to their haunts around Raftel to keep all the young punks from snatching away the dream Shanks had helped spark years before. When he finally had a moment to catch a smoke break after the brief council the captain called, Lucky Roux was already resting his back against the wall.
Smoke filled his lungs and Yasopp let it slowly out, the pleasure of a bad habit’s satiation all the more satisfying for the improved mood of the ship. “So,”Yasopp drawled, “it seems we have a plan. A ridiculously daring and dangerous one if that means anything.” Lucky Roux took another bite and chewed, paused long enough to grin before he swallowed and sunk his teeth back into his third breakfast. Up at the head of the ship Shanks had managed to perch on the dragon’s head, reveling in their speed and laughing at his first mate’s teasing attempts to get him to come down and do some real work. Whatever Beckman was saying had to be pretty hilarious because the crew around him that was supposed to be cleaning small arms were all too busy leaning on each other and guffawing to do their job. Yasopp couldn’t hear the remarks over the general cheerful noise on deck and he clapped Roux on the shoulder and headed for the bow, calling out an gentle insult of his own and adding another voice to the din.
