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dethoratsTitle: Helpless
Rating: G
Pairing: Gen but Shanks/Ben
Word Count: 554
A/N: Weird and allusive
They were on the Grand Line when the news arrived, had set out from West Blue only two months prior. Shanks didn’t have much of a plan yet, more a hazy vision of what he hoped to accomplish, and the crew was young enough to think of it more as an adventure and a chance to prove themselves than not. They had only fought off a Navy warship the day before, the marines still cocky and swaggering even though it was almost two years after the fact. The sight of Shanks’ jolly roger was enough to make them targets even though they’d been doing nothing more than fishing, and the fight meant that an end was coming to their carefree days of sailing. Nevertheless, the battle had been a good one, a chance to test their mettle and emerge victorious, and so word of the incident hit perhaps even harder than it could have.
Ben bought the paper every chance he got and the stricken expression on his face that morning was enough to call Shanks to his side. The rest of the crew gathered around and Ben read the words aloud, grim-faced as he spoke. Later, after a long day that had passed in a haze, the captain sat up in the crow’s nest with the man he was becoming more and more determined to name as his first mate and traded a bottle back and forth. Since Ben had officially joined the crew, they’d been able to talk more, to discuss things Shanks had not thought he’d ever share with anyone outside of his old crewmates. But Ben had a better head than most on his shoulders and had been aware of many of things Shanks chose to speak of. They debated going back, weighed the merits versus what Shanks hoped to do on their present voyage. It pained both of them in ways they hadn’t expected albeit for different reasons; a loss that seemed too impossible for the world to bear and yet would undoubtedly pass with only furtive whispers or stony silence.
Five years had passed by the time the ship made landfall. The garrisons and the blockade were gone and only a lone patrol swung past the island at widespread intervals. The earth crumbled into dust beneath boot heel and sandal alike, even the soil too blasted to cling to life. No sign remained of the town or port, of the massive and ancient tree and the knowledge it had held. Of the people, all they could find were the leavings of the occupiers and nothing of the ones who’d died for someone else’s idea of the greater good. They left behind a small token, the only monument to be raised there and a furtive one at that. The words had been Shanks' captain’s, spoken as he read the forbidden script and laughingly plotted their next course, but the language was even older and belonged to just Ben and his mentor, a puzzle left from a time that those in power cared little about. It was fitting, they decided, and it would not be all.
Five years had shaped plans and brought forth the new scope of the world. Five years was time enough to begin to see where the shadows fell. Their freedom would give rise to more.
Rating: G
Pairing: Gen but Shanks/Ben
Word Count: 554
A/N: Weird and allusive
They were on the Grand Line when the news arrived, had set out from West Blue only two months prior. Shanks didn’t have much of a plan yet, more a hazy vision of what he hoped to accomplish, and the crew was young enough to think of it more as an adventure and a chance to prove themselves than not. They had only fought off a Navy warship the day before, the marines still cocky and swaggering even though it was almost two years after the fact. The sight of Shanks’ jolly roger was enough to make them targets even though they’d been doing nothing more than fishing, and the fight meant that an end was coming to their carefree days of sailing. Nevertheless, the battle had been a good one, a chance to test their mettle and emerge victorious, and so word of the incident hit perhaps even harder than it could have.
Ben bought the paper every chance he got and the stricken expression on his face that morning was enough to call Shanks to his side. The rest of the crew gathered around and Ben read the words aloud, grim-faced as he spoke. Later, after a long day that had passed in a haze, the captain sat up in the crow’s nest with the man he was becoming more and more determined to name as his first mate and traded a bottle back and forth. Since Ben had officially joined the crew, they’d been able to talk more, to discuss things Shanks had not thought he’d ever share with anyone outside of his old crewmates. But Ben had a better head than most on his shoulders and had been aware of many of things Shanks chose to speak of. They debated going back, weighed the merits versus what Shanks hoped to do on their present voyage. It pained both of them in ways they hadn’t expected albeit for different reasons; a loss that seemed too impossible for the world to bear and yet would undoubtedly pass with only furtive whispers or stony silence.
Five years had passed by the time the ship made landfall. The garrisons and the blockade were gone and only a lone patrol swung past the island at widespread intervals. The earth crumbled into dust beneath boot heel and sandal alike, even the soil too blasted to cling to life. No sign remained of the town or port, of the massive and ancient tree and the knowledge it had held. Of the people, all they could find were the leavings of the occupiers and nothing of the ones who’d died for someone else’s idea of the greater good. They left behind a small token, the only monument to be raised there and a furtive one at that. The words had been Shanks' captain’s, spoken as he read the forbidden script and laughingly plotted their next course, but the language was even older and belonged to just Ben and his mentor, a puzzle left from a time that those in power cared little about. It was fitting, they decided, and it would not be all.
Five years had shaped plans and brought forth the new scope of the world. Five years was time enough to begin to see where the shadows fell. Their freedom would give rise to more.
