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dethoratsTitle: Emperor
Rating: G
Pairing: Gen, but Shanks and Ben
Word Count: 826
A/N: Just wondering how all of this actually happened in canon, because, really, it is kind of a ridiculous idea, or at very least, a silly name
The word first cropped up in a newspaper editorial. It had set Ben off, the laughter so hearty and unexpected that at first Shanks could only stare in wonder at the wide smile on his first mate’s face and the way the newspaper was scrunched up as he fisted it in desperation to keep from dropping it as he shook. “What?” the captain had demanded as soon as the initial shock of seeing Beckman reduced to helpless chuckles had worn off, reaching over to tug at the newsprint once Ben showed no sign of stopping in his mirth to explain.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Ben scolded, eyes positively twinkling as he slid his end of the bench back, drawing a protest from Yasopp on the other end as the sniper was pulled away from his breakfast. “Wait your turn. I’m not finished yet.” Shanks stuck out his tongue but had enough self control to keep his hand to himself as Ben went back to reading. It wasn’t three minutes later before the paper was lowered and carefully folded, hands slightly grubby with newsprint creasing back the pages. Then, fighting to keep the grin off of his face, Ben had offered it to his captain with the flourish of a half bow and a half-mocking, half-serious “the paper, your majesty.”
Shanks had raised an eyebrow only to be met with a headshake, that loose lock of hair that usually drove Beckman crazy slipping from behind his ear to cover one eye. The captain had expected a curse or an annoyed toss of Ben’s head but his first mate ignored it in favor of tapping the page that had been so deliberately presented to him. “There,” he said, pointing to the second of three long editorials before leaning back and finally tucking away the strand. “Read that.”
So he had, eyes skimming over the blocky black text as he sought for whatever it was that had Ben leaning back and watching him with an air of expectation. It was nothing at first, just an argument of some sort about the increasing lawlessness of the Grand Line and the ineffectual attempts of the Navy on far side of the Red Line to restrain the pirates. What it called for, though, as a supplement to the privateer ways of the shichibukai, was new. Shanks blinked, read the words again, and then one more time for good measure, his lips moving silently as he tried to let the concept sink into his brain. That word, that crazy choice of a word, and then he was practically doubled over as he laughed and laughed and laughed.
His eyes were watering when he finally managed to stop and Shanks swiped at them, met Ben’s waiting gaze with a smile ever so faintly tinged with melancholy. “What an outrageous, preposterous, ridiculous, maybe-not-that-bad, half-baked scheme of an idea! Although I think I would want a different title.”
“Oh?” Ben deftly swept the paper back to his corner of the table and stared at Shanks from over the top of the page, his gaze clear and gently assessing. “I suppose ‘Captain’ does suit you best.”
“That it does, Beckman. That it does. That sort of ambition doesn’t suit me at all. And there’s a better title out there and it already belongs to a better man than me. Though he would see the humor in it.”
“A different man, Captain,” Ben said, tone calm now without its earlier tinge of laughter and ever so slightly reproachful. “With a different dream. But I see your point. No doubt nothing will come of it.”
Every so often Ben was wrong. Six months later the bat came fluttering out of the twilight to flit around their campfire before it dropped a heavy envelope in Shanks’ lap. He opened it, read the contents, and felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Ben was watching, waiting, when he finally raised his head and unerringly met his gaze across the flames. Most of the rest of the crew was staring as well and Shanks glanced once more at the precisely defined terms and conditions and rolled his eyes at the title set out with quotation marks and a heavy sense of irony he never expected of formal communication from the World Government. It still seemed almost too crazy too work but it was practically what he was already doing anyway and official sanction would make some aspects of his life a lot easier. Too, there was that saying about keeping friends close but enemies closer and he’d have an excuse, now, for the spying forays he occasionally sent out. He would accept.
“Well lads,” Shanks declared, mind made up and with an audience hanging on to his every word. “Guess we’re movin’ up in the world.” He stood up, grin wide on his face, and returned the bow that Ben had offered him months ago with casual, self-mocking grace. “Say hello to your new Emperor.”
Rating: G
Pairing: Gen, but Shanks and Ben
Word Count: 826
A/N: Just wondering how all of this actually happened in canon, because, really, it is kind of a ridiculous idea, or at very least, a silly name
The word first cropped up in a newspaper editorial. It had set Ben off, the laughter so hearty and unexpected that at first Shanks could only stare in wonder at the wide smile on his first mate’s face and the way the newspaper was scrunched up as he fisted it in desperation to keep from dropping it as he shook. “What?” the captain had demanded as soon as the initial shock of seeing Beckman reduced to helpless chuckles had worn off, reaching over to tug at the newsprint once Ben showed no sign of stopping in his mirth to explain.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Ben scolded, eyes positively twinkling as he slid his end of the bench back, drawing a protest from Yasopp on the other end as the sniper was pulled away from his breakfast. “Wait your turn. I’m not finished yet.” Shanks stuck out his tongue but had enough self control to keep his hand to himself as Ben went back to reading. It wasn’t three minutes later before the paper was lowered and carefully folded, hands slightly grubby with newsprint creasing back the pages. Then, fighting to keep the grin off of his face, Ben had offered it to his captain with the flourish of a half bow and a half-mocking, half-serious “the paper, your majesty.”
Shanks had raised an eyebrow only to be met with a headshake, that loose lock of hair that usually drove Beckman crazy slipping from behind his ear to cover one eye. The captain had expected a curse or an annoyed toss of Ben’s head but his first mate ignored it in favor of tapping the page that had been so deliberately presented to him. “There,” he said, pointing to the second of three long editorials before leaning back and finally tucking away the strand. “Read that.”
So he had, eyes skimming over the blocky black text as he sought for whatever it was that had Ben leaning back and watching him with an air of expectation. It was nothing at first, just an argument of some sort about the increasing lawlessness of the Grand Line and the ineffectual attempts of the Navy on far side of the Red Line to restrain the pirates. What it called for, though, as a supplement to the privateer ways of the shichibukai, was new. Shanks blinked, read the words again, and then one more time for good measure, his lips moving silently as he tried to let the concept sink into his brain. That word, that crazy choice of a word, and then he was practically doubled over as he laughed and laughed and laughed.
His eyes were watering when he finally managed to stop and Shanks swiped at them, met Ben’s waiting gaze with a smile ever so faintly tinged with melancholy. “What an outrageous, preposterous, ridiculous, maybe-not-that-bad, half-baked scheme of an idea! Although I think I would want a different title.”
“Oh?” Ben deftly swept the paper back to his corner of the table and stared at Shanks from over the top of the page, his gaze clear and gently assessing. “I suppose ‘Captain’ does suit you best.”
“That it does, Beckman. That it does. That sort of ambition doesn’t suit me at all. And there’s a better title out there and it already belongs to a better man than me. Though he would see the humor in it.”
“A different man, Captain,” Ben said, tone calm now without its earlier tinge of laughter and ever so slightly reproachful. “With a different dream. But I see your point. No doubt nothing will come of it.”
Every so often Ben was wrong. Six months later the bat came fluttering out of the twilight to flit around their campfire before it dropped a heavy envelope in Shanks’ lap. He opened it, read the contents, and felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Ben was watching, waiting, when he finally raised his head and unerringly met his gaze across the flames. Most of the rest of the crew was staring as well and Shanks glanced once more at the precisely defined terms and conditions and rolled his eyes at the title set out with quotation marks and a heavy sense of irony he never expected of formal communication from the World Government. It still seemed almost too crazy too work but it was practically what he was already doing anyway and official sanction would make some aspects of his life a lot easier. Too, there was that saying about keeping friends close but enemies closer and he’d have an excuse, now, for the spying forays he occasionally sent out. He would accept.
“Well lads,” Shanks declared, mind made up and with an audience hanging on to his every word. “Guess we’re movin’ up in the world.” He stood up, grin wide on his face, and returned the bow that Ben had offered him months ago with casual, self-mocking grace. “Say hello to your new Emperor.”
