OP-FanForAll De-Anon
Jun. 16th, 2008 05:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsPrompt: Gin, and his possible whereabouts.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gin->Sanji or Gen
Word Count: 1,802
Gin’s made it back to the Grand Line in surprisingly short order but his return, while better than his first trip, was not without hardships. Don Krieg, the man he had followed and respected as a strong fighter and harsh but determined captain, never really recovered from his defeats at the Baratie Floating Restaurant in East Blue. The sea knight Mihawk had destroyed his ship and a good measure of his confidence and then a seemingly simple teenage boy made out of rubber had beaten away his pride. His armor and his weapons, which he had believed to be unstoppable, had been shattered and broken. A good dose of the gas, the same sort of neuro-toxin he had used against Gin, had seeped into his skin after the chamber storing it had been punctured during his battle. Some of his men believed it was the poison that ruined his mind but Gin knew otherwise. He recovered, slowly and painfully, from the attack but Krieg never did. Everything the pirate captain had known had been crushed before the might of the Grand Line and the unexpected nature of the world. He just couldn’t cope and he sat gibbering to himself on the deck of the ship Gin and the remainder of Krieg’s men who had chosen to stay had commandeered from an unlucky fisherman. Watching Krieg grow worse and worse and unable to entirely put a stop to the abuse his captain suffered – fair retribution in the eyes of many of the men – grew to be too hard. Gin finally left his captain in the hands of some friendly but well trained and armed monks who agreed to look after him for as long as need be. Gin, guilt weighing him down, could only hope that Krieg would find some measure of peace at last.
As for himself, the remaining men declared him captain and he could do little but honor their desire. Gimlet-eyed and smoking cigarettes whose smoke brought him better memories, Gin took charge. They built their strength in East Blue, giving the floating restaurant a wide berth, although the ships they targeted had changed somewhat. Still a pirate through and through, Gin was not against capturing merchant vessels and plundering them. Indeed, he rather enjoyed the mayhem that came from cannoning a ship, drawing alongside, and then boarding it, a wild battle grin on his face. But the prey was no longer quite as easy as it had been in Krieg’s day. More discerning, Gin and his men picked off ships that could mount some resistance or, if they were feeling especially daring, turned on the marines. The challenge was good for them, though Gin occasionally yearned for a proper fight against an enemy whose legs were stern as steel. It made them stronger and, while they weren’t heroes to the people by any means, neither were they direct enemies of most of the common folk. A strange feeling but a good one in light of all the news and rumors he heard about the rubber pirate and his crew. And finally they were ready, he and his men, and they followed Luffy’s trail to the Reverse Mountain.
Tricky currents set them down far away from a Straw-Hat marked whale but the Grand Line still had plenty of surprises in store. He and his men survived the freakish weather and the warping of the compass, making it to an island inhabited by tiny people with fierce tempers. The food there was spicy and Gin dreamed at night of blond hair whipping in a strong wind and the sharp glint of a single blue eye. He got a log post and some new men, lost a few as well as they decided not to face the further rigors of the Grand Line. They made it to two more island nodes, one a swampy place inhabited only by enormous snakes and the other a clockwork city surrounded by deadly reefs. The marines, much stronger there than in East Blue, caught up to him and his men and his ship was sunk just in sight of the mechanical island. He swam back, his men opting to risk capture rather than what looked like certain death, and it was truly a miracle that Gin washed up on the rusty beach still breathing.
He had no ship, no crew, no friends, no money, and no shoes after his dip in the ocean. At a loss for what to do, Gin wandered the back alleys of the clockwork city for almost a week, half delirious from his injuries and from exposure. He ate out of garbage cans, stole when he could, and finally he collapsed at the back door of a seedy restaurant near the pier. Rough hands pulled him inside and poured broth down his throat, wrapped his wounds and gave him a pillow and a blanket and let him rest next to the stove. He called out sometimes, the word ‘Sanji’ meaningless to the man that tended him. Gin drifted in and out of consciousness, more dead to the world than alive, but finally his health began to return. When he could stand for more than a minute at a time, the scruffy cook put him to work drying dishes, then washing them, then peeling vegetables too. It was more strenuous than it looked and Gin slept deeply at night next to the banked coals and didn’t dream of much at all.
His benefactor never spoke much other than to give him orders but he did inquire about Gin’s background in a roundabout fashion. One day, when the last of the bandages finally came off, he mentioned that a cousin of his was taking a freighter back to East Blue and was looking for some experienced hands. Gin, who hadn’t thought much beyond the next hour since he’d washed up on the clockwork beach, looked at the knife in his hand and at the potato in the other. There was another place where he could be doing the same, a place just as welcoming where he could regain his strength and keep his fighting skills in shape. The only other place he had really known true kindness. But would they take him in?
It was a gamble but Gin had never been a man to avoid risks. He thanked the cook, whose name he never even learned, profusely and became just another hired sailor, working his way across the Grand Line and the oceans on a heavy freighter loaded with machine tools. The weather was no less bizarre for his return trip and Gin proved his mettle and his worth up in the rigging during the worst of the storms. East Blue seemed tame, almost boring, after the Grand Line but Gin kept busy repelling pirates until they finally docked. The freighter’s captain gave him enough of a bonus that he could afford to book passage to the Baratie with a group of gourmands and he set out with them and what little he still possessed.
The Baratie looked the same, colorful paint and whimsical design that hid the defenses that kept it safe when its reputation did not. The gourmands disembarked and Gin followed, hesitating in the threshold of the dining room. Carne was the first to see him, eyes squinting at Gin over the tops of his sunglasses before he shouted and grabbed a steak knife off of one of the tables. The ruckus, and Gin’s loudly but calmly repeated demands to speak to the owner, finally brought Zeff stomping out of the kitchen. He sneered down at Gin, the bushy ends of his mustache twitching as the former pirate made his request, before he put him on probation and ran him through the wringer. For five days Gin did nothing but bus tables, wash dishes and peel endless piles of potatoes and carrots. The other cooks jostled him and made extra pots dirty and generally gave him a hard time, but Gin took it in silence and fell asleep standing over the sink or leaning against a pile of root vegetables every night.
“Why are you really here?” Zeff asked him at the end of the sixth day. They were out on the deck with the stars overhead reflecting on the calm sea below and Gin looked out over the ocean.
“Because I had nowhere else to go,” he said. “Because Sanji-san will open a restaurant of his own some day. Being a captain was okay but I preferred working for Krieg. And Sanji-san is a man worth following. He’ll need help and I owe him and I want to and this cooking stuff is harder than it looks.”
Zeff gave him a sidelong glance and puffed on his cigar. He was silent for a long time, long enough that Gin had dozed off and was rudely awakened by a heavy wooden jolt to the head.
“Got something for you to see,” the old chef muttered, amusement in his tone.
He led Gin back inside and into the dining room. They climbed the stairs to the more exclusive deck, the one Zeff rented out from time to time for parties. Gin had never been up there and he was surprised to see a series of Wanted posters hanging along one wall. Gin recognized Luffy immediately, along with Roronoa Zoro and that masked guy had a familiar nose. They were joined by two women, some sort of animal and a weird-looking guy with blue hair. The Straw-Hat crew had seriously high bounties and Gin marveled a little at how far Luffy had gone. But of Sanji, who he had heard was with them, there was no poster. Zeff guided him through another door and into a lounge. There were several card tables and a dartboard hanging on one wall. At the center, forming the bull’s-eye, was a drawing. It took Gin nearly a minute to recognize Sanji in the ridiculous sketch but Zeff started guffawing the instant realization down on his face.
“Sure you want to follow this guy? Little Eggplant can’t even get himself a proper Wanted poster.”
But Gin only nodded. “I do. If you’ll let me. If he’ll have me.”
“Fine.” Zeff grew serious. “I’ll do my best to work with what little I’ve got. But heed my words. Next time you run off to play pirate, you better not plan on coming back. Now go peel the rest of those potatoes. The boy could do the whole batch in twenty minutes by the time he was ten.”
Gin ducked his head so Zeff wouldn’t see him grinning. That was a challenge if ever he heard one and he intended to live up to it, especially since he would one day prove himself to Sanji.
“Yes, Chef.”
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gin->Sanji or Gen
Word Count: 1,802
Gin’s made it back to the Grand Line in surprisingly short order but his return, while better than his first trip, was not without hardships. Don Krieg, the man he had followed and respected as a strong fighter and harsh but determined captain, never really recovered from his defeats at the Baratie Floating Restaurant in East Blue. The sea knight Mihawk had destroyed his ship and a good measure of his confidence and then a seemingly simple teenage boy made out of rubber had beaten away his pride. His armor and his weapons, which he had believed to be unstoppable, had been shattered and broken. A good dose of the gas, the same sort of neuro-toxin he had used against Gin, had seeped into his skin after the chamber storing it had been punctured during his battle. Some of his men believed it was the poison that ruined his mind but Gin knew otherwise. He recovered, slowly and painfully, from the attack but Krieg never did. Everything the pirate captain had known had been crushed before the might of the Grand Line and the unexpected nature of the world. He just couldn’t cope and he sat gibbering to himself on the deck of the ship Gin and the remainder of Krieg’s men who had chosen to stay had commandeered from an unlucky fisherman. Watching Krieg grow worse and worse and unable to entirely put a stop to the abuse his captain suffered – fair retribution in the eyes of many of the men – grew to be too hard. Gin finally left his captain in the hands of some friendly but well trained and armed monks who agreed to look after him for as long as need be. Gin, guilt weighing him down, could only hope that Krieg would find some measure of peace at last.
As for himself, the remaining men declared him captain and he could do little but honor their desire. Gimlet-eyed and smoking cigarettes whose smoke brought him better memories, Gin took charge. They built their strength in East Blue, giving the floating restaurant a wide berth, although the ships they targeted had changed somewhat. Still a pirate through and through, Gin was not against capturing merchant vessels and plundering them. Indeed, he rather enjoyed the mayhem that came from cannoning a ship, drawing alongside, and then boarding it, a wild battle grin on his face. But the prey was no longer quite as easy as it had been in Krieg’s day. More discerning, Gin and his men picked off ships that could mount some resistance or, if they were feeling especially daring, turned on the marines. The challenge was good for them, though Gin occasionally yearned for a proper fight against an enemy whose legs were stern as steel. It made them stronger and, while they weren’t heroes to the people by any means, neither were they direct enemies of most of the common folk. A strange feeling but a good one in light of all the news and rumors he heard about the rubber pirate and his crew. And finally they were ready, he and his men, and they followed Luffy’s trail to the Reverse Mountain.
Tricky currents set them down far away from a Straw-Hat marked whale but the Grand Line still had plenty of surprises in store. He and his men survived the freakish weather and the warping of the compass, making it to an island inhabited by tiny people with fierce tempers. The food there was spicy and Gin dreamed at night of blond hair whipping in a strong wind and the sharp glint of a single blue eye. He got a log post and some new men, lost a few as well as they decided not to face the further rigors of the Grand Line. They made it to two more island nodes, one a swampy place inhabited only by enormous snakes and the other a clockwork city surrounded by deadly reefs. The marines, much stronger there than in East Blue, caught up to him and his men and his ship was sunk just in sight of the mechanical island. He swam back, his men opting to risk capture rather than what looked like certain death, and it was truly a miracle that Gin washed up on the rusty beach still breathing.
He had no ship, no crew, no friends, no money, and no shoes after his dip in the ocean. At a loss for what to do, Gin wandered the back alleys of the clockwork city for almost a week, half delirious from his injuries and from exposure. He ate out of garbage cans, stole when he could, and finally he collapsed at the back door of a seedy restaurant near the pier. Rough hands pulled him inside and poured broth down his throat, wrapped his wounds and gave him a pillow and a blanket and let him rest next to the stove. He called out sometimes, the word ‘Sanji’ meaningless to the man that tended him. Gin drifted in and out of consciousness, more dead to the world than alive, but finally his health began to return. When he could stand for more than a minute at a time, the scruffy cook put him to work drying dishes, then washing them, then peeling vegetables too. It was more strenuous than it looked and Gin slept deeply at night next to the banked coals and didn’t dream of much at all.
His benefactor never spoke much other than to give him orders but he did inquire about Gin’s background in a roundabout fashion. One day, when the last of the bandages finally came off, he mentioned that a cousin of his was taking a freighter back to East Blue and was looking for some experienced hands. Gin, who hadn’t thought much beyond the next hour since he’d washed up on the clockwork beach, looked at the knife in his hand and at the potato in the other. There was another place where he could be doing the same, a place just as welcoming where he could regain his strength and keep his fighting skills in shape. The only other place he had really known true kindness. But would they take him in?
It was a gamble but Gin had never been a man to avoid risks. He thanked the cook, whose name he never even learned, profusely and became just another hired sailor, working his way across the Grand Line and the oceans on a heavy freighter loaded with machine tools. The weather was no less bizarre for his return trip and Gin proved his mettle and his worth up in the rigging during the worst of the storms. East Blue seemed tame, almost boring, after the Grand Line but Gin kept busy repelling pirates until they finally docked. The freighter’s captain gave him enough of a bonus that he could afford to book passage to the Baratie with a group of gourmands and he set out with them and what little he still possessed.
The Baratie looked the same, colorful paint and whimsical design that hid the defenses that kept it safe when its reputation did not. The gourmands disembarked and Gin followed, hesitating in the threshold of the dining room. Carne was the first to see him, eyes squinting at Gin over the tops of his sunglasses before he shouted and grabbed a steak knife off of one of the tables. The ruckus, and Gin’s loudly but calmly repeated demands to speak to the owner, finally brought Zeff stomping out of the kitchen. He sneered down at Gin, the bushy ends of his mustache twitching as the former pirate made his request, before he put him on probation and ran him through the wringer. For five days Gin did nothing but bus tables, wash dishes and peel endless piles of potatoes and carrots. The other cooks jostled him and made extra pots dirty and generally gave him a hard time, but Gin took it in silence and fell asleep standing over the sink or leaning against a pile of root vegetables every night.
“Why are you really here?” Zeff asked him at the end of the sixth day. They were out on the deck with the stars overhead reflecting on the calm sea below and Gin looked out over the ocean.
“Because I had nowhere else to go,” he said. “Because Sanji-san will open a restaurant of his own some day. Being a captain was okay but I preferred working for Krieg. And Sanji-san is a man worth following. He’ll need help and I owe him and I want to and this cooking stuff is harder than it looks.”
Zeff gave him a sidelong glance and puffed on his cigar. He was silent for a long time, long enough that Gin had dozed off and was rudely awakened by a heavy wooden jolt to the head.
“Got something for you to see,” the old chef muttered, amusement in his tone.
He led Gin back inside and into the dining room. They climbed the stairs to the more exclusive deck, the one Zeff rented out from time to time for parties. Gin had never been up there and he was surprised to see a series of Wanted posters hanging along one wall. Gin recognized Luffy immediately, along with Roronoa Zoro and that masked guy had a familiar nose. They were joined by two women, some sort of animal and a weird-looking guy with blue hair. The Straw-Hat crew had seriously high bounties and Gin marveled a little at how far Luffy had gone. But of Sanji, who he had heard was with them, there was no poster. Zeff guided him through another door and into a lounge. There were several card tables and a dartboard hanging on one wall. At the center, forming the bull’s-eye, was a drawing. It took Gin nearly a minute to recognize Sanji in the ridiculous sketch but Zeff started guffawing the instant realization down on his face.
“Sure you want to follow this guy? Little Eggplant can’t even get himself a proper Wanted poster.”
But Gin only nodded. “I do. If you’ll let me. If he’ll have me.”
“Fine.” Zeff grew serious. “I’ll do my best to work with what little I’ve got. But heed my words. Next time you run off to play pirate, you better not plan on coming back. Now go peel the rest of those potatoes. The boy could do the whole batch in twenty minutes by the time he was ten.”
Gin ducked his head so Zeff wouldn’t see him grinning. That was a challenge if ever he heard one and he intended to live up to it, especially since he would one day prove himself to Sanji.
“Yes, Chef.”
