OP Exchange Fic Time
Dec. 28th, 2008 06:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsPrompt: REQUEST 2: Mr. 2 and Blueno take a holiday on Drum Island. If you manage to work Doctorine, Dalton or Wapol in (better yet, all three!) I will ♥ you forever and ever.
Title: Blueno Has A Holiday
Rating: PG
Pairing: None/Gen
Word Count: 4,858
Note: Walpol part no longer accurate due to Oda's later cover stories with him.
The postal gull circled their camp once, eyes rolling in red-rimmed sockets as if it thought better of its mission. It would have taken little effort for one of them to Geppou up to the misfortunate errand bird, but now that Spandam knew they were still alive, it was pointless to take unnecessary risks. Kumadori and Fukurou herded their young charges aside as a single package was plucked from the gull’s satchel and then dropped. The battered box hit the ground, every ex-member of CP9 with Tekkai at the ready in case of an explosion. Instead it just sat where it had landed, looking rather worse for wear given, the height from which it had fallen. Wrapped in red and gold paper, there was a lopsided bow brushing the grass.
“A present?” Jyabura was, as he so often was, the first to react. “Who the hell’s sendin’ us a present? And for that matter, who the hell besides that asshole Spanda [while it was mutually agreed that the Strawhats and that weird cyborg were complete criminal scum, the name that had driven their nominal boss so crazy had been adopted to keep them from having to ever again speak his name] knows we’re out here?”
From under the brim of his cap, Kaku narrowed his eyes, and tilted his head. “It’s addressed to Lucci,” he said, looking over at a scowling face.
“Hnn.”
The gift, if that was indeed what the package was, remained on the ground and under the watchful eyes of the former members of CP9 for another three minutes until Jyabura snapped. “If you ain’t gonna open it, pussycat, then I will.” Heedless as always of the growl that rumbled low in Lucci’s throat and of the way Kaku just shook his head, the wolf turned to Kumadori. “Gimme your stick.”
He grabbed the jingling staff away before the slow-talking warrior could get his mouth open to agree or protest – not that Jyabura would have paid attention either way – and walked forward until he could just prod the box. It did nothing more than move a little, stirring the grass and making the wrapping paper rustle. Nothing exploded, talked, or in any way seemed to be dangerous. Satisfied with his little test, Jyabura tossed the staff back over his shoulder, where Kumadori’s hair easily caught it, and approached the box.
Five seconds later, red and gold paper lay in shreds, the ribbon was in tatters, and the two halves of the box lay at Jyabura’s feet. In his hands was a scrap of cloth and a note. Lips moving just slightly as he read, there wasn’t quite enough motion for the rest of CP9 to be able to make out all of what he was reading. Something about ‘Impel’ and ‘change of heart’ and ‘hard to find in pigeon size.’ But what was obvious, as Jyabura’s face turned red and he threw back his head to howl with laughter, was that whatever the full contents of the note were, the message was going to make Lucci very very angry.
“Here ya go, somethin’ for the bird.”
And he threw the fabric at Lucci, aim slightly off because he was doubled over with laughter. A flutter of white marked Hattori as the pigeon caught the scraps of cloth when it became clear that Lucci was not making any move towards them. To Hattori’s colorblind bird’s eyes, all he saw was a vest and a square. To the rest of CP9, there was a disturbingly familiar red vest and a black bandanna. Pirate gear, that’s what it was, and entirely inappropriate despite their current outlaw status. Lucci looked down at the miniature clothing and his nose ever so slightly twitched.
“Strawhat.” The word was less a word than a snarl, a hate-filled utterance that came more from the beast than from the man. Faster than all but three of them in the clearing could follow, the force of Rankyaku decimated the note in Jyabura’s hand. The pressure in the former CP9’s camp grew and grew, as if thunderheads were moving in even though the sky overhead remained stubbornly clear and blue. Kaku had grabbed Jyabura, clamping one large hand over the other’s face in an attempt to muffle his yelps of laughter. Fukurou had wisely made himself scarce and Blueno was half a second from opening a door when Kalifa’s hand clamped with steely finality around his wrist.
“And where do you think you’re going?” she hissed. “I’m not dealing with him with just Kumadori for back-up.”
‘What about Kaku and Jyabura?’ he wanted to ask, but he knew better. Jyabura would only goad Lucci further and Kaku would find his loyalties torn too much to be useful. For once, though, he had a good excuse. One he’d been keeping handy since the news first reached them from Impel Down. From his pocket Blueno drew forth a note of his own. It was on lavender paper and had been composed with a sparkly silver ink. A faint scent of pomade and powder clung to it as he held it up before Kalifa.
“Family matter. I was planning on telling you all later today. But it appears that it would be expedient for me to leave now.”
Kalifa’s brows knit as she frowned and skimmed the note, but her grip had loosened just enough. Blueno shook his hand free and opened up a door. If he stayed away long enough, perhaps she would even be kind enough not to kill him when he came back. He dove into his portal without a backwards glance and it was only once he was in the nebulous space between that he had a chance to really consider his decision.
It was just too bad that, between Kalifa and himself, he couldn’t get away with going somewhere nice. A quiet place where he could nurse a nice cup of tea and catch up with a good book, be anonymous for a while. But Kalifa would know immediately if he didn’t attend to his ‘family’ matter and his personal honor wouldn’t allow him to lie to the few people in the world he actually trusted. And so it would indeed be a family matter that he would see to, of a sort.
Not every member of CP9 came into the program as an orphan and having not yet lived a single decade. Blueno had entered training at fifteen, one year after he had eaten the Doa Doa no Mi. It was probably his Devil Fruit that had led to his recruitment, although his family’s historical martial arts practice hadn’t hurt. He had figured out, after half a year in Cipher Pol academy, that if he hadn’t been up to snuff, he’d have been dead. That way the fruit would have re-entered circulation and the government would have a chance to find it first. But, fortunately for him, he had enough determination and skill and he had persevered to the highest level one could hope to reach.
Being an assassin for the government hadn’t been a bad gig. He wasn’t a fanatical believer in justice like some of his comrades and he wasn’t such an ‘eccentric’ personality that he couldn’t function well in normal society. For Blueno, CP9 had been a job. He believed that any job he undertook should be done well and to the best of his ability, no matter what that job entailed. It was a trait that had served him in good stead but occasionally, as he was already anticipating, it caused him no end of headaches. His family, the one in his note, was actually a cousin thrice removed. They had grown up together, gone to primary school and started secondary school. They had lived on the same street, just a few houses down on an island that specialized in martial arts.
Most of the residents of their street had been relatives of some degree and the martial school of his family had focused primarily on kicking and kickboxing. His ‘cousin’ had always been an odd child, perhaps because he’d eaten a devil’s fruit when he was only two or perhaps he’d simply been born that way. His talent for mimicry and a generally friendly, if somewhat self-centered disposition, had made him popular among their classmates. Blueno, on the other hand, had always been a quiet and self-contained child. He’d excelled in history and in his family’s art but he hadn’t had many friends. His ‘cousin,’ perhaps because of their shared age and proximity, had gone out of his way to try and include Blueno in his activities and, when he had the chance, often sat next to him at lunch. While this had ended up with Blueno getting into more than an ordinate amount of trouble, often by mere virtue of association, he did have more fun as a child than he probably would have otherwise.
When he’d left with the government at fifteen, his ‘cousin,’ to no one’s surprise, had cried. A year later, one year shy of his school graduation, his cousin had run away to sea in the company of an entertainment troupe. After that, Blueno had lost track of him for several years until one day, out of the blue, a letter had arrived for him from his ‘cousin.’ At the time, his ‘cousin’ was working for some sort of covert organization, although Blueno suspected it couldn’t have been that secret if so many details were known by his ‘relative’ and had been passed on to him. He found out later, when he entered Cipher Pol 9 and went through the most intense background check of his life, that his ‘cousin’ was working for one of the Shichibukai on some sort of cockamamie plot and, as such, his life could in the future be forfeit. Although Blueno had felt a slight pang at the thought, he’d been confident as he proclaimed his ability to execute his relation should it be necessary in the future.
Fortunately, that situation never arose. The new and ever-growing thorn in the government’s side took care of the matter for him. Between Strawhat Luffy and several of the more zealous members of the Navy, his ‘cousin’ had ended up in Impel Down. By virtue of the same pirate, he was now free and had, somehow, managed to find Blueno once more. They had had tentative plans to take a holiday trip back before the Alabasta incident and now, with the jailbreak and Lucci’s imminent implosion, it seemed like the ideal time to take a vacation. Still…even a day with his ‘cousin’ had been enough to shake his usually staid temper as a child. Spandam had never tested his patience the way Bon Clay could.
In accordance with the loopy, cursive script on the note, Blueno carefully used his Air Doors to island hop, frequently checking the maps he carried with him at all times. Even with his ability, it took him a good two hours to reach secluded beach described on the missive but when he arrived, there was no doubt he was in the right place. A white umbrella painted to look like swans’ wings and topped with an arched swan neck and head dominated the beach. Beneath it, slathered in high-level sunscreen that turned blue with exposure and sprawled on a pink deck chair, wearing something that Blueno would have been hard-pressed to describe even for an essential Cipher Pol report, was the man he had come to see.
“Cousin!” The nasally croon he was ready for, the flying leap he was not. Only Soru enabled Blueno to sidestep the charge, allowing him to pat his relation gingerly on the back rather than getting blue smeared on his suit from the attempted hug.
“Cousin,” he replied, once he had successfully managed to convince Bon Clay to resume his seat. “I received your note.”
“Swan-swan, I can see that.” Ridiculously long eyelashes fluttered as Bon Clay peered up at him. “Can I choose where we go? Pretty please?”
Knowing he would regret it but with no immediate destination of his own in mind, Blueno grudgingly nodded. It would probably be somewhere outrageous but at least it wouldn’t be with a thoroughly out-of-sorts Rob Lucci.
“I want to go to Santa’s Island!”
For half a second, Blueno swore he could see sugarplums dance in Bon Clay’s eyes. He almost felt guilty as he pulled out his maps and looked at his ‘cousin.’ “There is no island by that name on any of my maps.”
A finger tipped by a beautiful manicure job reached out and tapped on Blueno’s map. “It’s here, swan-swan. Right here! They have snow and reindeer and lights and a toymaker and it just HAS to be Santa’s Island. I want to go and meet him!”
Blueno looked down at his chart and at the label beneath the extended finger. DRUM ISLAND read the caption; topography indicated many mountains and unusual plateau formations. According to Grand Line weather symbology, it was a winter island, just now around Christmas entering the depths of its coldest season. He glanced back up, a comment about the cold at the ready, but Bon Clay beat him to it, holding up a large white fur coat with swan hood in one hand while he sipped from a fruity cocktail topped with an umbrella with his other.
“Very well.” Blueno folded up his map. “When do you wish to leave?”
The next morning, having acquired the beginning of a very nice tan, Blueno stood sweating on the beach in a black version of Bon Clay’s coat, with a bull’s hood rather than a swan’s. His ‘cousin’ was late but he could hear him even three hundred yards from the hotel. Finally, still shouting after some matter or other, Bon Clay sashayed onto the beach in his coat and boots, swans’ heads atop each toe. The black beaks gleamed in the unforgiving sun, a reminder to Blueno not to underestimate his rather unusual relative. With his hands tucked into a fluffy muff, Bon Clay halted next to Blueno and a smile threatened to split his face. “To Santa’s Island!” he cried and a door in the air shimmered into existence.
Two hours and with increasing exasperation on Blueno’s part later, one last door opened onto frigid temperatures and mounds of frozen white. Snowflakes danced on the wind as Blueno wrapped his coat more tightly over his body. CP9 was practiced in endurance training for temperature extremes but Drum Island in the heart of winter was incredibly cold, especially after waking up to a bright, warm beach. Next to him, Bon Clay appeared to be oblivious to the temperature as he grand jete’d through a snow bank. “Santa-swan, Santa-swan, we’ll go find Santa-swan!”
“Look, cousin! I bet he lives right over there in that palace!”
Palace? Blueno turned around, and looked up, and up some more. A massive, frozen stone edifice dominated his vision, the flag waving from the tallest turret curling the ends of his mouth down. A pirate flag, sprinkled with pink petals of some sort; even here the pirates were gaining ground, although the flag was not one he was familiar with. Ahead of him, Bon Clay had reached the massive castle doors and pulled one open, the loud cry of ‘Santa-swan’ carrying on the wind. It was easier just to Air Door in behind his ‘cousin’ and so Blueno did just that, saving himself a slog through snow banks but earning a near-braining, sharply honed instincts all that allowed him to call up Tekkai as a battle axe came down on his head.
“Shyahaha! You’re a tough one. Hard-headed. Bet you’re stubborn too.”
“You’re not Santa-swan.” Bon Clay’s disappointment was audible, his voice ringing in Blueno’s ear as a pointy chin dug into his shoulder even through his heavy layers.
“That I’m not, sonny.” A very skinny old woman wearing not nearly enough clothing for the weather cocked her hip, battle-axe trailing from her grip as if she gave it no further thought. “But I am 146. Wanna know the secret to my youth?”
“That’s o-,” Blueno started, only to be interrupted as Bon Clay shoved him aside.
“146? You look swantastic! I’d love to know your secret.”
The old woman flipped up the glasses she was wearing and cackled. Her empty hand snaked out, grabbed Bon Clay by the chin, turning it one way and then another. “Never you mind, sonny. You don’t need to know my secret. But maybe I can help you with something else. What was that you were bellowing about?”
“Santa-swan! I heard he lives on this island!”
“Santa, hmm? Well he doesn’t live here. You’d have better luck down in the valleys.” The elderly but extremely spry woman pulled out a flask and took a long swig as she peered at Blueno shrewdly down the length of the bottle. “The fastest way down is the cable car, but I’m sure you already knew that.”
Blueno cleared his throat and unobtrusively took a step back. That old lady was quick. Too quick. It would be a good idea to leave. “Indeed,” he said, grabbing Bon Clay’s arm. “We’ll take our inquiries elsewhere. Good day, madam.”
“Bu-ai-eeee,” Bon Clay trilled, pirouetting out of Blueno’s hold but thankfully in the direction of the door. “Thank you.”
There would be no short cuts for Blueno that time and he trudged after Bon Clay back into the snow. Behind him, the old woman got in a parting shot, the battle-axe whizzing past his ear as she called after him. “Little old for Santa, ain’t ya?”
He nearly turned back, because even he had some pride, but Bon Clay had already reached the cable car shed and was busy pulling every lever he could see. A small degree of luck somehow still clung to Blueno, for the cable car was waiting for him. It was largely man-powered though, and so Blueno took up a position opposite his ‘cousin’ and together they pumped their way down from what turned out to be one of Drum’s distinguishing plateau features. The wind buffeted the car and snow blocked the view from the two tiny windows but Bon Clay, busy singing a song about their search for ‘Santa-swan,’ didn’t seem to notice. He grinned at Blueno from across the lever they were busy working. “Don’t worry, cousin! We’ll find him!”
But it wasn’t Santa that they found at the bottom of the cable. A trio of hulking rabbits, each as tall as Blueno’s shoulder was waiting for them, staring with beady black eyes as they stepped onto the hard-packed crust. They had gone about five steps when the attack came, a flying kick that Blueno easily dodged. As for Bon Clay, he parried a second kick with his silly-looking boots. The giant bunnies grunted and growled and bared teeth and claws but they didn’t attack again. ‘They were smart,’ Blueno thought. ‘They learned well. Too bad a certain square-nosed colleague hadn’t eaten a devil’s fruit based on the furry beasts.’
They had crested a rise, losing sight of the rabbits, when the rumbling began. The snow beneath their feet began to tremble, hard pack turning to powder, and then an incredible roaring filled the air. The avalanche bore down on them and Blueno, taking back everything nice he had thought about the creatures, quickly opened a door and shoved his ‘cousin’ through. They reappeared a mile and a half distant, the extent of his range of vision, and he jumped them once more, just to be clear of the disaster line.
“Those,” Bon Clay sulked, brushing snow off his coat, “were some bad bunnies.”
For once Blueno could agree. And it was interesting how the old woman had neglected to warn them of the potential danger as well. But it was impossible to keep Bon Clay down for any length of time and once he was satisfied that his coat was clean, his usual smirking smile returned. “At least we’re that much closer to finding Santa-swan. Look!” He pointed over the tree line. “There’s smoke!”
A last air door brought them out at the edge of a tidy town, smoke curling from every chimney. As the pair made their way down the street, Blueno noticed the stares and nasty looks that kept being directed his way. It was disconcerting and for half a second he was worried Spandam or another higher up had circulated their pictures. But then a small child, more scarf and woolen hat than visible face, darted out and tugged on Blueno’s coat.
“Why d’you look like Leader Dalton, mister?”
“Excuse me?” Blueno looked down at the tot, even as Bon Clay crouched next to him.
“Do you know where I can find Santa-swan, little one?”
“There’s no such-“
“Sshh, hush Sventel.” A loud, deep voice carried down the road and the child stopped in mid-word, dropping Blueno’s coat and dashing towards the large man in the green coat.
“Dalton! Dalton! That man wants to know about Santa Claus and the other one looks like you.”
The gentleman in the green coat smiled at Sventel and patted the child on the head with one large mittened hand. “I heard. I’ll go and see if I can help them and you run along home.” The child obeyed, dashing off around the corner of one house and a layer of Dalton’s kindly demeanor fell away, although he remained exceedingly polite.
“May I help you gentlemen?” he asked, approaching Blueno and Bon Clay.
Irrepressible as ever, Bon Clay went en pointe as he swept into a bow. “We’re looking for Santa-swan. The nice lady in the castle said you might know where we can find him.”
“Well now,” Dalton said, chuckling a little. “She did, did she? I don’t know about Santa, but there is a toymaker that lives here on the island. If anyone here is in touch with Santa, he is.”
“And where can we find this toymaker?” Blueno asked, privately hoping their goose chase wouldn’t last much longer.
“He lives across the island down at Robson Bay. If you like, I can take you there.”
“Really? Thank you Dalton-swan!”
Blueno watched, bemused, as Bon Clay hugged the flabbergasted man, finally pulling him off so that their journey could continue. Dalton led them to a sleigh and it was there that Blueno understood the comparisons as Dalton revealed that he, too, had eaten a Devil’s Fruit. The large black bull moved easily and swiftly through the snow, pulling the sleigh along behind. Bon Clay laughed and made up a song about it that had stretched to forty-seven verses when Dalton finally stopped and resumed his human shape.
“Half a mile down that road,” he pointed, and Blueno could see smoke rising into the chill air. “The toymaker is a bit…unusual…,” Dalton added. “But I’m sure he can help you.” He turned to look at Blueno, wide bovine brown eyes suddenly sharpening. “And will you be needing a ride back?”
“No,” Blueno said and he did not deign to elaborate. “But thank you for the ride.”
“As you wish.” Dalton turned to Bon Clay. “Good luck to you sirs and good day.” And he shifted form and took up the sleigh’s harness, his hooves kicking up snow as he swiftly returned the way he had come.
“Onward cousin!” Bon Clay was already half way down the road and Blueno hastened to catch up with him. They approached what appeared at first glance to be a factory together, Bon Clay spinning up to the door and knocking on it. “Oh toymaker-swan! Is anybody home?”
A strange clanking noise came from the factory and a whistle sounded from somewhere inside. And then, as even Blueno’s stoic façade grew wide-eyed, the factory seemed to disappear into itself until only a small grey cylinder remained. Before they could approach this new development, the cylinder seemed to explode outward and suddenly before them stood a heavy-set man with large, rather crazed eyes and enormous teeth.
“That’s me!”
“You…wha…how?!” Bon Clay circled around the unusual man. “That’s swantastic!”
“It’s the Baku Baku no Mi,” the man said. “I can eat anything and repurpose it, including myself. It’s how I make toys.”
“You,” Blueno said slowly, information surfacing in his brain. “You’re Wapol, aren’t you? The king of this island?”
“Not anymore,” Wapol said. “I make toys now. It makes me and lots and lots of children very happy.”
“And do you know Santa-swan?” Bon Clay asked, poking at Wapol’s back. “I heard the best toys come from this island and Santa brings only the best.”
“We~ll,” Wapol drawled. “I’m glad children like my toys. As for Santa Claus, I might know him.”
“Can I meet him? Can I?!” Bon Clay leaped into the air, launching into yet another of his Santa songs while Blueno eyed the former king.
“Why are you no longer the ruler of this country?” There had been no reports of activity by Dragon and his revolutionaries in this area of the Grand Line.
“That witch doctor, her pet, and Strawhat Luffy.” Wapol’s voice tightened a little as he named his deposers but then he shook his head, as if to clear it of unwanted thoughts. “I wasn’t a very good king but I’m a great toymaker and it makes me happy.”
Strawhat Luffy. Somehow Blueno figured he should have known. Somehow that pirate was overturning government status quos everywhere he went. Next to him, Bon Clay smacked his face, activating his power. The visage of Strawhat Luffy suddenly beamed at Wapol and Blueno and then Bon Clay put his own face back on. “You know Luffy? He’s my friend!” Bon Clay grinned, never noticing the sickly smiles on his relative’s and new friend’s face. “He’s one of the reasons why I need to see Santa-swan!”
“And why do you need to see him?”
“Because Luffy can’t risk sending a letter right now and how will Santa-swan know what he wants otherwise? I promised him in Impel Down that I would see to it. I can’t let him down.”
Wapol seemed to consider it and finally he nodded. “All right. I’ll help you. But you’ll have to spend the night. I can make you a tent but, in the meantime, would you like a tour of my factory?”
Blueno was content to wait outside. After watching Bon Clay get eaten by the bizarre ex-king, he didn’t really want to experience the process for himself, easy escape with his Air Door or no. Other than the cold, Drum wasn’t so bad. It was quiet and peaceful and, once a tent was spit out of the door-mouth of the Wapol Factory, even somewhat warm. And then Bon Clay came back, full of stories about the wonders of Wapol’s Factory. His chatter filled up the rest of the day and he even convinced Blueno to write down a Christmas wish and sleep with it under his pillow as Wapol had instructed.
There was no way anyone was going to sneak past a member of CP9 but somehow, when the faintest rustle beneath his head woke Blueno with a start, he didn’t catch sight of any man or beast. And the letter was gone. A faint jingling filled the air and that woke Bon Clay, his ‘cousin’ pulling him out of the tent to stare up at the sky. There was no sign of Santa Claus but pink-tinted snow was falling softly, backlit by the full moon. It was beautiful and Blueno let Bon Clay twirl him once under the sakura sky before he went back to bed. In the morning, Wapol ate their tent and bid them farewell. Blueno followed Bon Clay back up the road until other man stopped.
“We did it, cousin! We delivered the letters to Santa-swan. Now we can go wherever you’d like!”
And so, smiling for the first time on his trip, Blueno took his ‘cousin’ back to a warm sandy beach. He even got used to the sunscreen and the swan umbrellas by the time his conscience told him he had to go back to his colleagues. Thus he returned, to Kalifa’s accusations and Fukurou’s rumors and Kumadori’s wails over being left behind. Jyabura and Lucci had been reduced to the twenty-foot glare, with Kaku serving as an occasional buffer. Hattori, Blueno was amused to notice, was wearing the vest. The poor pigeon’s tie had been burned nearly to nothing back at Enies Lobby and he was clearly happy to be wearing proper clothing once more. All the tension was okay, though. It was normal and, during his trip, Blueno had learned not one, but two ways to escape. The first was to ask Santa Claus, for somehow his wish for a warm and peaceful vacation had been granted. The second was to find his ‘cousin’ and make him do his Strawhat Luffy impression. It would be close timing to pull Bon Clay out of the line of fire before Lucci exploded, but Blueno was sure he could manage it. Well…pretty sure.
Title: Blueno Has A Holiday
Rating: PG
Pairing: None/Gen
Word Count: 4,858
Note: Walpol part no longer accurate due to Oda's later cover stories with him.
The postal gull circled their camp once, eyes rolling in red-rimmed sockets as if it thought better of its mission. It would have taken little effort for one of them to Geppou up to the misfortunate errand bird, but now that Spandam knew they were still alive, it was pointless to take unnecessary risks. Kumadori and Fukurou herded their young charges aside as a single package was plucked from the gull’s satchel and then dropped. The battered box hit the ground, every ex-member of CP9 with Tekkai at the ready in case of an explosion. Instead it just sat where it had landed, looking rather worse for wear given, the height from which it had fallen. Wrapped in red and gold paper, there was a lopsided bow brushing the grass.
“A present?” Jyabura was, as he so often was, the first to react. “Who the hell’s sendin’ us a present? And for that matter, who the hell besides that asshole Spanda [while it was mutually agreed that the Strawhats and that weird cyborg were complete criminal scum, the name that had driven their nominal boss so crazy had been adopted to keep them from having to ever again speak his name] knows we’re out here?”
From under the brim of his cap, Kaku narrowed his eyes, and tilted his head. “It’s addressed to Lucci,” he said, looking over at a scowling face.
“Hnn.”
The gift, if that was indeed what the package was, remained on the ground and under the watchful eyes of the former members of CP9 for another three minutes until Jyabura snapped. “If you ain’t gonna open it, pussycat, then I will.” Heedless as always of the growl that rumbled low in Lucci’s throat and of the way Kaku just shook his head, the wolf turned to Kumadori. “Gimme your stick.”
He grabbed the jingling staff away before the slow-talking warrior could get his mouth open to agree or protest – not that Jyabura would have paid attention either way – and walked forward until he could just prod the box. It did nothing more than move a little, stirring the grass and making the wrapping paper rustle. Nothing exploded, talked, or in any way seemed to be dangerous. Satisfied with his little test, Jyabura tossed the staff back over his shoulder, where Kumadori’s hair easily caught it, and approached the box.
Five seconds later, red and gold paper lay in shreds, the ribbon was in tatters, and the two halves of the box lay at Jyabura’s feet. In his hands was a scrap of cloth and a note. Lips moving just slightly as he read, there wasn’t quite enough motion for the rest of CP9 to be able to make out all of what he was reading. Something about ‘Impel’ and ‘change of heart’ and ‘hard to find in pigeon size.’ But what was obvious, as Jyabura’s face turned red and he threw back his head to howl with laughter, was that whatever the full contents of the note were, the message was going to make Lucci very very angry.
“Here ya go, somethin’ for the bird.”
And he threw the fabric at Lucci, aim slightly off because he was doubled over with laughter. A flutter of white marked Hattori as the pigeon caught the scraps of cloth when it became clear that Lucci was not making any move towards them. To Hattori’s colorblind bird’s eyes, all he saw was a vest and a square. To the rest of CP9, there was a disturbingly familiar red vest and a black bandanna. Pirate gear, that’s what it was, and entirely inappropriate despite their current outlaw status. Lucci looked down at the miniature clothing and his nose ever so slightly twitched.
“Strawhat.” The word was less a word than a snarl, a hate-filled utterance that came more from the beast than from the man. Faster than all but three of them in the clearing could follow, the force of Rankyaku decimated the note in Jyabura’s hand. The pressure in the former CP9’s camp grew and grew, as if thunderheads were moving in even though the sky overhead remained stubbornly clear and blue. Kaku had grabbed Jyabura, clamping one large hand over the other’s face in an attempt to muffle his yelps of laughter. Fukurou had wisely made himself scarce and Blueno was half a second from opening a door when Kalifa’s hand clamped with steely finality around his wrist.
“And where do you think you’re going?” she hissed. “I’m not dealing with him with just Kumadori for back-up.”
‘What about Kaku and Jyabura?’ he wanted to ask, but he knew better. Jyabura would only goad Lucci further and Kaku would find his loyalties torn too much to be useful. For once, though, he had a good excuse. One he’d been keeping handy since the news first reached them from Impel Down. From his pocket Blueno drew forth a note of his own. It was on lavender paper and had been composed with a sparkly silver ink. A faint scent of pomade and powder clung to it as he held it up before Kalifa.
“Family matter. I was planning on telling you all later today. But it appears that it would be expedient for me to leave now.”
Kalifa’s brows knit as she frowned and skimmed the note, but her grip had loosened just enough. Blueno shook his hand free and opened up a door. If he stayed away long enough, perhaps she would even be kind enough not to kill him when he came back. He dove into his portal without a backwards glance and it was only once he was in the nebulous space between that he had a chance to really consider his decision.
It was just too bad that, between Kalifa and himself, he couldn’t get away with going somewhere nice. A quiet place where he could nurse a nice cup of tea and catch up with a good book, be anonymous for a while. But Kalifa would know immediately if he didn’t attend to his ‘family’ matter and his personal honor wouldn’t allow him to lie to the few people in the world he actually trusted. And so it would indeed be a family matter that he would see to, of a sort.
Not every member of CP9 came into the program as an orphan and having not yet lived a single decade. Blueno had entered training at fifteen, one year after he had eaten the Doa Doa no Mi. It was probably his Devil Fruit that had led to his recruitment, although his family’s historical martial arts practice hadn’t hurt. He had figured out, after half a year in Cipher Pol academy, that if he hadn’t been up to snuff, he’d have been dead. That way the fruit would have re-entered circulation and the government would have a chance to find it first. But, fortunately for him, he had enough determination and skill and he had persevered to the highest level one could hope to reach.
Being an assassin for the government hadn’t been a bad gig. He wasn’t a fanatical believer in justice like some of his comrades and he wasn’t such an ‘eccentric’ personality that he couldn’t function well in normal society. For Blueno, CP9 had been a job. He believed that any job he undertook should be done well and to the best of his ability, no matter what that job entailed. It was a trait that had served him in good stead but occasionally, as he was already anticipating, it caused him no end of headaches. His family, the one in his note, was actually a cousin thrice removed. They had grown up together, gone to primary school and started secondary school. They had lived on the same street, just a few houses down on an island that specialized in martial arts.
Most of the residents of their street had been relatives of some degree and the martial school of his family had focused primarily on kicking and kickboxing. His ‘cousin’ had always been an odd child, perhaps because he’d eaten a devil’s fruit when he was only two or perhaps he’d simply been born that way. His talent for mimicry and a generally friendly, if somewhat self-centered disposition, had made him popular among their classmates. Blueno, on the other hand, had always been a quiet and self-contained child. He’d excelled in history and in his family’s art but he hadn’t had many friends. His ‘cousin,’ perhaps because of their shared age and proximity, had gone out of his way to try and include Blueno in his activities and, when he had the chance, often sat next to him at lunch. While this had ended up with Blueno getting into more than an ordinate amount of trouble, often by mere virtue of association, he did have more fun as a child than he probably would have otherwise.
When he’d left with the government at fifteen, his ‘cousin,’ to no one’s surprise, had cried. A year later, one year shy of his school graduation, his cousin had run away to sea in the company of an entertainment troupe. After that, Blueno had lost track of him for several years until one day, out of the blue, a letter had arrived for him from his ‘cousin.’ At the time, his ‘cousin’ was working for some sort of covert organization, although Blueno suspected it couldn’t have been that secret if so many details were known by his ‘relative’ and had been passed on to him. He found out later, when he entered Cipher Pol 9 and went through the most intense background check of his life, that his ‘cousin’ was working for one of the Shichibukai on some sort of cockamamie plot and, as such, his life could in the future be forfeit. Although Blueno had felt a slight pang at the thought, he’d been confident as he proclaimed his ability to execute his relation should it be necessary in the future.
Fortunately, that situation never arose. The new and ever-growing thorn in the government’s side took care of the matter for him. Between Strawhat Luffy and several of the more zealous members of the Navy, his ‘cousin’ had ended up in Impel Down. By virtue of the same pirate, he was now free and had, somehow, managed to find Blueno once more. They had had tentative plans to take a holiday trip back before the Alabasta incident and now, with the jailbreak and Lucci’s imminent implosion, it seemed like the ideal time to take a vacation. Still…even a day with his ‘cousin’ had been enough to shake his usually staid temper as a child. Spandam had never tested his patience the way Bon Clay could.
In accordance with the loopy, cursive script on the note, Blueno carefully used his Air Doors to island hop, frequently checking the maps he carried with him at all times. Even with his ability, it took him a good two hours to reach secluded beach described on the missive but when he arrived, there was no doubt he was in the right place. A white umbrella painted to look like swans’ wings and topped with an arched swan neck and head dominated the beach. Beneath it, slathered in high-level sunscreen that turned blue with exposure and sprawled on a pink deck chair, wearing something that Blueno would have been hard-pressed to describe even for an essential Cipher Pol report, was the man he had come to see.
“Cousin!” The nasally croon he was ready for, the flying leap he was not. Only Soru enabled Blueno to sidestep the charge, allowing him to pat his relation gingerly on the back rather than getting blue smeared on his suit from the attempted hug.
“Cousin,” he replied, once he had successfully managed to convince Bon Clay to resume his seat. “I received your note.”
“Swan-swan, I can see that.” Ridiculously long eyelashes fluttered as Bon Clay peered up at him. “Can I choose where we go? Pretty please?”
Knowing he would regret it but with no immediate destination of his own in mind, Blueno grudgingly nodded. It would probably be somewhere outrageous but at least it wouldn’t be with a thoroughly out-of-sorts Rob Lucci.
“I want to go to Santa’s Island!”
For half a second, Blueno swore he could see sugarplums dance in Bon Clay’s eyes. He almost felt guilty as he pulled out his maps and looked at his ‘cousin.’ “There is no island by that name on any of my maps.”
A finger tipped by a beautiful manicure job reached out and tapped on Blueno’s map. “It’s here, swan-swan. Right here! They have snow and reindeer and lights and a toymaker and it just HAS to be Santa’s Island. I want to go and meet him!”
Blueno looked down at his chart and at the label beneath the extended finger. DRUM ISLAND read the caption; topography indicated many mountains and unusual plateau formations. According to Grand Line weather symbology, it was a winter island, just now around Christmas entering the depths of its coldest season. He glanced back up, a comment about the cold at the ready, but Bon Clay beat him to it, holding up a large white fur coat with swan hood in one hand while he sipped from a fruity cocktail topped with an umbrella with his other.
“Very well.” Blueno folded up his map. “When do you wish to leave?”
The next morning, having acquired the beginning of a very nice tan, Blueno stood sweating on the beach in a black version of Bon Clay’s coat, with a bull’s hood rather than a swan’s. His ‘cousin’ was late but he could hear him even three hundred yards from the hotel. Finally, still shouting after some matter or other, Bon Clay sashayed onto the beach in his coat and boots, swans’ heads atop each toe. The black beaks gleamed in the unforgiving sun, a reminder to Blueno not to underestimate his rather unusual relative. With his hands tucked into a fluffy muff, Bon Clay halted next to Blueno and a smile threatened to split his face. “To Santa’s Island!” he cried and a door in the air shimmered into existence.
Two hours and with increasing exasperation on Blueno’s part later, one last door opened onto frigid temperatures and mounds of frozen white. Snowflakes danced on the wind as Blueno wrapped his coat more tightly over his body. CP9 was practiced in endurance training for temperature extremes but Drum Island in the heart of winter was incredibly cold, especially after waking up to a bright, warm beach. Next to him, Bon Clay appeared to be oblivious to the temperature as he grand jete’d through a snow bank. “Santa-swan, Santa-swan, we’ll go find Santa-swan!”
“Look, cousin! I bet he lives right over there in that palace!”
Palace? Blueno turned around, and looked up, and up some more. A massive, frozen stone edifice dominated his vision, the flag waving from the tallest turret curling the ends of his mouth down. A pirate flag, sprinkled with pink petals of some sort; even here the pirates were gaining ground, although the flag was not one he was familiar with. Ahead of him, Bon Clay had reached the massive castle doors and pulled one open, the loud cry of ‘Santa-swan’ carrying on the wind. It was easier just to Air Door in behind his ‘cousin’ and so Blueno did just that, saving himself a slog through snow banks but earning a near-braining, sharply honed instincts all that allowed him to call up Tekkai as a battle axe came down on his head.
“Shyahaha! You’re a tough one. Hard-headed. Bet you’re stubborn too.”
“You’re not Santa-swan.” Bon Clay’s disappointment was audible, his voice ringing in Blueno’s ear as a pointy chin dug into his shoulder even through his heavy layers.
“That I’m not, sonny.” A very skinny old woman wearing not nearly enough clothing for the weather cocked her hip, battle-axe trailing from her grip as if she gave it no further thought. “But I am 146. Wanna know the secret to my youth?”
“That’s o-,” Blueno started, only to be interrupted as Bon Clay shoved him aside.
“146? You look swantastic! I’d love to know your secret.”
The old woman flipped up the glasses she was wearing and cackled. Her empty hand snaked out, grabbed Bon Clay by the chin, turning it one way and then another. “Never you mind, sonny. You don’t need to know my secret. But maybe I can help you with something else. What was that you were bellowing about?”
“Santa-swan! I heard he lives on this island!”
“Santa, hmm? Well he doesn’t live here. You’d have better luck down in the valleys.” The elderly but extremely spry woman pulled out a flask and took a long swig as she peered at Blueno shrewdly down the length of the bottle. “The fastest way down is the cable car, but I’m sure you already knew that.”
Blueno cleared his throat and unobtrusively took a step back. That old lady was quick. Too quick. It would be a good idea to leave. “Indeed,” he said, grabbing Bon Clay’s arm. “We’ll take our inquiries elsewhere. Good day, madam.”
“Bu-ai-eeee,” Bon Clay trilled, pirouetting out of Blueno’s hold but thankfully in the direction of the door. “Thank you.”
There would be no short cuts for Blueno that time and he trudged after Bon Clay back into the snow. Behind him, the old woman got in a parting shot, the battle-axe whizzing past his ear as she called after him. “Little old for Santa, ain’t ya?”
He nearly turned back, because even he had some pride, but Bon Clay had already reached the cable car shed and was busy pulling every lever he could see. A small degree of luck somehow still clung to Blueno, for the cable car was waiting for him. It was largely man-powered though, and so Blueno took up a position opposite his ‘cousin’ and together they pumped their way down from what turned out to be one of Drum’s distinguishing plateau features. The wind buffeted the car and snow blocked the view from the two tiny windows but Bon Clay, busy singing a song about their search for ‘Santa-swan,’ didn’t seem to notice. He grinned at Blueno from across the lever they were busy working. “Don’t worry, cousin! We’ll find him!”
But it wasn’t Santa that they found at the bottom of the cable. A trio of hulking rabbits, each as tall as Blueno’s shoulder was waiting for them, staring with beady black eyes as they stepped onto the hard-packed crust. They had gone about five steps when the attack came, a flying kick that Blueno easily dodged. As for Bon Clay, he parried a second kick with his silly-looking boots. The giant bunnies grunted and growled and bared teeth and claws but they didn’t attack again. ‘They were smart,’ Blueno thought. ‘They learned well. Too bad a certain square-nosed colleague hadn’t eaten a devil’s fruit based on the furry beasts.’
They had crested a rise, losing sight of the rabbits, when the rumbling began. The snow beneath their feet began to tremble, hard pack turning to powder, and then an incredible roaring filled the air. The avalanche bore down on them and Blueno, taking back everything nice he had thought about the creatures, quickly opened a door and shoved his ‘cousin’ through. They reappeared a mile and a half distant, the extent of his range of vision, and he jumped them once more, just to be clear of the disaster line.
“Those,” Bon Clay sulked, brushing snow off his coat, “were some bad bunnies.”
For once Blueno could agree. And it was interesting how the old woman had neglected to warn them of the potential danger as well. But it was impossible to keep Bon Clay down for any length of time and once he was satisfied that his coat was clean, his usual smirking smile returned. “At least we’re that much closer to finding Santa-swan. Look!” He pointed over the tree line. “There’s smoke!”
A last air door brought them out at the edge of a tidy town, smoke curling from every chimney. As the pair made their way down the street, Blueno noticed the stares and nasty looks that kept being directed his way. It was disconcerting and for half a second he was worried Spandam or another higher up had circulated their pictures. But then a small child, more scarf and woolen hat than visible face, darted out and tugged on Blueno’s coat.
“Why d’you look like Leader Dalton, mister?”
“Excuse me?” Blueno looked down at the tot, even as Bon Clay crouched next to him.
“Do you know where I can find Santa-swan, little one?”
“There’s no such-“
“Sshh, hush Sventel.” A loud, deep voice carried down the road and the child stopped in mid-word, dropping Blueno’s coat and dashing towards the large man in the green coat.
“Dalton! Dalton! That man wants to know about Santa Claus and the other one looks like you.”
The gentleman in the green coat smiled at Sventel and patted the child on the head with one large mittened hand. “I heard. I’ll go and see if I can help them and you run along home.” The child obeyed, dashing off around the corner of one house and a layer of Dalton’s kindly demeanor fell away, although he remained exceedingly polite.
“May I help you gentlemen?” he asked, approaching Blueno and Bon Clay.
Irrepressible as ever, Bon Clay went en pointe as he swept into a bow. “We’re looking for Santa-swan. The nice lady in the castle said you might know where we can find him.”
“Well now,” Dalton said, chuckling a little. “She did, did she? I don’t know about Santa, but there is a toymaker that lives here on the island. If anyone here is in touch with Santa, he is.”
“And where can we find this toymaker?” Blueno asked, privately hoping their goose chase wouldn’t last much longer.
“He lives across the island down at Robson Bay. If you like, I can take you there.”
“Really? Thank you Dalton-swan!”
Blueno watched, bemused, as Bon Clay hugged the flabbergasted man, finally pulling him off so that their journey could continue. Dalton led them to a sleigh and it was there that Blueno understood the comparisons as Dalton revealed that he, too, had eaten a Devil’s Fruit. The large black bull moved easily and swiftly through the snow, pulling the sleigh along behind. Bon Clay laughed and made up a song about it that had stretched to forty-seven verses when Dalton finally stopped and resumed his human shape.
“Half a mile down that road,” he pointed, and Blueno could see smoke rising into the chill air. “The toymaker is a bit…unusual…,” Dalton added. “But I’m sure he can help you.” He turned to look at Blueno, wide bovine brown eyes suddenly sharpening. “And will you be needing a ride back?”
“No,” Blueno said and he did not deign to elaborate. “But thank you for the ride.”
“As you wish.” Dalton turned to Bon Clay. “Good luck to you sirs and good day.” And he shifted form and took up the sleigh’s harness, his hooves kicking up snow as he swiftly returned the way he had come.
“Onward cousin!” Bon Clay was already half way down the road and Blueno hastened to catch up with him. They approached what appeared at first glance to be a factory together, Bon Clay spinning up to the door and knocking on it. “Oh toymaker-swan! Is anybody home?”
A strange clanking noise came from the factory and a whistle sounded from somewhere inside. And then, as even Blueno’s stoic façade grew wide-eyed, the factory seemed to disappear into itself until only a small grey cylinder remained. Before they could approach this new development, the cylinder seemed to explode outward and suddenly before them stood a heavy-set man with large, rather crazed eyes and enormous teeth.
“That’s me!”
“You…wha…how?!” Bon Clay circled around the unusual man. “That’s swantastic!”
“It’s the Baku Baku no Mi,” the man said. “I can eat anything and repurpose it, including myself. It’s how I make toys.”
“You,” Blueno said slowly, information surfacing in his brain. “You’re Wapol, aren’t you? The king of this island?”
“Not anymore,” Wapol said. “I make toys now. It makes me and lots and lots of children very happy.”
“And do you know Santa-swan?” Bon Clay asked, poking at Wapol’s back. “I heard the best toys come from this island and Santa brings only the best.”
“We~ll,” Wapol drawled. “I’m glad children like my toys. As for Santa Claus, I might know him.”
“Can I meet him? Can I?!” Bon Clay leaped into the air, launching into yet another of his Santa songs while Blueno eyed the former king.
“Why are you no longer the ruler of this country?” There had been no reports of activity by Dragon and his revolutionaries in this area of the Grand Line.
“That witch doctor, her pet, and Strawhat Luffy.” Wapol’s voice tightened a little as he named his deposers but then he shook his head, as if to clear it of unwanted thoughts. “I wasn’t a very good king but I’m a great toymaker and it makes me happy.”
Strawhat Luffy. Somehow Blueno figured he should have known. Somehow that pirate was overturning government status quos everywhere he went. Next to him, Bon Clay smacked his face, activating his power. The visage of Strawhat Luffy suddenly beamed at Wapol and Blueno and then Bon Clay put his own face back on. “You know Luffy? He’s my friend!” Bon Clay grinned, never noticing the sickly smiles on his relative’s and new friend’s face. “He’s one of the reasons why I need to see Santa-swan!”
“And why do you need to see him?”
“Because Luffy can’t risk sending a letter right now and how will Santa-swan know what he wants otherwise? I promised him in Impel Down that I would see to it. I can’t let him down.”
Wapol seemed to consider it and finally he nodded. “All right. I’ll help you. But you’ll have to spend the night. I can make you a tent but, in the meantime, would you like a tour of my factory?”
Blueno was content to wait outside. After watching Bon Clay get eaten by the bizarre ex-king, he didn’t really want to experience the process for himself, easy escape with his Air Door or no. Other than the cold, Drum wasn’t so bad. It was quiet and peaceful and, once a tent was spit out of the door-mouth of the Wapol Factory, even somewhat warm. And then Bon Clay came back, full of stories about the wonders of Wapol’s Factory. His chatter filled up the rest of the day and he even convinced Blueno to write down a Christmas wish and sleep with it under his pillow as Wapol had instructed.
There was no way anyone was going to sneak past a member of CP9 but somehow, when the faintest rustle beneath his head woke Blueno with a start, he didn’t catch sight of any man or beast. And the letter was gone. A faint jingling filled the air and that woke Bon Clay, his ‘cousin’ pulling him out of the tent to stare up at the sky. There was no sign of Santa Claus but pink-tinted snow was falling softly, backlit by the full moon. It was beautiful and Blueno let Bon Clay twirl him once under the sakura sky before he went back to bed. In the morning, Wapol ate their tent and bid them farewell. Blueno followed Bon Clay back up the road until other man stopped.
“We did it, cousin! We delivered the letters to Santa-swan. Now we can go wherever you’d like!”
And so, smiling for the first time on his trip, Blueno took his ‘cousin’ back to a warm sandy beach. He even got used to the sunscreen and the swan umbrellas by the time his conscience told him he had to go back to his colleagues. Thus he returned, to Kalifa’s accusations and Fukurou’s rumors and Kumadori’s wails over being left behind. Jyabura and Lucci had been reduced to the twenty-foot glare, with Kaku serving as an occasional buffer. Hattori, Blueno was amused to notice, was wearing the vest. The poor pigeon’s tie had been burned nearly to nothing back at Enies Lobby and he was clearly happy to be wearing proper clothing once more. All the tension was okay, though. It was normal and, during his trip, Blueno had learned not one, but two ways to escape. The first was to ask Santa Claus, for somehow his wish for a warm and peaceful vacation had been granted. The second was to find his ‘cousin’ and make him do his Strawhat Luffy impression. It would be close timing to pull Bon Clay out of the line of fire before Lucci exploded, but Blueno was sure he could manage it. Well…pretty sure.
