One Piece Re-Read Volume 7 Writing
Sep. 15th, 2023 02:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsTitle: Sting of Providence
Rating: G/PG for canon-typical violence
Pairing; None/Gen
Word Count: 1472
Zeff clung to the small body, curled over the boy as the ocean raged and tried to return them to its depths. The rock was slick and cold but at least it was solid beneath his knees and elbows, provided a small measure of protection as he sheltered in the lee of an outcropping. It could have been minutes or hours; the throbbing pain in his skull pulsed to a time signature all its own. Huddled and shivering in the freezing downpour, all Zeff could do was wait for the storm to abate. At some point, once the waves no longer swamped the islet but merely thundered against it, sending salt spray up to mingle with the blowing rain, he lost consciousness, the child tucked against his shoulder, faint breaths a reassurance that he was still alive.
Thirst and his headache woke him later, his clothes stiff and tacky from dried salt. The boy still lived but did not wake when Zeff patted his cheek, jostled his shoulder. His blond hair was plastered across half his face and the other half revealed a curlicue of an eyebrow, a thin thread of dried blood cutting across it. There was a lump on the child’s skull, a match to the goose egg on Zeff’s head, and a few other cuts and scrapes, but otherwise the lad seemed unharmed. Assured that it was likely only a matter of time before the brat awakened, Zeff carefully settled the boy against the jut of rock that had shielded them from the sea’s grasping waves and carefully pushed himself up to survey their surroundings. The little he saw nearly brought him prone once more.
The rock was barren, an odd combination of coral and limestone, and it was slick and rough in turn depending on which material was at the surface. Bits of timber and ship debris dotted the pillar, but no vegetation. There was no other living thing atop the rock except for the boy. Zeff got to his feet and carefully traced the circuit of the stone. It was small, took him no more than a handful of minutes to navigate, and he scowled as he stood at the edge and looked down at the water, the surface barely rippling now. He could stare straight into the sea, the sides of the island beyond shear. The very factors of the rock that had preserved them during the squall meant that it was now their prison, with no way to get down to the ocean unless they did not plan to return.
At least there was water. It was brackish, tainted from the massive waves that had pitched them there, but there were plenty of pools worn into the limestone. Provided it rained periodically, they could slake their thirst. Zeff eyed the gray clouds; it had been early evening when he had boarded the Orbit with his pirate crew. Judging from what little he could see of the sun, it was close to noon; almost a full day had passed since the storm had struck. He drank and then washed the salt from his face and mustache, using his hands and a broken plank to clear the hollow so that when it next rained, the water would be fresh. Three more pools he cleaned, leaving enough to see he and the boy through in case Fate had even worse in store and held back the rain. Then he checked once more on the child before carefully gathering every useful thing he could find on the rock into a pile.
Most of it was trash, splintered planks and lengths of rigging. Two-thirds of a crow’s nest formed a crude sort of shelter and cast a dim shadow. It was too small to be of much good for Zeff, but it would work for the boy. A sodden scrap of flag still clung to the top and he reluctantly unfurled it, the sight of his own Jolly Roger confirming his worst suspicions. He tore it free, a jagged bit of rock ripping through when the sturdy canvas refused to yield to his hands. Zeff put the flag aside to deal with later and turned to the two oilskin bags he’d recovered. The larger one was as he’d expected, filled with coins and jewelry, and other items he and his men had plundered from the cruise ship. The smaller, in another quirk of luck, was the bag of food.
Bread mostly, a handful of vegetables, and a bit of cured meat, it was miraculously still dry. Zeff didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry. His stupid eggplant of a nakama had taken enough to comfortably feed himself for five days, but he’d told Zeff he had just wanted a snack. It was one of the few hard and fast rules on Zeff’s ship – never take the food. And yet, had that tenet not been broken, he would have given the boy and himself much lower odds of ever getting off the rock alive. But there was food, currently unspoiled, which meant that Zeff had a decision to make.
The child still breathed, and his face scrunched even as his throat worked when Zeff carefully squeezed some water from his shirt into the mouth he’d had to pry open. The boy was a fighter, still as determined to live as he’d been on the Orbit when he’d run at a pirate crew with kitchen knives and used his teeth like a wounded animal to attack Zeff’s foot once he’d been cast to the deck. He was skinny but it was the lankiness of youth, of a body still growing. The hunger would gnaw at him all the more for that, Zeff knew, so he would have to drive home immediately just how desperate their situation was. The food would have to stretch as long as possible. The clouds slowly dissipated as the day wore on, and Zeff acted to conserve his strength. He moved close enough to the edge to be able to look down and set himself up to be able to see a broad swath of the horizon as well. It was unlikely that any ship would appear so soon after the devastation of that tempest, but he couldn’t risk not scanning. At least, as night moved in, he only saw bits of flotsam bobbing in the waves and not bodies.
He slept in fits and starts in the dark, the visages and voices of his men haunting his dreams. In the pale grey light before dawn Zeff caught a glimpse of the Orbit’s broken mask, the end jagged from where he’d kicked it free and used it to propel himself into the water after the boy. He’d done that on instinct, not really thinking as the growing storm washed whitecaps across the deck and carried the prone child over the rail. They’d both been submerged when the first of the giant waves had crested, but even underwater, the churn had been devastatingly violent. He’d managed to grab the boy, but it had been nearly impossible to find the way to the surface. Debris swarmed past and the undertow kept sucking them deeper. Finally, clinging to the mast, they’d been caught up in another swell, riding it higher and higher until it flung them onto the rock.
Instinctually, deep in his gut beneath the growing hunger, Zeff knew that none of his crew had survived. They’d had plans, goals, hopes and dreams, and now all of that was moot. That the Grand Line hadn’t done them in but rather an unexpected maelstrom in East Blue was a bitter pill to swallow. Everything they had overcome, all the challenges and competition and crazy weather, only to be destroyed in the weakest of the world’s oceans was yet another cruel twist of Fate. As both a pirate and a cook, he was inclined towards superstition but had always fought against that urge. But his current situation was an undeniable sign, and the idea of going back to the Grand Line without his ship - without his nakama - was simply unthinkable. As he blinked blurry eyes up at the rapidly sinking moon and ignored the damp clinging to his mustache, Zeff made up his mind. The boy shared his belief in All Blue, and it didn’t really matter who discovered it so long as it was found in the end. He would do whatever it took to keep the child and their dream alive.
Nearly three months later, gaunt and exhausted and with the identity of the pirate captain Red Shoes Zeff buried in the bloodstained and tattered flag that bound up the stump of his leg, Zeff and the boy tumbled off the rock into the sea and the waiting boat that had finally, belatedly, come to their rescue.
Rating: G/PG for canon-typical violence
Pairing; None/Gen
Word Count: 1472
Zeff clung to the small body, curled over the boy as the ocean raged and tried to return them to its depths. The rock was slick and cold but at least it was solid beneath his knees and elbows, provided a small measure of protection as he sheltered in the lee of an outcropping. It could have been minutes or hours; the throbbing pain in his skull pulsed to a time signature all its own. Huddled and shivering in the freezing downpour, all Zeff could do was wait for the storm to abate. At some point, once the waves no longer swamped the islet but merely thundered against it, sending salt spray up to mingle with the blowing rain, he lost consciousness, the child tucked against his shoulder, faint breaths a reassurance that he was still alive.
Thirst and his headache woke him later, his clothes stiff and tacky from dried salt. The boy still lived but did not wake when Zeff patted his cheek, jostled his shoulder. His blond hair was plastered across half his face and the other half revealed a curlicue of an eyebrow, a thin thread of dried blood cutting across it. There was a lump on the child’s skull, a match to the goose egg on Zeff’s head, and a few other cuts and scrapes, but otherwise the lad seemed unharmed. Assured that it was likely only a matter of time before the brat awakened, Zeff carefully settled the boy against the jut of rock that had shielded them from the sea’s grasping waves and carefully pushed himself up to survey their surroundings. The little he saw nearly brought him prone once more.
The rock was barren, an odd combination of coral and limestone, and it was slick and rough in turn depending on which material was at the surface. Bits of timber and ship debris dotted the pillar, but no vegetation. There was no other living thing atop the rock except for the boy. Zeff got to his feet and carefully traced the circuit of the stone. It was small, took him no more than a handful of minutes to navigate, and he scowled as he stood at the edge and looked down at the water, the surface barely rippling now. He could stare straight into the sea, the sides of the island beyond shear. The very factors of the rock that had preserved them during the squall meant that it was now their prison, with no way to get down to the ocean unless they did not plan to return.
At least there was water. It was brackish, tainted from the massive waves that had pitched them there, but there were plenty of pools worn into the limestone. Provided it rained periodically, they could slake their thirst. Zeff eyed the gray clouds; it had been early evening when he had boarded the Orbit with his pirate crew. Judging from what little he could see of the sun, it was close to noon; almost a full day had passed since the storm had struck. He drank and then washed the salt from his face and mustache, using his hands and a broken plank to clear the hollow so that when it next rained, the water would be fresh. Three more pools he cleaned, leaving enough to see he and the boy through in case Fate had even worse in store and held back the rain. Then he checked once more on the child before carefully gathering every useful thing he could find on the rock into a pile.
Most of it was trash, splintered planks and lengths of rigging. Two-thirds of a crow’s nest formed a crude sort of shelter and cast a dim shadow. It was too small to be of much good for Zeff, but it would work for the boy. A sodden scrap of flag still clung to the top and he reluctantly unfurled it, the sight of his own Jolly Roger confirming his worst suspicions. He tore it free, a jagged bit of rock ripping through when the sturdy canvas refused to yield to his hands. Zeff put the flag aside to deal with later and turned to the two oilskin bags he’d recovered. The larger one was as he’d expected, filled with coins and jewelry, and other items he and his men had plundered from the cruise ship. The smaller, in another quirk of luck, was the bag of food.
Bread mostly, a handful of vegetables, and a bit of cured meat, it was miraculously still dry. Zeff didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry. His stupid eggplant of a nakama had taken enough to comfortably feed himself for five days, but he’d told Zeff he had just wanted a snack. It was one of the few hard and fast rules on Zeff’s ship – never take the food. And yet, had that tenet not been broken, he would have given the boy and himself much lower odds of ever getting off the rock alive. But there was food, currently unspoiled, which meant that Zeff had a decision to make.
The child still breathed, and his face scrunched even as his throat worked when Zeff carefully squeezed some water from his shirt into the mouth he’d had to pry open. The boy was a fighter, still as determined to live as he’d been on the Orbit when he’d run at a pirate crew with kitchen knives and used his teeth like a wounded animal to attack Zeff’s foot once he’d been cast to the deck. He was skinny but it was the lankiness of youth, of a body still growing. The hunger would gnaw at him all the more for that, Zeff knew, so he would have to drive home immediately just how desperate their situation was. The food would have to stretch as long as possible. The clouds slowly dissipated as the day wore on, and Zeff acted to conserve his strength. He moved close enough to the edge to be able to look down and set himself up to be able to see a broad swath of the horizon as well. It was unlikely that any ship would appear so soon after the devastation of that tempest, but he couldn’t risk not scanning. At least, as night moved in, he only saw bits of flotsam bobbing in the waves and not bodies.
He slept in fits and starts in the dark, the visages and voices of his men haunting his dreams. In the pale grey light before dawn Zeff caught a glimpse of the Orbit’s broken mask, the end jagged from where he’d kicked it free and used it to propel himself into the water after the boy. He’d done that on instinct, not really thinking as the growing storm washed whitecaps across the deck and carried the prone child over the rail. They’d both been submerged when the first of the giant waves had crested, but even underwater, the churn had been devastatingly violent. He’d managed to grab the boy, but it had been nearly impossible to find the way to the surface. Debris swarmed past and the undertow kept sucking them deeper. Finally, clinging to the mast, they’d been caught up in another swell, riding it higher and higher until it flung them onto the rock.
Instinctually, deep in his gut beneath the growing hunger, Zeff knew that none of his crew had survived. They’d had plans, goals, hopes and dreams, and now all of that was moot. That the Grand Line hadn’t done them in but rather an unexpected maelstrom in East Blue was a bitter pill to swallow. Everything they had overcome, all the challenges and competition and crazy weather, only to be destroyed in the weakest of the world’s oceans was yet another cruel twist of Fate. As both a pirate and a cook, he was inclined towards superstition but had always fought against that urge. But his current situation was an undeniable sign, and the idea of going back to the Grand Line without his ship - without his nakama - was simply unthinkable. As he blinked blurry eyes up at the rapidly sinking moon and ignored the damp clinging to his mustache, Zeff made up his mind. The boy shared his belief in All Blue, and it didn’t really matter who discovered it so long as it was found in the end. He would do whatever it took to keep the child and their dream alive.
Nearly three months later, gaunt and exhausted and with the identity of the pirate captain Red Shoes Zeff buried in the bloodstained and tattered flag that bound up the stump of his leg, Zeff and the boy tumbled off the rock into the sea and the waiting boat that had finally, belatedly, come to their rescue.
