Let the waves carry you where the light can not.

“Even if Gramps hadn’t been brutally honest, I would have called anyone who claimed you were perfect a damn liar,” Ikkaku said with a grin. She didn’t even claim Law was perfect. Well, ok, sometimes, but that was usually when she was in peek fangirl mode and only to other people. In private, she was brutally honest when she thought her captain was being a moron, and she assumed Whitebeard’s sons weren’t much different.

At least, she’d heard Marco scold him for not taking better care of his health, so clearly someone wasn’t afraid of reminding the great Edward Newgate he was human.

Pushing away from the railing, she took a seat near the base of the throne. The beeping of medical equipment reminded her of Law’s operatory, and she made a mental note to give the machines a good checking over later. Whitebeard’s days might be finite, but she refused to let the world lose him a second sooner than necessary if she could help it. Especially now that she’d finally ended up on his ship, just like Gramps had always said she would.

“Honestly, he really did want to settle down and enjoy a peaceful life,” she explained, thinking back on Tomasu’s post-smuggling career. “He told me that he’d been looking forward to finally enjoying the fruit of his labors and actually getting to spend his golden years with my grandma. But he only got two before she was taken away.” The Siren Plague that had driven nearly a fourth of the population of Joras to madness had claimed Arashi as well. Grief had claimed her grandfather for the next year, moonshine becoming his only real companion until the fateful night he’d rescued her from certain death. That had cleaned up his act quickly. Ikkaku had reminded him that his family hadn’t ended with his wife, and even with his now-grown granddaughter out at sea, she doubted he’d reverted to his old ways. Not when he had her letters to look forward to, along with articles about the Heart Pirates’ exploits in the paper.

She laughed at Whitebeard’s declaration that he would haunt Joras. That island had plenty of ghosts, but she’d probably have welcomed his. Might put the others in their place. “Gramps always wanted me to get off that rock. Made it clear if I didn’t run off to become a pirate or sailor or something, he would have thrown me in the lobster boat and dumped me on your ship himself!”

Wouldn’t that have been a sight to see? A small little lobster boat boldly sailing up to the Moby Dick, a grizzled old man yelling up at the deck for Whitebeard to show his face and make good on his promise. Ikkaku had no doubt that the World’s Strongest Man would laugh at his audacity and invite him up for a drink.

Eyes twinkling with mischief, Ikkaku asked, “Did you ever try any of Gramps’ moonshine? Potent stuff. I brew some once in a while, but Law doesn’t really let us drink it; we use it for emergency fuel sometimes or to sterilize wounds.”

     What easy tales they were to believe, those of grandeur and fancy. Word and reputation were spread throughout the world in a raging torrent. No wave of change was ever subtle, and it was but one of many things that made this life of piracy even more enticing. He shook the world. In youth, in mere passing, there were whispers and stray tall tales. But the most mundane person could leave a lasting impression behind. It took but a word, an action, the smallest bit of hope and determination, to bring a tide of change. Even if the world painted him exemplary, everyone was capable of being the same. Truly, Edward would always stand by his mortality. ❝ Perfection doesn’t exist, ❞ stated simply, quickly shifting from blunt to cheeky, ❝ but if it did, my family would be as close as it gets. I’m sure as hell not an example. ❞

     Age gripped his skin, his bones; every second was another closer to the end of an era and the beginning of another. For a moment the feeling of tubes within nostrils becomes more noticeable. Funny, he so often tore them out when it became apparent. But no such instinct comes today. There is enough comfort in nostalgia to stem the sensation. As much as one accepted the inevitable end, there were far too many things left to assure and make certain of to let death take him now.

     ❝ It’s never that simple. ❞ A sadness in a solemn voice. To settle was a dream few rapscallions could ever see through. The government’s fist was one of iron, unrelenting and insistent. Where they did not hound perceived injustice, biting at heels until one caved, harsh realities and dangers laid claim to them. Even the purest heart did not escape such cruelty. ❝ Life gives as much as it takes. We’re always vying for the simplest of things. Hard as a man tries, there are some things we can’t avoid. ❞ Disaster and death were but the beginning of things far worse. ❝ After everything he did, upright or deplorable, he didn’t deserve it. I can only imagine his lament. ❞

     And for the moment, he does ─ and he feels it as deeply as he did the loss of his own. But it ends with a spark of optimism, laughter in commemoration of something better. Sorrow only filled out the hollow space that was not consumed by bellowing happiness. It is why his laugh reverberates and rumbles, shakes the whole deck and more. There were far too many grand things in this world to dwell on the worst of them. Joy was always overflowing somewhere. With his influence, her enthusiasm, their history, he would make this that place.

Ever the .. optimist Jinji loads himself with enough supplies that it’s maybe just a little bit hard to see over the crates and boxes. Thinking it would be fine ( and he absolutely refused to make two trips. ) The walk from his current home to the pier was too long and this was a project he was far too excited to start working on, it just made sense to him. He should have known better. He figures this is what his sister meant when she called him an idiot. A little too ambitious for his own good… 

It’s no fault but his own that he tumbles into a few little ones, the excitable shouting of children meet his ears when his own shuffling feet fail to keep himself up. It’s not as bad as it could have been but his things do get knocked around and he ends up on his behind, a surprised noise dropping from him as he hits the ground. By the time he gets his bearings, dusting off his knees, there is a hand being offered to him by, in his opinion, an interesting looking person. The change in posture and features is subtle, tanned cheeks darken in color and heavy brows raise just a little. 

His hands are worn from his years in the shipyard and then even more on the sea. It’s not something he thinks about until there’s a hand in front of him, offering him help up. It’s a brief second, just a small thought until he’s on his feet and rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, gratitude already on his tongue. “Thanks!  Usually I’m better at looking where I’m goin’ but I guess I just wasn’t payin’ attention this time.” He turns to his things and begins stacking, offering a smile the other’s way as he hefts it all on his shoulder. “They didn’t get you did they?”  

     There was many a peculiar thing in this life; one filled with those bearing intriguing qualities and those that flocked to them. It was not out of the ordinary that they garnered such attention, especially from those still sheltered from the hate of the world. Eden hears not their audible surprise, but feels the horde of footsteps against the ground, stopping still for a time and leaving when their attention quickly falters. Even when they sought to remain inconspicuous, there was always something that drew eyes upon them. No binding would ever fully hide their wings from view ─ especially not when the attention, for once positive and not full of uncertainty, flitted ear feathers about in uncontrolled expression. It was pleasant, but it did not come without a cost.

     Eyes follow as steps begin to fade, only to bring with it another force as grown feet begin to shuffle, and they watch as the other promptly struggles under the brief attention and falls. Happiness snaps to mild concern, the likes of which ignore the risk of tripping over long robes in the process of rushing up to offer help. It seemed these occurrences were far more common than they cared them to be, disrupting the peace of the public in some way by simply existing. But they ignore the thought in favor of something that actually matters, hand held out and readily standing to assist right after. Witnessing the fall, feeling it, surely it had not been comfortable, even if it had been mostly salvaged on the way down. So what a relief it was that he recovers and speaks to them, seemingly unbothered by the event.

      “ Why would I care who can see me, hm? ”

      Loki barely moved, perhaps they even sunk back a little further, their back against the wall in a comforting notion despite the cold that would be present as soon as the sun had left. The silence the two shared however briefly was far better than hearing more words from anyone. They would always prefer a silent conversation, one that spoke with the eye more than the tongue. They could never reach that peace forever though, could they?

      With a slouch, they finally leaned forward, hands on their knees as they glanced around then up towards the man of stone. Their voice was clear despite their lazy posture. Clear and commanding, they didn’t need to follow the rules of a half baked family of pirates masquerading as kings. The blood in their veins–one of their veins–did nothing to gain their respect. As if they had any in the first place.

      “ If I return, or move at all, I will do it at my own rule, at my own leisure. ”

     ❝ Your rule has no power here. ❞

     What a burden mercy was; what an unnecessary weight to heft around. It’s a wonder that such patience still held day by day, beaten and broken as it was. The feeling strains the skin, scuffs harsher than aged stone, worn thinner with every breath. Very little was more insufferable than being restrained. But Pica was no fool. He did not allow himself to speak only to invalidate his voice.