Seas of Change

Artist Credit: Tanba Niwa harbordoc - a Human/Fish-woman One Piece OC, written by cereal: CARRD

Underground Doctor/Marine deserter based in Sabaody, 21+ only

The saga and stresses of Doctor Laroche Marina—ex-Marine with an unfortunate name—as she does her best amidst the chaos of Sabaody Archipelago.

Low-cost clinic now accepting new patients. Payment plans accepted. Ask about free pie for children. CURRENTLY OUT OF PIE

CLIENTS: NO WEAPONS, ALCOHOL, OR SMOKING INSIDE THE BUILDING. FIGHTING IS PROHIBITED 8=====D 8=====D

NO VANDALISM!!! 8=====D : )

EAT A DICK DOC

The princess watched them separate through the curtain of rain. From the position atop the rooftops, she remained completely still, kneeling against slick clay tiles while water streamed from her hood and dripped from her chin. Every instinct screamed at her to keep running and to flee deeper into the island to survive. That was what anyone sensible would do, but sensible people did not have the World Government hunting them across the seas. A flash of lightning illuminated the village below as Kaku vanished down the left side of town in a blur, and Lucci entered the alley containing her false trail. Vivi exhaled slowly through her nose as the bait had worked.

The bluenette rose into a crouch and began moving across the rooftops while the storm concealed her footsteps. The rooftops grew steeper as she crossed toward the western side of town. Several times her boots slipped on moss-covered tiles, forcing her to catch herself before sliding off entirely. Her bruised ribs screamed with every movement and her shoulders ached. Her legs felt heavier by the minute. The crash had taken far more from her than she wanted to admit, but exhaustion could wait. Ahead, she spotted Kaku and her jaw tightened. She knew what would happen if they remained here. The CP0 agents would tear this village apart searching for her. The thought made something cold settle inside her chest. A bolt of lightning split the sky as for an instant the entire village became white.

Then Vivi saw it, an old bell tower near the edge of town. Her fingers slipped beneath her soaked skirt and closed around one of the hidden seastone whips before Vivi carefully removed a small silver earring from her left ear. The woman stared at it briefly and flicked it off the rooftop. The jewelry struck stone with a small clanking sound, but the princess was already moving. A faint smile touched her lips despite the fear clawing at her stomach. She was done running and hiding. Now she was going to lay out the bait, directing the two men exactly where she wanted them.

Trying to discern fresh from old tracks grew increasingly difficult as more rain leaked from the slanted roofs and pooled into the alley. His shoes sank into the softening dirt as he glanced down narrow passages for the fugitive princess. His jacket, while not fully waterproof, did repel a good bit, keeping his clothes from sticking to him like a second skin. It was the little things he had to be thankful for in times like these.

"Where the hell could she have scampered off to?" He mumbled to himself. The townsfolk had either barricaded themselves inside from the rain or had moved to where the crash was still burning. Having survived the crash, Kaku could only assume she had still been injured and he or Lucci was close to discovering her. They needed to do it quickly or they'd have to start busting down doors. Unlike his companion, Kaku truly didn't enjoy bringing the spotlight on them. They needed to be as covert as possible and killing people, especially civilians, always left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Thunder echoed in the alley like some hidden beast stirring in its lair. Kaku listened carefully, filtering out the gurgling water and small squeaks of rodents seeking out some place dry to wait out the storm. The clink of Vivi's earring encouraged him to move swiftly. In the blink of an eye, he was at the spot, the silver glinting when

"Ugh, this is getting me nowhere!" His head swiveled around, not spotting any sign anyone had actually been through there. He looked up from under the brim of his hat, droplets of rain hitting his long nose and racing down it. A small smile spread across his face and in another blink, he was making his way to the roofs. He was reminded of his time in Water Seven, racing across the cities, practically flying as adoring citizens pointed and called out for him.

As much as he missed it, he had no choice but to follow his orders to find Vivi. A higher vantage point would be his best advantage, so long as he didn't slip on the slippery tiles.

Pretty sound reasoning to the thirteen year old, honestly. Blue wiggled when she still wasn't set down, pouting at him.

"I'm gonna scream if you don't put me down," the teen warned him. "Not a good look for a big scary pirate to be harassing a little girl, Marco." None of them knew he was basically her dad at this point, after all. To them it'd just look like a famous pirate shaking down a little girl for a handful of beri. Hardly the sort of image Whitebeard pirates were trying to present, right?

Her eyes welled up again; crying on demand was such a useful skill.

"A marine?" The muscle around his eye spasmed. Just what they needed, unnecessary trouble with the Marines. A regular civilian may not recognize him and he could act the part of an apologetic father. Every Marine knew his face and was bound to send an entire fleet after them. Reluctantly, he set her down on the ground, keeping his grip on the back of her shirt.

More yelling from behind them, men calling to one another. Thankfully, the way she'd come had been too narrow for any of the Marines to slip through, but they'd locate the wider alleyways quickly. He exhaled loudly.

"We have lunch on the ship! Thatch or any of the other chefs would cook you whatever you wanted. What could you want that they can't make?" His tone had become more irritated. "We'll talk about this later. We need to move. Now."

His fist flattened against her back, urging her down the path she'd been on when he snatched her up. A cacophony of footsteps roared up behind them, quickening when someone shouted, "Over there."

Cosima did not recoil when his hand closed around her throat. If anything, her chin lifted slightly beneath his touch, elegant and instinctively proud, as though defiance had been carved into her bones long before he had ever known her name. Her pulse beat steadily against his fingers as her pink eyes remained locked onto his without wavering even once. The goddess listened in silence, allowing him his philosophy the same way an empress might indulge a poet before an execution. Her gloved fingers brushed lightly against the place where his hand was, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her skin with almost absentminded precision. Then she laughed softly before she spoke to him. “You truly do not understand the scale of the world you inhabit,” she murmured.

Cosima turned away from him then, drifting toward the towering shelves lining the far wall. Ancient texts rested there beside records bound in leather and gold, histories carefully edited by the victors who wrote them. Her fingertips skimmed along their spines as she spoke. “You ask how many Celestials have gained immortality. Very few are even permitted to know enough to ask such a question.” A faint smile touched her lips. Cosima selected a crystal decanter from a nearby table and poured herself a measure of wine with elegant slowness. Ruby liquid shimmered in the glass like fresh blood beneath candlelight. “The Five Elders you know of are not rulers in the way the lower world imagines. They are administrators or custodians. The highest authority most people are allowed to perceive,” she said calmly, as her eyes slid toward him over the rim of her glass. “However, there is a throne. The Empty Throne is not empty, Marco.” Her voice lowered slightly, though there was no fear in it, only reverence.

Taking a long sip of her glass, she was allowing the truth to sink in about the world, as many believed that World Nobles did as they pleased, but even the divine had a hierarchy. “There exists a sovereign above the world itself. Above the Marines, Cipher Pol, above the kings who kneel at Reverie, the Celestial Dragons, and even the Elders.” The candlelight flickered faintly across her features as she spoke the name that nations would burn for hearing. “Saint Imu.” Cosima watched him carefully now, measuring his reaction with almost clinical interest. Very few outside the innermost circle of Mariejois ever learned the truth, and even fewer still survived knowing it.

“You speak to me of mortality and erosion,” she continued softly, swirling the wine within her glass. “Like waves wearing down mountains over time.” Her lips curved faintly. “However, there is a being who has sat above history itself while empires rose and vanished beneath them like sand swallowed by the tide. You think the world government persists because of walls and soldiers?” she asked quietly. “No. It persists because the world has already been shaped by a will stronger than any generation living within it.”

She took a slow sip before continuing. “The Five Elders understand this truth. My uncle understands it. Plus I accepted it long ago.” Her gaze sharpened slightly upon Marco. Another measured step carried her closer again, jewels glimmering softly with each movement. “You call us monsters because it comforts you to believe power must be unnatural.” Her voice became almost intimate then, smooth as silk drawn over steel. “Still, monsters are merely creatures standing at the top of the food chain while everything beneath them invents morality to cope.” She stopped before him once more with a smile on her face. “Tell me, Marco,” Cosima asked softly, “if Saint Imu has endured centuries while countless kings, heroes, pirates, and revolutionaries turned to dust, at what point does survival itself become divinity?” 

There had been a shift in the air, similar to the moment right before lightning tore across the sky. The intensity of it was startling, even to Marco. However, he did not bow down to it, standing firmly as he watched her gracefully stride across the vast room. The way her fingers brushed across the ancient texts was similar to the way a lover might tease their partner. Secrets hidden within their aging pages would wrap around his neck and form his noose, dare he decide to do even some light reading.

Only when she mentioned the five elders, about which even his knowledge was limited, did his resolve crack a little. A chill seeped into his chest as she spoke, her devilish eyes showing no hint of a lie.

"You're telling me this Saint Imu has been some supreme ruler?" It wasn't surprising to learn they had lied about keeping the throne empty. Giving kingdoms the facade that they had any true power was a clever way to keep them from noticing they were still playing in a child's sandbox. The demise of Ohara came to mind. Had they gotten too close to this truth? Or had they completely figured it out and the World Government silenced them before they could pull back the curtain?

God Valley came to mind next. It was where his biological father had met with Whitebeard; their stories of what transpired were disgusting. Was it just the Celestial Dragons, the elders, or Imu that had been the cause of its ultimate demise and erasure?

Bastards.

Marco remained silent, giving Cosima the chance to speak her truth, as unsettling as it was. However, a singular, grinning face came to mind, preventing his resolve from crumbling. If this Imu dared to get in the way of Luffy, Marco had no doubt that whatever divine powers may actually exist would give Luffy the strength to tear down the false sense of godhood any of these bastards had. How many times had the young man faced Death and beaten the odds? Mountains had seen empires rise and fall, but still gave way to time. There was comfort in the thought, despite how far-fetched it may be. Had he not met Luffy, he would not be as confident or steadfast in his beliefs.

Cosima was right with one point. They did rely on mortality, only it wasn't to cope, it was because they knew what it was to survive and live. How to persevere and find joy even in the most oppressive places. For now, he would continue his beliefs, just as she would continue hers.

Smiling briefly, he slowly sighed, crossing his arms. His eyes relaxed one more as he spoke.

"How about we agree to disagree. Neither one of us is going to give in to the other's ideas. I'll admit the knowledge of knowing there is someone who has been on the throne for as long as you claim is unnerving, but I have seen things you'd believe impossible come true." He offered. One good ground-shaking event could prove either point. The immortal, just like powerful men, more often than not had an unwarranted amount of confidence that left them open for the right person to knock them down from their pedestal.

He slumbered like a being who had lost all sense of time, his breaths deep and languid, his limbs occasionally twitching as if chasing dreams of racing through boundless meadows. The night enveloped them both, the stars scattered across the sky like spilled salt, uncaring of the plight of two doomed souls below.

“Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

As he sensed her presence beside him, a good soul who truly listened, he realized that nothing came. No hunters. No traps. Just the soft murmur of the island reclaiming them both, one gentle exhale at a time.

Dawn tiptoed across the meadow like spilled ink, first pooling in the dips between their bodies before climbing the gentle rise of his back. His ear twitched, once, twice, dislodging a dew-laden clover leaf that clung to the fur there. The rest of him lay still, his breathing deep enough to ruffle Sylvi’s forelock where it rested against his shoulder.

As he slowly yawned and rose, he took care not to disturb her. His muscles flexed with deliberate slowness, each movement carefully calculated to avoid shaking the ground beneath her. The dawn air was crisp, infused with the scent of moist earth and the subtle sweetness of crushed clover. He lifted his head first, nostrils flaring as he tested the breeze, no signs of humans, no acrid odor of smoke or metal. Only the pure, wild breath of the island. Then, with the grace of a shadow breaking free from stone, he stood. His hooves sank silently into the dew-kissed grass, leaving dark impressions that shimmered like scattered coins in the soft light.

“Hm, nothing.”

Gradually, he extended his legs with the unhurried elegance of a predator who had long since forgotten the thrill of the chase. His forelegs were the first to stretch out, as he yawned and shook his head; slumber was a cherished indulgence for him, yet resting on this island posed its own risks. His spine arched gently, the vertebrae cracking softly in a rhythmic sequence, reminiscent of stones settling in a riverbed. This motion startled a butterfly that had found refuge in the hollow of his shoulder blades; it soared upward in a flurry of cobalt wings, dispersing pollen that glimmered in the dawn light like specks of golden dust.

"Time to rise."

As he loomed over her, his shadow elongated and thinned across the dew-kissed grass. The morning light bathed her white coat in delicate shades of pink and gold, transforming her from a fierce warrior into a figure seemingly carved from the very essence of morning mist. He nudged her gently with his muzzle, just once, enough to ruffle the loose strands of her mane. She remained asleep. His nostrils flared, inhaling the scent of crushed clover and the warmth of her fur. For a fleeting moment, he contemplated leaving her behind. But then he stomped his hoof down.

"Come on, we need water, food, and then I must show you the island, and reveal what we are up against; two heads are better than one, and working together... well, it might just be the key."

Dusk faded into the dark of night, then bloomed into dawn with vibrant purples, pinks, and blues smears. Low-hanging clouds soaked in the colors like colorful sponges as the first rays of the sun reached out for his fleeing partner. The moon died, disappearing on the horizon so that her fiery love could breathe life into the world.

Sylvi, lulled by the moon and stars' silent melodies, didn't budge. The warmth of Killingham's body went unnoticed. Had he chosen to leave, she would have never known until the hungry cries of bird hatchlings diminished to soft ballads of their parents. She only stirred when Killingham's demand pierced her dreams like a dark arrow.

Rise.

Her eyes fluttered, sleep trying with clawed hands to pull her back under its comforting blanket. The meadow was a cacophony of cool blues and greens that whirled around in her vision. Sylvi's ears flicked in different directions as she raised her head. Crickets and tree frogs were giving their final encores as the morning mist began to evaporate. A few rogue wisps rose from the grass as though the earth beneath was on fire.

"Mm, I'm up," her voice groggy. Slowly, Sylvi rose, dew glittering on her back like fallen stars. She looked at Killingham and judged he was far enough away to shake the minuscule droplets from her pelt. The muscles beneath her shimmering pelt flexed and stretched with each languid motion.

"Did you sleep okay?" She asked, still struggling to keep her eyes open. With the swish of her long tail, she started walking, leaving small grooves in the damp ground. "Do you think we'll be able to get off the island?"

What then? Would they be able to transform back or was there something else keeping them in this form? Surely there had to be if they were being rounded up and taken away. Sylvi turned to look at him, his dark coat shining like obsidian in the morning light. It was dazzling, the yellow of his mane and tail a striking contrast.

Onuris stared as his grip loosened fractionally in the shimmering mane as his mind struggled to reconcile what his ears had just heard with what his eyes were seeing. The voice had been unmistakably real. The creature’s silver eyes remained fixed on him over its shoulder, ears pinned halfway back as water dripped from its immaculate coat. The horn upon its brow glimmered softly through the mist hanging above the stream. “You…” he began, but then stopped his mouth closed before he finished his sentence. “…speak.” His dark eyes narrowed as though studying some impossible puzzle. The man had heard every tale he had ever heard; suddenly, it resurfaced in his memory. Forest spirits, divine beasts, messengers of forgotten gods, tricksters that lured travelers into enchanted glades, and devilfruit users. None of those stories had prepared him for the reality of standing knee-deep in a stream while being politely reprimanded by a unicorn. His expression twisted somewhere between amazement and disbelief. “What are you?”

The ravenette finally released her mane and swung himself down from her back. Water splashed around his legs as he landed in the creek. He immediately stepped backward, putting a respectful distance between them. The sword in his hand remained pointed harmlessly toward the ground. “My apologies. I thought you were a horse.” His voice carried genuine sincerity as his gaze drifted to the spiraled horn. The forest remained quiet around them and somewhere overhead, a bird called once before falling silent again. Onuris rubbed the back of his neck. In battle, he could react to ambushes, monsters, and armies without hesitation. Yet somehow a courteous unicorn had reduced him to stumbling over his own thoughts.

“I have traveled through deserts, crossed mountains, fought raiders, mercenaries, and creatures most people insist do not exist, but this is a first.” A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. The male planted the butt of his sword into the creek bed and rested his hands upon it. His eyes met hers once more, curiosity burning brighter than caution. “So are all unicorns capable of speech, or am I having an unusually strange day?” The man was trying to be cautious as he wanted to try to get more information out from the creature, as he believed it to be a devil fruit user. However, his suspicions could always be wrong as well.

Patience was a virtue she had been born with, so she held no contempt when the strange man gawked at her for a moment. Peculiarly, Sylvi gave her best attempt at a smile in her current form. As he slid off, she lowered her head to his eye level when she slowly turned to face him. There was something about his eyes that drew her attention, something hidden she couldn't quite make out. With slow, long blinks, she ruminated over his question.

What was she? A horse, of course! No, not even close, but perhaps it would be best if she remained that way. At least as a unicorn, she could be chopped up to be a figment of a wild imagination. A mythic zoan devil fruit user? Well, that was bound to get her into trouble, especially if she revealed the healing factor. People always begged to have their pain taken away and how could she ever say no when it would only be temporary for her? She could lie, but she had only ever lied once in her life, that she could remember, and even then, it felt as though a slime had covered her body. The truth then. At least some of it.

"Well, currently, I am a unicorn, which could be classified as a horse." Again, she attempted a small smile with her equine mouth. It must've been silly looking, considering horses couldn't smile, not really. More questions came, giving her more time to dwell on just how much she would day.

"Another traveler?" Her ears perked up, both swiveling toward him. "You sound rather experienced. Have you been doing it all on your own?" She took a step forward before relaxing her ears, both turning to the sides, listening to the babble of the creek and the rustling of small rodents shifting through the fallen leaves. Now or never.

"I fear your strange day isn't so strange. Not unless you've never come across a devil fruit user." Steeling herself, Sylvi transformed into her true self.

Like a dynamite fuse, her tail fizzled away until nothing remained, while her hooves split and grew into human hands, her nails the same silver. The long face squished back into a pale human face with the same heavy-lidded brown eyes. Sylvi stood tall, her heels sinking into the soft bank as she adjusted the black beanie on her mulberry and blue hair.

"Sorry if I ruined any childhood hopes of meeting an actual unicorn," she laughed softly. "I'm Sylvi, a devil fruit user, as you can see. Though if I ever met a real unicorn, I'd like to think they could talk as well."

Lucky for Marco that this is not the first time Thea has dug seastone bullets out of someone or even herself, really. She had dropped the offending scrap into a pouch and now was wiping blood off her hands with a handkerchief, watching as the flicker of azure flames race over his skin and seal the wound. That was quick, she made a mental note of what rate his regeneration worked at.

Violet gaze flickers up to his face and her pensive expression softens into a gentle smile, "I am fine, you were the one here with a bullet in the chest." The soiled kerchief is stuffed into another pocket and she rests back on her heels in a kneel, in no apparent rush to leave when there is an opportunity to have a conversation.

"Well, digging bullets out of a stranger isn't typically something I'd expect most people to be alright with," Marco smiled. He watched her carefully, curious as to what she'd do with the bullets, but not enough to inquire further. His brows lifted briefly at the mention of her ship. There had been rumors about thieves stealing smaller vessels for one reason or another. One from Water 7 would certainly be prized for anyone looking to resell it.

Still smiling, Marco pushed himself off the ground. After dusting his hands on his pants, he offered one to help the young woman stand as well. While there was no rush, he had no desire to remain out in the open when there was a marine ship still patrolling the shores for him.

"Don't have a ship myself, but if you're okay with height, then I can get us to the next island in a flash." He assured. "I heard some of the villagers talking about boat thieves. Helping you get your ship back is the least I can do for thanks."

Stella stared at the handkerchief for a moment before taking it from him carefully, as though the white fabric itself might bite. The embroidered letter disappeared beneath crimson almost immediately when she pressed it to her cheek. Behind them, the guards finally lurched into motion as boots scraped against marble and one man dropped to his knees beside the broken stranger while another barked into a transponder for medical staff. None of them looked directly at Lucci, and Stella noticed that too. They avoided his eyes the same way prey avoided the gaze of something waiting in tall grass.

Her fingers curled around the stained handkerchief. “You apologize, but you don’t sound sorry,” she said softly, though the softness carried an edge now, something strained thin.  The lounge doors at the end of the corridor trembled faintly from the bass of the music beyond them. Laughter still existed out there, dancing, and glasses clinking together. An entirely different world from this narrow hallway painted in blood.

Stella lifted her eyes back to him fully. A red smear stained the underside of his jaw where her fingers had yanked his beard. “You looked happy,” she whispered before she could stop herself. The words settled heavily between them. The injured man gave another wet cough somewhere near Lucci’s feet, dragging Stella abruptly back to herself. She exhaled shakily and stepped around the spreading pool of blood, heels clicking carefully now. Her pulse still hadn’t slowed, and she could hear it behind her ears. When she reached Lucci’s side again, closer this time, she lowered her voice enough that the guards would not hear.

“I know your job is to protect me,” she murmured. “However, if that man dies, everyone here will talk. They’ll say you lost control and they’ll blame me for it too.” Her gaze flickered briefly toward his bloodied knuckles before returning to his face. The blonde swallowed and reached for his wrist before she could reconsider it. Her fingers rested lightly against the hand still spotted with fresh blood. The contrast against her pale skin looked obscene. “Come with me,” she said quietly. “Before someone sees you like this.”

Stella was a brave woman, staring at him despite the suffering he had inflicted on the man. Most would have screamed by now, backed into a corner like a rabbit seeing the jaws of a starving fox. She'd even gone so far as to grab him by his beard, a crime not anyone could commit. Woman or not, the transgression had been filed away.

"Would you prefer me not to say anything next time?" He asked, the corner of his lip twitching as he held back a condescending smirk. It was annoying enough to have to apologize for something he clearly enjoyed. Requiring him to add feelings to his lies was an abysmal possibility that'd never come to fruition, no matter how badly she or anyone else wanted him to. Perhaps Hattori would have done a better job. Thinking of his beloved companion, the pigeon that had been perched on the frame of a door in the hall fluttered down to take his place on Lucci's shoulder.

Lucci kept his eyes on Stella, ignoring the men that shriveled around him, afraid to capture his gaze. As for the man, it took a considerable amount of restraint to not finish him off; his choking an annoyance to his ears. It would have been kinder to just end his suffering, but he didn't act further until Stella approached him.

"The concerns and thoughts of your fans do not bother me. That man's death can easily be erased or written off as an unfortunate accident. I highly doubt any working for you would speak a word about it." That was, if they valued their lives, they wouldn't. "The only blame you'd have to bear is that of your fame turning degenerates into bold perpetrators."

His eyes widened briefly at the touch of her hand on his. The touch was as light as a butterfly's wing brushing over his bloodied knuckles. With her fingertips stained red, he withdrew his hand beneath the jacket resting over his shoulders.

"Your concerns are appreciated, but tending to my hands is not your duty. If you're worried about what others may think, I can assure you, no one will see my hands that may raise any unnecessary questions." He said. He could still hear the phantom warmth of her touch. Even his fellow CP agents kept their hands to themselves except under rare circumstances. This was unprecedented with someone outside of them.