It was as if a toy box had spilled its contents onto the streets of the island. As the sun set, more and more people crowded the warmly lit alleyways, dressed as jesters, queens, devils–-really any costume that was sparkly, colorful, or adorned with enough bells and jewels to clink with every step.
And then of course, there were the masks.
It made for a strange sight: a street full of laughter and shouts, and yet every mouth was frozen shut, curved into an archaic smile or exaggerated frown. Cutting through a cobblestone sidestreet, you watched a man with a curling mask like the moon sling his arm around a giggling woman with the face of a sun, pink daubed on its golden cheeks and pouting lips.
Honestly, not being able to see people's faces put you on edge. As a seasoned marine, you were accustomed to looking out for danger, monitoring every detail of your environment subconsciously. However, you couldn't do that here, where showy outfits obscured people's movements and smooth masks hid their intentions: it was carnival on the Sun Faruta Island, and people had come in droves to enjoy the festival of debauchery. It was the first night, though the full celebration would last a week. Every hour the sea train brought more visitors, already drunk, masks shoved carelessly on their faces. With shouts, they descended upon the island, surging into the taverns, rowing along the waterways, and stealing into parties in crumbling, candle-lit houses. There was a breathless, manic crackle to the air, like anything could happen.
Surveying the churn of people, you figured most of the visitors were from the nearby city of Waters Seven, since it was just one stop away on the sea train.
Carpenters and pirates. You thought to yourself grimly. Not exactly a tame bunch.
The possibility of pirates, combined with the booze, masks, sex, and wild abandon of carnival made you antsy. You didn't like the overcrowded, winding lanes. To most they were charming, but to you, they were difficult-to-reach places where a gun or knife fight would quickly turn deadly and bystanders would doubtless be hurt, or worse, killed.
Without thinking, you engaged your observation haki. Melding with the mass of people, you let many conversations wash over you at once, your ears attuned to any shouts or angry words. Out of the corner of your eye, you sized up a man who had a hand suspiciously fumbling under his cloak. After a tense moment, he pulled out a bottle of wine he appeared to have stashed in his waistband. With a flourish, he tossed it to another reveler, who laughed and held it up like a trophy. Immediately, you dropped them from your peripheral vision and looked for other possible threats. Even as you nudged your way around a juggler and wove through a group of women dressed as a shimmering school of fish, you kept one hand on the cool, solid hilt of your weapon, which provided a sense of assurance.
Then you realized what you were doing, and taking a breath, forced your jaw to relax.
You were here to take a break from work, not police an entire island. It was important to loosen up a bit.
A drink would help with that. A cheeky voice sounded in your mind. With a rueful shake of your head, you acknowledged that it had been a while since you had gotten properly drunk, and so it was time to find a restaurant and sit down for a good meal. Mechanically, you removed your hand from your weapon and pulled your lips into a smile, trying to act like a normal civilian. It was a bit depressing how foreign the expression felt on your face.
The problem was, for the past few months you had been tracking Firefist Ace, the new second division commander of the Whitebeard pirates. He had made the officer responsible for the job before you quit, and so they had selected you, likely because they couldn't spare anyone actually useful at the moment.
For some reason, rumor was that someone at HQ had become obsessed with finding him. More specific, well-informed rumors insisted that this person was Admiral Akainu, someone who frankly scared the shit out of you. While Firefist Ace was certainly powerful and had snubbed the Marines somewhat recently by refusing to become a Warlord, it didn't entirely make sense why you were hunting him down. Even for a captain like you, there were better uses of your time, like saving people's lives. It wasn't glamorous, but in your experience, the worst atrocities were often being committed in the middle of nowhere, in peaceful areas, where pirates could run amok relatively unchallenged and unreported on, kidnapping, stealing, and murdering as much as they liked. Many of your colleagues itched to get out of the backwaters and fight with more sophisticated enemies, but you just wanted to help people.
