Have you ever wanted to enter the one piece world? Maybe you want to be friends with the strawhats, or the heart pirates? Perhaps you'd rather be dating one of them, or all of them!! Here you can do that, feel free to send in requests in my request...
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A/N: Okay so I'm probably starting a Pomp hate club at this point, because I HATE THAT GUY, so enjoy him being evil, and Killer being cute, and weird laughs (I personally have a cackle, and love weird laughs)!!
The morning came in grey and salt heavy, with a haze that clung to the Victoria Punk as though it hadn't yet decided whether to burn off into sunshine or curdle into rain, but either way you'd claimed a spot near the starboard rail with a coil of rope thick as your forearm and a bucket of tar that stank enough to make your eyes water if you leaned too close.
It was miserable work, honestly, sticky, slow and the kind of task that left your hands stained for days no matter how hard you scrubbed them, but you didn't mind it the way some of the others did.
There was something quite meditative about it once you'd found your rhythm, working the tar into the fibres, watching the rope become seaworthy for the rigging beneath your palms.
Not far off, close enough that you could hear the occasional scrape of metal, Killer sat with his scythes laid across his knees, running a whetted rag along the curve of each blade with an ease that made you think he could've done it blind.
He didn't speak in excessive amounts, but he still had a way of occupying a space and making it feel less empty simply by being around. You'd never told a soul, but truly you admired him.. perhaps your feelings could even be named more than that.
Quincy came through, on her way back from the galley to likely get started on her own morning chores, she paused when she spotted you hunched over your work.
"You're making that look easy" she called over, pulling you from your thoughts. "And I know for a fact it isn't, because I did it once and hated it". You glanced up at her and grinned, wiping your hands on the cloth beside you. "It's not that bad once you get into it. You just have to stop thinking about how much it smells".
"That's the part I could never get past". She wrinkled her nose, then tilted her head as she looked you over, taking in the state of your hands and the little constellation of tar spots across your trousers. "You're always the one handed this job to, you know that? I think the boss just likes watching you suffer".
"I think he just likes that I don't complain about it" you shot back. "Someone's got to do it, and apparently that someone's me". Quincy hummed thoughtfully, shifting her basket again, and a slow, delighted smile spread across her face as something clicked behind her eyes.
"You know what you are? You're tarrific". She let the pun hang there for half a second, clearly pleased with herself, then broke into laughter before you could even process the pun, a bright, easy sound that carried across the deck.
You laughed too, immediately and helplessly, because that was what you did. The sound came out of you loud and a little uneven, cracking somewhere in the middle the way it always did, half bark and half wheeze, something that didn't sound as though it belonged in a normal person's throat.
