"Reality is often cruel to those who dream, as how the seas, too, are often cruel to those who call themselves pirates."
A seasoned merchant of the New World drifts in the weakest sea of all, and finds a dream in the form of Luffy, adventures, and p...
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OR, those who will take the seas by storm
You're not too sure how you ended up here.
I mean, you could probably relate that sentence in every part of your life, statistically speaking without the statistics.
But...
"Hellooo? Seas? Where are yooou?!"
...You really don't know how you got in this situation.
Ducked behind a stack of crates hidden away in an alleyway between two houses like a homeless person who's had a little too much weed, you cautiously peered over the crate. The reason why you're hiding takes in the form of one rubber boy with an old straw hat and a scar under his eye.
"How long is he gonna keep this up..?" You sweatdrop when he looks under a barrel that was peacefully resting on the side of the tavern, as if by some sort of miracle he'd find you there. "...does he seriously think I'm under that?"
Wasn't the boy's name...Buffy? Muffin? Guppy?
You hoped it was one of those. You did, kinda, said that your name was The Child of the Seas and nothing else, and he wasn't having any of that. He opted to call you Seas, not like you cared enough to correct him.
There are a couple of shuffles that comes from behind you, announcing the presence of someone before they even spoke. You turned around, sweat already running down your forehead, ready to shush the person-
"Oh, Seas? What are you doing?"
You faceplamed.
"...you idiot..."
"Seas!" The crates that were shielding you from your imminent doom break in one go as Guppy lands next to you. He looks like he was about to say something important but you were having none of it.
"Hey," so you greet before promptly decking it.
Shouts of indignant and annoyance reach your ears but you turned a corner before an elongated pair of arms could even touch your shoulders.
"Be my nakama!"
"No!"
- ❐ -
You hummed, grabbing a paper from the stack that almost reached your elbows from the ground up, to read the information the delightful tavern owner wrote down for you.
"This everything?" Your other hand reaches for the plate of hot potatoes. The old man nods as he puts down another stack of papers on a nearby table.
"Every last one of them, from the very first purchase and to the very last under the name of Vern Province."
You swipe the oil on your pants from the potato after eating it. "Thanks, Delancy."
"It's Quincy."
"What I said." You leaned on the table, looking at the two stacks from the side of your eye. Delancy looks out of place inside the tent you've made your own in the past few days, courtesy of the islanders you've saved.
