Chapter Text
Worn leather and the smell of salt water called to you just as it had done every morning since you found a discarded journal washed up on the beach. Sitting at the small wooden table in the kitchen you rearranged the paintbrushes on the table, smiling at the empty vase. It needed flowers. Fragile water-stained pages greeted you as you flipped to the page you were forced to end on as the sun dimmed and sleep made your eyes heavy. Scrawling deep blue ink pulled you in like the waves drowning out the world. You devoured the story as if it were fiction, but every page was headed with a date. There were mentions of real islands you’ve heard of in passing or read on a map.
He detailed his daily life down to the act of breathing in large looping letters. He was eccentric and charismatic, an entertainer from what you could gather. A circus performer who traveled with a troupe on the open ocean. From town to town, you could practically feel his excitement with each flashy performance. As detailed as he was there were major pieces missing, most importantly his name. You had skimmed every page for the last month hoping to find a name, an initial, or some sort of insignia at the very least.
Turning the page, you felt goosebumps rise on your arms. As if a cool breeze had made its way through your small home. The perfectly looped letters you found comfort in swayed and deflated. The writing was erratic and frantic. Broken sentences that never went anywhere ran together. It was as if another man ran in and wrote in the same blue ink every thought they’d ever had before being chased off. The man never recognized the strange scribblings choosing to embrace a new dawn.
Frowning you turned the page skipping over the hardly legible smudges. The paper crinkled as the looping sea blue letters returned. Still the words were different, the story you found yourself in as the morning sun rose higher was somber. He wrote about losing his way chasing a dream that he never deserved. That the sharks that lurked beneath the waves had made their way onto his ship. The fear behind his words were palpable piercing worry into your heart. Looking at the bottom of the page you realized it was the first time he hadn’t filled the page to the brim.
You were afraid to breathe, to move forward. To read of a man so sure of himself and his success suddenly crumble. Your mind was spinning. Was he being threatened? Was the show in danger? You bit your lower lip; how did the journal even end up on your small stretch of beach?
Your transponder snail started singing from the countertop and you snapped the journal shut. For once glad to be pulled away from the daydream you went to answer reality’s call. \
“Good morning,” A voice chirped from the other end before you could speak, “Your shipment is ready for pick up.”
You beamed nodding to the snail that brought good news, “Thanks Coby. Expect me soon!”
The call ended and your day had started. You pushed open the shutters on the window letting the salty air in. Clouds still hung in the sky like cotton. You lived a good twenty minutes from the rest of town. It was perfect for concentrating on work. Though it wasn’t like your town was bustling by any means. Not compared to the stories you heard deckhands swap on the dock while they unloaded cargo.
You started a fire in the small opening at the heart of the oven. While the burners warmed you walked three large steps to your room picking the last clean clothes you had. Laundry day had been put on hold due to a storm. You made a mental note to check the beach for seashells later. Storms always kicked up the most beautiful shells.
Breakfast was plain and you wished you had some sort of cooking skills as you took the last mouthful of bland eggs.
Walking to the newly built marine base you kept glancing up watching the dark clouds shift through the sky. A cool breeze picked up and you watched the waves crash harshly against the sand. It seemed like another storm was on its way to making landfall. You picked up at a brisk pace. Storms sent anxiety piercing through your chest.
The marine base was built a month back bringing more traffic to your port. Apparently, there was an important resource or strategic reason for it. It didn’t matter much, it brought people, sailors, explorers, and best of all no pirates had attacked in months. It also brought convenience.
You beamed walking in the front door, “Morning Coby!” You waved.
Coby smiled nodding to acknowledge you. He was a shy man, but as friendly as a marine could get.
“Let’s see the goods,” You leaned against the desk Coby worked at.
“Do you need help taking this home?” Koby pushed up his round purple glasses before producing a large canvas. He set it gingerly on the desk.
You shook your head, “As long as I beat the rain, I’ll be fine.”
Coby put two more stark white canvases on the counter, “They seem heavy.”
You waved him off, “I’ve been practicing just for this.”
“If you’re sure,” Coby’s voice wobbled you could tell how much he wanted to help, “Oh!” He perked up, “If you think you have time, read any more of that old journal?”
You’d been keeping Coby up to date since you found the worn book. He’d been just as enamored as you by the life of a sea fairing performer. He was probably the only person who would care, and not assume you were delusional. Pouring through the pages of a stranger convinced you knew them. You thought back to the pages you saw that morning. Messy and sad. That’s when they felt the strangest.
“He mentioned pirates,” You nodded, and he had in the earlier pages of the morning. You leaned in close over the desk, “He described them like fishmen! They ruined his show!” You tricked yourself, easing your own anxieties.
The loud crunch echoed through the lobby. Once, twice, you turned around on the third time. A marine in a baseball cap was updating wanted posters on a large corkboard. It hung against the far wall in the corner where the sun streaming through the front door wouldn’t hit it. A shadowy spot where bounty hunters could peruse their quarry in peace. People in town who chose to ignore the idea of pirates could also walk past the board and never notice the wanted posters growing by the day.
Looking back over at Coby you watched his gray eyes scan the board certain he couldn’t see from his spot.
“Do you want me to check?” You whispered, “I can take it down.”
Coby’s head snapped towards you, his eyes wide as if you shouldn’t have known his secret. He always acted so shocked as if he never told you. Piss drunk at a bar grasping a piece of worn paper in his fist as if his life depended on it. You watched him hurl it into the waves, his eyes cloudy until it was swallowed by the surf. You knew he couldn’t answer your question, but you already knew the answer.
Still leaning against the counter, you glanced between Coby and the marine hanging the posters. When the marine ran out of papers he walked into a very locked very important-looking door.
“I should really keep myself informed on all the scary pirates out there. I do live on my own near the ocean.” You pushed away from the counter.
“Wait,” Coby called out.
You were already on your way over.
Standing in front of the cork board your eyes wandered over the faces of strangers the world deemed evil with no question. Men and women, some grinning with satisfaction while others sneered. The life of a pirate sounded exhausting running and hiding. High risk with rewards only for the extremely lucky or ruthless. Yet you stood there looking at faces that would slit your throat for a gold piece until your eyes fell on a wide grin in a straw hat. Grabbing the rough paper, you ripped it off the board.
The face beaming back at you was surprisingly a friend of Coby’s, you weren’t sure how a marine became a friend with a pirate. The only time Koby spoke about it he slurred his way through the story. Now when you ask, he says it’s ancient history, just that Luffy didn’t deserve to be hunted or feared. As a precaution, Coby tore his wanted poster off the board whenever it was put up. He’d do it in the dead of night. You figured you’d assist with the effort.
Coby hated pirates, you could practically see the blood boiling behind his eyes when he told you about attacks on neighboring islands. That rage had never been there when he spoke of Luffy, you trusted Coby knew something you didn’t. So, you shoved the wanted poster in your pocket until you could toss it out to sea.
Turning to leave you pause your eyes stop captured by a large red spot on one the wanted posters. Looking closer you realize it’s a big red nose, a clown nose. You frown pulling the poster off the board and getting a better look at the wanted clown. He had bright blue triangles painted around his eyes and red smeared in a smile across his face. He had striking blue hair that fell around his face barely contained by a large orange hat. You kept going back to his eyes. His eyes were as green as the churning waves of a storm at sea. The gaze on the poster gave you goosebumps. It felt as if he was looking for you.
Taking in the odd wanted poster you wandered back over to the front desk. You rolled the paper in between your fingers, maybe the material was different?
“You didn’t have to do that,” Coby whispered, “But thanks.”
“No problem,” You set the wanted poster of the clown down the marbled countertop, “Is this some kind of ad?”
Coby cocked his head to the side, his round purple glasses sliding down his nose. He pushed them up, “Are you kidding?”
You shook your head, “Is it not a joke?”
Coby raised a brow, “You’ve seriously never heard of Captain Buggy? Of the Buggy Pirates.”
“Not ringing a bell, he must not be a very good pirate,” You shrugged.
Thunder rumbled overhead and you remembered the time crunch mother nature had put you on.
“I gotta go,” You hastily collected the large canvases regretting declining Coby’s help. They were heavy, but it was too late now.
Rushing home, you kept glancing up at the swirling clouds cursing silently to the heavens. Mother nature had thrown off your whole day. You grumbled under your breath hoping she would stir up beautiful shells and bring them to shore. It was the least she could do. Looking out to the churning waves your thoughts flickered back to the wanted poster. His eyes really did look like the warning of a storm rolling in. Your face screwed into disgust as you shook your head. Where that thought came from you couldn’t imagine.
Closing the sturdy wooden shutters, you jumped as thunder rolled across the sky. A streak of lighting made you close your eyes as the flash burned into your mind. Suddenly the sky opened, and rain fell in heavy torrents upon your roof. You were mindful checking for leaks in your rough roof patch jobs. You promised yourself one day you’d find someone who knew their way around carpentry. Peeking through the slats of the shutters you saw the wind carrying small wooden debris from the beach and stray palm leaves.
Confident in your home’s ability to withstand another storm, you stoked the fire in your oven and set a pot of water on the burner. While the water warmed you figured there was no better day to work than a wet one. Trapped inside with your thoughts you looked at the kitchen table where you left the journal that morning. You picked up the journal and a brand-new canvas walking into your workroom.
The room had plants of all shapes and sizes lining the walls. Some were small and confined to their own pot while others were sprawling and climbing up the wood frame. Some were purely green leaves and others had colorful blooming flowers adorning every inch of them. In the middle sat an empty easel with a small worktable to the side. The table was covered in paints and paint. You found the cleanest spot to place the worn journal and the fear of getting a single drop of paint made you wonder if you should have left it in the kitchen. Securing the brand-new canvas to the easel you stood before the blank expanse and closed your eyes. You took a deep breath inhaling the salty air that penetrated the walls of your home.
Opening your eyes, you saw it laid out before you, a circus. An enormous red and white tent emerging from the horizon on a grand ship. Crowds cheer for its arrival knowing what flashy magic was in store for them. It was the ship you pictured for numerous days lost between the descriptive swooping deep blue ink. Thunder shook your floorboards, and an ache shook your heart. Picking up your paintbrush you could see every single detail starting with the sun shining on the open sea. Yet you couldn’t picture the star. It was one thing to never give his name, but he also never described himself. Never spoke about his hair if it grew while he traveled or if he cut it. He never talked about himself in a way where you could add him to his own adventures.
Hours passed and the storm stayed rough. You set down your brushes and sat in the kitchen with your third cup of tea. Your fingers curled firmly around the warm mug. The rain continued to tap against the rooftop, you closed your eyes listening. Waves crashed against the shore. Your mind wandered to the beach which always took you back to the journal. Picturing a performance-worthy vessel complete with a crew who would do anything for their fearless captain. You sighed standing from the table, you stretched your arms high above your head groaning. Your canvas was calling it had been so long since you worked on a large piece.
Walking past the shutter you squinted between the wooden panels catching a glimpse of the beach. Checking to see if you could see the end pf the storm clouds. You watched the waves land heavy on the sand pulling the soft dunes into the surf. You pushed your face against the shutter trying to get a better look frowning. There were planks of wood. Pieces of what could have been broken battered boxes, like the shipping crates you’d seen at the dock. Watching the sea furiously spit up debris you felt your stomach drop to your feet.
Racing for the door you felt crazy, there was no way. You had to be seeing things. Pulling the door open, the wind pushed harshly against you threatening to send you tumbling back inside. Taking a step forward you swallowed harshly the wind attempting to steal your breath. Rain fell like needled cold against your skin. Gingerly you set one foot in front of the other making the small journey across the patch of grass that separated you from the sand.
It was a person, a man, lying face down in the water. He wasn’t moving. His body bobbed helplessly as water swirled around him and waves threatened to pull him back into the depths.
“Hey!” You shouted shuffling across the wet sand, “Are you okay?”
Thunder crashed and lightning raced across the sky. You sprinted screaming until you felt water. The sand was getting sucked out from under you and panic made your hands shake as you approached the unresponsive form.
It was a man.
It dawned on you, that you had to somehow move him from the water back to the safety of your home and quickly. You groaned reaching down and pushing the man hard on the shoulder.
“Please just get up,” You groaned.
He shifted and for a moment you thought that a good shove had saved the day and awoken his unconscious body.
Your celebration was short-lived as you were met with pale-looking skin. He was still bobbing in the water, but even in the chaos of the storm, you paused. The wind roared in your ears louder than the blood draining from your own face. A large stark red nose sat smack in the middle of the stranger’s face. There was no way. He was a pirate you’d never heard of until that afternoon.
The sea grew angrier with your indecision threatening to drag the man moving his body back. You bit your lip, Coby seemed to think not all pirates were bad. If you left him there, he’d die. What had he done? Was it deserved? You wished you knew more. His face was on a wanted poster, but what did that mean, so was Luffy’s. Could you walk away being the only one to know he was lost at sea? Maybe you’d be branded a hero if you said you saw the big red nose but couldn’t do a thing. Maybe you’d even get the reward money, that was tempting.
“Fuck,” You hissed, “Couldn’t you have washed up on a different beach? Or drowned under the pier?”
Shuffling in front of him you pushed the debris out of the way, he must have floated in on the wood. You watched the sea accept the brief offering. Another burst of thunder made you squeeze your eyes shut.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” You grumbled dipping your hands into the freezing water.
You snaked your hands under his arms groaning as you used the lapping waves to flip him on his back. His red nose was displayed for all to see. Slowly you dipped in lower your elbows under his arms. He was heavy. Walking backwards you prayed to any god who would listen to just let you make it inside. To keep light from illuminating the sky. You’d rather find your way in the darkness. Thunder rumbled and you couldn’t tell if the water on your face was tears or the relentless rain. This was stupid. You were going to die for a stranger.
You dragged his body through the sand, your arms burning, but you refused to slow down. You swore the sand sticking to his clothes was making it worse. Your legs shook with each step you took. Feeling the dirt at your heels relief still felt so far away. The small incline to the grass felt like a mountain. Groaning you gave the man another tug, his dead weight like lead. You were soaked to the bone with a mixture of rain, sweat, and seawater.
The front door blew open swinging forcefully on its hinges making you scream and swear. Your heart raced in your chest as the wind burned your face with the grains of sand it carried. As you dragged the man’s body into your home you wondered if the storm had opened the door or a curse.
Sitting on the floor you felt every muscle in your body cry out. You sighed eyes glued on your suddenly invited guest. Captain Buggy of the Buggy Pirates. Possibly the most feared clown on the sea, so you’ve heard. You wondered if there was any competition.
The seconds ticked by at an agonizing pace as you decided what to do next. Calling Coby crossed your mind. He was the expert in the knowing a pirate field. You didn’t know the man unconscious in your home though. You just heard drowning is a terrible way to go. What kind of pirate couldn’t swim? Especially the captain.
A deep rattling gasp pulled you from your thoughts wide eyes stared at you like an animal caught in a trap. They were fearful, and confused, his mouth twisted and contorted as he gasped again before coughing up half of the sea onto your wooden floor. You back up against the door watching him roll over taking deep ragged breaths. The pirate’s head snapped in your direction; his blue hair untamed falling into his face and pooling around his hunched shoulders. Just like the poster you felt his cold gaze look through you. The door, escape. You were certain he was planning to go through you if it meant getting away.
Pushing away from the floor Buggy stood on wobbling legs. Every step looked like it was agonizing. His face had a determination in it even when warped in discomfort. He roughly grasped the side of a small table shaking the fixture that was just as unsteady as himself. You mirrored him shaking hard, cold, wet, and afraid. Yet you stayed put, unable to get out of Buggy’s way. Struck by fear to sit and watch your stupid decision play out in front of you.
Placing more of his weight against the small table it toppled backwards sending your transponder snail tumbling to the floor smashing to pieces as it landed. You watched pieces of machinery and shell scatter across the floor. Even if the phone hadn’t been destroyed on impact Buggy would have seen to its demise. His body tumbled with the loss of a desk to keep him balanced upright. He fell in a heap right on top of the broken piece that must have had sharp bits. Buggy groaned his piercing eyes dulling before shutting once again.
After the loud crash and crunch of the phone pieces, your home had never sounded so silent. Even the rumbling thunder sounded far off in the distance. The only thing you could hear was your breathing. Slowly you stood taking gentle silent steps across the floor. Your eyes never leaving Buggy. He was breathing, but he seemed just as still as when you found him bobbing in the water. You started this and would see it through.
Dragging Buggy’s limp body, you ignored the pain in your fingers and the annoyance in your chest. You were giving up your own bed for him. He broke your transponder snail, and you were being far too kind to him. Once he was on your bed you were glad you wouldn’t have to move again, you hoped.
After a moment of relief, a spike of panic stopped you from calling it a day. Wet clothes, he could get sick, if he got sick, he’d probably be there longer. You gently laid the back of your hand against Buggy’s forehead. He didn’t feel warm. He looked awful, but how much of his pale complexion was make-up? Finding a middle ground, you undid the clasps of his red-striped shirt. You peeled the soaking garment from him and decided to leave his dark brown trousers on. They looked like maybe they’d dry quickly. If not, you had to keep him warm. Plucking your comforter from your floor you threw it over Buggy making sure to tuck it tightly under his still sides.
Sleeping in make-up was never good. You took his shirt into the bathroom, it was heavy, and you were surprised it didn’t drag him to the bottom of the ocean. You hung it over the drying rack. It would probably need to sit in the sun to fully dry. You hoped tomorrow you would see it. Running warm water in the sink you let a rag soak it up. Squeezing out the excess water the heat gave you goosebumps.
Peeking around the corner you made sure Buggy was still passed out. It looked as if he hadn’t moved the comforter still tightly wrapped around him. You enter the bedroom with the washcloth in one hand and a chair in the other. Setting the chair by your bed you sit. Slowly you wipe the washcloth across the pirate’s face. You're gentle as you rub the red-smearing paint from his lips. You notice the dark stubble around his jaw. His features seem tight like he’s clenching his teeth. Wiping the blue from his eyes you think about his stormy green eyes. How Buggy’s gaze seemed to paralyze you, and you were sure he hadn’t even registered your existence. When you swiped the cloth across his forehead you frowned. Expecting the crossbones to disappear you noticed they hadn’t budged. You swiped again. They were tattoos. A bold choice for who assumed was a bold man.
Satisfied, you did what you could, and you went back into the kitchen. Grabbing the broom, you swept up the broken bits of your transponder snail. The damn thing was expensive. You wondered if it could be fixed. The base wasn’t destroyed. You set what was left of the phone back on the table.
Finally, laying down in your art room with a spare blanket and extra pillows, you felt the full extent of your impromptu workout. The thought of picking up a paintbrush alone made you wince. Listening to the rain you thought you’d never fall asleep with your racing thoughts. Buggy the pirate was in your house because you couldn’t leave well enough alone. You closed your eyes thinking about what the captain in the journal would do. You pictured the long swirling blue letters gently rolling across the page. What kind of man would write like that? Handsome if you had to guess. You still couldn’t picture him for your painting.
Slowly the more you thought the further away the rain sounded. Sleep took hold when you were certain you almost had his face in your mind.