Remove ads

Spring Time (A Bellamy SI)

Reader mode
Remove ads
Interlude: Elegia II New
  • Threadmarks
    • – Byron –​
    To the surprise of absolutely nobody, the festivities and the laughter, which had characterized the first weeks of their stay, disappeared overnight, only to be replaced by a general sense of gloom. Even the Foxy Foxy Pirates were affected. Severely. Having been Uta's fans since day one of her debut, seeing their beloved idol being driven to tears had been a critical blow to their morale. Though, if one thought about it, their lack of motivation was probably the only thing keeping the villain responsible for the crimealive so…win some lose some, Byron supposed.

    As for Uta, she had barricaded herself inside her own room and was refusing to come out. Naturally, her regular live streaming sessions had been cancelled without warning as well, causing worldwide panic. If the World Economic Newspaper was to be believed, the central stock market had recorded a whole 5% dip when Uta failed to show up to one of her scheduled streams. That had then worsened to 19% a week later, leading to economic experts tentatively naming this sudden halt in economic activity the Uta Effect.

    Gordon had done everything he could to try and coax open her door, from cooking her favorite meals to outright begging. He did get as far as to relaying his version of events but had beaten a hasty retreat after Uta began…destabilizing when Shank's sacrifice was mentioned.

    The next batter up had been Judy, who had been volunteered by Foxy. "You caused this mess, so you fix it"was a surprisingly convincing argument when backed up by five hundred angry fans. Plus, seeing as he did have something called a conscience, Byron's bartender hadn't resisted all too much when Foxy gave him a literal kick up his backside. Not that it made him any more successful.

    Briefly, it had seemed as if he would get through to her by revealing his own traumatic experiences of being uprooted from everything he'd known. Especially his sense of betrayal at his friends and family, all of whom had cumulatively turned a blind eye to Marie's kidnapping, almost struck a chord with the teenage diva. However, the revelation of his current status as a lawless pirate had doomed any further progress. Marie found him hours later, sleepwalking his way out the castle and towards the dock.

    Was it any wonder then, that Byron felt that they'd overstayed their welcome? It pained him to leave, to forgo enriching his soul with the secrets of Elegia…yet, if their presence caused distress to his teacher and his teacher's favored student, if their presence caused them to lose their joy in music, then Byron would leave. Out of respect for Gordon if nothing else.

    Bags were packed, tents were dismantled and water barrels refilled. All of it finished before the sunset. The log pose had finished recalibrating days ago and all that was left, was to wait for dawn. Dawn, which would mark their departure from Byron's second home. For that was what Elegia had become, despite Byron only having spent a scant few weeks on the island. The island called to him, to the musician and artists within him, encompassing his soul in a comforting embrace. Perhaps that same feeling was why Gordon had never left, despite the no doubt traumatic memories associated with its ruins. Thus, Byron spent the remaining hours of night, wandering the castle, trying to burn its sight, its smell, its sounds into his memory…until his feet led him to the great hall. More importantly, to the grand piano bathed in the silver glow of the moon shining through a window, sitting within the single circle of light within an otherwise darkened room.

    Like the day he first laid eyes upon that fateful piano, all the way back during his childhood, the same feeling drove him onwards like a siren's call. His fingers fell into place, seeking out the right keys as if they'd been born for this moment even as his eyes closed while his mind travelled through the sea of memories, seeking out the perfect piece for the occasion. Its choice surprised him, for what his mind commanded his body to do and what his body decided to play, was a composition Byron hadn't touched in years.
    How long had he lost himself to his private performance? Byron did not know. But when the last note was played and he awoke from his trance like state, the moon had slightly dipped, casting a longer beam across the hall. A beam, which in accordance with the window's design, fell upon the large oaken doors and the figure standing before them.

    "Who did you kill?"

    "Many. Far too many."

    "Aren't you going to ask me how I knew?"

    "Whether intentional or not, every song carries within it a story, visible to all who care to listen. Considering how I wasn't trying to hide it either, I'd have been surprised if you didn't."

    "…how can you bear it? Knowing that your music was the cause of so much death?"

    "I couldn't. Not for years."

    "You hated yourself."

    "I did."

    "You despised your own music."

    "I did."

    "But you went back."

    "I did."

    "Why?"

    "How could I not? I am and always will be a musician."

    Uta didn't say anything for a while, obviously mulling over his words, her mind probably half a world away. Byron left her to it, his fingers beginning to tap out a gentle melody, soothing to the soul. Nothing supernatural but simply calming music, for to go beyond that would be a disservice. Though, perhaps he should have because when Uta stepped up to him, the air surrounding her had changed. Nothing that was audible to the naked eye, but her melody smelled slightly off.

    "Gordon always told me that my voice could bring joy to the world. I believed him."

    "He's not wrong."

    "My fans told me that my music was a ray of hope in their lives. That my music made all the bad things in the world go away."

    "Music can achieve wonderful things." Byron nodded.

    "But what did it achieve until now? What have I achieved until now? All the world's evils are still here. Pirates still run rampant. People die. The world isn't a fair and happy place. My music changed nothing." Uta whispered. "All it did was let them forget."

    "Sometimes forgetting tragedy can be a great blessing in and of itself."

    "But it doesn't undo it. It doesn't undo what I've done."

    "No. No, it doesn't." Byron agreed. "Nothing ever does."

    "Aren't you going to tell me not to blame myself?"

    "No."

    "Because it would be hypocritical of you?"

    "Yes."

    "You were a child." Uta stated. Byron didn't ask how she'd known. He didn't have to.

    "So were you."

    The two fell silent again, enveloped in lunar light and music, Uta sinking into her thoughts as she hummed along and Byron letting her. Gently massaging her increasingly erratic melody back into place, at least as much as he was able. Shifting away from playing for memories long dead to a concert for the living.

    "Hey, Byron?"

    "Hmmm?"

    "Do you think there's anything that can make up for the past?"

    "I don't know, but I can certainly try."

    "By making lives happy? Many more than we've ruined?"

    "That's one option."

    "What about creating a world where only good things exist? Where everyone can be happy forever?"

    "That's ambitious of you."

    "But what if I could do it?"

    "I probably wouldn't want to live there."

    "WHY NOT?"

    "Uta, would the residents of your world have the potential to be happy forever or would they be happy forever?"

    "…"

    "All emotions have their place in this world. Happiness cannot exist without its opposite to give it value. Forcing people to be happy, especially in a singular manner, isn't the answer."

    "Nobody wants to experience sadness."

    "And yet, no one can be truly happy without it."

    "You're wrong."

    "Perhaps." Byron easily acquiesced. "But would the ones you propose to do this for…agree with you?"

    "Yes, they would." Uta answered confidently. "In fact, my fans came up with the idea in the first place. Many of them told me that they wished they could listen to my singing forever."

    "Ah, there's the culprit."

    "Don't talk about my fans that way! You don't even know them."

    "You're right on that front. I don't know them. However, I do know that they wouldn't want to be trapped by your devil fruit. Like you've already done to me."

    "You knew?" Uta asked, pointing a surprised finger in his direction.

    "That you ate the Sing-Sing Fruit? I guessed after what you did to Judy. After all, it and its abilities are the subject of many legends amongst musicians. Thank you for letting him go by the way."

    "He's harmless. You on the other hand know too much."

    "Enough to do something like this in any case." Byron replied, hammering out a sequence of base chords to throw up a wall of shields to stop a lance from reaching him. A short riff later and Uta's freshly summoned soldier was reduced into little motes of light. "You on the other hand don't know enough. About neither the world outside nor the one of your own creation."

    Uta's response was to whistle, harsh and unforgiving, more soldiers materializing to replace the one she'd just lost. Soldiers who flew this way and that, seeking an opening in Byron's wall of shields, while attempting to dodge the anti-air barrage of sixteenth notes. Yet for every one Byron shot down, another two joined the fray.

    "This is my world!" Uta sang in a crystal-clear soprano that shattered Byron's piano. "My world, my rules."

    "Based on music and governed by song." Byron's answer was a dulcet tenor, replacing the lost instrument with a harpsichord.

    And so, it continued. Uta pounding Byron's defense while he tried to repair them as fast as they were being battered down. He wasn't entirely successful, because this was Uta's home ground. Here, she had free rein to create and enact change as she pleased. On the other hand, Byron was limited to borrowing the strands composing this world via the occasional harmony to mould them into the desire object or to dissolve Uta's attacks by injecting a dissonant note into her constructs. As such, he was slowly but surely pushed onto his backfoot. Though when it came to the verbal battle, things looked slightly different.

    "Life is like a melody with its ups and downs, its allegros and adagios with a host of major and minor keys. Beautifully varied and unique in its own way. We may prefer some parts over others, but it's only in its entirety that it truly shines."

    "I'm only going to remove the dissonant notes, the things that don't belong!"

    "Imperfection too is part of music. All of the little things, perhaps temporarily grating to one's ears are keys which make each song unique and different from the rest. If we begin cutting a little here, pruning a little there, where do we stop? Do we adjust the score until it is perfect?"

    "Yes!"

    "What will we be left with, I wonder? A single melody shared by every life, holding within it only the monotone ideal of the composer? Would it have any resemblance to the original at all?"

    "I wouldn't be changing them! They'll still be able to think and dream and do anything they want to. I'd just be improving their environment to make everything better. No more hunger, no more sickness, no more death! Just my fans and I having fun forever. Things would be perfect!"

    "How do we even define perfection? There are a billion different people upon this world, with a billion different lives and a billion different dreams. Who's to say that perfection for one isn't disaster for another?"

    "Yes, other things can bring happiness too but so does my music! If they're already happy, why would they need anything else?"

    "Happiness comes in many shapes and forms. There's joy in eating a delicious meal and in watching a loved one enjoy the food we've made. The anticipation of a coming book release and the lingering memory after reading the final page. The exhilaration of adventure, the familiarity of my home, the nervosity of a first date, the comfort of a fifty-year jubilee."

    "…" In lieu of responding, Uta began singing in a raspier tone. In the face of the hurricane of notes, Byron's shields began to chip and crack and splinter at an ever-increasing pace.

    "The relief of overcoming tribulations, the sense of accomplishment after completing a difficult task. The hope for a plentiful harvest, the thankfulness for rain after a long drought. The expectancy for a new life growing in a mother's womb and the satisfaction of a life well lived. And so many more."

    "…" Cuts began opening up on Byron's skin, blood dripping down his arms held protectively over his face. And yet, his voice held melodious and true, singing as if he were talking, talking as if he were singing and tenaciously holding on.

    "Can your world harmonize all of that, recreate it in full or at least mimic it in part? Bring together thousands, millions, billions of different tunes as one while maintaining the individual characteristics that made them unique? Unless you're a god, that's impossible."

    "It is possible! Aren't you creating music just like you would outside? My world can be just as real as the one we'll leave behind!"

    "You can't simulate that which you've never known. Can't create what you've never experienced. The taste of my mother's stew, the scent of my father's coat, the first note of a piano you've never met. The lives they may have lived, the love they may have shared, the adventures they may have had…are all things your plan will snatch away."

    "I just have to make sure they have such a fun time that they won't miss any of that!"

    "Uta. What about the people you cannot reach? You'd be splitting families apart. In essence, by creating the divide between your world and the old which none can cross, those on one side of that divide will be dead to those on the other. No amount of fun and games can replace a loved one lost."

    "I-I wouldn't be killing them. They'd still be alive outside!"

    "Would that really make a difference? They'd no longer exist in the world you create. How is that different from death?" The storm began to taper off, expended and exhausted as Byron went for the throat. "Would that be any less final than what happened to Elegia?"

    "Ah…" At that Uta collapsed to her knees, all sounds coming from her direction abruptly being cut off with a choked sob.

    "Do you truly believe that that is what your fans desire?"

    "…no."

    "In that case, what are you doing this for? To make your fans happy…or to soothe your own guilty conscience?"

    "…I just wanted to fix things. Make things right. Do something good for once with this stupid power."

    "You still can."

    "How? You just spent so long telling me I was wrong, so tell me how, Byron! How can I make things right if I'm not supposed to fix the world?" Uta wailed, looking as lost as she sounded.

    "By doing the same thing you've been doing so far. We may not be living in a world where everyone is always happy, but we do live in one where everyone has the potential to be. One, in which you've seen for yourself how much of help and comfort your music can provide."

    "Ah."

    "However, in order to do so, you have to forgive yourself. After all, how are your songs supposed to make others happy, when the singer herself is wallowing in her own guilt and misery?" Byron asked, carefully taking a step towards Uta, who looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

    "B-but…but…"

    "Uta. What happened was a tragedy, but please don't let the past ruin what the future could bring. You deserve better than that." Byron pleaded, closing the last remaining steps to kneel in front of the young diva. At that, the girl broke down into a fresh flood of tears, her body wracked by the sobs she so desperately tried to suppress. The world shattered into a million pieces as the first light of dawn began peeking over the horizon.
    "We all deserve better than that."
    Author's note:
    I hope you enjoyed Byron butterflying away the events of One Piece: Red.

    To be honest, I couldn't decide for the longest time what I was going to do with Uta. Part of me really wanted to have her join the Harmony Pirates (or at least accompany them temporarily) to see the world. But... because a young Uta wanted to be the musician of the Red Hair Pirates, because the Harmony Pirates already had a master musician, because half the world would grab pitchforks if Byron "kidnapped" Uta and because of balance reasons...Uta is not joing Byron.

    She'll stay on Elegia as a friend or maybe she'll join Shanks. But she won't take part in the battle against Doflamingo. The direct consequence of which being that the next stop in Byron's journey becomes a lot more challenging for our dear bard.

    Next time: back to Bellamy & Kuma's kidnapping rescue.
     
  • New
  • Threadmarks
    • I had flashbacks of Superman and Flash's game of chess in Injustice, where Flash was able to check each of Superman's points by showing how much of a slippery slope it really was. Well played Byron, well played indeed.
     
    Narasan said:
    That was very nice.
    I was smiling during the entire argument.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Glad to hear it.
    TempestK said:
    I had flashbacks of Superman and Flash's game of chess in Injustice, where Flash was able to check each of Superman's points by showing how much of a slippery slope it really was. Well played Byron, well played indeed.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    What episode was that again?
    yusr1 said:
    Absolute cinema 🖐️😺🖐️
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Thanks!
     
    Chapter 97: Quantum Mechanics New
  • Threadmarks
    • – Bellamy –​
    The Payback War had been significant-not just globally, but also on a more personal level. In a way, it had been the first venture I had embarked upon since I'd woken up in this world which hadn't been a success. Honestly, it had been like a bucket of cold water being poured onto my somewhat swollen head, reminding me that the world was a dangerous place. That just because I'd been slowly catching up to Izou didn't mean I was anywhere close to reaching my stated goal of becoming the strongest man alive.

    Now, my response to that dose of reality could have been one of two things. One, I could have fallen into depression, bemoaning the futility of all my efforts and letting myself be dragged along the currents of an existential crisis.

    Or I could accept my loss against Lafitte, get off my ass and do something about it. Complaining about cheap shots and cheating bastards wasn't going to make me feel any better, meaning that there wasn't any need to waste valuable emotions and time making myself miserable. Furthermore, it wasn't as if the entire war had been nothing but a continuous sequence of failures.

    Regardless of whether we could have beaten him in a fair fight – that is, for a certain definition of fair – there was no denying that we had caused one of Blackbeard's titanic captains to reconsider facing my crew. On top of that, we had been well on our way to actually slaying one of them before Boa Hancock intervened in a textbook example of kill stealing. Considering what I had started with less than two years ago all the way back on Jaya, calling our progress astounding was probably the understatement of the century.

    On top of that, my interference in the Summit War and beyond had arguably resulted in a (slightly) better outcome than in canon. True, most of Whitebeard's commanders and allies were either dead or otherwise out of commission, as that unfortunately hadn't changed. Unlike canon, however, the Whitebeards had not been forced to hide underground or go their separate ways. They hadn't given up the fight either, though they would need at least another year to recover and rebuild. As tragic as the aftermath of the Payback War may have been for those involved, for me it had been another piece of evidence that change was possible.

    Admittedly, the dimensions of said change were quite modest so far, but the rest was just a matter of gathering enough strength until I could influence events to my liking. Coincidentally enough, my musings on how I was going to fix Kuma had provided me with a bit of an epiphany.

    I had long since learned that the abilities of a devil fruit were conceptual in nature. This, in and of itself, was nothing new nor was it groundbreaking by any measure. However, the question of exactly what my understanding of this concept was had been left unanswered until now. But if I wanted to move forward, that would have to change. Put simply, I needed to ask myself the following question:

    What was a spring in its purest form? What was the essence of a spring?

    A spring was a device consisting of an elastic, but largely rigid material, bent or molded into a form capable of returning to its original shape after being compressed or extended. If memory served, such or something similar was probably the Wikipedia definition. This was also technically true, but it was also a limited view bound by the restrictions of my past life. Not to mention that this portrayal of a spring was nothing more than an observation of its outward form.

    If one dug a little deeper, moving past the exterior and into its underlying functions, one might say that their purpose was the storage and release of energy. Characterized by Hooke's Law, there was an elegant simplicity in how every interaction and every change a spring underwent eventually returned to this primary principle. Both were aspects I'd used to great effect so far and were the ideas that formed the foundation of my power.

    I could have stopped here. It would even have been perfectly logical. Considering my earlier thoughts that all of creation was composed of tiny little springs called atoms, I may have unlocked the ability to cause destruction and mayhem with the snap of my fingers. After all, what was an explosion if not a rapid expansion of volume due to a sudden discharge of energy?

    Though, if you'd forgive the theoretical, possibly somewhat inaccurate ramblings of a former physicist, there was one last step I wanted to take before I wrapped up my long-winded exposition. What happened to a perfect spring when it released its stored energy? The simple answer? It oscillated. Assuming no loss due to friction and the like, an activated spring would continue to oscillate until the end of time in a periodical manner, which could be perfectly modeled by a waveform graph.

    In a way one could claim that reality itself was my oyster, because a wave was a very good analogy for the inner workings of the world and its smallest constituent parts. And when you mixed waves and tiny spring-like atoms together in a pot with a generous helping of imagination and insanity, you began to approach this wonderful but quirky, little domain we physicists liked to call:

    QUANTUM MECAHNICS​

    "You are by far the most reckless, foolhardy, insane, rash, halfwit moron of a captain I've ever had the displeasure of serving under."

    "Urk!" I groaned, being jerked this way and that as her words stabbed into me like a series of impaling spikes. "To be honest, I'm also the only captain you've ever served under."

    "As if you dismembering yourself at every opportunity wasn't enough already! Now you've… you've…raargh!"

    "That sort of hurts, you know." I whined, clutching at the fresh bump on my head lest she smack me again. "And it all worked out fine in the end, right?"

    "…" Her answer was a glare that promised unimaginable pain and torment.

    "Right, shutting up now."

    "Frustratingly enough, you're simultaneously also the most brilliant captain I've had the pleasure of serving under."

    "Again, I'm the only captain you've ever serv…eh, you were saying?"

    "So, despite you having, in essence, ripped your own existence apart at the seams and mashed it back together in a sudden stroke of madness and genius inspiration…"

    "Ah… it's not exactly like that, you know? It's more that I took advantage of the fundamentally statistical character inherent in reality…"

    "If you try to explain to me how a quantum wave function works…again, I'm going to hurt you. I'd fix you up afterwards, but I can assure you, you wouldn't enjoy the process."

    "Didn't you swear an oath to do no harm to those entrusted into your care or something? As far as I can see, I'm a patient lying in your sick bay."

    "A healthy dose of nerval stimulation can be a necessary step in the medical diagnostic process and physical recovery."

    "That's a fancy way of saying that you don't care."

    "I do care, but sometimes the only cure for stupidity happens to be a solid whack to the cranium." Muret sniffed. "If trying to imitate Schroedinger's Cat doesn't qualify as absurdity, I'm not sure what does."

    "Ahahaha…ha." My laugh trailed off into awkward nothingness, my hand paused halfway towards scratching the back of my head.

    "But then you had to go ahead and be successful, so I can't even berate you properly. I know that genius and madness are two sides of the same coin, but this seriously takes the cake."

    "So does that mean…?"

    "Yep. As far as I can tell, you've suffered no permanent damage from your little foray into nonexistence. Or any damage, for that matter, apart from a temporary coma and metabolic insufficiency." Muret answered, pulling out the iv drip and cleaning up the remains of her infusions. "Though, unless you want your body to start breaking itself down for nutrients, I'd refrain from using that new ability."

    "Now that you mention it, I am feeling a tad peckish."

    – Hewitt –​
    As anyone who'd ever had any experience in the kitchen would attest, preparing a meal was a lot of work. One had to stock up on ingredients, prepare said ingredients fitting whatever recipe one was inclined to use on a particular day, and spend time frying, boiling, steaming, or otherwise preparing those ingredients for the plate. And when that was done, there were still pots, pans and dishes aplenty to be washed, a kitchen to be tidied up, and empty pantries to be filled before the cycle began anew. Doing the same on a larger scale was associated with a correspondingly larger workload.

    The point Hewitt was trying to make being, that his position as the only chef aboard the Black Pearl came with a lot of work. Not least because he was apparently a glutton for punishment. How else did he explain voluntarily agreeing to create separate dishes for every individual aboard for every meal? That those personalized recipes were tailored to account for their specific dietary and nutritionary needs to maximize health and training benefits didn't make this task any less taxing.

    In the beginning, when he'd first embarked upon this venture, Hewitt had been seriously tempted to recruit help. If only to help wash and peel the ungodly mass of fruits and vegetables that his friends gobbled down in a single sitting. Unfortunately, reality had quickly convinced Hewitt that unless he wanted bloody food, this was going to be a very, very, VERY bad idea.

    His friends were hopeless in the kitchen. Every. Single. One of them. Oh, they were certainly enthusiastic enough. Perhaps too enthusiastic. While their exploits were numerous enough to fill a duke's library, at least according to Lily, Hewitt had to ban them from his domain for the crew's safety, let alone for the sake of his own sanity. He hadn't even known it was possible to burn water before Mani showed him evidence to the contrary. And did you know what made it even worse? Hewitt still didn't have a single clue as to what they were doing wrong. One moment everything would be all fine and dandy, but the moment he stopped supervising them to work on something else, all hell would break loose. It had been a maddening experience.

    Arguably, Ross had been the least destructive of the lot. For one, he didn't cause irreparable damage to Hewitt's cooking implements. Nevertheless, the state he'd left the potatoes in, after his visit to the Bloody Countess' castle, had forced Hewitt to throw his carefully designed meal plans out the window and mash the root vegetables' sorry remains into purée. In the end, Hewitt accepted his fate.

    "I see you've gotten used to your new Devil Fruit rather quickly."

    "By necessity, I assure you Captain. By necessity." Hewitt replied, carefully inspecting a glass for smudges. "It's great having a few extra helping hands around. Or claws. I'm not terribly picky, and if they can hold a knife I don't care."

    "Well, there are certainly a lot of them, that's for sure." Bellamy mumbled, his eyes wandering across the many tentacle-like limbs diligently washing the dishes.

    It had taken a while before Hewitt could pick up porcelain with the claws topping his new chain limbs, but desperation fueled success. Honestly, Hewitt wasn't sure why Bellamy seemed surprised. The idea had originally been his, though his captain had admitted to pinching the idea from either a Mr. Stan Lee or one Dr. Otto Octavius. Regardless, his ramblings had certainly provided a lot of inspiration when Hewitt had been trying to figure out how to use the new Devil Fruit the crew found in the hold after the Payback War.

    "Food doesn't prepare itself; you know. By the way, here's the energy drink Muret asked me to prepare for you. Gotta finish it all, Captain. Doctor's orders."

    "This looks…unique." Bellamy commented, before making a face. "It's not squid, is it?"

    "It is, actually. Oh, don't make that face, I've left out the peanut butter this time!"

    "But what is this brown stuff?"

    "Quit stalling and drink, captain."

    "Why does it feel like the longer we travel together, the less respect I get?" Nevertheless, the Captain downed the contents of his glass with a resigned look. Lots of funny facial contortions followed.

    "I'm sure you're just imagining it." Hewitt grinned, stroking one chain like one would a beloved pet. "Why, I am absolutely brimming with respect and gratitude for giving me that Devil Fruit. It changed my life!"

    "Aren't you being a little overdramatic?"

    "Are you kidding? Thanks to these babies, I've had more free time than I've had in years! I wasn't sure what to do with all of it, but I've decided to start studying."

    "Exploring new cuisines, are we?"

    "Nope, though it is marginally related." Hewitt shook his head. "I'm having a hard time believing it myself, but Lily convinced me to give accounting a go."

    "I'm guessing it's preparation for when you have your own restaurant to run in the future, right?"

    "Yep. It would be rather embarrassing to go bankrupt after everything I've been through."

    "With your share of the treasury, I think bankruptcy is going to be the least of your worries…"

    "I guess, when compared to Doflamingo having found us, keeping my non-existent restaurant financially afloat seems a more distant issue. Bit of bad luck running into his agents before the war, but what can you do?" Hewitt sighed, staring at the ceiling. A spider was draining a fly dry. He'd swat it, but the spider was just doing its job and he didn't want to stain a limb with its corpse… Perhaps the spider could help clear the kitchen of further undesirables?

    "It wouldn't have mattered all that much. Disco's promised one-year grace period was coming to an end, anyway. Considering the reach Doffy has, it's a small miracle that we have yet to hear anything from him."

    "Funny how things turned out, isn't it? If we'd told our younger selves that we would be gunning for Doflamingo's head instead of trying to join his crew, they'd have called us lunatics."

    "It's not that long ago, if you think about it. It's been what, a little less than two years?"

    "Feels a lot longer if I'm being honest." Hewitt remarked, scratching his chin. "Do you think we're ready?"

    "To face the Warlord?"

    "Not that. My flaw is envy not delusion. I'm referring to whatever else he's going to throw at us."

    "I don't know. It really depends on how many resources he's willing to burn to catch us." Bellamy mused. "Though considering the jabs we've given him since the Summit War, I'm going to guess it's a lot."

    "I guess it's a good thing you've awakened your devil fruit, isn't it? Not to mention the new fruits Mani and I've picked up before and after the Payback War. That makes what, a total of six devil fruit users on this crew? Seven if you count Funkfreed."

    "To be honest with you, I don't think that I've fully awakened mine yet. What I have done is crack open the door and shove one boot into the opening."

    "Better than nothing I suppose. I still need to learn how to use mine. Seriously, I'm getting a whole new appreciation for how much of a beast Mad Treasure used to be. Material manipulation is no joke."

    "I think you'll do just fine, Hewitt. Have some faith in yourself."

    "Same to you, captain. Though, seeing as Doflamingo hasn't caught us yet, maybe we were being a little too paranoid?"

    "You think?"

    "Don't know. But things have been exceedingly peaceful since the War."

    "Don't jinx it."
    Author's note:
    First things first...Hewitt, what have you done?
    Second, Bellamy hasn't achieved awakening just yet. But like he's said, he's close so that he has a new trick or two which will be revealed in due course.
    Next time, the Allies will land on Sabaody to try and rescue Kuma, by force if need be.

    Just in case you wanted more foreshadowing: Some things will happen, other things will happen and some more things will happen leading to a some sort of resolution.

    As always, if you've enjoyed do leave a like and a comment. It's free and it really helps a lot to keep me motivated whenever the feared writer's block strikes again.
     
  • New
  • Threadmarks
    • Reader mode
    You must login or register to reply here.
    Remove ads
    Back
    Top