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grandlinedreaming · 6 months

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The beginning of an era

One piece x oc. Happens directly after Roger's execution

“I’m not following either o’ ya’”

She stood strong in front of the boys – no, the young men – she had grown up with. Both had wide eyes and agape mouth as Irene’s words sank in. They began to stutter and shout protests and arguments but, a single tear down her cheek, blackened by mascara, stopped the divided pair: “ We just lost cap’n. Executed in his hometown for the world ta see. You want to be pirates? Fine by me. Jus’, please, leave me out o’ it. None of us have bounties yet, Shanks, Buggy. Marines’ve thought o’ us as nothing more than crew and… I’ll take that advantage ta sail away and find maself a quiet island where I won’t be bothered.” “ But-“ “Bugs, she interrupted. I’m not interested in piracy anymore. I’ll be jus’ as free in a cabin on a hill, a workshop in a shed and playing with a dog or a cat. Be wild, build crews, become the powerful, great and glorious pirates ya wanna be. I’ll be tuning cogs and building metal things from ma imagination. And, who knows? Maybe one o’ youse’ll find ma little island, and we’ll laugh about the good old days and cry ‘bout what’s to come. ‘Till then, I’m leaving.”

The red-haired young man held back tears but smiled at the seventeen year old girl he had come to know as his sister. The red-nosed one didn’t hold back his as he looked Irene in the eyes. The three of them had fought back-to-back, protecting each other in Gold’s crew most of their childhoods, now they parted ways. It was sour in some minds, but sweeter towards her. They gave the late teenage Irene one last handshake: a last promise to remember each other in their prayers, and each left the alleyway, alone.

It felt odd to not have her crewmates follow her or her following them. They’d always been a trio: “the Roger brats” from Whitebeard, “the musketeers” from Gaban, “beauty and the beasts” from most the crew( beauty being Shanks as Buggy and herself tended to be bruised and dirty from all the tricks they attempted and devices they tried). When Buggy fell ill back when they finally had enough knowledge to travel to the last island, she was first to volunteer to stay back with him. Shanks only followed. She was glad for her and Crocus those days where the blue-haired boy coughed more than he breathed. She never wanted to hear about that island, though. That was the boy’s dream. She just wanted the knowledge to build her “mechas” that never failed to get stars up in the boys eyes.

She regretted never having told either of them how grateful she was to have met them.

Irene stepped unto a busy street: the sky was, as always, covered in clouds but it didn’t stop the stomping around, the pushes and yells everywhere she looked. Ever since her captain’s last words, which still echo in her head hours later, Loguetown had become almost lawless. People were ripping their hair out, shouting hurrahs, threats and everything in between, robbing stores in broad daylight, arguing, bargaining and settling affairs for new and old crews. Piracy overwhelmed the streets and she knew just how to avoid the mess. She drew her trench coat closed with its belt, concealing the large number of firearms, knives and grenades she had not only attached to her corset, but also created herself. Previously, her crewmates chuckled, calling her a ‘walking arsenal’, sometimes calling her the ship’s engineer or ‘crazy scientist’. Irene had tricks up her sleeves, literally.

Careful not to bump into anyone or bring attention to herself, she stuck to the edges of the streets, her bandolier bag away from the busy crowds. She spotted a familiar, smaller street which led downhill into a darker part of town. Her captain had brought the crew in a tavern somewhere down that road before. She noted the changed name of the bar when she stopped in front of it. Gold Roger. The only bar in all the world that could actually hold some merits to its claim of seeing the beginning of Gold’s Grand Line conquering. It all started here, with a drunk, idealist but optimistic captain.

The place was full. Crews, new and old, getting drunk off their ass before attempting to sail that sea, some buying barrels from the barkeep to keep drunk on their journey, others dancing on or around tables and a fight brewing in a corner. It was loud. It was bright. It was a pirate bar. She could hear Bink’s Sake played badly but coherently on an old violin, a few of the men present muttering the words through numbed mouths. She looked at the men and the few women that would soon sail away, none looked too promising but, nonetheless, she silently wished them calm seas and smooth sailing. The girl knew just how rough the journey and its enemies were, she didn’t wish that on anyone.

She made her way through the crowd, found an empty (how lucky!) table in a badly-lit corner, and sat facing the entire bar. She could see anyone coming in or out and she had an escape route planned if things were to go sour, although she couldn’t see how. She reached in her bag and clutched in her fingers a small toolkit and what looked like a copper and bronze cubic figurine. She placed both on the table and opened the kit, then, softly, passed her index on a specific place of the figurine. A small light, no bigger than an ember, glowed under her finger. She blinked and the cube was now big enough to have a child sit comfortably on it.

The cube had four wheels, two hinges where a line seemed to separate it at about the two thirds of its height and an adjustable metal cylinder which ended in glass on the front above the line. She then retrieved a controller from her bag no bigger than a rose petal. She repeated the process and, in an instant, it sat in her hands as if molded from them. She put both down on the table and began tuning some gears with her kit, she opened the top of the cube, revealing three foldable and retractable three-fingered ‘hands’. Don’t ask Irene to explain the things she creates and how, she knows how things work, but could never explain or teach. Most of it she attributes to those three.

“Thought you’d want to disappear quickly, Irene, said an older man’s voice.” She saw him approach from behind the bar, a glass and a water pitcher in hand. Raoul, the bar owner and keep. He sat down next to her and filled the glass which he handed her. “I know you don’t like alcohol so-

- Too young for it, she replied, her eyes never leaving the cogs she tuned. But I won’t say no ta some water from a good barkeep.

- So, not leaving yet?

- Tomorrow. There’s a few things I’ve gotta make sure of before I go. Somebody I gotta meet afterwards.”

The bar suddenly went quiet. Every voice silent, even the violin ended on another false note. She noticed him coming even before he entered, his sheer power alarming her observation haki. She knew who he was before she saw him and she knew he knew her. Monkey D Garp. The Fist. The Hero of the Navy. There was a few reasons she could see why he’d be here but, it wasn’t to arrest everyone present. He could, as powerful as he is, but to make sure everyone got jailed, he’d need a least a dozen officers with him.

A few seconds passed and, the frenzy began. Captains yelling to leave, to retreat, yells of hurt as the pirates trampled over one another heading for the door, the sound of feet stomping in a run. GoldRoger emptied in less than a minute and not one of the men and women got stopped by the vice-admiral. Tables and chairs were overturned, some broken and the violin lay, splintered and in pieces, on the floor in a puddle of beer.

The graying man turned towards her table, Raoul scowled. He’d chased away all his costumers for the next few days. Garp stopped in front of her table, blocking her view of the place. Dressed in basic marine all white, she compared him to some sort of snowman., making her laugh in her mind. From dark brown eyes, her eyes changed to a glowing gold as she looked up to the vice-admiral’s face. Her face had turned serious, her eyes dark even with the glow from her irises. Her voice suddenly changed, her accent gone and replaced by one more fluid: “What may I do for you, vice-admiral Garp?

- You’ve been communicating with your captain recently, Irene Bronzedock.

- My captain is dead, sir. You and I both watched his execution this morning.

- You didn’t answer my question. I could have you jailed for obstruction of Justice.

- Would you?” At this point, Raoul stood and left, heading to the back. “See, there’s something about you, sir, that Captain and the crew understood. You know real Justice. And you deliver your punishments justly. I have no bounty, I have never been known to be apart of any crew and, being seventeen presently, I would have been very young if i would have been part of anyone’s crew. How much credibility would people give the marines if they were to suddenly arrest a crying teenager for no apparent reason? Other than she was mistaken for a Gold pirate when truly she was a hostage?” silence held the room once more before Garp sat down in front of her. “ He told me.” Now it was her time to be silent. She squinted her eyes at the man. He was more than serious. He could be referencing many things but, most of what came up to her mind Roger would never have shared with anyone outside the crew.

- “ I’m afraid I have no idea what you are referencing to, sir. There are many things he could have told you. Many secrets only he could divulge.

- He sent you a letter, you should have received it before the execution. I know because I read it and sent it for him. He asked something out of you, but what he asked in the letter made no sense to me. Why would he ask you to look after the Oro Jackson if no one is using it anymore?

- He loved that ship. We all did. A ship becomes a home after you begin sailing in it, sir. If you weren’t aware, I took care of the repairs of the Jackson, even at my young age.”

Irene could tell the famed marine had enough of her excuses but could not find fail in them. Any question he would ask, she could play around, answering his question whilst being truthful but holding back. Cat and mouse. There was something urgent about whatever her captain had told Garp. If it had anything to do with what the letter had said, he would tell his superiors and not just her life would be in danger. “Tell me one thing about what you think you know, a single word will do it. In exchange, I will tell you one word, one key word about what my letter truly meant. How does that sound?

- Fair enough, he sat back in his chair and looked her straight in the eyes. My word is: child.”

That was all she needed to know. Roger had told Garp about his son. His innocent, pure unborn child. There was going to be a witch hunt from the marines if they were to become aware of his existence. What had her captain thought? Where was his mind? She knew if the vice-admiral was the one to find him and his mother, he would somehow keep the child safe. He knows justice and a newborn, no matter the parents, is innocent and has a clean slate. But Rayleigh and Shakky would have kept him just as safe! Why tell him? No, she knew why. His son would be right under the Navy’s nose and they wouldn’t have a clue, and Garp holds his promises tight.

It was her turn to sit back. She replaced her tools in the correct order before sighing. Her eyes’ golden glow being replaced by her normal chocolate gaze. Once more, her voice changed, this time to its original sounds: “Ma word’s: protection. Ya know what that means, right?

- I do, he assured.

- What did he want ya ta do? She sighed. Raise the tyke?

- No idea! He loudly laughed. But I promised to take care of him, that’s what I intend to do.

- Ya couldn’t take care of a pet rock.”

The Hero of the Navy roared in laughter in the empty bar, surprising Irene with a grin of her own. “I sail out tomorrow, Irene informed him. Can we strike a deal?

- Sure. Whadaya have in mind, Bronzedock?

- Don’t follow me and let me protect the tyke and the mother like I promised ma cap’n, and when time is near, I’ll contact ya and let ya leave with the newborn.”

Garp waited a moment. Seriousness back on his face, he considered arresting her for a moment for even suggesting it but, a marine entourage for one pregnant woman would arise questions. Soldiers’ll become nosy, the world government will try to infiltrate the guard and kill both just for being affiliated to Gold, not to mention he has seen what Bronzedock can do with her devices and runes: she’ll decimate his officers and run away with the mother if she believes that’s the only way to protect them. If that were to happen, he can say goodbye to any chance he might have of ever protecting and perhaps raising the child. They’ll disappear and never resurface. There really is only one choice : “Alright. You leave tomorrow. When the baby is close to being born you give me a call. I only have one condition.

- Name it.

- I need updates. The progress, the mother’s health and the kid’s.

- I think I can do that. Shake?”

They stood and shook hands over the only remaining standing table in the bar.

It rained bullets when she finally reached the bottom of the hill. A small house, barely big enough for two persons, sat atop it, a dirt path leading down towards the village. It was easy to miss it, truly, had she not been here before and known what she knew, Irene would have thought it abandoned. There was a rusty mailbox at the foot of the hill, leaning outwards from the small, almost overgrown path. She began her ascent, her western-looking hat braving the wind and her trench coat getting soaked by the rain, her clothes underneath escaping narrowly the same fate. Her boots sank in the mud, her feet slipping here or there, causing curses to be muttered under her breath.

Nerves and her don’t know each other to be in bad terms. The nerves before battles, when building certain mechas or those ones when she was sure of succeeding were well welcomed but, the ones she had as she stepped under the rotting wood of the small roof above the doorstep, those, she didn’t welcome. She’d been here before, true but, she was alone and scouting the place. Then she had had to repair the interior to become livable. She didn’t know why her captain needed that task done before a certain date but, now, with all that had happened and she had learned – the execution, his last wishes, his partner, Rouge’s pregnancy and the coming birth of their son – it made sense. The cabin was a perfect cover for protecting the soon-to-be mother and her unborn child. No one was going to come close to here and, if they did, Irene knew how to spook them away. Still, it didn’t change the fact she had never met the woman who caught the captain’s eye enough for him to want to settle.

She raised her hand and- the door opened. She was hurried inside by a figure, by what her haki was telling her, a friendly one. She stumbled on her feet and almost fell on the wooden floor. When she turned, a strawberry blonde woman was closing the door and turning multiple locks and chains, those Irene had installed previously. The woman sighed and looked behind her towards the younger girl. She realised in that instant who this woman was: Rouge. Long curly strawberry blonde hair, freckles over sun-tanned cheeks, beautiful brown eyes within sad eyes. Yeah. Irene understood now how Roger could have fallen for her. “He said he would send you, Rouge’s voice was soft and kind but no louder than a whisper. I just, expected someone…

- Burly? Muscly? Taller?”

She laughed, well, it was more of a giggle but, it counted as a laugh for the seventeen year old. She flushed at the sound. Something told her Gold had chosen her not just for her handyman and medicine skills. No way was she leaving Rouge’s side now. Especially now that the world government had started their witch hunt. Marines and agents were being deployed to any and all island her Captain had visited in, at most, the last nine months. Garp made his report, as she expected, and now the hunt began. She had already heard of pregnant women, almost at term, being jailed and/or having their babies stolen at birth just to be tested and returned weeks later, sick and feeble.

Of course, this hunt for the King of Pirates’ child would end up forgotten, erased by the government. Anyone who’ll ever ask what happened to the sudden search for soon-to-be mothers will be gaslit by the authorities to the point that even the participant officers will put it far away in the back of their minds. They just won’t make her forget.

Rouge sat down at the small round table and invited Irene to do the same. They sat a few moments in silence before both erupted at once. Questions were swirling in each mind for the other. They stopped, both with their mouth agape, before giggles took hold of them. Soon, a much needed laughter was heard in the small dining room. A creak in the ceiling stopped them, bringing Irene so quick to her feet, pistols in both hands and safety off, that her chair fell and slid a foot away. Her observation haki scoured the entire house and the surrounding field: only mice and small animals. Unless someone was able to hide from her haki – which she highly doubted – no one was around.

She hadn’t noticed Rouge’s hands reach and grab her coat, as she sheathed her guns, she touched the older woman’s arm. It took her by surprise, the fear and uncertainty on her freckled face. Then, she remembered: Rouge is currently the most wanted person in all the seas, hated for the man she loved, now deceased, and her child, her unborn son, is wanted dead by everyone aware of his existence but three persons; herself, Irene and one Monkey D. Garp. How could she forget? She needs protection, reassurance, safety, certainty, a guaranty her son and herself would be safe and sound here, in this one bedroom, one bathroom, house.

Irene squatted in front of her captain’s lover, removed her hat and placed it on the table then looked directly in her eyes. She grabbed Rouge’s hands and held them tightly: “There’s nothing ta worry, she affirmed. I promise ya, not one thing’ll come in here that I won’t save ya from. Somebody could offer me all the world’s berries for ya an’ him an’ I’d still choose ta protect ya.

- It’s not like you haven’t promised Roger or anything…

- Hey. Look at me. Ta hell with ma promise. I’m doing this out of ma own will. Yeah, I did agree ta watch over ya but, that could be just ta make sure ya stay alive. But I’m gonna not only watch over ya, but I’ll protect ya and make sure yer always good. Whatever ya need, ask and you’ll get.

- Irene…

- There’s just one thing. Alright? Right now, yer afraid. We can’t have that. Ya gotta be strong and brave the fears. We’ve got a long time in front of us where we’ll have ta watch our every move. I doubt the gov dogs’ll let go of their bone after just nine months. Mothers’re being taken from their homes, babies brought who-knows-where and pregnant women jailed just for their conception date coinciding with cap’n’s passin’ through.”

Something seemed to hit Rouge hard. Something she understood clearly. She nodded to the girl, she got it. A plan brewed in her head, if it was possible remained to see but, she would need to try. At 10 weeks she still didn’t show and, with the right clothes, she could potentially hide the pregnancy longer. Irene stood and let go of her hands, bringing the blonde out of her planning. The girl looked around and spotted a few locations on the walls and doorways which she would later score and etch runes into. For now, she needed to plan better for their safety.

That’s when her eyes begin to glow a bright cyan blue. Rouge was taken aback by the sudden change in not only Irene’s eyes, but also, seemingly, her whole personality, mannerisms and voice. When questioned, later in the evening, the girl would explain to the best of abilities: when she was but an infant, her parents unknowingly fed her a devil fruit. The soul-soul fruit, model: alternative lives. She explained to her new roommate that she had access to the knowledge and life experience of as many as three other souls. As much as she could make out of these people she chose and linked herself to as a baby, they came from very different backgrounds and, as insane as it sounded, she wasn’t certain they even came from the same world.

Weeks later, she would answer a few more questions from her when Rouge felt on the brink of disaster. She introduced Selma, a trauma surgeon with a prosthetic leg. Selma had these bright blue eyes, a short afro she kept under a scrub cap almost permanently but braided with bright colors when she had a day off (which didn’t happen often) and dark skin. From her came the cyan glow in her eyes when she needed to know medical things or be more compassionate and caring. She also gave her the ability to perform surgeries and give medical care. Irene was rough around the edges and could be harsh when she shouldn’t be, Selma helped her be softer.

Later, she would talk about the Eel, or rather, Lee Yeung. Rouge had been watching off the horizon, anxiety creeping into her mind as her bump began to show more. At 37 weeks in, they both knew it would be soon. To bring her thoughts away from the worry, Irene brought up the big bad Eel. Lee had hazel eyes, almost gold, that seemed to bewitch the women and scare the men. He kept his hair shaven on the sides but in a long, black ponytail on the top. Only his personal hairstylist (a friend he made in law school, whatever that was) could attempt to touch and suggest changes to it. He kept his body fit and never ate more than what he needed and only ever in private. Lee was called the Eel because whilst it was a good pun on his name (he never said so, but Lee appreciated the occasional pun), it also fit with the fact he never got caught by the authorities for his extensive list of crimes. As the leader of a vast underground system of organized crime, he always seemed to slink between the fingers of justice. He slid between obstacles the same way an eel would. She got the golden eyes from him along with his cleverness and his ruthlessness.

When Irene understood Rouge’s plan to fight the contractions and keep her son inside as long as she could, even if it meant her death, just so he could be born safe from the hunters outside, she told her of the last soul. She told her of the love story of Asimu, the assassin, to keep her mind away from some of the pain. As they held hands, she began. Asimu, or Assassin Sent to Infiltrate Military Unit, was some sort of super soldier. An underground scientist cell modified his brain and DNA for him to be stronger, faster and smarter than the average soldier whilst also retaining total obedience. He also had been given a photographic memory, give him a sheet of info and he’ll have it completely memorised in a blink. He was rented by factions to infiltrate other factions and kill targets. That was his purpose. He had green eyes, was bald but, he had a scar the shape of a circle and taking half his head in area. The scientists kept him clean-shaven and didn’t let him get out of a single session of training, which he didn’t even think of doing.

One day, a woman with big, cat-eye glasses rented him. She didn’t want an assassin, she wanted a bodyguard. It was unusual, but a deal was struck nonetheless. The woman had uncovered an old alphabet, ancient in fact. It held great power and should only be used in emergencies, she believed. Factions wanted it and wanted her to write it for them. Wars could be fought and won because of it. Countless could die. She would talk to Asimu like he could respond, as if they were in conversation, but he would only stare. She shared her thoughts out loud and studied her runes, her alphabet, with him at her back.

One day, Asimu responded with a grunt to one of her question. Asimu lacked vocal chords. Or so she was told. She prompted him again and again and, eventually, the two held a conversation. A basic conversation but, a conversation. Asimu wasn’t supposed to be sentient. If he wasn’t, now he was. He began to feel emotions. He broke down and she was there. He never left her side after that.

Irene got glowing green eyes, plenty of fighting and killing techniques, a good memory for faces and names, and , finally, an alphabet of powerful runes activated by the writer’s body heat from Asimu. How the runes work, she couldn’t explain better than that.

Garp was a week away, she heard. His famed ship with the bulldog figurehead was spotted an island away. Irene had written and sent the updates he had asked for and time for him to come around was near. 86 weeks. 20 months. That’s how long Rouge had been strong and brave for. She wrote the location.

A roar shook the house to its foundations. The now eighteen year old had found a midwife weeks prior but, only brought her tonight. She stayed outside, despite the old woman’s asking for her to stay and hold Rouge’s hand. The two had become good friends in the year or so they had stayed together, neither wanted to see the end of this. They both knew the toll of keeping the pregnancy alive for so long had been. He would be born, but she would die soon after. Irene refused to see her take her last breaths and her son take his firsts.

She had to be honest with herself; she found some comfort in Rouge. Yes, they became friends, she could trust her with pretty much everything and they both leaned on the other’s shoulders during storms, both outside and inside their heads. She realized now, as tears ruined her mascara and eyeliner but she refused her sobs, that she had fallen down a well. She had thrown too many berries in it, wishing for a different outcome to all this horrifying debacle and now, she found herself in the wishing well’s water, the bucket out of reach. She fell and hit her head, fantasies of raising a child on this hill with a woman who only saw her as a friend and confidant filled her dreams for weeks, different scenarios but always the same concept: Rouge survived, Garp allowed them to live here, hiding her son’s existence, her captain and her friend’s child grew safe and sound in a semi-normal household and she got to live out the quiet life she wished for.

Another yell. None of that would happen. She could see the marine ship through the heavy rain and the night’s darkness. He’d be here soon. She wasn’t one to wince at things but every yell brought out a cringe out of Irene. She couldn’t even begin to understand the pain her friend was in. She resisted the urge to get her rifle and aim at Garp’s head when she saw him at the foot of the hill: she could end him now, freeze Rouge in place with a few well-chosen runes, perform a caesarean, stitch her closed and get on the run with both of them. She could- no. No, she couldn’t. Not that she can’t, but, the two women had explored the possibilities extensively; Rouge wanted things to happen naturally, for one and, Irene understood the complications that could happen in the surgery and, contrary to Selma’s workplace, she lacked every instrument needed to perform surgery safely. Muddy footsteps brought her out of her thoughts

Garp stood in front her, a serious expression plastered on his scared face. She had leaned on the door and blocked the passage. The yelling had stopped, an eerie silence amongst the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the roof and window shutters. Irene held her breath, so did the older man. They only relaxed when a high-pitched cry cut the air. The baby was breathing, he was born and he was breathing. Garp motioned to open the door but the young woman stood her ground. She drew a pistol and placed the end of the barrel under the vice-admiral’s chin: “Ya give her a few minutes, she growled from deep in her throat. If she’s losing as much blood as I estimated in ma updates, she’s got seven minutes and a half. Now six. Let her say goodbye properly an’ hold her boy.”

The marine was silent but still, he nodded in agreement. Together, they sat in uncomfortable silence for the next five minutes. When only a minute was left, Irene stepped away from the door and let him in. He returned a few moments later with a baby in his arms, still crying. He already had a tuft of dark hair and she could tell by the minuscule spots on his face he shared Rouge’s freckles. Another tear fell down her left cheek. “Godmother, Irene stated in a shaky voice. Rouge… asked me to be godmother. I- I told her I’d be terrible at it but, she-

- I can update you.”

The girl nodded, hiding her eyes under her cowboy hat. She refused to know the boy’s name. She had a burial to prepare.

#one piece #one piece x oc #one piece oc #fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #red haired shanks #buggy the clown #gol d. roger #portgas d ace #portgas d rouge #monkey d garp #my writing

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