Chapter Text
Pirates, its always fucking pirates making my day harder than it had to be. Only to add insult to injury it had to be one of those rookie pirates from the worst generation throwing a wrench into an already delicate situation. A precarious political ordeal I had been meticulously balancing as to not upset any of the powers at be.
Well whooptie do, the powers at be were now upset and I had the pleasure of adding seven new names to my personal shit list. That Straw Hat boy and his crew were stirring up trouble and it was already causing a tension headache to form.
Oh, but above all else was the one man who should under no circumstances have let a seventeen year old kid trounce on him as he did.
Crocodile.
Once a pirate turned warlord of the sea, now on his way to rot in Impel Down.
Alabasta was a large kingdom with a seedy underbelly run by the giant of a man. Well organized, beloved by the people, exceedingly competent personnel available at the snap of his fingers, and the power of a logia devil fruit at his command. It should have been easy for a veritable powerhouse such as Sir Crocodile to take over a nation, almost to be expected from a man just as power hungry as the current Warlord, Donquixote Doflamingo.
A match made in heaven if you were to ask me. That, or formidable opponents who would tear each other's throats out struggling for power between the two before anyone else had the opportunity to step in.
Regardless, Alabasta was a somewhat insulated nation plagued with social unrest rooted in class divide and exasperated by the scarcity of resources. Primarily, water. In a desert kingdom water was akin to gold and Crocodile swam in pools of both.
It was hard work, nasty work even, getting enough plausible intel on the scheme he was pulling to usurp the crown, but I was parsing through it. Slipping my eyes and ears into his army of Hundreds and Thousands was simple work, pedestrian, and Crocodile had one fatal flaw. The man liked to flaunt, and under the right circumstances, incredibly easy to pull tidbits of information from.
Of course, all of it had to be done out of prying eyes. Yes, the desert kingdom did sit under the authority of the world government, and yes that did entitle them to have a marine presence in their nation, but that was the problem. They were entitled to it, they did not have to take it.
The marines had little to no authority within Alabasta’s borders, unless given direct orders by the World Government, and so did not maintain a strong presence. The Nefritari family kept an army on standby, highly skilled warriors but with no power outside of their dominion. Given this, and the Navy’s need to keep an eye on all pirates, Warlords included, when Crocodile moved his base of operations to a gilded casino in Alabasta, it became increasingly more difficult to scrutinize the man.
He was smart, crafty, and cunning, unfortunately though, I have the resources of the marines at my side, and I could be just as ruthless.
If only I were given a few more months I could have taken that scaly reptile down myself. I was so damn close and pirates, pirates of all things, beat me to the jump. Now it was my problem to deal with, I had to pull enough intel out of my ass to make it look like the navy was behind the whole ordeal.
The only small blessing was the fact I did not have to be the face of it. That chore fell to Sengoku, my not so formal superior officer. It was my job to keep him informed and briefed as to the goings on in the world, piracy chief among those things. It was a duty I took with the utmost responsibility, meticulously maintaining a web of informants should they be navy, civilian, or of a bit more legally dubious persuasion.
Though, at times, a job well done was a job done oneself. Hunting down information went so much faster without relying on a transponder snail call. There was always progress and I was not one to be dismayed by a dead end.
Maybe that's why Sengoku had started to put me back out in the field again. Or perhaps it had something to do with Vice Admiral Garp’s supposed relationship to the young man leading the group that took down a Warlord.
That was all just speculation though, and that was not my job. My job was to provide objective facts for the navy to act on with their own conjecture, not my own.
Rubber soles thundered angrily through the echoing halls of Marineford. The heavy weighted steel of a standard issue naval revolver was little to no comfort as it thumped lazily in its holster. A meeting of the seven Warlords was being called, but I was less than doubtful that even one of them would show face. Each was to bring their own suggestion for who was to replace the reptile and I was only there to stand witness. Watch and gauge reactions, pull the smallest detail from each reaction.
The polished halls of Marineford reflected bright white sunlight shining through tall arched windows, heating a freshly waxed floor. Ensign’s stood sentinel at the entrance to each conference room, in use or not. A display of strength, one that conjured postulation as to just how many forces strong the marines truly were that they could spare this many troops for what was essentially nothing work.
Pushing through the grand double doors designed to flex the wealth of the World Government in their naval headquarters I spot the newly appointed Bartholamew Kuma seated in a chair far too small for his large frame. As to be expected, however, another man, larger than life, is perched like some feathery affront to nature in the center of a conference table bigger than some fishing boats I had seen. Donquixote Doflamingo, a tyrant in his own right, ruler of Dressrosa and beloved by his people. How he came to ascend to the throne is foggy at best and clear as pitch tar at worst.
Doflamingo is in the midst of gloating about how successful his business is in Dressrosa and I make a mental note to check in with the eyes and ears I have in the city. I take up a position standing beyond my own superior officers, scanning the room for any shift in persona.
“Pardon me for not being overjoyed at the idea of a booming pirate business.” Sengoku’s ever enigmatic tone thunders through the room.
I internally cringe, knowing Doflamingo is trying to insight a reaction. These kinds of things are never fun, especially not when the entire room is filled with bull headed men who all believe themselves superior to one another.
Sengoku regards his comrades, “lets go ahead and get this started. It’s not like anyone else is going to show up.”
As if on cue for a dramatic entrance, a looming, authoritative presence fills the room. The Warlord Dracule ‘Hawk Eyes’ Mihawk. Piercing golden eyes bore holes each and every person in attendance, akin to stained glass in the midday sun. His perfectly styled mustache ticks up near imperceptible in annoyance, wide brimmed hat casting deep shadows over flawless skin.
Broad squared shoulders bear the weight of the legendary sword Yoru, handle stretching far beyond the drop off of his arms. Gleaming, a gold cross dangles from his neck, a small knife, hidden in the apex of the fixture. A long greatcoat sweeps dramatically behind him, well kept but still worn to his body, bare chest exposed underneath. Unmarked alabaster skin, no, not unmarked, scarred, but so faded it would be impossible to tell if not in direct lighting or being close enough to breath on the swordsman's skin. Tailored pants hang low on his hips, only staying up with the grace of a thick leather belt.
The assessment takes half a second, but even in that time my own treacherous mind can't help but note how handsome the man before me is. He’d really be quite the catch if he weren't a pirate, I muse wistfully.
Hawk Eyes is as smug as someone who carried the title ‘Worlds Greatest Swordsman’ could be. “So good to hear your dulcet tones again, Doflamingo.” He doesn't bother to pause as Doflamingo regards him, “and you Admiral Sengoku, I hope you've been well,” the sneer in his tone says otherwise. “I must say I've never understood why the seven Warlords and the marines insist on pretending they get along, but perhaps you can enlighten me.”
Mihawk chooses to sit equidistant from his colleagues and the naval officers in front of him, feet resting against the table like this was a barn and not a government building. Maybe all that refinement did have a limit.
“Hawk Eyes,” Doflamingo greets all too cheerfully, “maybe this won't be as boring as I had thought.”
He gives the room a disgusted look, like being here isn't worth the time it took to roll out of bed this morning. “I have an interest in the pirates who took down Crocodile.”
Aah, so that's why he's here. He’s just satiating his own curiosity. I should have expected that.
I stay as still as possible, eyes flicking from one Warlord to the next, back and forth between high ranking marines, listening as each throws names into the ring for who they believe should fill the vacant seat. Who should be the government's newest attack dog more like it.
It was nothing that wasn't to be expected, each navy men threw out the name of a promising upstart that would be easily swayed by the power offered under the world government's protection, while Doflamingo dominated the conversation on behalf of his fellow Warlords. Every name he offered up was nothing more than a thinly veiled grab for power, each pirate answering to him in some way or another.
Kuma sat passive, barely even breathing. Someone might have mistaken him for a statue, had the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders indicating life. Mihawk was none too dissimilar, however his eyes scanned the room with the kind of cold calculating gaze that could cut a man down without even needing to flick up a brow.
Boring, that's what this meeting was. Everyone already knew the marines in the room had their choice and it was just a matter of formality the meeting was even called.
That was until another presence made themselves known with just as equal a dramatic entrance, quite literally throwing their hat into the ring. Tall and slender, carrying a cane he did not bother using, my mind immediately began flipping through bounty posters and intelligence reports.
Murmurs erupt on the side of the marines, “Laffitte.”
“A thousand gratitude's," he placates, “it matters not what you think of me. I am here to nominate a certain man for the position of Warlord.”
That's right, Laffitte, a former policeman, forcibly removed and exiled from his home in the West Blue. Countless acts of brutality against the civilians if I recall correctly. Must have only recently joined up with a pirate crew, not even my eyes and ears had reported on such an incident.
My gaze darts around the room, assessing each reaction when he catches me. Gilded eyes halt my search, the intensity of his look forcing my immediate halt. It's knowing, assessing, like I am but a rabbit in the talons of an eagle.
Calm yourself marine, he is just a man. You are a marine in the center of naval power. It does not matter that you hold your title for reasons outside of physical prowess. Calm down.
It takes a moment, but I manage to tear my eyes away. Something churning in my stomach told me he knew I was more than just a fly on the wall. The weight sitting along my waistband suddenly felt all too real. A silent reminder of the defense I could have should I need it.
“Blackbeard,” Laffitte states simply.
The interruption has me stifling a quiet scoff of indignation. Smooth as possible I offer Mihawk a small but sheepish nod, like I was just some ensign in the wrong room at an inopportune time. Flicking from person to person I notice Doflamingo’s posture, relaxed and bemused. Kuma is still as ever and I briefly wonder if he's even awake.
Blackbeard, huh? He had power, sure, rumor had it he was in possession of devil fruit capabilities but no one was sure what exactly they were yet. A small-time pirate with an odd sort of crew if Laffitte was a part of it. This Blackbeard personality, even if they were strong, did not hold the infamy of the other Warlords. He was not a household name and thus could not qualify without proving himself a loyal dog first.
A loyal dog always brings its master the morning News Coo, now doesn't it.
The superior officers in the room all seem to be in agreement, posture loosening just a hair after the intrusion.
Sengoku parrots my unspoken sentiment, chuckling to himself, “well take that into consideration.” The Fleet Admiral stands to his full height, signaling an effective dismissal for everyone in the room. “I believe that is all we need to hear for now.”
I stay rooted in place, watching as each powerhouse filters from the room until none but myself and my personal superior are left.
“Report to my office in ten minutes.”
Rehearsed, drilled into my mind after years of service, my arm comes up in a perfect salute. “Yes, Fleet Admiral Sengoku, sir.”