Waking To A Daydream
I woke up to the sun shining through my eyelids, a headache, and a burning in my lungs that made me crave a cigarette.
Now, this was strange on two fronts. One, because I'd never touched nicotine in this new life and two, because I was pretty sure I was supposed to be dead. Yet the persistent pounding of my head and the warmth on my face told me that wasn't quite the case.
I blinked my eyes open, only to immediately squeeze them shut again as the sun drilled directly into my retinas. I groaned, lifting a hand to shield my face, and was rewarded with a sharp pain in my entire upper body that made me hiss through my teeth.
So I wasn't dead. Small mercies, I guess.
"Oh, you're awake!"
The voice that rang out above me was loud, cheerful, and with an accent that sounded vaguely Scottish. Footsteps approached and a shadow fell over my face. I opened my eyes and was met, not with the sun, but a similarly bright grin only a foot or so away.
Said face was haloed by a shock of red curls that fell down onto mine. I sputtered, blowing strands out of my mouth, before regarding the visage before me.
It was a woman around my age, with tanned skin and warm brown eyes. She was wearing a black, tricorn hat bordered in gold, and a similarly colored coat that was slung over her shoulders like most pirates in this world tended to do. A cutlass was sheathed on one hip, while the other was occupied by an engraved pistol and a small flask in a custom holster.
She was also wearing an absurd amount of jewelry. Gold shined from her neck, ears, hands, and even wrists. There was so much of it that the woman herself seemed to jingle as she moved closer.
"Hey there!" She said as I squinted at her. "You alright? Found you washed up on some cargo this morning, half drowned and looking like death dragged through a knothole backwards. You know the ocean's not for swimmin' don't you?"
I stared up at the woman, my brain lagging behind in my battered state. My lungs burned with every breath, and my entire body felt like it had been beaten with sticks, which, given the storm, wasn't far from the truth.
"Wha—" I started, before devolving into a coughing fit that wracked my entire body. Saltwater spewed from my lips, and I rolled onto my side as the fit continued, my shoulders heaving with the effort of expelling the ocean from my lungs.
A hand slapped against my back, helping to clear my airways with a few well-placed thumps. "Let it out, let it out. The sea's a greedy lass; she likes to keep what she takes. You've not escaped her just yet, I don't think."
I hacked up what felt like a gallon of seawater before the fit finally subsided, leaving me gasping on the deck like a landed fish. The woman's grin never wavered.
"Alright?" She asked.
"Been better," I managed to wheeze out. My throat felt like I had swallowed broken glass, and my voice came out rough and scratchy. "Been worse too, though."
The woman let out a bark of laughter, "I can tell that from the look of ya. What's your name, lass?"
I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, taking a moment to steady myself before attempting to stand. The deck swayed beneath me, and I had to grab onto the woman's offered arm to keep from toppling over.
"Irana," I said, blinking against the sunlight. Now that I wasn't drowning or coughing up seawater, I could take in my surroundings more clearly. The ship I was standing on was smaller than the marine vessel we'd stolen. Red sails caught the wind above me, sending it forward to cut through the ocean at a brisk pace.
A schooner? I wondered, unsure exactly how well the vessel fit into the classifications I barely even had knowledge of. Where's the rest of the crew?
The woman and I were the only ones on the entire deck. Two sets of cannons rested on either side of the ship, and the helm was up a set of stairs, looking over the deck. The wheel wasn't moving, indicating that it was locked on whatever course had already been set.
My thoughts were stolen as the woman patted me on the shoulder, grinning even wider. "Nice to meet you! I'm Rachel! Captain of this here vessel and the crew that calls it home!"
I eyed her. "Crew of?"
"Pirates, of course!" She laughed, confirming my suspicions. "Ya didn't think the Navy has enough style to sail a ship like this, did ya?"
"Considering my experiences with them..." I muttered, looking around. "Where's the rest of your crew?"
"Below deck, I imagine. Snoozin' the day away, most of them," Rachel said, gesturing vaguely toward a set of stairs leading into the ship's interior. "There's only a few of us. A strong few, but a few, and we had quite a bit of work to keep the Fury afloat in that storm. Same one that dumped you on our doorstep, I'd wager."
My heart skipped a beat as I was suddenly reminded of the situation that had landed me here in the first place. The storm. Umi.
"The storm," I repeated, my voice coming out strangled. "The ship I was on—did you see it? It was a Marine ship we commandeered. A half-giant should have been at the helm."
Rachel's grin faded slightly, replaced by something more serious. She shook her head slowly, and my heart landed in my stomach.
"We found you clinging to some cargo, no other ship in sight," she paused as she saw my expression drop and tried for a comforting expression. "But there wasn't much debris where we found you so I'd bet money that whatever vessel you dropped out of kept sailing through that storm. It didn't last long, so there's a chance your friends made it through alright."
I nodded slowly, trying to calm down. One Piece was no stranger to borderline apocalyptic weather events, so it stood to reason that even normal ships were tough enough to withstand the type of storm that had thrown me overboard. Not to mention, Jerrik had some experience sailing, even if it had been years. He would be able to keep the ship afloat at least.
A small part of me worried regardless of the rationalization, but I squashed the feeling down before it could form into a thought. Panicking right now would help nothing.
"The only island anywhere near here is Kara Town," Rachel continued. "It's a few days' sail from here, give or take. Not too far."
"Kara Town?" I echoed, trying to recall any island names from the map I found. I vaguely remembered something of the sort, a port town in an archipelago.
"Aye." Rachel nodded, her grin returning in full force. She took her hand off my shoulder, resting it on the hilt of her sword as she gave me a wink. "Lucky for you, we're already headed that way. You're more than welcome to stay aboard until we port."
I opened my mouth to thank her, but the words caught in my throat. I swallowed hard, trying to force them past the lump that had formed there.
"Thank you," I managed, the words coming out rough and sincere. "I... I appreciate it."
Rachel's grin returned full force, and she clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to make me stumble. "Don't mention it! The sea looks after her own, or so they say. Consider this a bit of good fortune from the waves herself!"
I wasn't sure I believed in good fortune after everything I had been through, but I nodded anyway. It was something to hold onto, at least.
Rachel's hand found my arm, pulling me up from my hunched position and onto my feet in one smooth motion. I grunted as my ribs groaned in protest.
"Right, first order of business," Rachel declared, steadying me with one hand. "You need to see our doctor. Can't have you dying on my ship after the ocean so kindly spat you back out."
"That's probably a good idea," I admitted, pressing a hand against my side. My ribs felt like they had been used as a drum, and every breath came with a dull throb of pain. I took a step forward and immediately winced as weight was put on all the wrong places.
Rachel saw it and motioned for me to follow her as she headed toward the stairs. "Come on. They're in the lab."
I followed her down the stairs. The interior of the ship was more cramped than the marine's ship but somehow much more homey and also much less crowded. The stairs opened up into an open hall leading into a larger room that as far as I could see, was completely empty. It was almost eerily quiet, save for one sound that broke the silence.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The rhythmic striking of metal on metal echoed through the corridor, coming from somewhere deeper within the ship. I glanced around, taking in the emptiness with a furrowed brow. "Where is everyone? I thought you said you had a crew."
"Oh, they're around," Rachel said, waving a dismissive hand. "They've all got their own stuff to do."
The metallic clanging continued as Rachel led me down the corridor. I found my eyes drawn toward the sound, curiosity getting the better of me despite my current state.
Rachel caught my gaze and grinned. "That's Brogy," she said, jerking her thumb in the direction of the noise. "Our armorer. He's probably working on his cannon or something. I'll introduce you later once you're not half-dead on your feet."
I noted the fact that she specifically clarified his cannon but filed it away as her words reminded me of something. I reached behind me, fingers groping empty air where the heft of an axe should have been.
"Hey," I said, catching Rachel's attention. I pointed at my back as she looked over. "Did I have an axe with me when you found me?"
She shook her head. "Nothing but the rags on your back. Why? Was it important to you?"
I shook my head. "Not really, but it was a good axe. Took it off a Marine Commander."
"Spoils of war, eh?" Rachel chuckled. "Well I'm sorry to say, but there wasn't anythin' like that as far as I saw. But if it's an axe you fancy, we could certainly find you what you need once we get you all patched up."
This woman was insanely trusting. Either she was extremely strong, or naive. Somehow, I doubted it was the latter. "I appreciate it."
We continued down the corridor, passing doors that led to what I assumed were crew quarters and storage rooms. Rachel pointed this out every now and then: a kitchen, booze storage, regular storage, even the treasury further down.
"You're pretty accommodating for a pirate," I noted.
Rachel let out a bark of laughter that echoed down the corridor. "Aye, I suppose I am. Though not all pirates are pillaging rapists, you know. Just most of them." She flashed me a grin over her shoulder. "You won't find any of that sort around here. Just a bunch of fools chasin' dreams."
The way she said it caught my attention. There was an inflection in her voice when she spoke the word dreams, a reverence that I couldn't quite unpack.
She turned to me, her expression almost thoughtful.
"What about you?" she asked. "You have a dream?"
I stared at her for a long moment, then let out a huff of laughter. "Can't say I do. I've been a slave for almost five years. The biggest dream I had was making sure my friend got to see the sky again. Never really gave any thought to my own well-being past that. Wasn't even sure if I'd live to see it, to be honest."
Rachel was quiet for a moment, her grin fading just a smidge. She didn't offer pity or hollow words of comfort, which I honestly sort of appreciated.
"That's a sad tale," she said, her voice full of genuine sympathy. "But you're alive now."
It was such a simple statement, but there was a weight in the words that made me pause.
I didn't know how to respond to it, so I didn't, though it seemed like she didn't expect me to as she soon continued on her way.
Eventually, Rachel stopped in front of a door that looked no different from any of the others we had passed, except for the small brass plate mounted at eye level that read simply: "DOC."
Rachel rapped her knuckles against the wood. "Oi, Doc! Got a patient for you!"
There was no immediate response, and for a moment I wondered if the doctor was even in there. Then the door swung open on its own—or rather, it was pulled open from the inside by a figure that I had to double-take at.
Now, One Piece was well known for its zany, wacky characters that probably would have looked like they were straight out of uncanny valley if put into any other medium, but I'd been mostly spared of meeting anybody those folks so far. Now that streak had been broken.
Doc turned out to be a rather androgynous figure, in the vein that they seemed neither male nor female, yet at the same time both. Their skin was the color of freshly cooled ash and their hair was long and grey yet somehow maintained the luster of one who had taken care not to let it fall to the ravages of time. They were wearing a lab coat over a white collared button up, though no gloves to speak of, leaving their hands exposed.
Their extremely bloody hands.
I blinked, my eyes tracing the crimson that coated their fingers and palms and the stitches that lied underneath them. Surprisingly, not a single drop of blood had managed to get onto the lab coat. I wasn't sure if that was comforting or concerning.
The so-named Doc stared at me with unblinking yellow eyes, their expression completely neutral, as if they hadn't just answered the door with hands that looked like they'd been elbow-deep in a corpse.
"Ah," Doc said, their voice flat and as indiscernible as their features. "A patient."
"The one we fished out this morning," Rachel explained, seemingly unbothered by the state of the doctor's hands. "She's a bit waterlogged and her ribs are bothering her. Figured you'd want to take a look."
Doc hummed, their eyes roving over me with a scrutinizing intensity.
"Given her posture, the ribcage appears intact but tender," they observed, though I had a feeling they were talking more to themselves than me. "Seems to be favoring her left side, possible fracture rather than a break. Lacerations on the face, hands, and arms consistent with blunt trauma and abrasion. Obvious but mild dehydration. Elevated heart rate, though that could be attributed to current stress... Still best to take a look."
Doc stepped aside, gesturing through the door. "Please, step inside and disrobe. I'll need to examine you properly."
I glanced at Rachel, who gave me an encouraging nod. "Don't worry, Doc may seem a little creepy, but they're a professional."
"I'm not going to assault you, if that's what you're worried about," the doctor said in a svelte tone. "Perhaps a blood sample or two for my research, but nothing untoward."
Considering my situation, I didn't really have a choice. I stepped past the doctor and into the lab.
—
Elbow deep in a chest in storage, Rachel hummed a jaunty tune to herself, unable to rid herself of the good mood she had found herself in.
Her fingers brushed against something soft and she grinned, pulling the bundle free from the chest.
"Ooh, she'll love this," Rachel said, holding it up for view. "Loads better than those rags she was wearin'"
The coat was a deep navy blue, well-worn but sturdy, with brass buttons that still had a bit of shine to them. It wasn't anything fancy—certainly nothing compared to the treasures she normally coveted—but it was warm and thick, and the girl she'd fished out of the ocean looked like she hadn't had a proper piece of clothing in years.
Rachel draped it over her arm, already imagining the look on the lass's face when she handed it over. It wasn't every day you got to play the hero, and even less often that you got to do something as simple as giving someone a coat. Small kindnesses were their own kind of treasure, in a way. Different from gold and jewels, but valuable all the same.
Her thoughts drifted back to the girl herself—Irana.
She'd looked like absolute shite, that was for certain. Thin as a rail, covered in scars both old and new, and wearing rags that barely qualified as clothing, her appearance and empty eyes spoke of years of hard living and harder times.
Yet apparently she still had enough fight in her to kill a Navy Commander and take his weapon as her own. Now there was a feat!
Rachel wasn't the type to take every claim at face value, but Irana didn't strike her as the type to boast. The girl had fought and killed a Marine Commander and taken his weapon as a prize.
Half the Commanders Rachel'd met weren't worth the rank on their shoulders, sure, but the other half were plenty dangerous. For a slip of a girl who looked like she hadn't had a proper meal in years to take one down... well, either she'd gotten lucky, or there was more to Irana than met the eye.
And if Rachel were a betting girl...
Footsteps behind her broke her from her thoughts, and she turned to find a woman standing in the doorway of the storage room, arms crossed over her chest. She was short, and wrapped in furs that covered her tan skin from head to toe. A pair of yellow eyes glared at Rachel from underneath a swatch of carefully applied face paint the color of blood.
"Morning, Captain," Rachel winced at Nera's displeased tone, already knowing where this conversation was going. "Want to explain why I walked in on Doc treating a naked stranger who I know I didn't vet?"
Sweat broke out on Rachel's face. "Ah... Well–uh... ya see..."
Even as Rachel floundered for an explanation, she knew it was hopeless. Nera's expression told her she wasn't going to be talking her way out of this one.