A Battleship rolled through the waves, its majestic hull gleamed in the sunlight, colour refracting off the cold metal hull. A cheerful and vitality filled voice could be heard barking orders.
"Bwahahahaha! Look at you lot, shivering. If your knees knock any louder, you'll alert the damn pirates before we even drop anchor!" Garp ignorantly slammed a massive hand onto the railing, the metallic accents groaning under his touch. As he took a huge bite out of a rice cracker, spraying crumbs over the polished deck.
"Don't give me those long faces! So what if the Rocks Pirates are coming? That just means there's more work for my fists! Hey! You! Recruit! The skinny one with the bucket!"
He pointed a thick finger toward me, my face dropping into a grimace as I attempt to shrink away, attempting to blend into the woodwork.
"Stop scrubbing that deck and go find me more crackers! How am I supposed to maintain 'Justice' on an empty stomach?" Garp's jovial tone continued as he attempted to calm his crew.
Bogard stepped forward, the brim of his hat casting a sharp shadow over his eyes. He didn't look at the recruits; his gaze was fixed on the dark smudge of God Valley appearing on the horizon.
"Vice-Admiral," Bogard said, his voice sharp and coldly seething. "The Fleet Admiral's orders were for a quiet approach to secure the Nobles. Your booming voice is currently being heard by every Den Den Mushi within three nautical miles. Please... try to act like a Marine for at least five minutes."
Garp picked his ear with his pinky and blew at it. "Quiet? Since when has Garp 'the Fist' ever been quiet, Bogard? If those Celestial brats wanted a quiet escort, they should've sent Sengoku and his damn goat!"
I scrambled to my feet, the empty bucket clattering against the deck. I didn't wait for a second order. When Garp "asked" for something, the air around him usually began to hum with a pressure that made my lungs feel two sizes too small.
I lowered my head in embarrassment and sprinted, the heavy iron soles of my oversized boots clanking against the metal grate of the deck.
"Whoa there, Kid." I swerved just in time to avoid Chief Petty Officer Vardis. He was a mountain of a man with a mustache so thick you could probably hide a pistol in it. He was hauling a crate of heavy mortar shells like they were bags of feathers.
"Sorry, Garp's orders! I'm on cracker duty!" I yelped, trying to keep my balance.
Vardis let out a booming laugh, the crate on his shoulder not moving an inch. "Cracker duty? Truly the most dangerous mission on the ship! If you drop 'em, the Vice-Admiral will have your head, but if you take too long, he'll eat your hand! Get moving, kid, before he starts chewing on the railing!"
I dived down the hatch into the humid dark of the lower decks. The air down here smelled like a mix of machine oil, old coffee, and sweat.
As I reached the galley corridor, I nearly ran right into Ensign Drax. He was younger than the others and always obsessed with his uniform. He was currently polishing his sword hilt, but his eyes were darting toward the portholes every couple seconds.
"Easy, Shrimp!" Drax said, catching me by the shoulder to steady me. He ruffled my hair, though it was more of a nervous habit than a greeting. "You're running like the Rocks Pirates are already behind you. Save that energy for when we actually land, yeah? We're gonna need those fast legs of yours to fetch us more than just snacks."
"Is it really gonna be that bad, sir?" I asked, my voice small.
Drax stopped polishing his blade for a second. He gave me a lopsided, shaky grin. "With Garp there? We'll be fine. Just... maybe find a very sturdy crate to crawl into once the shooting starts, okay?"
I nodded quickly and burst into the galley. The heat hit me like a blow to the stomach.
"Out of the way! Working man coming through!" Cookie exclaimed, his real name was Barnaby, but he'd throw a ladle at anyone who said it. He was a veteran with a jagged scar across his nose and arms covered in old grease burns.
"Top shelf, Kid!" Looking up they were easy to spot. Rows of see-through plastic packaging with large bold letters on a wooden patch bristled as the ship rocked. I scrambled up the pantry ladder, grabbing as many as I could carry.
"Here, take these too," Cookie added, tossing a small, wrapped bundle of dried jerky toward me. which I barely manage to catch against my chest. He winked at me, his rough face softening just a tiny bit. "Better eat that before you get back to the deck. Don't want the Oaf eating that too..."