A/N: My thanks go to Tsumi Yuki and Lang Noi, thank you both for inspiring this story.

Flight of the Albatross

By: Abalisk

Chapter 1: Lady of Ash

Day broke and the air was stifled with a choking smog, the final vestiges of a raging inferno. Distant snaps and crackles let those who lingered know that the coals still burned hot despite the waning storm, forcing them to proceed through the smouldering rubble with caution. Black smoke rose from the ruins, curling end over end like the coupling of serpents, sectioning off the red hues of the brightening sky.

She sat kneeling on the cold ground, knees crunched into scattered debris. At a glance it might have looked like she was praying, her head bowed to her chest and arms at her side, but closer inspection told a different tale. The way her bomber jacket was torn along the sleeves and the crimson stains splattered like paint across the ground made for a macabre picture.

Brown hair, powdered grey from the falling ash, shifted with a stray wind to reveal a worn face, grey with pain. Dark circles sitting heavy beneath her hazel eyes accentuated her haunted look. Dead. But still clinging to the realm of the living.

This was it.

The resistance was no more.

She failed...

A shadow fell across the ground, encompassing her body like a human shaped eclipse. Dry, like the crackling of leaves, a laugh wormed its way up his throat, devoid of humor. "Is it all you've ever wanted?" he rasped, mocking and cruel, his shadow swallowing her much smaller form, "Is this the precious future you asked for?"

No answer greeted his question, as was expected. It was the same. It always was.

"Hey…" she ventured instead, subdued. Familiarity on her breath. She didn't react when a rough hand wrenched her head back by her hair and she was blinded by the sun cresting the horizon.

A knife sat poised by her throat, the silvery steel kissing her skin. Welcoming her like an old friend. A lover.

He intended to make this personal. Not that it was anything new. Things had been personal from the start.

A hiss of dissent rippled through the gathering crowd and she gave a feral grin in response. A smile that made a scowl twist upon his face. Once again, she would have the last laugh. Her flesh split in twain as the blade pressed in, she could feel the minute quivers of the hand that wielded it. As it always did.

So hesitant.

But this dance of theirs could not go on. The courtship of eagles finished.

"Do you believe in destiny?" she whispered, her eyes almost glowing orange with the dawn.

xXx

Ace gasped, his knee smacking against the table as he jerked awake, making the plates stacked around him rattle ominously. Cursing under his breath, he rubbed at the sore limb, his brain still in a confused daze. What in the hell was that?

It took him several moments to organize his thoughts enough to recognize his location, the remnants of the dream still clinging to his mind like a persistent squid. He was in a restaurant, a posh, high-end joint in the Upper Terrace, with a name he couldn't pronounce and where the meals definitely cost more than the average man could afford.

The cold, if extravagant, decoration was a stark contrast to what he was used to in the warm, homey taverns he normally frequented. To anyone who knew him, he would have seemed like a fish out of water.

And perhaps he was more obvious than that, the other patrons and even staff of the restaurant stopped to stare, muttering conversation ceasing into a still hush. Appearing unperturbed, Ace grinned and resumed eating, making loud smacking noises to fill the silence, ravenously plowing through the rice he'd just been face-planted in mere moments ago. A few more disgusted looks turned his way, but it didn't take long before the chatter resumed again, several snippets of conversation filtering through the din:

"Someone didn't teach that boy proper manners."

"How uncouth."

"That suit was last week's design."

Ace ignored the attention, making certain to not pause let it show that he was embarrassed by the interruption. He wasn't going to let these stuck up rich folk get a leg up on him.

He didn't give a damn what they thought, despite the slight burning of his cheeks

Instead, his mind turned to address the more curious issue: 'the dream'. What in the Blue Seas was that anyway? he wondered, chewing the remains of his meal and idly scratching the back of his head, the black locks mussing into a nest of curls, And that girl… I don't think I've ever seen her before…?

Twirling the fork in his hand, Ace hummed to himself with a furrowed brow, deeply disturbed. He had vivid dreams before, though usually they were either something trivial or a replayed memory. However, this one felt like it held some sort of significance and he was damn certain he'd never seen that person before, but the image was too detailed to be a stranger. He wasn't a terribly superstitious person so Ace was a bit hesitant to believe that it was a vision.

Hah.

The day he actually believed he had prophetic dreams would be the day he'd eat his own boots; the very notion was absolutely absurd. He snorted derisively.

"Are you okay, mister?" a voice squeaked.

Blinking, Ace scrubbed a hand over his face to dislodge several flecks of rice and turned his head to see who addressed him. A waitress stood by, nervously clenching and unclenching her fingers around the circular tray in her hand. Her eyes were a watery blue and she had long wavy blond hair that framed a heart shaped face. She's cute, he noted absently, but didn't voice it aloud, instead smiling with boyish charm around his full mouth. "I'm just fine miss, nothing to worry about here."

"But…" she trailed off, giving probably what she thought was a surreptitious glance to his precarious pile of plates and a frowning mustachioed man that stood at a not-so-discreet distance. Probably the manager.

Perfect.

"You've been asleep for nearly two hours now," she continued, unaware of his mischievous glances around the room, his dark eyes taking in the exits, "We were worried when you just… fell over, sir."

"Oh yeah," he drawled amiably. His expression lit up when he saw a contingent of new customers waiting to be seated. That'll work. Turning back to the waitress, he swallowed the final mouthful and picked at his teeth with a fingernail, leaning back in his seat to balance on two legs. "That happens sometimes."

Belatedly, he aborted the motion to adjust his hat and instead ran his fingers through his decidedly hatless hair, remembering at the last moment that his favorite headwear had been left behind on his ship.

He felt a little naked without it.

"I… uhm—I see," she faltered, probably thrown off by his flippant demeanor, watching fascinated as he stabilized the chair expertly with his shoe held under the lip of the table.

He wasn't too surprised, it was a very real possibility that she hadn't dealt with a laid-back customer like him before, the usual crowd likely didn't chat up the waitstaff. Ever.

He almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

This is going to be fun.

"And there's also the matter of your bill—"

Ace slammed his boot against the table with enough force that the plates swayed, effectively cutting the woman off mid-sentence. The waitress leapt up to brace the nearest stack with a wail of alarm while the manager did the same for the other side.

As for Ace, he simply smirked and allowed his chair to fall to the floor where he rolled over his shoulder and promptly heel-turn bolted for the door.

"Thanks for the delicious meal!" he cheerfully hollered, bulldozing through a crowd of customers at the entrance.

No one had the frame of mind to stop his escape until he was already out the posh restaurant and down the street, too preoccupied with their shock that he even dared. He cackled when calls of "stop that man" echoed behind him, the sound glorious to his ears.

"Dine 'N Dash" was his specialty after all. A nice callback to the good days of his childhood.

Clean roads and vaulted architecture swept by as he sprinted, ducking around pedestrians and leaping over fences, his winding path ever steadily taking him downhill.

The city of Paramour, the supposed "Pearl of East Blue," was an icon of power over the lower class. Nobles ruled its streets, the port itself funded by the pocket lining of the rich and powerful, with the local Marines acting as their eternal doormat. Three terraced walls separated the rich from the poor, the richest nobles living at the highest point of the island while the poorest peasants lived in shacks along the water's edge.

People came from all over the world to sample its fine cuisine and legendary entertainment, the Ivory Palace itself at the very pinnacle of the island hosting parties almost every evening. An event that was well known to attract even a Tenryūbito or two on occasion.

It was also a common affair for the nobles to exchange secrets and auction slaves or other valuables.

As such, Paramour, just as its name suggested, was the secret lover. The concubine. The mistress of the sophisticated world. A shining example of the World Government's blind eye and dirty secrets.

And a fine place for a challenging heist.

As he ground to a halt along one of the terrace walls, Ace gave a contented sigh upon unbuttoning his stifling vest, happy to finally be free of the damn thing. The restaurant wouldn't have let him in if he dressed in his normal voyaging attire, so he had to compromise.

Stealing the monkey suit hadn't been a problem; the owner made himself a target when he struck a small girl who was only trying to make a living by selling roses. Ace was all too happy to give the man a lesson of pain in the nearest alley, swiping the clothes and wallet to boot.

The little girl practically beamed when he used that money to buy her entire stock of flowers.

Unfortunately, the cut of the suit was sewn for someone with a much slimmer ribcage than his own, so it'd been a bit tight. It took all of his patience to not just rip the damn thing apart while eating, as every time he swallowed a mouthful the stitching would itch something fierce. He much preferred the feel of the ocean breeze on his skin over fine threads any day.

Sabo would agree with me… he mused, sighing as the wind threaded invisible fingers through his hair, before shaking his head, Agh, don't think about that.

His brother was long gone from this world. He could no longer be harmed by its negligence and cruelty. Still, it didn't keep Ace from missing him dearly.

Though they hadn't been related by blood, the trials they had both gone through as children ensured they were family nonetheless.

Stretching his arms above his head, Ace groaned, his smile bittersweet as he gazed at the setting sun, the orange light playing off the waves for as far as the eye could see. I have to admit, even if the people who built this place are rotten to the core, that is still one gorgeous view. He sighed again, taking in the various odors in the air. Wish you could have been here to see it, Sabo.

The scuffing of boot heels at his side didn't break him out of his staring contest with the sky, he knew who it was without looking. A mischievous smirk wormed its way across his lips before Ace spoke, "All ready, eh?"

"Aye, Captain," the gruff drawl of his first mate, Tex, confirmed. Ace heard the man shift for a moment before he spit, the indignant sounds of someone below establishing that the other man hit his mark. "The boys are all waiting in the wings and I've got your letter right here," he continued, the rustling of papers following that statement making Ace finally break from the horizon and glance over.

A single paper wafted stiffly in the slight breeze and Ace deftly swiped the sheet from Tex's waiting fingers. The lettering was embossed into the card, the curling, flowery script difficult to read but appeared to be of professional make. Ace gave a low whistle. "Looks pretty damn genuine."

Tex huffed a laugh. "Damn well better be genuine. Beat the shit out of a guy that looks almost like you to get that."

Ace's brow rose. "'Almost?'"

"Well... when you put the mask on the resemblance is uncanny," was the chortled reply. Tex adjusted his white cowboy hat and grinned beneath the rim, proffering the flamboyant accessory with a look of amusement. "Careful, it might suit you."

Snorting, Ace rolled his eyes when he took in what looked like it was supposed to be a raven mask, the adornment would cover nearly the entirety of his face if he put it on. "Geez, was the only resemblance my hair?"

Tex smirked.

"Don't laugh at me when I put this stupid thing on," Ace warned, running a hand through his bangs to slick them back, before fitting the mask over his face.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Captain."

While Ace busied himself with tying the mask's silk cords securely, Tex helped him rebutton his suit, smoothing out any wrinkles that might have appeared during his previous escapade. Ace scowled—though the mask obscured most of it—while Tex finished tightening his tie. "I feel like an idiot. Probably look like one too."

"I don't try to understand the fashion sense of nobles, Captain." Tex replied, slapping away some stray crumbs off the floral pink waistcoat, before doing the same to the tails of black jacket. "Though to be fair, you could have chosen someone else's clothes."

Ace shrugged, grimacing when the shoulder seams creaked. "Probably… this guy just made it easy. Oh!" He snapped his fingers, remembering the event that occurred earlier that day. "That reminds me, there's going to be a delivery of flowers to the Wild Card."

Tex hesitated, then glanced up at the other man. "What did you do…?"

Frowning, Ace tilted his head in a very bird-like manner. Considering the kind of mask currently sitting on his face, it was oddly appropriate. "Why do you always assume everything I do ends in something bad?"

"Your record is uncanny," was the flat response, Tex's gaze was moderately unimpressed as he scratched at the stubble on his chin, "Remember the windmill in Yardwick?"

"Oh come on, that wasn't even my fault—"

"And the giant clam in Arborforth?"

"...Okay, I'll admit to that one—"

"Or how about the time we were in Hartholme and the tavern waitress—"

"Alright!" Ace interrupted, frantically cutting off the man, who had the largest shit-eating grin on his face. He definitely didn't need to be reminded of that disaster. "I get your point… Look, it's nothing totally crazy this time, I promise."

"Best hope so. We want tonight to go off without a hitch, right?" Tex murmured seriously, though his brown eyes still twinkled with good humor. The man was older than Ace by a few years and had sailed the seas with several crews long before joining up as the Spade Pirates' first mate—though at the time they had no official name. In a roundabout way, he had taken the younger man under his wing, showing him the ropes on how to be a true ship captain and not just the childhood fantasy of a seagoing rover searching for adventure.

Sure, there was a lot of adventure to be had, but it was important that the captain at least had a basic understanding of how a ship operated.

Luckily, Ace ate up all that knowledge just as readily as he would if a full buffet was spread before him.

Still acts like a kid though. Tex thought, giving a chuckle when his captain shifted nervously from foot to foot. He wouldn't be surprised if the suit was pinching somewhere, the boy put on muscle faster than his diet should allow. "You'll want to look confident now, don't want to break your cover."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Ace grumbled, but took a deep breath anyway, rolling back his shoulders to get rid of his usual slouch, "My freckles aren't showing through are they?"

Leaning in, Tex thoughtfully hummed as he veered back and forth, checking the mask's eye holes for any of the younger man's telltale speckles. A dark eye peered at him speculatively as he investigated. "Doesn't look like it," Tex informed, stepping away to give the other man space, "The mask seems to fit pretty tight to your face, and the other guy had the same eye color as you, too. They'd have to rip the damn thing off to identify you properly."

A relieved sigh sounded before Ace perked up cheerfully. "So, what poor unfortunate asshole have I been stuck impersonating tonight?"

"Hammerfart Gaspard," said Tex with model seriousness.

A high-pitched whine split from between Ace's lips before he burst into roaring laughter, doubling over with the force of his mirth. He would have toppled headfirst into a nearby bush if Tex hadn't been fast enough to reel him back into an upright position with a steadying hand. Several hiccups escaped the man in an attempt to catch his breath, only for him to break down once again into hearty guffaws. Tex, ever patient, just thumped his captain on the back, waiting for the moment when he would finally calm down enough to continue.

And wait he did, for at least another minute. Ace hardily helped matters by muttering the name between chuckles, only to fall into further hysterics.

Finally, after enough chortling and shoulder shaking delirium, Ace straightened up and breathed deeply. "Alright, that was a really good laugh." He chuckled again, briefly this time before turning his attention back to his first mate. "Man, I don't think you realized how much I needed that... Now seriously, what's the guy's name?"

Tex's expression never wavered from its stoicism.

Ace choked on his own spit. "No…"

"Yep."

Further sputtering sounds of dismay echoed from within the mask. "And I'm expected to introduce myself like that," Ace stated, appalled.

A nod. "Of course."

"That's not fair! That's so not fair," Ace argued, the black feathers crowning his head waving back and forth as he shook his head, "That name's funny. It will never not be funny!"

"I'd suggest you get practicing then, Captain."

xXx

In the dungeons of the Ivory Palace, on the final floor where not even the light of day could reach, a woman's voice whispered sweetly:

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird…"

Choking gasps and the clink of metal sounded within the last cell in the block. Grunts and curses followed the struggle, the voices within breathing heavily as they wrestled.

A woman snapped her leg out, grinding the heel of her foot into the side of the man's knee, the bone crunching under the impact. He would have screamed but the thick chain wrapped around his throat cut off any meaningful shouts.

The twisted remains of a snail sat crushed and oozing nearby.

"And if that Mockingbird don't sing," she hissed, fingers knotted tightly around the metal links, arms straining and quivering as the man beneath her struggled against the chains. Her grip had to be like iron, otherwise the pin would be released in the collar and she wasn't going to have any of that. She liked her limbs unexploded, thank-you-very-much. "Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring."

Leith grunted when a stray flailing kick caught her along the ribs, but she persisted in her efforts, whispering sweet nothings in her victim's ear. She needed him quiet and she needed that damned key on his belt.

"And if that diamond ring turns... brass…?" she paused growling, thinking for a moment, "Brass... Brass—what comes after that? 'Kick your ass?' … No, that can't be right, this is a god damned childrens' song."

She didn't dare avert her gaze to double check that her salvation was near like her paranoid mind insisted. That key wasn't going anywhere. No. The guard at her mercy needed her full attention, she couldn't waver in case he shifted unexpectedly and got the upper hand.

Like last time.

"Damn it, well whatever, it's not like that song is all that important to remember," she grumbled, tightening her hold after one particularly violent twist.

Her back stung with repeated blows, but she was far enough forward to avoid most of the damage or broken ribs. She'd have bruises at the very least, but that was trivial in comparison to her multiple "punishments" in the previous months.

Or was it years? Can't remember… How long has it been?

The guard twitched sporadically, refocusing Leith's attention, forcing her to buckled down and put as much force as possible into strangling the man. He was almost finished, she just needed to add the final touches and she would be free.

Something cracked.

Leith didn't relax when he finally went limp, she kept at it, her fingers slick with blood from the pressure lacerations from holding the chains so tight. The muscles in her arms screamed for her to be finished, to finally let go.

All was silent.

She hadn't realized she was holding her breath.

Gasping, Leith released her victim, the guard's head falling to the floor with a loud clap. She eased shaking fingers down to his throat, checking his pulse to make sure she'd done enough. When she didn't feel anything, she clamped the entirety of her hand on his neck, checking for any minute flutterings.

Nothing.

Not allowing herself the moment of reprieve her body demanded, she tackled the key ring around the man's waistband with fumbling fingers, her bloodied hands leaving crimson smears on the gilded metal. She couldn't allow this moment to slip by, for tonight was the night she would be put on the auction block.

And like hell she was going to stick around for that.

The click of the shackles opening sounded like the sweetest symphony to her ears and she rolled her wrists and neck experimentally, testing the feeling of having less weight on her body. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she threw out a couple of experimental punches, checking her reflexes and trying to remember the lessons from her kick-boxing instructor.

It would do well enough, for now.

She stripped the corpse, discarding her dubiously stained garments in favor of the guard's considerably cleaner clothes. They smelled heavenly in comparison to everything else around her and she unashamedly took a deep whiff of the collar. The strong odor of sweat and old cologne was a stark contrast to her current rancid scent. The pants and boots were a no-go. Neither of those fit her properly and she wasn't going to suffer trying to run in loose fitting pants or clown shoes just for a bid for modesty, there was no time for such silly notions.

Guess that answers the question of boxers or briefs, she mused in wry humor, slipping on the tight boxers in lieu of her forgoing the pants. At least they fit.

Leith gave the shackles a considering look for a moment before locking and picking them up again, shoving the cursed things within the white jacket's inner pocket. These might come in handy, she reasoned.

Dragging the body to the corner of the cell, Leith draped her old clothes over the torso and hid the unused articles under the meager bedding they'd provided. She curled the legs up to his chest, making it appear as if it was just a normal sleeping prisoner. She was glad the dead man at least had the same shade of hair color as she did now. It would hopefully fool anyone at a passing glance, so that was enough for her. She just hoped this guy wasn't due to report in any time soon.

Who am I kidding, my luck is shit. Leith snorted, giving the corpse a final petulant kick before slinking her way out of the cell, her bare feet padding silently on the stone floor. She closed the door behind her as quietly as possible, wincing when the hinges gave a plaintive shriek on the final stretch. Leith paused for a moment to peer around, casting her senses as far as they would go, listening for footsteps or muttering conversation.

Not a sound to be heard.

Snapping the door shut, Leith sprinted down the corridor, the balls of her feet slapping hard against the floor. From what she could feel no one was around and the cells to the side of her were all empty. As far as she knew, she was the only one locked up on this floor.

They had to put her in isolation. It was the only way to prevent her heretic ideas from poisoning the other slaves.

Or so they said.

Leith rubbed at her left shoulder through the jacket fabric, feeling the skin there pinch uncomfortably. She could still smell the scent of burning flesh despite the passage of time. I don't think I'll ever forget that odor.

She picked up speed as she closed in on the door, her eyes pinned to a slight shape above the doorframe. Another one of the snails, only this one could act like a camera. It was how they caught her the last time she attempted to escape.

This time, Leith swore, using her momentum to kick off the side wall and leap toward the sleeping gastropod, I won't allow them to—wait a minute...

Bracing her hands on the wall on either side of the snail, the woman stopped her charge dead, her feet slamming into the doorframe. Bouncing back, Leith landed nimbly on her toes in a crouch, her head tilted up as she blinked at the animal in confusion.

It was snoring.

"The hell…?" she wondered aloud, leaning forward to get a look at the plate-sized creature's head and sure enough the eyes were closed, the snail was snoozing blissfully away.

Inclining her head, Leith hesitantly reached for the door and turned the knob. It opened without resistance. Giving one last look at the sleeping watch-snail, she slowly opened the door and peered through.

No one was waiting on the other side and looking up yielded yet another sleeping camera critter.

Leith paused.

"This seems too easy," she whispered, deeply suspicious.

They'd never pulled a stunt like this however. While the people keeping her here were sadistic assholes, they didn't want to just hand her an opportunity to escape. They learned that lesson the first two attempts. Still, she couldn't be certain that it was a trap. Several glances in dark corners didn't show any more snails, so they weren't watching her with hidden cameras. But where are the guards? she thought, biting her lip. The stairway to the next floor was right before her, but she was skeptical of the simplicity.

Her skin crawled in the silence and the woman shivered.

This is ridiculous, she concluded with a huff before steadily making her ascent, making sure to keep to the inner stair wall and use her sharpened senses to detect any movement. Leith sniffed the air experimentally, detecting nothing but stale atmosphere and old sweat, not even the scent of the guards' gunpowder and oil saturated the air.

Meaning what? Leith wondered, finally reaching the next landing and confirming that indeed this snail too was unconscious. They couldn't have all left… could they?

She opened the door.

Not one soul greeted her.

This level had windows and while they were too small and barred to prevent escape it did let Leith know that the party was still in full swing several levels above. The raucous laughter and loud music gave the dungeon an eerie echo, a reminder of the freedom that those trapped here lacked.

Only…

"No one's here?" she murmured, her feet tip-tapping across the hall as she strode to the nearest cell, if only to confirm that it was indeed empty. Not one sleep-deprived eye greeted her with fear and well-disguised loathing. No muffled shrieks or hasty shuffles as the beaten dregs of humanity tried to futily blend themselves into the back walls. Nothing but the twice damned shackles and the scraps of human residue remained, the faded prints on the floor the final sign that a mass exodus occurred.

"Tch, and no one thought to invite me to the party?" Leith grumbled, wrinkling her nose at the stench. Sure, she didn't smell like roses herself, but it was a whole different ballgame when it came to multiple bodies in one tight space. In any case, she didn't blame the others for forgetting her existence, or even abandoning her altogether. If opportunity knocked, hang taking the time to linger in a place of misery even longer just to make sure one prisoner got out.

That and the others may have viewed her as a source of misfortune.

Because of Him...

Let's not think about that, she reflected, skirting her way into the myriad shadows cast by diagonal shafts of light. The windows may have been too small to matter much, but it was still a comfort to smell what little of the outside air that wafted in. Faintly, she could smell the sea.

Not free yet.

With that in mind, Leith stalked forward, following the remains of a desperate scramble to freedom. She didn't notice her hands were clenched tight enough for ragged nails to bite fresh wounds into her palms.

"This time," she said, her jaw clenching, "This time for sure…"

And she ran.

xXx

This name is stupid. I'm stupid. This is the worst idea I've ever come up with. Why didn't Tex talk me out of it?

A beat of pause.

Oh wait… he did…

Ace inclined his head politely to a passing lady, hoping that his rough imitation of the gesture he'd seen countless other noblemen perform was up to par. She didn't scoff at him, so he'd call that a win.

Once again, he was glad that the mask did such a splendid job of covering his features and thus, his grimace. It wouldn't do for the vultures that called themselves 'nobles' to catch wind of the abject terror and self-flagellation Ace was mentally putting himself through.

His near bungle at the entrance was bad enough when he almost stumbled over his 'name.' But with a quick, polite (and rather cringeworthy) "hem hem hem" he hastily corrected his error.

Whoever named Hammerfart Gaspard could go suffer in the deepest pits of hell…

Meanwhile, Ace stood sweating in his stolen suit and hoped to all spirits above and below that none of Mr. Hammerfart's acquaintances were around to harass him. He almost leapt out of his own skin when the bud in his ear crackled and the deep bass of Rummy, (better known as Chops) his second mate and de-facto navigator, called over the line, "Ace in the hole, Cap'n."

He also had a penchant for bad jokes.

"Har-dee-fuckin'-har…" Ace hissed sarcastically, fiddling with the button in his palm which allowed the baby den den mushi hidden in his coat to transmit. "I can only guess what kind of 'hole' you ended up in, Chops."

"Not as crappy as yours. At least I get to punch people." A grunt sounded from the other line as Ace could only assume the large man had done just that. The guy had fists the size of hams.

"Mine has gilded floors," he defended half-heartedly, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing waiter before realizing too late that his absurd bird mask would only get in the way and there was no mouth hole. Ace was really beginning to question his life choices right now. He wondered if they had straws—really long ones. "...You wanna switch?"

"Don't make me lose my respect for you, Cap'n."

"Respect. What's that?" Ace snorted, dumping his glass into the nearest flower pot, while earning a few guffaws on the other line. "I take it you and the boys are waiting at the gate?"

Rummy's confirmation was stifled by a thin form colliding with him. Ace supposed it was meant to be a seductive caress, but ended up only relaying images of a stick falling sadly on its side. His glimpse of her face didn't help matters, as his brain decided to promptly short-circuit. A nose shaped like an ice pick. Curlers still intact. Makeup that was probably applied with a putty knife and perfume that was so cloying he could almost see it in visible light.

Her voice was like sandpaper.

Ace wanted to cry.

"Cap'n? Cap'n, what's the matter?" Rummy questioned, his voice tinged with concern.

He could only settle for a whimper in response.

"Gaspy-baby, you never visit me any more," she rattled, and Ace had to physically fight the urge to burst into flames right then and there as shudder of pure fear quaked down his spine. Instead, his body performed an interesting foot to shoulder tremor, in which Miss Living-Dead promptly misinterpreted, "Oh, how excited you are! It's been too long since you felt my magic touch."

It was official: he was cursed.

I am never—Ever… Never-ever-ever doing this again!

Her mask covered barely anything, the gaudy pink sparkled accessory only framing the corner of one overpainted eye. He really wished it shrouded more, it would have made the next moments only moderately more bearable.

She smiled at him and he got an eyeful of some of the blackest teeth he ever saw.

Ace had, at that moment, an epiphany. It was surreal, almost like an out-of-body experience, and he later wondered if his brain simply decided to take a holiday from the stress. Because right then, he'd never felt more glad in his life that dental hygiene was enforced—sometimes by force—as a child. He swore that if he survived this he would send Dadan, Makino, Gramps—hell, even Woop Slap—a thank-you letter. A thank-you letter and an apology, because he knew he was a terror as a child and everything about this situation was making him feel quite charitable.

Oh shit, I'm actually gonna hurl, Ace concluded, purposefully averting his eyes from that shipwreck of a smile, the saccharine aroma of her perfume overpowering his senses. Gulping down a lump in his throat, Ace took a moment to reorient himself before finally venturing to speak, "I-it has." He winced when his voice came out as a squeak, glad that his current company was too drunk to notice.

The ghoulish creature giggled as she stumbled, leaning most of her weight onto his arm, her bony sternum digging into his elbow. That's not natural… Right? Right?!

He tried not to think about it.

"Gimme some sugar, baby," she clattered and Ace could almost swear he heard her jaw click and disconnect as her mouth drew closer to his ear—

Nope!

Ace, as discreetly as he could, placed a warding hand in front of her face and with a polite, if strained, voice declined her invitation, "Not here… erm… my love?" He winced at how hesitant he sounded, but thanked his lucky stars when the older woman actually swooned. Still didn't stop him from throwing up in his mouth a little, but he persevered despite his difficulties.

Laying a hand on the woman's lower back, Ace aborted the instinctive recoil at the feel of her leathery skin against his flesh. Twirling her around so she faced the buffet, he pushed to steer her to the punch bowl, where he was certain he saw a senile grandfatherly fellow pour even more liquor into the mixture. That should properly knock her out, long enough to forget all about me, Ace hoped. "T-the night is still young, but I promise you all the time in the world later," he said instead, mentally crossing his fingers that she'll accept the lie, "Much later… Alright? At the usual place, hm?"

"Smooth, Cap'n."

He flinched. Ace realized then, much to his horror, that he had been holding down the transmission button the entire encounter. Oh fuck, he heard all that!

Hastily, he released his vice grip on the switch.

"Ohhuhuhu," she tittered, unknowing of the man's internal dilemma, frantically fanning herself and fluttering her fake eyelashes, "I look forward to it you naughty thing, I'll get all the equipment ready~" Attempting to do a provocative purr, the stumbling disaster only managed to make some sort of throaty wheeze before swaying and tripping her way to the beverages.

Ace happily about-faced and made himself scarce, he didn't want to know what kind of 'equipment' she had planned.

"Sooo, Cap'n, are we to expect a missus on board?"

"Not another word, Chops," Ace hissed, the chorus of raucous laughter on the other end doing nothing to ease his embarrassment, "You didn't see that-that-that thing! It was like an animated corpse!" There absolutely was no holding out hope that the rest of the crew hadn't heard that, because that was far too many voices to only be Rummy. Shit, did he put me on speaker?!

He was going to kill him.

Skirting his way around the ballroom, Ace threaded a winding path through the crowd, intent on one of the side gardens. From what one of his men gathered when fishing for information on the place, there should be a servant's corridor along the perimeter. It allowed the palace staff to travel unseen without disturbing the nobles' all-too-delicate sensibilities.

The crackle of another call made Ace twitch, but he didn't lose his calm stride. The den den mushi connected to the third line automatically and the chill drawl of Tex's voice filtered in, "Liberation success."

Ace smiled, muttering a reply, "I take it there were no problems?"

"A few of the guards kicked up a fuss, but they quieted down right quick when they couldn't reach anyone in Control," Tex said, a dry chuckle sounding. Ace snorted in amusement at the implied chaos that followed, he could almost see it. "Hart's holding down the fort there. I got Mao with me on escort through the sewers, we're on our way to the docks right now."

"Good," he replied, ducking out of the bright hall and into the dusk of the garden, the cacophony of ceaseless chatter fading into the background. Ace blinked to adjust his eyesight, the gloomily lit yard a stark contrast to the harsh bright white and gold of the interior. No one else was here, which made his next task much easier. "Once you get them a boat and a heading, return to the waypoint. We'll meet you there when we finish up here," he said, striding purposefully around the nearest hedge.

"Aye, Captain," Tex confirmed and the line went quiet.

So long as he appeared focused and not too hurried, he hoped no one would come to investigate out of suspicion.

Don't notice me… Don't notice me. Everything's normal here, Ace thought, almost commanding his facade to work through sheer force of will alone. His years of practice trying to hide from the Shitty Geezer were hopefully paying off.

There were no signs of pursuit.

He blended into the shadows, glad that the majority of his costume was black and strode to the garden perimeter. It took him a moment of fumbling around in the dark to locate the entrance, but he finally bumped into a door partially hidden among some climbing vines. When jiggling the handle didn't work, Ace peered about for a moment before kicking a hole through the lock.

The door opened just fine after that, though he doubted it would ever close properly again what with the plank of wood nearly bent in half.

He wasn't a locksmith, damn it.

An abyssal corridor greeted him like an open throat, the smell of old earth and the musk of rotting vegetation doing nothing to endear the man to the passage. Ace grimaced, the lack of any visible light source making the entire thing all the more creepy. Glancing back once again to be sure no one came to investigate the noise, Ace snapped his fingers, a single flame alighting the tip of his index digit. Hesitantly, he ventured into the passage, his shoe heels grinding into the fine powder on the floor.

Aside from just being overall muggy and damp, the tunnel appeared fairly normal, if somewhat rat-infested. Small alcoves along the walls indicated areas where a light source would be placed at regular intervals, but perusal of these locations showed that they hadn't been utilized in years. It was disheartening to think that real people were forced to use these tunnels, but Ace tried not to focus his thoughts too much on that point, he didn't want to sear the entire corridor and give up his position.

The path echoed with his footfalls, but was otherwise as silent as the grave. Roots from the plants above reached down between the cracks of the brickwork, creating a canopy of pale reaching claws. Luckily, the ceiling was high enough that Ace didn't need to worry about the roots touching his head, though a few damp droplets did splatter upon his shoulders. Hopefully Chops doesn't have a hard time coming through here… he mused, eyeing the walls on either side of him with some trepidation, It's a bit narrow.

It would certainly be a tight squeeze for the larger man.

His excursion through the passage came to an abrupt end when he arrived upon a door, this time made of rusted iron. Voices filtered in from the other side through a small grate, the tones low and whispering. Feeling a bit impish, Ace barked, "What's the password, ye scurvy dogs!"

An abrupt silence followed his demand, but was short lived when he heard Rummy snicker. "Didn't know you had it in you, Gaspy-baby~"

That painful reminder made his playful smile drop faster than an anchor.

"You know, I could always leave you out here, Chops…" Ace griped, though his words didn't have any real venom to them.

Rummy snorted and replied in the most simpering voice he could manage, "Don't be like that Cap'n, you'll break my heart."

A startled bark of a laugh broke through the din of giggles. That particular chortle sounded like Eights. The 'yigigigigi' noise always gave him the impression that his crewmate earned the moniker 'Crazy' if only for that laugh alone, though he knew better. The man was a fox. "So, Partner? What took you so long?"

"I got lost on the road of life," Ace replied, grunting as he wrenched free the deadbolt, the rust coating the metal bar flaking off like old leaves. The door gave an unholy shriek as it opened on worn hinges, revealing the five hulking figures of the rest of his crew and the scattered, tied-up forms of unconscious guards. "Though I think I saw a zombie not long ago…" He gave a pointed look at the rotund shape that could only be Rummy.

Rummy, to his credit, only managed to make a choking sound because he was laughing so hard. The others snickered at his predicament.

"Whoa, nice duds, Captain!" Slapjack declared, scratching at the black curls of his beard thoughtfully as he slid his gaze up and down Ace's suit. The others murmured in agreement. "You almost don't look like yourself."

"Oh I try~" Ace preened, plucking at the lapels of the jacket before dusting off his shoulders. "I'm sure the bird mask helps though."

A wide smile split the man's face nearly in twain. "Definitely."

"Speaking of which, do you guys have yours?" Ace questioned, bobbing his own head when the others gave nods of assent. "Good. Don't put them on until we get to the other side of the tunnel. It's pitch black in there."

The way back, as he suspected, was a tight squeeze, but they managed well enough even with the meager light his flames provided. Rummy sidled along, his stomach barely brushing the wall as he waddled through the narrow corridor, his expression pulling into his usual thunderous glare. Both Rook and Pitch had to duck slightly to prevent their heads from brushing the tangling roots, their towering heights a disadvantage. The rest had no such problems.

Once outside, they gathered as one in a circle just beyond the busted door, the crew taking the time to tie on their custom masks, each one a different breed of dog. Except…

"Rook, what the hell is that?" Ace pointed, his index finger nearly touching the orange blotches of paint that had been carelessly applied to the wooden faceplate.

Rook was tall, with long black curly hair resting upon his neck like a mane and a widow's peak cresting his forehead. His severe face was perpetually pinched into a frown and in general, just had the appearance of a man that was not to be trifled with.

The aesthetic was ruined however, because the man had a weakness for children's handicrafts.

Specifically, the poorly painted mask he was currently donning.

"It's a dog," he responded mildly. The man never yelled—Ace didn't believe he was even capable of yelling—but his voice was deep enough to carry despite this.

"Doesn't look like a dog," Rummy muttered with a scowl, his round eyes blinking through the holes of his own canine disguise.

"Kinda seems like a sunflower if you tilt your head and squint a little!" Crazy Eights cackled.

"Could be a lion… a really shitty lion," Slapjack mused.

"A little boy made it…" Rook murmured in weak argument.

"Alright! Alright, calm down, all of you," Ace ordered, raising his arms in a placating gesture when the group began discussing just a bit too loudly, "We're on the clock here."

Once everyone settled down and properly affixed their masks, the band of outlaws tiptoed their way through the garden hedges, eyes and ears on high alert for any movement other than their own.

No one stopped them and, by the time they arrived back at the garden door, the party was still going in full swing. It did seem, however, that quite a few of the guests wouldn't be going anywhere fast any time soon. Ace had been right about that fruit punch after all.

As such, not one of the partygoers noticed when Rummy closed the door to the veranda and barred it from the outside with an iron rod.

When Ace gave him a questioning look, Rummy shrugged before replying, "We're not going in and no one's getting out. It'd be best if we close off any other ballroom access that we see."

He had a point. The bulk of their heist would be in the apartments rather than the common areas, so there was less chance of running into resistance.

Most of the palace guard had been sufficiently distracted, thanks to Hart's efforts, but that didn't mean there weren't any left.

Not to mention the Marines.

Ace would much rather be up and out of there long before the Marines caught wind of their activities, though the prospect of a chase sounded tantalizing. The very thought made his blood rush, his heart pumping full of adrenaline. He couldn't help the excited grin that curved a path through his cheeks.

Spent too many years getting chased down by Gramps, he mused, boot heels clicking on the marble floor as he led the way to the nobles' personal quarters, Damn old fart has rubbed off on me.

Saying that they were grabbing everything that wasn't nailed down would have been a gross exaggeration and wholly inaccurate. It would be more precise to say that while some items were indeed nailed down and others weren't, they took only the things that they could feasibly carry.

Though, of course, there were exceptions.

"Dammit, no! Put down that chair! There is no way in hell you're carrying that back to the ship!"

Slapjack probably was pouting behind his mask as he gave the solid gold chair a longing look, but Ace had to put his foot down some time. There were plenty other smaller objects of equal or greater value the man could ferry out of here that would weigh far less than that damn chair. Lust for gold was all well and good, but gold was heavy.

Many of the partygoers were guests from foreign islands, so of course they had to have room and board somewhere. Why check yourself into a ritzy hotel when you could brag to your friends about sleeping within the palace itself?

Ace had to wonder, as he closed yet another drawer full of questionable nightwear, at the logic of this island's king for allowing so many weirdos to sleep in his stupidly large house. Maybe he's lonely?

He then grimaced when he recalled that the walking dead woman said something about getting equipment. Was the king in on that, too? Suddenly, he didn't want to know.

They were making a decent haul: Jewelry and various other baubles were in abundance. Money, of course (though why anybody would want to just leave a bathtub full of money was anyone's guess). Eights found a treasure map of some island they'd never heard of. Pitch discovered an weird wristband with a clear casing around a needle that reminded him of a compass, only it pointed in a direction that strangely enough was not north.

Ace meanwhile, after a moment of glancing around to make sure no one was looking, slipped off his mask and popped a jar of mints into his mouth.

"Cap'n, what the hell are you doing?"

Jolting in surprise, Ace swung around to give Rummy the most piteous look he could with a mouth full of gooey candy. "Wy wask hunkry, Choss…" he whined. The damn mask hadn't allowed him to eat a thing while he was suffering alone at the party, and his meal at the restaurant had been hours ago. He was starving.

Rummy just shook his head in lieu of pinching his brow, his own mask now preventing his usual gesture when stressed. "Just—put your mask back on, we don't know when we'll run into someone else."

Pouting, Ace put the stifling facial accessory back on, rolling around the now jawbreaker sized fusion of mints in his mouth as he tied the cords. He knew the man had a point, but that didn't mean he liked it. Still, while this was all initially Ace's idea, it was Tex that had done the bulk of the planning, and he didn't want all of his First Mate's efforts to be wasted.

So he'd suffer the mask.

"Bossman, we got incoming."

Ace blinked at the gruff interruption. It was Hart, his sniper, acting as lookout after taking down the palace's control room and subjugating the majority of the guards. When face-to-face, the man had a pleasant twang to his voice and was as polite and gentlemanly as his suit and tophat advertised. But the moment he was behind a gun, he was like a different person.

Which means he has someone in his sights right now. Ace flipped the channel and barked, "Hart this is the Captain, what do you see? Who's incoming?"

"A woman," Hart said, his tone almost robotic as he recited the target's description, "Height five foot. Undernourished. Probably below ninety pounds. Hair color… Unidentifiable. Wearing the palace guard regalia. There are three palace guards in pursuit."

"A slave?" Ace asked, feeling sick. Tex had told him that they freed all the slaves on record. Could one of them have gotten separated from the group?

"They are closing in quickly to your location, would you like me to neutralize them?"

Sucking in a breath, Ace felt a cold shiver grip his spine at that statement. He would never get used to it, the clinical way that Hart viewed his targets. It never sat well with him. Like they were just another dart on a board.

"Take out the guards, but don't kill them. Leave the woman. Let her meet up with us," he responded, feeling his throat tighten despite knowing they wouldn't die. Hart was good at what he did.

Still didn't make him feel good to issue such orders, though he knew they couldn't always go for the non-lethal takedown.

Ace told himself that he didn't flinch when he heard three cracks echo through the air.

"She hasn't stopped," Hart reported.

"We got incoming," he said to Rummy, who nodded, "Get the others. Someone at the party would have heard those shots."

"Aye, Cap'n," he said, hiking up the bag of goods they'd both acquired and sprinting out the door.

Rushing out of the room on Rummy's heels, Ace skid to a halt and turned to where he could hear bare feet slapping into the marble. Distantly, he could hear Rummy calling to the men on the other side of the hall, but Ace was too distracted by the small figure barreling down corridor, skillfully tapping her feet against the wall to pivot into a turn without losing momentum.

He had a brief moment of thinking, "Damn, she's fast," before she was upon him. Ace didn't register when exactly she jumped, but it was only when the ball of her foot connected with porcelain of his mask that he realized his error.

He also realized she wasn't wearing pants.

But that was irrelevant.

"Ow! Shit!" he exclaimed, when she bombarded his face once and then twice with her feet as she vaulted over him like a fence post, flipping to land cat-like on her feet behind him.

There was a distinctive pop as his mask cracked from the force, but it didn't shatter, still clinging dutifully to his face. He had the sense to dodge out of the way when she sent a spin kick his way, her heel nearly grazing his ribs as she turned.

She snarled at the near-miss.

Ace was surprised, to say the least. For someone who was supposedly underfed and underweight, she was still managing to pull off physical feats that would leave any normal person stumbling.

She must have been very well-trained in acrobatics to pull off these stunts, he thought as he slowly backed away, keeping his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. This is no ordinary slave.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Ace said, sidestepping in the opposing direction as she prowled like a stalking tiger.

"Like I'd believe the word of some noble prick," she scoffed, her hair shrouding most of her features, leaving only her mouth and nose exposed and her eyes shadowed.

Ace now knew what Hart meant when he said her hair color was unidentifiable. It was so matted with grime and other filth that it was impossible to discern.

"All of you lie and lie and lie. Well, I'm not falling for it—Not again," she continued, heedless of Pitch approaching at her back, "I'm getting out of here, and if I have to kill you to earn my freedom…" Tensing into a crouch, her lips peeled back to bare her teeth. "Then I will gladly take that chance," she rumbled.

She tilted her head to the side—as if hearing something—before whirling about to strike at Pitch, cursing under her breath.

Pitch took it in stride. Meaning that he caught her fist and spun her around into a hammerlock, applying pressure to her shoulder joints that were just painful enough to halt movement. Or at least, that was the plan—she proved to be far more determined to escape, as evidenced by her continuous bellowing and kicking at the tall man's shins.

To his credit though, Pitch didn't even flinch. He apparently had far more experience as a mixed martial artist and only used minor adjustments to keep the woman pinned.

"Let go of me!" she roared, twisting and kicking and of all things attempting to bite any stray part that came within reach. "Let go of me, or I'll kill you!"

Ace sighed and rubbed the back of his head as the rest of the crew came around the bend. Someone is definitely going to hear this, he lamented, fingers touching curiously to the large cracks in his mask. They really were going to have their hands full with this one.

"I'm not going back!" the woman screeched, a desperate sound that reverberated off the walls and echoed eerily down the hallway.

"Listen!" Ace hissed, his nerves finally frayed enough to snap. "I said we aren't going to hurt you so could you just—" He paused as he caught a glimpse of something he saw earlier that day. He blinked and then blinked again, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him. "You…"

Because he knew that face.

Head cocked in a curious manner, wide hazel eyes were locked onto his own, her gaze nearly feral as she panted in Pitch's grasp.

(Brown hair, powdered grey from the falling ash, shifted with a stray wind to reveal a worn face, grey with pain. Dark circles sitting heavy beneath her hazel eyes accentuated her haunted look.)

She looked exactly as he remembered from his dream.

But how is that possible, he wondered, eyeing the white jacket and tank top that were both far too large for her emaciated frame. Her feet and legs were caked with some unidentifiable grime and he could see the remains of old blood on every part of exposed flesh.

And judging by Pitch's pinched expression she didn't smell too fine either.

"Well butter my ass and call me a biscuit, it's the Backstreet Boys!" she exclaimed sarcastically, glaring venomously at each one of them through the fringe of her hair. "Though some of you have more…" she trailed off and narrowed her eyes suspiciously, leaning forward to pin the men with a contemplative look, "Generousness than I remember."

While they didn't know who these 'backstreet boys' were, they did know enough to guess she just insulted them. Still, Crazy Eights stifled a guffaw, though he wasn't terribly successful if his shaking shoulders were anything to go by.

Rook smacked him on the back of the head.

"You look great by the way," she continued nonplussed, nodding all the way as her eyes flickered between Rummy and Slapjack, "Very healthy."

"Alright, that's enough," Rummy interjected, recognizing when someone was stalling, "Cap'n, we need to call it. Someone will be here at any moment."

"Oh?" The woman asked, her eyes brightening upon locating the various sacks slung over each man's shoulder. A look of comprehension crossed her features before she gave a curling smirk, "Oh~ Naughty. Naughty. What are you little noblettes getting up to this Halloween night?"

Ace continued to gape. There was no mistaking her for anyone else. This was the woman from his dream at the restaurant. But how? This is impossible, he wondered, observing the way her face twisted into a sneer when she caught him staring, What does this—

"Cap'n," Rummy interrupted with a hint of concern.

Shaking his head, Ace turned away from the conundrum before him, his mind still in a chaotic whirl, "Right. Calling it. Yeah…" he muttered distractedly, pinging the den den mushi, "Hart, we're pulling out, get yourself to the rendezvous."

"Aye, Bossman."

He switched over to Tex's channel, "Tex, take Mao and get the Wild Card ready to launch, we might be coming in hot."

"Hot-Hot? Or…?" Tex asked uncertainly, his voice betraying a just hint of excitement at the prospect.

Ace thought about it for a moment. "We're going to be running like our asses are on fire."

"You'd better not make that literal," Rummy growled.

"Shut up!"

A/N: In which Ace finds his dream woman, in the literal sense...

Hello all and welcome to another episode of "Abalisk Makes Another Goddamn Fanfiction" with your lovely host: Abalisk (formerly Azhdah, I changed my name recently).

A lot of this was inspired by Lang Noi's "Ocean Stars Falling" and Tsume Yuki's "Tell it to the Marines" so you can thank them for all the inspiration and motivation they gave me. And of course go read their stories! Do it right now!

If you want to shoot me an ask or just want to bounce around some fun ideas you can send me a message on my tumblr: fanfiction-by-abalisk . tumblr . com (without spaces of course) and I will answer as best as I can! I have fan art from my own work and for other people's fics over there too if you wish to peruse.

And as always, much loves and talk to you next time~