#based loosely off of 1 piece iykyk

[anonymous-dentist]

Or: a pirate au

-

Before having the nerve to turn Roier in to the Navy, Spreen had this to say:

“I have no compassion for anybody.”

And then he had leaned forward and driven both the metaphorical and literal-actual-goddamn sword in between Roier’s ribs, and he had whispered right into Roier’s ringing ear:

“You’re lucky I’m not drowning you.”

And then he had kicked Roier off of his ship and onto the Navy’s, and he had sailed away, free to live and fight another day while leaving his best friend and first mate behind.

But, well. Joke’s on him! It’s been a year since that fateful day, but Roier is alive, and he’s free, and he’s got a gun and a sword and a ship of his own, and he’s gonna make Spreen pay.

But first? Breakfast, and fast. The Navy is after him, and he doesn’t want to get captured this early in the morning. (Foolish would never let it go!)

The Barcoier docks just after sunrise, and Roier is off the ship and speeding down the pier before Jaiden even has the anchor weighed.

The island is small, so small that it’s just a town and some farms and a couple of trees and a single lake smack in the center of it all. It’s so small it doesn’t even have a name, but that just makes it all the better for hiding from the Navy on; if it’s too small to be on a map, it’s too small for those idiots with the Navy to pick up on.

Maybe Roier is a bad pirate captain for leaving his crew to tie up the ship and run errands while he gets everyone breakfast and tries not to get arrested. But also:

(“We need a chef,” Jaiden complains. “No offense, dude, but your cooking sucks.”

Roier sniffs, hurt, but he doesn’t argue. He’s a better chef on land than he is on the water.

“I’ll get us a chef,” he promises. “But only if you-” He pokes Jaiden between the eyes with a corner of his hardtack biscuit. “-get us better food! Nobody can cook with this!”

He smacks his biscuit hard enough against the table to crack it [the table.] Jaiden rolls her eyes, but she shrugs.)

Where there’s a good breakfast, there’s a good chef. And, on an island as tiny as this one is, said chef might just be desperate enough for a change of pace that they’d agree to become a pirate. (It’s how Spreen got Roier, after all.)

How hard can it be?

…Really hard, actually, especially now that the Federation and its Navy are starting to crack down extra hard on pirates. They’ve moved on from life imprisonment to public executions, and all because most of the pirates left on the seas have started to unionize under the guidance of the feared Captain Bad Halo.

But, who knows? Maybe today will be the day!

Maybe…

-

The town’s only restaurant is closed for renovations, but the town’s bakery is open, thank God.

The bakery, much like the town it’s based in, doesn’t have a name. It does, however, have a wooden sign hanging above the door with a donut painted on it. The donut’s center, rather than being a hole, is a bright yellow-irised eyeball. Freaky.

The door jingles like rusted keys as Roier enters. Someone swears from the back room; otherwise, the bakery is entirely empty.

“Coming!” Roier hears.

“No worries!” he responds. “Take your time!”

He doesn’t exactly have time for the baker to take, but he isn’t exactly going to get himself a chef by being rude, is he?

So Roier waits, and he takes the opportunity to look at the display cases by the front counter. Donuts, of course, some muffins. An… abnormal amount of meat pies. Sure? Why not! Every place has its specialties.

A few moments pass, during which Roier starts mentally counting how many of each item he’s gonna need, and then footsteps from the back and an apologetic, “Sorry, I’m just-”

The baker cuts himself off as Roier stands up and looks him over. He’s… handsome, okay. Okay. More importantly, he already looks more piratey than half of Roier’s crew: pierced ear, scar across the bridge of his nose, solid build. Hot.

“You’re a pirate,” the baker says, much calmer than most regular people would be. Good, he’s brave, pirates need to be brave.

Roier leans forward against the counter, propping himself up on his elbows. He smiles, head tilted juuuust so.

“Who, me?” he asks. He shakes his head. “Naaaah. I’m just a regular guy looking for breakfast, you know?”

The baker’s eyes trail over Roier’s head and shoulders like he’s memorizing him. Creepy, kinda. Hot, kinda.

Roier continues, “But I’ve never been here before, so… any recommendations?”

He winks. The baker’s eyes widen slightly, and then he smiles himself and leans himself against the counter, his arms just inches away from Roier’s.

“Well,” he says, “the donuts will last longer on a long trip, if that’s what you’re asking. Everything else has fresh ingredients in it.”

“Who says I’m going on a long trip?”

The baker rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the counter to start unloading donuts into a bag. “Please, nobody actually wants to stay in this shithole. I’m used to tourists.”

He has nice arms. Maybe he even knows how to use a sword already.

“Sooo… you want to leave, too?” Roier asks.

The baker shrugs. “Maybe someday.”

That isn’t a no…

So it’s basically a yes!

Roier beams. “What if today was your someday?”

The baker gives him a flat look. “I’m not a pirate.”

“Maybe I’m not, either. But I do need someone on my ship who knows how to cook, and you wanna get out of here.”

The last donut is dumped into the bag, and the baker ties the bag shut and plops it onto the counter. He leans over it with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not a chef, either,” he says. “Shouldn’t you be hiring someone that can actually cook, Captain Roier?”

At Roier’s gasp, the baker nods his head towards the wall behind Roier. On it is a bulletin board with wanted posters for nearly every pirate on the seas, Roier included.

Whoops.

Whatever! The baker hasn’t called the authorities yet, so he’s fine.

Roier opens his mouth, ready to try his pitch again, but he’s rudely interrupted by a cannon ball sailing through the bakery’s front window and slamming into a cabinet full of flour.

The room explodes into white, sending both Roier and the baker reeling.

“Fuck!” Roier coughs. He fans the air in front of his face, blinking rapidly to get the flour off of his eyes.

The bakery’s door is slammed open by a heavy boot. Its owner, a Navy officer, follows it in with his sword drawn and pointed at… the baker.

“Hands in the air,” the officer sneers.

Roier looks at the officer. He looks at the baker.

The baker looks at him. The baker looks at the officer.

He raises his hands slowly, holding the donut bag with it for whatever reason.

He looks at Roier again, a small smile on his handsome, yet flour-dusted, face.

“Thank you for having me aboard, captain,” he says.

The officer just then seems to notice Roier, but the poor bastard is just a bit too late because, just as he’s turning around to slash at the very obvious pirate captain in the room, Cellbit chucks the donuts at the idiot’s head. The bag makes contact, and then it makes the officer stumble right into the pointy end of Roier’s sword.

What a shame.

Roier pulls his sword out of the guy’s stomach with a grimace, wiping the blood on the bakery’s shredded window curtains.

He turns to smile at the baker, then.

“Glad to have you aboard…”

“Cellbit,” the baker supplies.

Now, where has Roier heard that name before…?

Whatever! There’s time for that later.

For now, Roier has a ship to get to, and he has a chef to deliver to it.