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n3on-graveston3s-calling · 11 months ago

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The Fall of the House of C: A History of Sir Crocodile

Part I: Death of a Child

Rating: M

Word Count: 11,842

Warnings: Destruction of a kingdom, Murder, If you think that the World Government wouldn't do that…yes they would, pre-transition Crocodile, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence

Characters: Sir Crocodile, Donquioxte Doflamingo, Donquioxte Homing's Wife, Monkey D. Dragon, OCs

Author's Notes: Hello hello! If you're reading this, welcome! This is a very big, very loved project in which I decide to take on the task of creating my version of Crocodile's history, since Oda still hasn't revealed it. This is a monster of a fic; the first chapter is 11k words, the second chapter will be just as long- if not longer. This will be a two-parter, I'll finish the second half up when I'm able to (hopefully within the next week or so).

Now, the details you need to know before going into this story:

-Jun'Ichi is an OC of mine; he works as Crocodile's essential Guard Dog, has been loyal to him for twelve long years and will continue to be loyal to him.

-Milorad is an OC that has intimate connections with Crocodile, as well as a few other characters. They run a Brothel and own an entire island of which is only for… Pleasure.

-Every character you meet in Crocodile's history is an OC, but they all play vital roles.

This is purely work of my own creation; I think Crocodile is an interesting character and the concept of Kingdoms existing in each region of Blue is something that just scratches my little brain so well. ( history nerd ).

Without further ado, please do enjoy the first part of The Fall of the House of C. [ You can also read it on ao3, here. ]

The room was quiet, unlike the cacophony of sounds coming from downstairs in the parlor. Slow footsteps drew across the floor of the lavish rooms, drawing the attention of the man sitting by the window, though he didn’t look up. His gaze was trained on the crowd below, searching for any sight of white and blue uniforms. “They will not find you here, Crocodile.” They murmured, hand coming to rest upon his shoulder gently. Their nails pressed into the fabric of the coat gently as they squeezed. He glanced over, studying their hand for a long moment. Nails- fake, no doubt acrylic with how they were filed into sharp points- painted a vibrant shade of red that would catch the eye regardless of how they held their hand. Said hand was attached to an arm, intricately tattooed with blue linework that should have been at home on an expensive tea set and yet instead had been placed upon a body.

“You sound certain.” Crocodile murmured, gaze lifting to study Milorad’s face curiously. They hadn’t aged in the years he’d known them; hair such a stark silver it almost appeared white, falling in silk layers to their hips. They had offered him a place to lay low after the Impel Down escape- and the subsequent war that occurred afterwards.

They sighed, shifting away, the lavish gown they wore dusting against the floor. A silk the color of emerald with black feathers along the hemlines and cuffs with a plunging neckline, showing the flat chest and even more intricate tattoo work. Milorad had once been a pirate that sailed with the infamous Fujihara Pirates, a group that had once been a terror on the Grand Line- until they met their unfortunate end at the hand of their own children. Before that, he wasn’t sure what Milorad had done; they never did give solid answers. This and that, that and this- and now they own the island that had been dubbed Pirate’s Paradise. Brothels run in a manner of which Crocodile wished all were run, with respect to the workers and strict rules that must be followed, unless you wanted to end up with a bullet between your eyes.

The bathroom door opened, spilling out steam and the scent of whiskey and vanilla musk. Jun’Ichi stepped out, towel around his shoulders, dressed aside from a shirt. His long, black hair was still wet, dripping until he brought the towel around the ends, squeezing gently. “Thank you for allowing us to use your room,” Jun’Ichi spoke, lips curving into a small, if not crooked, smile- due to the scar that trailed up from one corner of his lips. A partial Dahlia. He’d had it when he appeared in Alabasta twelve years ago, begging for a job.

He was still here.

“Of course, darling,” Milorad purred, crossing over to take over, drying Jun’s hair for him with gentle caresses. “Any member of Crocodile’s crew is always welcome upon my Island. Did you enjoy your shower?”

“I wish we had something like that on the ship!” He joked lightly, though his gaze was wary, watching Crocodile watch him.

A knock sounded on the door, drawing all attention over as Daz opened it, poking his head in. “Coast’s all clear.”

“Good. Go grab some supplies.” Crocodile sighed, dragging a hand through his still slightly damp hair.

Milorad’s hand reached out, fingers curving around the edge of the door. “I need to make my rounds. Do be sure to grab something to eat, it will be on the house, Elio.” With that, they slipped out, the scent of their rose parfum escaping with them. Jun’Ichi plopped down onto the bed, his gaze still lingering on the door.

“Milorad is to you as a mongoose is to a cobra. They will eat you alive and keep your corpse around for fun.” Crocodile warned as he opened the case on the small table, pulling free a cigar.

Jun’Ichi hummed as he looked away. That wasn’t why he had been staring. Sure, Milorad was a stunning individual with a voice that sent chills across his skin, but the name… Elio. Did it mean something in their mother tongue?

“Gods, I can hear the gears turning in your head from here.” Crocodile muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes as smoke spilled from his lips. His fingers idly tapped the cigar against the ashtray. “Ask.”

“What does Elio mean?”

“Not what, who.”

“Pardon?”

“Jun’Ichi, are you stupid? Were you dropped on your head as a child, perhaps?” He taunted as the cigar returned to his lips, his gaze sliding slowly over to Jun’Ichi as the scent of cloves began to linger in the air.

He bristled, jaw clenching. That was bait. “No- then who does it refer to?”

An exhale; a cloud of smoke billowing into the air. “Myself.”

“Elio is your true… Surname?”

“Given name. Conti is the surname.”

“Elio Conti.” The pause that settles in the air grows pregnant. “From… From the House of Conti?”

“The one and only.”

“Is that why you don’t talk about your past?”

“One of the reasons.”

“Is that the secret that Ivankov has?”

“No.” He watched in amusement as Jun’Ichi’s features twisted themselves into a confused mess. Nose scrunched up, brows furrowing in. Even after twelve years, the man knew so very little. And truthfully, Crocodile preferred to keep it that way- but it didn’t seem as if it would be staying as such. Kicking his feet up on the arm of the chair across from him, he settled in, eyes closing. “It’s a long story. I suppose you deserve to know at least some of it, yes?” He had been loyal for over a decade, had stood by his side even when Nico Robin had abandoned him for her lies, for her own agenda.

“It all began on an island in the South Blue…” ───

Forty-five Years Ago Isole del Carrozze, South Blue The House of Conti

“How is she?” Gian Carlo Conti, Lord of the House of Conti, asks the doctor as he steps out, wiping his hands clean of blood. “My wife, how is she?”

“She is well. Congratulations, my lord- you have a daughter.” The Doctor, a peculiar man with the most intense blue eyes Gian Carlo had ever seen, smiles at him. “You can go in and see them both.”

Pushing past the doctor, he throws the doors open, lips curling into a bright smile at the sight of his wife and newborn daughter. “Oh, amore mio!” He cried, rushing to her side to wrap an arm around Francesca, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Look at you! Look at her!” Cooing as he drew back, studying his daughter. He reached up, brushing a finger against her rosy cheek. “She looks like you.”

“Good, she should, after what she just put me through,” Francesca groaned as she settled back against the pillows, her brows furrowing in discomfort. “She is a big baby, she takes after your side for that.” Teasing gently, she gazed up at her husband, lavender meeting emerald. “We have a daughter.”

“I am so happy,” he whispered, tears welling up in his gaze. “I did not think we would ever see this day! A daughter…”

“... I had hoped for a son,” Francesca admitted softly, shaking her head as she gazed down at the girl. “But I will love her regardless, for she is ours, and she is our future.”

“The future of the House of Conti.”

“Welcome to the world, Eli.”

Little Eli cooed, not yet aware of the dangers that lay ahead for her. No, all she was aware of was how warm the blanket that she was wrapped up in was, the faint hunger she felt in her little tummy, and the soft voices that spoke overhead. She couldn’t see, not yet; couldn’t understand them, either, but she felt warm, and safe, and happy.

Lady Eli Conti, the only child born to Gian Carlo and Francesca Conti, was born on the fifth of September in the early morning hours. The first and only child born to the Lord and Lady of the House of Conti, and who would grow to be the only remaining child of the House of Conti. The House itself would be left to ruin, the family no longer living. But how does this happen? How does a family that had once considered itself to be one of the largest royalties in the South Blue simply fall to ruin over the span of a decade?

Well, darling, isn’t that the question.

It all begins with a man- as most tales do, unfortunately. ───

“Wait, hold on.” Jun’Ichi interrupted, waving his hand in the air.

Crocodile sighed, head lolling to the side to stare at his underling. “What?” He snapped, annoyed at having been stopped from his story.

“Did you have a sister? Like, an older sister?”

“... No.”

“Then who the fuck is Eli?”

A slow smile spread across his lips as he laughed, shaking his head. “You’ll figure it out soon enough. Ne, call down to the kitchen and have them send us up something. Daz is taking too long.”

“Probably got distracted by that pretty waiter he couldn’t stop staring at earlier,” Jun muttered as he leaned over, taking hold of the Denden. ───

40 Years Ago Isole del Carrozze, South Blue The House of Conti

“Elia Luna Conti, get back here!” Came the voice of the mean tutor. Eli didn’t listen, running as fast as her two legs could carry her through the grand halls of the manor. Step after step, she ran, turning this way then that.

‘He doesn’t know these halls like I do,’ she thought as she ran, breaths puffing out of her. She turned the next corner and came skidding to a halt, very nearly toppling into the back of the legs of a very tall man. He turned, staring down at her with obvious amusement. His beard was long, as was his mustache- and the hair on his head. Why did he have so much hair?

“Eli!” Momma hissed, and Eli turned, eyes widening further at the sight of her mother dressed all formal. She was wearing the pink gown, the one with the white lace that felt scratchy against her hands and arms when Momma held her. “I’m so sorry, you must forgive my daughter-”

“Such is the delights of children.” The funny looking one with the hair spoke, and when he spoke, his long mustache bobbed with the movement.

Momma came to her, sweeping her up in her arms to hold her close. “Eli, why aren’t you in your lessons?” Her voice was soft, but not sweet. Why was she not being sweet with her? She didn’t understand why she was being scolded. She was tired of her lessons, she’d been in there for what felt like ages. “Momma and Poppa are in a very important meeting-”

“She may remain.” The one without hair spoke, his face stern and mean and it reminded her of her tutor. “We are almost finished here.”

“Of course.” Poppa nodded. Momma settled her on her lap, even as the lace scratched against her arms. She didn’t wiggle free, though, not now. This was a serious thing, even though the words didn’t make much sense.

“You understand why we must be made clear of the nature of this… Issue, yes?” Baldy asked Poppa, who nodded. The curls he had bobbed with the movement. She wondered if her hair would ever curl like his. She had Momma’s hair, straight and thick, but it wasn’t blonde like hers. “If this proceeds, and you continue to bleed into the red, we will be forced to intervene.” She had Poppa’s color, down to how her skin tanned in the sun during the warm months. “I understand that those who target you are skilled, but you have an army at your disposal.”

“We have no Navy,” Poppa’s voice was tense. Was he angry? He looked more scared than angry. Why was he scared? Why were Momma’s hands shaking? She didn’t understand.

“You have canons. You have ground artillery. You have the means to protect yourself.”

“Not if the World Government pulls away from our shores!”

“That is simply not up to you to decide.” Mister Mustache sighed, shaking his head. She wanted to reach out and touch his hair. It looked soft. Did he brush it one hundred times, like Momma did with her hair every night? “There have been other issues popping up in the East Blue. You’ve heard of them, no?”

“The Dark King and Roger, no?”

“And Whitebeard.”

“Whitebeard is in the North Blue?” Momma asked, her head tilting. It made her earrings jingle; she reached up to play with them, though Momma moved her hands away. She pouted. “Or has he moved out?”

“He’s made his move to the Grand Line.”

“But that is not our topic of discussion. You know your time limit. You know what must be done. If you do not succeed-”

“Will you send Cipher Pol to our doorstep, then?” Poppa asked, rising to his feet. The other men rose quickly. Was Poppa going to fight? She hoped he would. The last time he fought, he won, and then they celebrated! But that was on the back of one of their horses, and he was wearing a suit of armor. This didn’t look like that kind of fight. What was Cipher Pol? That was a funny name. Were they entertainers? She looked up to Momma, watching the way her eyes flickered between the three men.

“We will do what we must.”

“As will we.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It is a promise.”

Eli stopped paying attention, then. She was focused on Momma’s necklace; enlaid with so many diamonds, she couldn’t even begin to try to count them. Diamonds and emeralds, those were her jewels, Momma said. The same way that gold and emerald were Eli’s. The men were leaving, Eli noticed, watching as they walked out. The one with the beard gave her a little wave, and she waved back. Momma was talking quietly to Poppa, whispering.

“Eli…” Poppa sighed as she turned to face him, reaching over for him to take her. “Eli, you need to go back to your studies, okay? Just for a little bit.”

“I do not want to.” Eli huffed, flopping forward against her father, who made a funny little ‘oof’ sound. “He smells of fish and talks weird.”

“Well, he is part fishman.” Momma sighed, reaching over to brush her fingers through her hair. “... Perhaps we can take a break today, no? I believe we could use some time in the gardens.”

“Yes!” Eli cheered, sitting back up. Poppa smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were sad. She reached up, patting at his cheeks. “Do not be sad! Happy. Happy Poppa!”

“I am happy, mio angelo.”

She didn’t believe him, but the gardens were calling for her. “Garden! Can we have a picnic?”

“Well,” Momma glanced at the big granddaddy clock, studying the time. “I don’t see why not? A picnic lunch in the garden would be wonderful. Come, Gianny.”

“You have to use the nickname,” Poppa leaned over, giving Momma a kiss to her cheek that had Eli giggling, “Call for the kitchen to prepare us something light. I do not wish to spoil dinner.”

“Ovviamente.” Momma left, her skirts swirling about her legs.

Poppa carried her out of the house. As they passed the room her tutor was in, she stuck her tongue out at him. He did not laugh. He adjusted his funny little glasses and gathered up his boring schoolbooks. Good, Eli thought. He could leave and never come back! She didn’t need him. She could learn from Poppa and Momma.

He set her down, watching as she bolted down the marble steps and into the rose garden, giggling up a storm. “What are we going to do?” Gian murmured as Frencesca settled in at his side, her arm curling around his own.

She didn’t answer him at first, her lips pursed into a small frown. ‘She’s going to get her dress dirtied again.’ She thought, before considering her husband’s question. “... Perhaps we should contact a shipbuilder? We could have at least one ship fit for fighting off those damned pirates.”

“I’m worried, ‘Cesa.”

“I know, Gianny. I know. But… Let’s worry another day, yes? Not now. Look at our daughter! Look at how she’s having fun. I think…” She reached down, tugging off the heels that had been hurting her feet all morning. “I’m going to join her!” With that, Francesca gathered her skirts and ran down the stairs, listening to the way Gian laughed behind her. Eli squealed as she scooped her up, spinning her around and around.

Elia Luna Conti is five years old. She is happy. She is loved. She is safe. ───

Thirty Nine Years Ago Isole del Carrozze, South Blue The House of Conti

“I don’t WANNA!” Eli yelled, struggling to sit still in the chair. “Why do I have to keep my hair long?”

“Because it’s proper for a young lady,” Miss Katherine sighed as she brushed out Eli’s mane that she called hair. First, it was the struggle with the bath. Then, the struggle to wear a dress rather than trousers. Now, a struggle with the hair. “Sit still.”

“I’ll cut it all off!”

“If you do, your mother will weep.”

“It’s not her hair!”

“Why do you have such a problem with having your hair long?”

Eli went quiet. She didn’t like the way she looked with such long hair. It was too thick, for one, and for two, she didn’t like how hot it made her. Or the silly hairstyles Miss Katherine would do. Or the way her mother’s nails would snag in her hair on a tangle. She didn’t like wearing the dresses either. They felt weird on her body, like they were made for someone else, not for her.

… They made climbing trees difficult, too. And running. Kicking balls.

“Dunno,” she answered after a while. Miss Katherine sighed and settled simply on braiding her hair. “Sometimes, I wish I was born a boy, so I wouldn’t have to sit here and do all this junk.”

“Don’t we all, Miss Conti, don’t we all.”

No, Eli thought. No, we don’t all think that. She stared at herself in the mirror with a frown. She wondered if she could convince her mother to let her wear the trousers and blouse today, instead of the stuffy green dress with scratchy lace. It wasn’t even one of her favorite dresses; the green was too light, the lace wasn’t detailed! “Why is this dinner so important?” She asked, kicking her feet in the chair as Miss Katherine stepped around to the front of her. Her eyes were blue, and her hair was gray, and she had wrinkles. A lot of them, Elio noticed. Elio. That’s what she had started referring to herself as. It sounded better than Eli, which grated on her ears, or Elia, which didn’t even sound like her name. No, she much preferred Elio. Elio Luna Conti; that was a strong sounding name for a strong… Girl.

“It simply is.” Miss Katherine hummed as she fixed the small hairs around her forehead. “... Do you really wish to not wear this dress?”

“No. I feel like a fat frog in it.”

Miss Katherine sighed; she had lost this battle, it seemed. “Very well. Go change into your trousers and pick out a shirt.”

Elio beamed as she shuffled out of the chair before bolting to her bedroom. Her heart raced in her chest as she approached her closet, throwing open the doors to stare at the many dresses that hung. Shoving them aside, she grabbed for the deep green blouse that made her think of pirates, with its poofy sleeves and ruffled collar. They wanted her to wear green, so she would wear green. But not that ugly dress with the cheap, scratchy lace. No. This was better. More comfortable than that stupid old dress. Where had it even come from? She wasn’t sure, really. Certainly not from their tailor, not something that her mother would have had made. Perhaps it was a gift? That's more likely, she decided as she tugged the shirt over her head. Better.

Much better.

The next task at hand was to find a pair of trousers that would match what she wore. Would brown be a good idea? Or perhaps black, considering how rich the green of the fabric was. Certainly not something light colored, especially for dinner. That was asking for a mistake, for her to drop some sort of sauce on her trousers. No, she would need to find something dark.

“Perhaps a skirt?” Miss Katherine asked as she entered the bedroom, closing the door behind herself. She paused, looking at the girl- at the way she had somehow managed to mess up all her hard work with her hair. They were simply out of time for her to try and fix it, now. Grumbling under her breath, she shuffled over to the closer and began rummaging around. “But you would prefer to wear trousers, wouldn’t you?”

“Trousers, please!” Elio agreed, clambering atop her bed with a grin. She faced the mirror beside her bed, reaching up to undo the annoying little pins that Miss Katherine had placed in her hair, tugging them out. “Can you just… tie my hair back low? Like Poppa’s?”

“Yes, I suppose I can.”

And that was how Lady Elio Conti made her way down to dinner, dressed in a richly green silk shirt, dark brown trousers, a pair of heeled boots that Katherine was almost certain were her riding boots, and her hair tied back- just like her Poppa’s. Momma sighed when she saw her, shaking her head in amused frustration. Of course Elio wouldn’t wear a dress; she detested those things, now.

“There she is!” Francesca cooed, leaning down to scoop up her daughter into her arms. The dress she wore was complimentary; a rich emerald dinner gown that had black velvet embroidery work sewn into the fabric along the body of the dress. “There’s someone for you to meet, Elio!”

“Who?” It was rare for other children to visit the House of Conti. She leaned around her mother’s shoulder, catching sight of an odd looking woman who wore the strangest clothes- and a bundle of fabric that wriggled in her arms. A fat little arm struck out, reaching up to the woman’s face. She had light blonde hair, lighter than Momma’s own. “What’s that?”

“That,” Francesca whispered as she stepped closer, “Is a baby.”

“It looks funny.”

“Well, yes, so did you as a baby!”

“What’s it’s name?” Elio asked the woman, watching the way she looked up. She looked tired, she noted; the same way Momma does after a long day. Maybe they had to travel a long way to get here? That would make sense; they don’t live on this island.

“His name is Doflamingo.”

“Like the bird?”

“Yes,” the woman laughed at that, nodding her head. “Just like the bird.” ───

“Wait, so you met Doflamingo when he was a baby?” Jun’Ichi asked as Crocodile stretched; the sun having set over the horizon. The sounds of muffled pleasure drifted through the crack under the door. The brothel was certainly in full swing tonight, it seemed.

Crocodile’s gaze swept across the room, studying the little trinkets that Milorad kept. “Yes. Of course, I wouldn't put two and two together until much later in life, after he’d made a name for himself.”

“Does he know?”

“Doubtful. That was the one and only time that the Donquioxte family visited, as far as I know.”

“Huh…” Jun shifted, rolling over in the bed to stretch out his limbs. “You’re six years old, at a formal dinner.”

“The dinner isn’t important. What happens after is what’s important.” ───

Thirty Nine Years Ago Isole del Carrozze, South Blue The House of Conti

The voices were hushed in the hallway. Elio paused as she cracked her door open; she needed to potty, but something told her to wait. To stand here and listen. What that was, she isn’t quite sure; perhaps a sixth sense, perhaps a ghost of family members long since passed. Either way, she pressed her little body against the wall beside her door, leaned her head as close as she could to the crack, and strained to listen.

“She’s just a child, Gian!” Momma hissed; she sounded angry, angry enough that it made Elio wonder if something had happened. “You can’t seriously be considering this!”

“I don’t think we have much a choice!” Poppa replied, sighing heavily. “I know the Marine; he’s a good man. And he has a son a few years older than her. If we are able to enter into a talk of some sort, we could promise her to him, and then we would be fine. Safe. She would have a place to go!”

“But marriage?”

Marriage? For who? Elio frowned at that. One of the serving girls? But why would they be talking of marrying a serving girl off? That made no sense. They couldn’t be talking of her, could they? She was only six! She didn’t even know how to play the viola yet! ( Her lessons were going good, though; she was a natural, according to her tutor. Almost as good as she was at playing the piano, but she liked the viola more. It was prettier, easier for her fingers to reach, even if it made her arms sore after playing for longer than ten minutes. )

“Monkey D. Garp is legendary and has climbed the ranks of the Marines quickly,” Gian Carlo explained, gaze trained on the fire that crackled low, slowly dying in the late night. Francesca huffed, pacing across the rug in front of the window that offered a lovely view of the lower garden, where they grew their produce. “And his son is showing promise.”

“You mean Monkey D. Dragon?”

“Yes.”

“You want to marry our daughter to someone who has the Will of D?”

Elio fell still; it felt as if someone had doused her in ice water. Marry her? But she was just a kid! She couldn’t get married! She leaned closer, straining to hear her parents.

“I want to arrange a marriage of politics to ensure that we will not be slaughtered like cattle in four years, Francesca!” Gian’s voice rose sharply, echoing against the walls in the reading room. He turned to face his spouse, his chest rising and falling quickly. His gaze was wide, frantic; fearful. “After what we have learned tonight-”

“We haven’t had anything confirmed. You know how the Donquioxte family is; they’ve always been filled with paranoia and power.” Francesca countered, attempting to ease her own anxiety. “Remember what they used to say when we were young? Every time a Donquixote is born, the Gods hold their breath and flip a coin!”

“Have you forgotten the threat that we already received?” Gian’s voice had a nearly hysterical tone to it now, pitched upwards in a way that made Elio’s skin crawl, had her arms wrapping around herself. “I will NOT sit here and watch the minutes tick by as we do nothing!”

“Do NOT raise your voice at your wife!”

“I WILL DO AS I PLEASE!”

The next sound was one Elio hadn’t heard before. It was sharp, sudden; echoing across the halls, bouncing round the corners. It felt as if the house itself had stopped in that moment, ceasing all activity. Mice had gone still, the clocks ceased to tick. “Do not. Ever. Speak to me in such a manner again, Gian Carlo Conti, or I will be the reason you fear the night. Do you understand me?” Francesca spoke in a clear, even tone, her chin raised high, lavender gaze sparkling with anger no longer subdued. “Go to one of the guest rooms. We will not be sharing our bed until you have the balls you claim to possess to apologize to me.”

Poppa didn’t respond, even as Momma walked away. Elio shrunk back from the door, hands damp and cold and shaking, pressing to her cheeks as she tried to quiet her breathing. She made her way back to her bed, climbing back up and under the blankets. Her parents had been fighting- over her. Over marrying her. She didn’t want to be married. She was only a kid, she didn’t want some icky husband, especially one with the name like Monkey D. Dragon. Who names their child after two animals?

… She didn’t want to marry. She didn’t want to wear a white dress. She didn’t want to be a wife.

Elio curled over on her side, pulled her blankets up higher, and fell back to sleep with newfound worries plaguing her young mind. ───

Thirty Eight Years Ago Isole del Carrozze, South Blue The House of Conti

Breathe in, breathe out. Chin level, gaze settled on the target in front of her. She drew the bowstring back, taught in her hand, leveled the arrow, and released it with her breath. The arrow loosed from the notch, screaming softly through the air with a sound akin to a bird’s cry, and struck home in the center of the target’s big, red bull’s eye. Behind her, her father applauded her. “Well done, mio caro!”

“Do you think we could move it farther back next time?” Elio asked, glancing up towards her archery instructor, who nodded.

Penelope was a strong woman; a short giantess of nearly four hundred and twenty six centimeters in height. Her hair was stark white, cut short around her chin. Poppa had hired her after the fight last year to train her in different forms of combat. She was excelling in archery; proficient in hand to hand combat ( for a seven year old ). She would be trained in sword fighting next. “We could, yes. Do you think you’re ready for that?”

“I am.” Elio nodded, turning away to hand off her bow to the waiting serving girl. “Poppa, I’m hungry!” Her stomach growled as if to solidify her sentiments. A glance towards the top of the hill confirmed her assumptions: Momma was nowhere to be seen. Her lips twitched in mild irritation as she climbed up the grassy knoll, listening the birds sing their cheery little songs overhead. “Can we eat now?” Mumbled into the wind, she reached out to take Poppa’s hand, giving it a squeeze as they walked along the path towards the house.

The house wasn’t the castle. The castle was back towards the coast, in town. This was a house, something small that they came to when it came time to practice this. Three rooms, a kitchen, and a sitting parlor. “Is Momma alright?” She asked curiously as Penelope stepped up behind them. Penelope leaned down to scoop her up, carrying her upon her shoulders, much to her delight. Elio squealed, holding onto Penelope’s head- careful not to pull her hair, that would hurt, and she doesn’t want to hurt Penelope.

“Momma needed to go lay down. She was feeling faint again.” Poppa answered with a shake of his head. Momma had gotten sick four months ago, and it refused to let go of her. Her lungs wheezed with breaths at times; others, she could barely leave the bed. “But she’ll be joining us for lunch.”

“Good!” Slumping forward, Elio rested her chin upon Penelope’s head, watching as the house came into view. Yet, something had caught her attention: a twig snapping to their left. She sat up slowly, head swiveling to the left to study the woods.

The birds had stopped singing.

“Poppa?” She whispered, drawing her father’s attention. He, along with the two guards that followed his every step ( Viper and Scorpion, who had been by his side for well over two decades. They were uncles to her; brothers to him not in blood, but in spirit. ), stilled. “Someone’s there.”

“Penelope-” Poppa didn’t get to finish his sentence as an arrow flew out; wide, a shitty shot. Penelope leaned down in one fell swoop, dropping her down into Gian’s awaiting arms, who then passed her over to Scorpion. “Run! Quickly, now!”

“Yes, sir!” Scorpion took off in a sprint; Elio clung to him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs around his ways. They had practiced this since she had been old enough to talk. He kept one arm wrapped around her middle, holding her close as the sounds of fighting ensued behind them. “What do you see, little Croc?” Croc- Crocodile, her favorite reptile- that was his nickname for her. What they all called her when they needed to use code names. She was Crocodile, Momma was Swan, and Poppa was King Snake.

“Men!” Elio gasped out, breath getting jostled out of her with each hard footfall from Scorpion. He was a big man- tall and broad and fast. “I think four? Penelope is grabbing Poppa and pushing him back!”

“What do the men look like?” Scorpion urged as he neared the house, gaze raking over the door. It hadn’t been busted down, hadn't been opened. The house was calm. Quiet.

“I think they’re pirates!”

“Pirates?” Scorpion set Elio down, blocking her view with his body as he turned to watch.

Penelope grabbed one of the men- certainly a pirate, given their mangy appearance and cutlasses and barbaric yells- and slammed him over her knee He could hear the way his spine broke from here, could hear the strangled, gurgle of a scream that bubbled free from his lips as she tossed him aside.

An arrow shot free from the trees. Another? Their archer! The arrow flew strong and true, sinking into the tender flesh of Penelope’s thigh. She screamed as she reached down, grabbing it. Viper covered her, striking down another man as Gian Carlo continued to hold off two on his own.

“Inside, quickly now!” Scorpion reached over, grabbing hold of the handle of the door, pushing it open to shove her inside. “Go to you mother!”

“Save Poppa!” Elio cried as Scorpion closed the door on her. She could hear his heavy footsteps as he retreated, leaving her in the quiet. She turned away from the door, looking around before spotting the cracked open door of her mother’s room. “Momma! Momma!” She yelled, running in, the door swinging wide to clang against the wall.

“What on Earth are you doing?!” Momma gasped, reaching out to grab hold of her child. “What is wrong?!”

“Pirates, Momma!”

“Pirates?” Francesca looked up, gaze locked on the door. “Where’s your father?”

“With Viper and Scorpion and Penelope! They’re fighting them!”

“Quickly, come with me!” Francesca pulled Elio close, her arms winding around her child. “We need to hide!” With a flurry of movement, skirts swirling in the afternoon light, she pulled open the wardrobe, parting the clothing, fingers brushing against the back. Oh, where was it?

Elio watched as Francesca reached inside. What was she doing? They didn’t need clothes! She was about to protest before she watched as the back swung open, revealing a hidden room. “Come, inside!” Francesca climbed in first, dragging Elio in behind her. She pushed Elio into the secret room as she closed the wardrobe behind her. Elio stumbled in the dark, falling to her hands and knees with a muffled hiss of pain as her skin scrapes against the rough concrete. She turns, watching as the last sliver of light is shut out as Francesca closes the door, trapping them in this odd, hidden room. Sh can hear her mother more than see her as she moves through the darkness, before the distinct sound of a match striking fills the silence.

Oil lamp.

“What is this place?” Elio asks in childish bewilderment, her gaze drifting across the room. It’s bigger than she thought; was this what was behind the hallway? She looked down; the floor dipped into a gradual slope. A secret tunnel?! “Momma?”

“This is a tunnel that my father built when I was just a girl.” Momma explained as she hung the lamp for a moment. She took the ribbon from her hair and reached down, gathering her skirts up in a manner Elio had never seen before. “He built this tunnel in case something ever happened and we needed to escape.” She pulled them between her legs, creating makeshift trousers, to which she then tied the excess fabric together at her side. Reaching over, she took hold of the lamp once more and reached a hand out, grasping Elio’s much smaller- and now slightly bloodied- hand. “We must hurry, now.”

“But what about Poppa?” Her mind flashed to the fight, to the sound of swords clashing, of muffled yells.

Francesca shook her head. “He knows where we’ll be.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, bambina.” She tugged. And Elio had no choice but to follow.

They walked for what felt like hours, but really couldn’t have been longer than perhaps one hour, given how the sun hadn’t moved much in the sky. The floor had dipped low before rising back up into an incline as they breached the surface. It took all of Francesca’s strength to push the hidden cellar door open, and when she did, she waited a moment, listening intently before climbing out. “Gian?”

“Cesca?” Came Gian Carlo’s voice through the woods. Francesca ran to her husband, throwing her arms around his shoulders as a sob escaped her.

Hands reached down, picking Elio up out of the dark tunnel and into the light once more. Penelope, with a weary, tired smile and dirt smeared across her face. Viper and Scorpion stood off to the side, just as weary from their fight- and then the walk to find this. “There we are, poppet,” Penelope murmured, brushing Elio’s hair back from her face. “I bet you’re tired.”

“Very. Can we go home?” Elio asked as she leaned her head forward, resting it against Penelope’s shoulder. “I wanna go home.”

“Yes, mio angelo, we’re going home.” Poppa sighed as he walked over, reaching up to brush his fingers against her leg. He had blood smeared across his face, Elio noticed. Blood on his hands, too.

It would not be the first time she would see blood on her father’s face. ───

The door opened as Daz slipped in, arms laden down with bags of supplies.

“Good,” Crocodile sighed as he rose from his chair. “Milorad is having dinner sent up here for us.”

“How are you feeling?” Jun’Ich asked Daz, watching the way the man grimaced. “You should rest, now.”

“I will, soon.”

Crocodile idly looked through the bags, studying the medical supplies. Good; they’d certainly needed those. “Any questions before I continue?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder at Jun’Ichi. He’d begun brushing out his hair, which had finally dried. Crocodile’s fingers twitched; the memory of silken strands wrapped around his fist rushing to the surface briefly.

“You were going to be pledged to Monkey D. Dragon?”

Daz snorted, shaking his head as he moved towards the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower. You’re telling him the story?”

“He deserves to know. Milorad can’t keep their mouth shut.” Turning, he faced one of the most loyal members of his crew. “You have known me for over a decade, now. I fear this truth would have gotten out regardless.”

Jun shifted to sit back against the headboard, his arms looping behind his head. “Okay. Go on.”

“Is that an order?” Sir Crocodile mused, head tilting, a dangerous glint within his gaze that had Jun’Ichi snorting.

“No, sir.”

“Very well.” ───

Thirty Six Years Ago Isole del Carrozze, South Blue The House of Conti

She shifted, turning this way then that, admiring her reflection. The waistcoat fit better than her dresses did; with the archery, the sword training, the lessons with her viola, her shoulders were growing broader. She didn’t fit into most of her gowns from her youth due to this growth spurt, something Elio was secretly happy with. Dresses felt strange on her form. Uncomfortable. As if they were meant for someone else, not for her.

No, suits were better.

“What’s on the schedule for today?” Mother asked, her head tilting as she watched Elio model the newly tailored suit. The waistcoat was modeled after the ones she wore when riding her horse; the trousers were modified mens’ trousers, and the blouse was one she already had in her closet.

“I have to attend my afternoon lessons,” Elio answered, turning away from her reflection to study her mother. Francesca had grown pale over the past two years; still struggling with her health in the aftermath of the mysterious sickness that had struck her. She was starting to go prematurely grey at her temples, as well, though in Elio’s opinion, it made her look more dignified.

“Which lessons?” Francesca pressed, her gaze drifting down to the journal she had balanced in her lap. She was writing something down; what it was, Elio wasn’t sure. “Lets see, today is Wednesday, so that means-”

“A History of the World Government, Mathematics, and the Sciences of the New World.” Elio answered, hopping down from the platform to wander over to her mother, flopping against the armchair she reclined in. “I heard something earlier from one of the servants.”

Francesca hummed curiously, a fine, thin eyebrow raising to show her curiosity.

“That there’s a new group of pirates terrorizing the Seas. They’re calling themselves the Roger Pirates, after their Captain.” Elio sighed in an almost dream-like fashion. Ever since having the run in with the rogue pirates two years prior, her head had been filled with fantasies of adventuring across the seas, of finding treasure, of becoming a captain of a fierce crew.

“The Roger Pirates have been around for a few years, now.” Francesca closed her journal, her brows furrowing inward, creasing in the middle in a new wrinkle she hadn’t had the year prior. “They’re led by a man named Gol D. Roger and the Dark King, Silvers Rayleigh.”

“You’ve heard of them?” Elio gasped, eyes widening in surprise as she turned, nearly falling over herself in her haste. “Mother, tell me more!”

“Ask your tutor, he’ll know more than I.” Francesca tutted softly, rising with a swirl of her skirts. “I have to attend tea with some of the ladies of the minor nobility.”

“Gross. All you do is sit and sip tea and gossip,” Elio stuck her tongue out as Francesca smoothed a hand over her head. She was growing taller; she’d be taking after her father’s height.

Francesca laughed softly, shaking her head as her daughter walked ahead of her, arms swinging at her sides. She truly was her father’s daughter, she thought to herself. Bold, brave, levelheaded. She would make a wonderful Lady one day. As they walked through the halls, Francesca’s mind wandered. They had less than a year before the World Government would be at their door, but no more word had been sent, had been heard since that day upon the arrival of those men. Teeth worried the inside of her cheek, biting upon the flesh tenderly. They had threatened then and there to procure a Buster Call, to wipe any and all trace of them, of the island, of their bloodline- all because of a money discrepancy. It wasn’t as if they were going to bleed their citizens dry! That was simply preposterous, though she knew better. That wasn’t the real reason.

No. She herself was the reason. Daughter of a Celestial Dragon, whose bloodline goes back as far as the beginning of the Void Century, and her refusal to admit that she knew where the plans were for that weapon. Fingers clutched the journal tight enough that the leather creaked.

“Have fun at your gossipy tea drinking time!” Elio teased as she flounced into the library, leaving Francesca standing in the hall to watch. It would all be fine. Nothing would happen.

She would make sure of it. Even if it cost her everything.

“I have a question!” Elio exclaimed in lieu of a greeting.

Her tutor- an older gentleman with white hair and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes- looked up from his lesson plan. A smile curved his lips as he watched her approach with all the confidence of a grown adult. “What would your question be?” Caleb questioned, closing his lesson plan for the moment.

“What do you know of Whitebeard? And the Roger Pirates?” She questioned, settling down in a chair at the table.

Caleb paused, appearing almost flabbergasted at the question before sighing. “Well… I really only know some of the basic information.”

“Well, tell me what you know.”

“Why the interest in those two?”

“Its an interest in pirates in general.”

“Planning on running off to be a pirate?” He teased, watching the way her cheeks heated up. She shrugged, and he decided in that moment that his lesson plans could wait for another day. “Very well. Tell you what- how about we take a field trip?”

“You mean it?” She perked up, already rising to her feet. “Please?”

“Come along. Sometimes, it’s easier to explain with something other than books and maps.” Walking to the large doors that lead out to the garden, Caleb waved down one of the serving boys. “Tell His Majesty that I am taking Her Royal Highness to the beach for a lesson on history and science.”

“I- yes, sir.”

“Wonderful.” He opened the door, ushering her outside into the warm spring air. Caleb offered her his arm, to which she took in order to keep up with him better. He was much taller and had weirdly long legs, in her opinion. “So, our lesson today will be on pirates.”

“How do you become a pirate?” Elio asked, her head tilting, causing her braid to sway with the movement. “I know you aren’t born into piracy like you’re born into royalty, right?”

“Yes- and no. Pirates have children who take up piracy the same way that royals have children who become royals themselves. Or others opt not to, like how your uncle chose to become a Marine rather than pursue the crown.”

Her lips pursed as she thought that over. How strange it must be to be born into piracy. “So, how do you become a pirate?” She pressed once more as the paved walkway turned to cobblestone beneath their feet.

“You choose.”

“You choose?”

“Yes. Most pirates do not simply start up on their own and suddenly decide that they’ll have a crew and a ship. Piracy is as much a business as opting to become a merchant or a Marine.” Caleb gestured towards the town to their left, then the port in front of them. “There is business in piracy. You must decide if you wish to start off on your own- and if you do that, you must purchase a boat. If you don’t know how to navigate, then you’ll need to find a Navigator, at the very least.”

“Like, someone who reads a map?”

“Or someone who can track your course by the stars.”

Her eyes widened as she stopped, staring up at Caleb in obvious surprise. “You can do that?!” She whispered, fingers clutching to his coat. “Caleb, can you teach me how to do that?!”

“I- Miss Conti, I’m no Navigator-”

“But you taught me the constellations! And you know how to read maps! You were once a merchant, you must know some things, no?”

Caleb’s gut twisted; he was certainly a merchant, once. Even though his roots were far deeper than mere mercantilism. “I… I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to teach you that, as well.” She would need to know, one day. Even if what the rumors whispered proved to be false, it would never hurt for her to know. “Now, pirates. You wished to know of Roger and Whitebeard, yes?”

Her head bobbed as they continued their walk, cobblestone slowly giving way to sand. “Gol D. Roger has been around for quite some years, now; he isn’t a young upstart, but he is impressive from what I have learned.” And so began the story of Gol D. Roger, the Dark King Rayleigh Silvers, and how the two joined forces to create the slowly growing to be infamous Roger Pirates.

Elio drank in all of the information, her mind running a mile a minute. Such magnificent stories of heroism, of fighting the World Government, of exploration. It sparked a fire that would never go out, not after this. Once they returned from their beach visit, she pulled out maps of the South Blue and begged Caleb to teach her how to read it.

And he did. Where the island she resided on was, how the currents directed the flow of merchant ships from island to island, how in turn she would need to go if she wanted to visit another portion of the South Blue.

Little did Caleb know that this information would save her life within the following year.

Over the course of six months, Elio was taught how to navigate by the position of the stars, how to read and create her own maps, how to read a compass, and what a log pose is. By the time late summer rolled around, Caleb was taking Elio out on the lake with the Conti family’s small ship. It was fit for two people; one to steer, and one to man the masts. Elio had found a new love for the water, one that thrilled Gian Carlo and worried Francesca.

Often, Penelope would sit on the shore and keep watch, for in the shadows, movement was stirring.

“I don’t understand,” Francesca sighed as she powdered her face, preparing for an evening out. “What is this fascination with the water?”

“It’s freeing!” Elio spoke around a mouthful of pins, having taken to doing her own hair. “I’m able to steer the ship where I wish for it to go, and it will go! It’s like a horse, but even more powerful and open. I want to go out to the ports one day, when I’m older, and take a ship out onto the ocean.”

“Why on earth would you want that?” Francesca whined; where had the daughter who loved to paint her nails and have tea parties gone?

Gian chuckled as he entered the powder room, pausing to press a kiss to the top of his wife’s head. “I think it’s a wonderful thing that you’ve taken an interest in. It can never hurt to know how to sail in this day and age.”

“See?” Elio stuck her tongue out before bursting into a fit of laughter as Gian copied her in the mirror.

Shaking her head, Francesca set down her powder puff and reached for her lipstick. “I think it’s a rather dangerous sport, is all.” She sniffed before opening her mouth, carefully gliding the red across her lips.

The shade reminded Elio of blood; bright and bold and eye-catching. She turned around and hopped down from the stool she stood on, hearing her mother gasp in a moment of fear. Her lips curved into a grin as she spun, her dress fanning around around her legs. She’d agreed to wear a dress tonight due to the event: the Opera. A traveling group of entertainers had come to their island, and the royal family of Conti had been invited as guests of honor to witness their performance.

“Is Caleb coming?” Elio questioned as she stepped one foot in front of the other, counting how many steps it would take to get from the door to the window on the other side of the room. Seven, eight, nine…

“Yes, he is, as is Penelope, and Scorpion, and Viper.” Poppa answered as he tied his tie, a fancy black silk with golden thread woven through it, catching the light like the scales of a dark reptile.

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty paces! “I’ve never been to an Opera before.”

“It will be long, and you must remain quiet.” Francesca rose to her feet, brushing her hand over her dressing gown. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother.” Elio rolled her eyes as she walked out of the powder room and into her parents bedroom. It was twice as big as her own, meaning it was quite massive. She could run from one end to the other and be out of breath! “Are you wearing the red gown tonight?”

“I am!”

“Is that why I’m wearing the gold?”

“Exactly, piccolo gnocco!” Mother walked to the closet, disappearing inside. “Go downstairs! We’ll be there shortly!”

“I’m gonna find a peach to eat!” Elio called back as she escaped, running through the hall towards the stairs. A grin curled her lips as she raced down two at a time, feeling as if she Cinderella running from the Prince. Except in her story, the Prince would never find her, and she would escape her evil step mother and evil step sisters to become a pirate and sail the oceans!

Penelope was in the kitchen when she came skidding in, very nearly running into the wall. “Careful!” Penelope chided, shaking her head. “Are you here to snack?”

“Do we have any peaches?”

“You’re in luck, I just finished peeling one.” Penelope grinned as she offered the bowl of peeled peach for Elio, who accepted with a squeal of delight. “You look pretty tonight.”

“Than’ oo.” Elio replied around a mouthful of peaches. She took a moment to swallow before continuing. “You aren’t wearing a dress?”

“Easier to hide my blades on me like this.”

“Oh! Oh, that’s smart!” She hadn’t considered that. Penelope wore a full suit, and even with the suit, she couldn’t see where she would have hidden any of her blades. “You’re so smart, Penny.”

“I’m aware.”

“There we are!” Gian Carlo smiled as he walked in, Francesca following behind. Both were fully dressed, Elio noted. They looked good; father in a suit of black and gold, mother in a gown of red with a necklace of gold and ruby, and herself in her golden dress with gold sparkles in her hair. She was their gold, their treasure, and she certainly looked the part. “Shall we?”

“To the Opera!” ───

“It was the first time I had been in a theater,” Crocodile murmured, watching as Jun’Ichi cut a peach carefully. It was well ripened, the juices spilling over his fingers.

“Did you enjoy it?” He asked as he cut a piece, holding it out for his boss.

Lips curved into a smile as he reached over, taking hold of the slice before bringing it to his mouth. “I did. The theater house was the pride of the city. It was three stories high, built of marble and gold, intricate details of filigree everywhere you looked. We had world class acts come to perform yearly. This Opera would be the final one to grace the theater house, however.”

“Oh,” Jun frowned at that, gaze lowering to the peach, cutting a piece for Daz, who had stretched out across the large bed. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Quite.”

“Do you recall what the opera was?” Daz asked, taking the piece of peach.

He had to think for a moment, mind reaching back, back, back into the recesses of his memory. “I can’t recall the name, but it was a tragedy from the North Blue. I remember my mother crying over it; a tale of two lovers torn apart by a warring family.”

“How tragic.”

“It was.” A yawn pulled free from him; he was tired, but still far too awake to even consider sleeping, just yet. The first night away from that living hell known as Impel Down. His fingers drummed on the arm of the chair he’d sunken into as memories of lavish gowns and sparkling champagne danced within his memory. “That’s the final good memory I have of that island.”

“Well, it has been nearly thirty five years since then.”

“It certainly has.” ───

Thirty Five Years Ago Isole del Carrozze, South Blue The House of Conti

Snow had blanketed the island; winter had come, and with a vengeance rarely seen. The castle was cold, even with the fires roaring within. Elio, age ten, curled up into a ball in a large arm chair, a book balanced upon their lap. At their feet, their cousin Olivia lay, asleep. She was their uncle’s daughter, a child of a Marine. She was four years older than them, but somehow shorter, with round cheeks and big green eyes. She took after her mother, not her father.

The Yule feast had ended an hour ago, but no one had gone to their rooms yet. The longest night of the year was meant to be spent together with the ones you loved, celebrating and chasing the shadows away. The people within the city had built bonfires to celebrate; normally, they would all be down there celebrating with them, but it was simply too cold this year. Ice had formed a layer over the snow that had fallen, making leaving dangerous.

The book had been a gift from Caleb; a book of maps. Maps of the South and West Blues, with detailed ley lines and island postings, as well as which direction the log pose would rest should you come to one. It was everything that they could have ever wanted. Father had gifted them new boots, leather and insulated. Good for riding horseback. Mother had gifted them a new quiver for their arrows, as well as a new pair of golden earrings.

Olivia stirred, sitting up and blinking in the light of the fire. “Ell,” she murmured, brows furrowing. “What time is it?”

“Just past nine, You’ve only been asleep for thirty minutes.” They answered, not looking up from their book. “Everyone else is still in the formal dining room.”

“Oh.” She shifted, tugging the fur blanket closer to herself as she rose to her feet. She walked to the window, staring out at the dark night. “It’s a new moon tonight. Look, you can’t even see the stars.”

“You can see the stars; we can’t see them from here because of the city’s lights.”

“Oh.” A pause as she worried her cheek. “I’m gonna go get some food. I’m hungry, still. Do you want anything?”

“No, thank you.” El shook their head, glancing up from the book at long last to watch as Olivia slipped out of the library and into the hall. The sound of laughter echoed distantly, the adults still awake and joking. They huffed softly and readjusted, gaze returning to the book of maps, trying to memorize as much as they could. Caleb would quiz them on this, no doubt. No rest for the weary- whatever that meant. They’d heard their mother say it more than once.

It felt applicable.

The fire crackled in the fireplace; the warmth was comforting, lulling. Their eyes felt heavy. Perhaps a small nap would be nice? Their head bobbed once, twice, three times before sleep pulled them under. It wasn’t the first time they had fallen asleep here, nor would it be the last, they reasoned. After all, it was warm, it was quiet, and their tummy was full of meat and bread. All was good, all was quiet.

They aren’t sure what woke them.

The fire had nearly burnt itself out, embers glowing dimly in the dark of the library. They shifted, their book nearly slipping off their lap before they caught it. No sound of laughter could be heard from the kitchen. How late was it? A glance towards the grandfather clock at the far end revealed it was well past midnight, nearly one in the morning. Quietly, they rose to their feet, shuffling forward while rubbing at their eyes. Had mother and father already retired for the evening? Where was everyone? Why did no one wake them?

The sound of snow crunching outside had their steps pausing. They aren’t sure why, not really, but for some reason, their hair stood on end. Something whispered for them to step back into the shadows, out of the light, and they do, quickly and quietly hiding in the corner of the room, out of sight of the large windows.

Men. Men in black suits. Were they more visitors? It was late, certainly they weren’t here on business! They went to step forward before something caught their attention-

Blood.

Blood on the white undershirts they wore. Blood? Oh, Gods, had something happened? They watched the men walk across the back porch, their footsteps crunching in the ice covered snow. Only when they were out of sight did they move, breath coming in soft, short pants, feet nearly silent upon the floor as they slipped out of the library and into the hall.

The power was out. It was cold. It was silent. It was dark, so very dark. They pressed their back to the wall as they slid forward slowly, quietly, a hand over their mouth and nose to muffle the sound of their breath. Something was wrong, something was terribly, horribly wrong. They reached the end of the hall where the large mahogany doors that led to the dining hall stood partially open. They slowly scooted forward, careful not to touch the doors for they would creak if any pressure was placed upon them. It was hard to see with the lack of light; they went to step forward, only for their toes to touch something… Wet.

Wet. And red.

Wine? Had wine been spilled? They followed the barely visible puddle forward. A hand.

Blood.

Blood was on the floor. They had stepped in blood. A soft gasp escaped, and they jerked back, nearly falling in their haste as they spun around. Someone was hurt, someone had been hurt! Where was mother? Father? Where were they? They ran through the halls, bare feet slapping against the floor, the sound ricocheting off the walls as they turned, only to run face first into the chest of-

Scorpion. Scorpion, who grabbed them tight and pulled them close and placed a hand over their mouth to muffle their scream. Scorpion, who pushed them into his own room and quietly closed the door. “Elio,” he breathed, kneeling down in front of them. He reached up, cupping their cheek, brushing their hair back from their face. “Elio, listen to me. Do you remember that hidden passage in the kitchen?”

“Yes, but- what’s going on? Someone’s hurt in the dining-”

“Your parents have been killed.”

“What?” Tears pricked at their eyes as they shook their head once, twice. “No- no, you’re lying, and this is an awful joke to play on Yule!”

He hissed, his hand coming back over their mouth. “Keep your voice down!” He glances towards the window, watches as shadows lurk past. “Listen to me, Elio. Viper is waiting in the stable. You need to run. We were looking for you, they are looking for you, do you understand?”

“No!” El whispers back, tears rolling over their cheeks. “No, I don’t!”

Scorpion sighs as he pulls them into a tight embrace, hand smoothing over their back. “Someday, you will. Someday, you will understand the World Government is never to be trusted. There is a bag that Viper has packed. It is in the kitchen, by the potatoes. Grab it. And take that hidden passage out to the stable. I need you to do that, okay?”

“But-”

“I will follow. There’s- there’s no one left. Everyone who was here has- they… They aren’t here anymore, El.”

Their mind raced as they scrabbled to understand what was happening. The World Government came and killed their parents? Why? What had they done? They were good people, they were kind and loving and good! “I don’t understand!” They whimpered, bottom lip trembling as they tried to hold back their tears.

“You will, one day. But I need you to go. I’ll distract them, but you need to go, now. Here, put on your boots,” he took hold of the leather booths he’d grabbed for them, having carried them with him for when he found them. Once on, he reached up to cup their cheeks, wiping away their tears. “You need to run now.”

“Okay.”

“On three. One…” He opened the door, ushered them into the hall. “Two,” he gave them one last hug, one last kiss on the head, “do not look at the bodies. Just run.” They nodded and began backing away before turning and sprinting. “Three!” He whispered, turning to run the other direction, making as much noise as possible to draw attention to himself.

His lips pressed tightly together as he ran. Survive, little crocodile. Survive for me. For your parents. For this entire island. Survive for your people, for we will not survive this night. This is the culling, our final rights have been read, and we will no longer live to see the light of day.

And run, they did. Throwing open the mahogany doors, nearly slipping in the pool of blood that came from a body that was missing a head. As they looked down at the ground rather than at the table, where the bodies of their uncle, their aunt, Penelope all sat, lifeless and bludgeoned. They pushed into the kitchen, the door swinging behind them. Potatoes, potatoes… Potatoes! Grabbing hold of the sack beside it, they turned, shimmying between the freezer and the wall, a space just big enough for a small man to get through but perfect for a child. The old servant’s passage that led from the stables to the kitchen below the ground.

Their steps echoed as they ran, breath puffing out in harsh pants. Everyone was dead. The World Government had killed them. They didn’t know why, but the World Government was now the enemy. They burst out of the hidden passage and nearly fell over Viper, who let out a surprised yell. “Viper!”

“There we are!” Viper pulled them in close, smoothing hands over their hair. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, but-”

“I know. I know, we need to go. I need to get you to the coast.”

“Why? Am I leaving?”

“Yes, you are. There’s a ship waiting for you.” Viper picked them up and placed them on the back of their horse- no, not their horse, their father’s stallion. A big, black stallion whose name was Hades, after the God of the Underworld. “You’re going to go, and you’re going to board, and you are going to never come back.”

“Never come back?!”

“Listen to me, Elio. You’re a smart kid. You’ll do fine out there. You’ll survive. But you can never return here. They’ve called a Buster Call on this island, and it won’t exist by the time the sun rises.”

A Buster Call?! Caleb had just taught them about that last week! “But- but what about you? And Scorpion? And all of the citizens- we have to warn them!”

“There’s no time!” Viper yelled, smacking the back of Hades’ rump, spurring him into a gallop. “Live! Live for all of us! Survive, Elio!” Viper cried out as Hades escaped the coral by leaping over the fence. Tears spilled over Viper’s cheeks as he watched them disappear into the forest. His ribs ached from where he��d been stabbed; his leg was on fire from the gunshot. He coughed once, twice, as blood filled his mouth.

It has been an honor serving the Great House of Conti. May its future flourish with you, Elio. May you survive and do great things. It’s what your father would have wanted.

“Slow down!” El yelled at Hades, who did not listen. The horse plowed through the woods until they came onto the trail that led to the public docs, not the private ones. He whinnied, tossing his head as he ran. “You stupid horse, we need to go back!” They cried, tears spilling over their cheeks. But the horse never stopped, not until they were trotting down the wooden docks, as if it knew.

And Elio believes that he did know. He knew where to take them, for there was a small vessel waiting. “There you are,” an old woman sighed as she stepped onto the deck, arms crossed over her chest. “Yer father’s told me everything. Let’s go, before it’s too late.”

“Who are you?”

“My name doesn’t matter. Come on, your highness.” She took their bag as they clambered down from Hades, who snorted and butted his head against their cheek.

“I love you.” El whispered through their tears, reaching up to cup his snout, brushing their fingers against his soft coat. “I love you all. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I have to leave you. I’m so sorry.”

“Highness,” the woman urged softly; her own heart ached for this child, for this island. “We have to leave.”

“I know.” They pressed a kiss to Hades’ nose before pulling back. “You were a good horse.” With that, they turned and stepped down into the boat. It wasn’t anything impressive, not by a long shot. Their chest heaved with sobs as they collapsed onto the deck, as the boat began to leave port quietly. As the old woman draped a blanket over their shoulders.

As the first sounds of canonfire began, echoing through the night, through the snowfall. The woman sat with them, cradling them gently in her arms as the screams of fear, of desperation, began to join the chorus of a slaughter that would never be known to the history books. ───

Tears spilled over scarred cheeks as silence settled over the room. Jun’Ichi sat across from him, eyes wide, a hand over his mouth as realization settled in. “Everything in the history books about the Isole del Carrozze is a lie,” Crocodile sighed, reaching up to wipe idly at his damp cheeks. “There was no civil war. There was no pirate attack. There was no slaughter of Marines. They killed my parents, they killed the servants, they killed the civilians. I don’t know if anyone had been able to escape; I’ve never met anyone from there in the years since.”

“I’m… So sorry,” Jun’Ichi whispered, looking over as Daz held out tissues for both men. “I had no idea.”

“Not many do know.”

“Who was the woman?”

“An old crone whose name I never learned. She was old, she was kind, and she got me to another island, where I would spend the next six years working. I worked in a shop as an accountant; I was good with math, I was literate, and I had a good memory. I saved over five thousand berries by the time I left there.” His lips twitched into a humorless smile. “That’s when Dragon found me.”

“Dragon?! Garp’s son, Monkey D. Dragon?”

“The one and only.”

#one piece #sir crocodile #daz bones #sir crocodile fanfiction #trans crocodile #the fall of the house of c #oc tag: fujihara jun'ichi #this is my pride & joy currently im ngl #im so proud of this piece #please read it oh my god

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