This fic is dedicated to the people who asked to be tagged! @littlewitchgirly @blu-oo @iinaths
*****
Music is a gift from the Gods.
At least that is what the clerics teach, especially your uncle, who has raised you after the death of your mother and who even nowadays, many years later, considers you in need of being guided and tutored as if you were unable to think for yourself, even regarding the truths that are at the very base of your society, drilled into the mind of each citizen from the most tender age and repeated over and over again as if even a momentary forgetfulness could cause who knew what catastrophe.
“The Holy Ones have blessed us with music as a way to elevate our souls above petty material matters, to remind us that more lofty interests exist than the mere need for food, warmth and reproduction.” he has told you many times, walking back and forth in one of the rooms of the house you have been born in and in which you have never stopped feeling like a guest, one barely tolerated at that, after your mother’s death “The beauty of a melody can inspire even the most wretched soul to more noble considerations, and offer relief from both pain and fear, no matter how disruptive. We should always be grateful for that gift, cherish and respect it, especially you, (name). Don’t you remember how you grieved your mother after her passing, and how you found comfort and consolation in our music? Even though you cannot join our circle on account of your gender, you are the heir of a family of clerics and therefore I expect you to always hold our laws in respect, and to treat the gift of music with reverence.”
Which you have. Sort of.
Since music is held to be a gift from the Gods, clerics, as the Holy Ones’ representatives and agents on Earth, are the only ones allowed to produce and perform it, which gives them an authority and influence in some ways surpassing that of the island’s councillors and local authorities. They are an elite group, whose membership is passed from father to son -son, not child, which as your uncle never tires to remind you, excludes you- or, in rare cases, achievable through marriage. Clerics are educated not only in religious doctrine and the performance of complex rituals, but also in music, since one of their most important duties consists in expressing the Gods’ gift and sharing it with the masses.
Every cleric is taught to sing, and play at least two instruments. Routine performances take place every week at the end of a ritual, and more grandiose and complex ones on the occasion of festivities and other special events. These events often attract large crowds of participants, many of whom are more interested in the music than in worshipping the Gods, or receiving spiritual guidance. Rituals are, after all, the sole occasions for laypeople to listen to music, an opportunity most citizens, young and old and from all social classes, eagerly take advantage of, listening rapturously as the clerics, standing in semicircle on a stage facing the rows of pews, play and sing hymns of praise to the Holy Ones and express gratitude for the gifts They conceded. It’s not rare to see members of the congregation cry with emotion as the soft tones of the music fill the temple; singing along, on the other hand, is strictly forbidden.
Laymen, or anyone who is not formally and fully a member of the caste, cannot produce music in any way, shape or form. Why should they?, your uncle has pointed out several times whenever dissidents protested or begged for a permission that is invariably and severely refused. While it is true that music is a gift granted to the whole of mankind, clerics were chosen as intermediaries between the Holy Ones and their children, tasked with interpreting Their wills and making sure people observe their precepts and rules.
Even though a gift is freely given, that doesn’t mean it should be squandered or used irresponsibly; learning to sing and play an instrument takes years of practice and a special kind of talent the rabble -and the fair sex- clearly does not possess. The gift of music is a responsibility rather than a luxury, a blessing that should be handled with care, and only clerics possess the necessary knowledge and sensibility to express it so that the less educated can benefit from it. Sharing that delicate ability with others would mean depleting the Gods’ generosity, which might in turn arouse the ire of the Holy Ones’ themselves.
A rational explanation, or at least so it seems to many on your island, who out of reference and faith in the clerics would never dare oppose their teachings - and commandments. Opposers do exist, voices that rise to contest the caste’ monopoly on music in every form. What’s wrong if a peddler earns a few coins playing in the street?, they argue, and would the Gods really take umbrage at a group of children singing at a school event in front of their families and peers? Some singers or musicians might be more skilful than others, as is the case for warriors, painters or scholars, but the ability to produce music is a gift common to every man and woman and, some of the clerics’ detractors point out, the Holy Ones wouldn’t have granted their children an ability they don’t want to be used, to find joy, comfort or simple, innocent entertainment in it.
Still, no matter how heated and loud the debate occasionally grows to be, for centuries the island’s laws have severely forbidden every musical expression apart from those of the clerics, a regulation enforced by both the local guards, many of whom are loyal to the caste more than to the town’s councils. Not only public concerts and performances are prohibited, but people have gotten in trouble for whistling a tune in the street or as they worked in the fields; the guards routinely inspect homes in search of instruments or music sheets, and in jail people who have been heard playing a simple flute or a tambourine at home sit side by side with murderers and robbers.
Some clerics, you have reflected in the privacy of your heart, would gladly have birds arrested for chirping, and forbid the wind from rustling through the tree branches; and among them, no one more than your uncle. Music is considered sacred on your island, and it feels so unfair that what is perhaps the Gods’ most beautiful and precious gift to mankind is a source of regret and pain for so many.
As the niece and ward of one of them, you are expected to take part in every ritual and subsequent performance the clerics offer, which you do, sitting in the first row where your uncle can see you -as a young girl you thought he insisted you sat there because it made him happy to know you had come to hear him play; now, as an adult, you’re convinced he mostly wants to make sure you are not getting distracted or falling asleep- and bowing politely in thanks at the end of each performed piece.
While your relationship has never been close, you are grateful to the man who has raised you after you were left alone and behave as expected of you. You have never spoken against the clerics or opposed your uncle in public, even though you have fought bitterly in the three different occasions in which he has attempted to force you to marry a man of his choice -a fellow cleric, the son of another, and a layman he had promised to help join the caste in return for a large sum of money- and you strenuously refused.
Your destiny would have been different if you had been born in a different family or, conversely, if you were a man, but given your situation you are painfully aware of how few options open in front of you: your uncle won’t allow you to choose your own spouse, nor to work in order to support yourself. Unfortunately, as a cleric -one of high level at that, given his recent promotion to the Inner Circle composed by the five most powerful members of his caste- he also holds the authority to make it impossible for you to live independently: no employer would hire you out of fear of displeasing the clerics, and since all marriages on the island must receive the caste’s blessing in order to be validated, you also know you are probably doomed to remain a spinster.
You could always depart, you think sometimes at night, as you sit on your bed looking towards the moon’s reflection in the calm waters beyond the gates of the harbour; depart and never come back. After all, no matter how strong the influence the clerics enjoy over the people of the town, your island is only one of a million existing in the world, and foreign ships, either merchant vessels or the personal craft of some wealthy traveller leisurely sailing around, do reach your shores occasionally. Thanks to your mother’s inheritance you have enough to pay for passage, and it’s not like your uncle can keep track of your every movement night and day; you could pack a small bag, steal away on a ship, and by the time the clerics have noticed your absence you’d be far across the Grand Line, living and working in a place where you are free to be and do whatever you want…
… and no one could get you in trouble if they knew what you keep in your room, hidden in your underwear drawer -the one place in the house, you are pretty sure, you uncle would not dare search in- and that you sometimes take out at night, not daring to use it for fear of being heard but finding a small measure of comfort as you keep it in your hands, barely visible at the soft light of a candle you have just lit. Your uncle would immediately have your small treasure destroyed, which is why you never told him you have it, nor were you ever able to let it go, throwing away or smuggling it out of the island, no matter how disastrously in trouble you would be if it were discovered.
It is, after all, the most important memento you have left of your mother, a treasure she never got to use but that nonetheless you cherish, and that helps you to feel her close, so many years after her passing.
Maybe one day you’ll do it, you think as with a barely concealed sigh you sit at your pew and look at the clerics in their pristine white tunics, filling the temple with their voices and playing instruments other citizens would be punished for holding. Yes, one day you’ll definitely do it, because you’re tired - tired of this injustice, tired of these circumstances, tired of this life as well, even though the clerics’ strict rules regarding music have never harmed you personally, and you have lived a life more sheltered and privileged than most.
Whatever ship docks at the island’s harbour next, even should it be a barely seaworthy little dinghy, you’ll buy or obtain passage on it, and sail away. You are not so naive as to think it will be easy, since until now you have been protected by your uncle’s influence, with a roof over your head, three meals a day and plenty of wood for the fire in winter; living on your own, earning enough to pay for room and board and keeping yourself safe from dangers will undoubtedly be hard, but you don’t care. You’ll go far, far from the influence of the clerics, and find a new home in a place where children can sing in the square, and bells ring to greet the new day.
This is what you have promised yourself in the privacy of your heart, an oath deep and sincere like nothing you’ve ever done before, biding your time until the day you’ll be able to achieve your dreams. And then, one morning a ship does appear on the horizon, growing closer by the minute as a favourable wind fills its black sails, but it’s far from a dinghy, nor does it carry goods to sell in its hold or a bored noble playing sailor. There is a Jolly Roger on their flag, and that can mean only one thing…
“Pirates!” your uncle bellows, loud enough to be heard not only by the distinguished guests gathered in your -well, his- parlour, but even by the residents of the houses across the street “A band of violent pirates has docked at our harbour! This is inacceptable!”
“A crew.”
“What?”
“A crew, uncle.” you elaborate from your seat near the table laden with tea cups and wine glasses. Usually you are not required to be present whenever your uncle entertains guests, but a few of them have brought their wives today and since tradition dictates a hostess should be present to entertain visiting ladies, you were asked -or rather ordered- to participate. “Whenever a group of people live and operate on a ship, be it pirates or Marines or sailors, the correct term to use is crew, not band.”
A moment of complete silence follows. Your uncle, clearly taken aback by your interruption and even more so by the fact you dared correct him in front of his guests, makes a visible effort to control himself, and even manages to smile pleasantly; he’s standing in the middle of the vast room, surrounded by some of the island’s most wealthy and influential individuals. “Yes, as usual my lovely niece is right; it’s a crew of pirates.” he says, looking at you with something that some might mistake for avuncular affection, but it’s actually a promise that your disrespectfulness will be punished as soon as you’re alone “But still, why has it been permitted to such rogues to reach our shores? Why did you not forbid them from docking?”
The addressee are two among the guests, councillors of the town, who at first fidget, clearly it all ease at having been reproached by a cleric, and then respectfully explain that they had no legal reason to deny the crew access to the harbour, since no law forbids pirates from docking on the island. “But you needn’t worry, sir. We have tasked guards to patrol the area and keep an eye on the pirates, and should they cause trouble or bother our people, we have more than enough men to oppose and chase them away.”
Your uncle frowns, looking clearly dubious that an increased patrol will be enough to keep the pirates under control. But opposing the councillors might alienate their support, which is something the clerics’ caste need to maintain their influence on the town; so he smiles benevolently, and “I’m sure you have everything under control. How fortunate we are, to have such clever and loyal men taking care of our beloved town.” he compliments them with a polite bow of his head. The tension melts, and polite chatting and the enjoyment of drinks resumes, but you can see your uncle is worried, worried enough that at the end of the night he refuses to perform a song for his guests, who leave dejectedly.
As expected, you are severely reprimanded for having abashed your uncle in front of his guests. “As punishment, I forbid you from attending next week’s soirée.” he proclaims, and you accept the loss of the occasion you had been looking forward for months, without a word of complaint, in fact you barely pay any mind to it, too busy as you are reflecting on another matter altogether…
Pirates! Pirates have reached the shores of your island!
Is this the chance you have been looking for? It really seems like destiny has decided to favour you, handing you on a silver platter the chance to leave your home and sail towards a better life, even though, you later caution yourself as you once again sit on your bed observing the pretty view of the harbour at night out of your window, you need to be careful and consider your options before throwing yourself in the arms of people you do not know, have no reason to trust, and who are most certainly well-armed. After all, while you don’t share your uncle’s low consideration of the whole category, there is a reason why pirates are given bounties by the World Government, and some of them are extremely dangerous.
Would the mysterious crew that has just arrived in your harbour accept a passenger? What if they decide to take your money and then throw you overboard to drown as soon as the ship is offshore? They might also decide to kill you, just because they can or to satiate their bloodlust, or take you prisoner to sell at a slave-market…
You’ll have to be very careful before begging the pirates to take you away, since you might end up in much worse a situation than the one you are so anxious to leave. Maybe you could go visit them tomorrow, you decide, to get a feel of the sort of people they are and whether it would be dangerous for you to ask for passage. The pirates will need provisions, maybe supplies to repair their ship, and since thanks to your uncle’s connections you know most of the people in town, you could offer yourself to show them around.
If you look carefully, you can actually see the pirate ship docked among the other vessels at the harbour, half-hidden in the darkness of the starless sky but well-recognizable thanks to both its size and the jolly roger on the black sails; you find yourself smiling as you observe it, a tenuous hope taking root in your heart that all is going to end well.
*****
You have no pressing matters to attend to the next day, while your uncle is fortunately busy with a practice session with the other clerics, which allows you to steal away from the house without being questioned.
The island is well-known for the production of liquor, which is both enjoyed by the residents and successfully traded abroad. Determined to make a good impression, you purchase a large bottle and bring it to the harbour, which you find uncommonly deserted at this time of the day, especially in the area closer to the pirates’ ship, while a small crowd has gathered just outside the gates, whispering excitedly and looking avidly in the direction of the ship.
“No, it’s not because they are dangerous; they seem like decent people, from what I’ve seen.” the harbourmaster confides to you “No one has had the courage to approach, though, since word has already spread that the clerics disapprove of the pirates’ presence. But people have been here for hours, and how can you blame them? I had never seen anything like this in my life!”
You haven’t either, and you’re pretty sure no sight like this has ever graced your shores in the last five hundred years, nor you would have ever dreamt it could happen.
Because the pirates are singing.
Playing too, and using the deck of their ship as if it were a stage; at least a dozen men, holding instruments most citizens of your island wouldn’t even know the name of -is that a piano?- and belting out a song with clear enthusiasm, apparently indifferent to the fact that half of the town has gathered to observe them.
“Gather up all of the crew
It's time to ship out Binks's brew
Sea wind blows, to where? Who knows
The waves will be our guide…”
It -the song, the playing, the performance itself- is different from anything you have ever heard before. The music of the clerics is beautiful the way a stately building or a precious gem are: graceful and solemn, the hymns exalt the power of the Gods, caution the faithful against disobeying their precepts, and promise an eternity of joy and peace to those who keep their heart pure and behave with justice and mercy. Most melodies, some of which have been passed through the generations and date back to centuries ago, are slow and ethereal, and evoke awe and reverence in those who listen.
The music of the pirates is completely different. Quick and dynamic, the rhythm seems made for others to join in, singing along and even -gasp!- dancing to it. It’s lively, it’s fun, even, in that it evokes cheerfulness and a sort of pleasure that is not exactly disrespectful, rather it’s… bold, and exciting, proper of men who live by their own rules, with a sailing ship as their home and the immensity of the sea spreading in front of their eyes. It speaks of seizing the day, of not letting fear and danger impede the pursuit of dreams, of accepting the beauty of uncertainty and of the transience of things.
It speaks of freedom, and as you listen on, rapt and delighted, you can feel tears of joy fill your eyes, the costly bottle of liquor a poor reward for such an amazing, freely-given performance. All around you, people have started tapping their foot to the music and swaying slightly left to right in time with it, and even -forgetful of the fact the crime is punishable with weeks behind the bars- humming and singing along. The impromptu concert has completely captivated the audience in a way that not even the most solemn and elaborate rituals of the clerics ever could; the crowd listens attentively and with evident pleasure, more and more people arriving.
Loud clapping and cheering salutes the end of the song, and the pirates bow and wave with evident pleasure; one of them, a tall man with an afro who you have heard playing the violin with a virtuosity your uncle can only hope to equal, tips his top hat in gratitude. Their concert concluded, you see them put their instruments away as the crowd starts to disperse, and you realise this is your moment to act.
There are dozens of witnesses, some of whom know your uncle personally or are loyal to him, to something you had planned on doing in secret and away from prying eyes, but you don’t care; your head held high, you step past the harbour’s gate and walk in the direction of the pirate ship, some of whose occupants look curiously at you.
“Good morning!” you greet them once you’re close enough to be heard “Welcome on our island. I have a small gift to deliver if I may.”
A gangplank is lowered from the ship, and rather than having someone descend to meet you, you are asked to climb, an invitation you eagerly accept, stepping on the deck among the men who could easily kidnap or hurt you, but among whom you immediately feel at ease. The tall man with the hat is the first to approach, bowing courteously to you, but then the crowd parts to allow someone to step closer, and it’s like the sun grows dim for a moment compared to the beauty and mirth expressed by the man’s eyes and smile, his blond hair gently stirred by the morning breeze.
There is no shortage of handsome men in town, and yet at the pirate’s appearance you are made speechless by shyness; he smiles courteously at you, open curiosity in his gaze. “Good morning, my lady. I am captain Calico Yorki of the Rumbar Pirates, at your service.” he says with a slight bow “And you are…?”
Come on, (name)! Yes, he’s handsome, but this is your chance! SPEAK! “Err… my name is (name); this is for you, captain, I really hope you enjoy it as much as our people do.” you say, offering him the bottle that Yorki accepts, careful in handling the fragile glass container. His fingers brush against yours only for a moment, and you feel like a debutante who has been hand-kissed for the first time “And thank you for sharing your music with us, it was… it was really splendid. The people were all very moved.”
“Oh! Well, that is very kind of you. Are you the town’s governor?”
“Nothing of the sort, no; but we rarely receive the visit of pirate crews around these parts, so I decided to - well, to extend our hospitality.” you finish, somewhat awkwardly. If you don’t pull yourself together immediately, Yorki -nothing he wears is made of calico, you can’t help but notice- will think you an idiot, you desperately consider before squaring your shoulders and clearing your voice “Also, I’d be happy to help if you are in need of supplies of any kind, since I know most of the merchants and craftsmen in town. Please, consider me at your service as long as you remain.”
You feel vaguely pathetic at how desperate you sound, like the new student in class eager to be accepted and make friends -which you aren’t. Anymore- as if the pirates weren’t able to simply walk into town and ask for directions to the local market or the closest sailmaker shop, but your offer to help does seem to be appreciated, since Yorki promises he will hold you to it. They are indeed in need of assistance, he explains, since the crew has just barely survived a terrible storm that went very close to destroying their ship; they are low on provisions, and the vessel is also in need of repair.
“Well, that sounds… intense.” you awkwardly comment, thinking about all the violent storms that have afflicted the town in your lifetime, and that you have easily survived, dry and warm at home, completely unbothered. The Rumbar Pirates seem to be a cheerful lot, but their existence, as well as that of anyone who chooses to take to the sea, must be much more dangerous than you had previously considered.
“It really was. We did well leaving Laboon behind.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing; I’m just thinking out loud.” Yorki, who had frowned momentarily, assures you with a smile “Are you busy? We can share your gift as you tell me something about your town.”
Personally you think it’s a little early to start drinking, since it’s not yet midmorning, but you did bring the liquor, and an alcoholic breakfast has never killed anyone; and so it is that just a few minutes later you and Yorki are sitting together with a glass in your hands, discussing both his crew’s travels and the town, which they chanced upon during their search for a port to take refuge in after the storm.
“This is Brook, our best swordsman.” he says as the violinist you noticed earlier walks past you, smiling at you from behind your sunglasses “(name) was telling me how much she enjoyed our performance.”
“I noticed he wasn’t the only one; it seemed like the whole town had gathered to hear us play!”
“Well, music is… very important to my people.” you say, which is perhaps the most reductive and imprecise explanation you could have chosen to give, but you’re not sure how to explain that from the point of view of many laypeople on the island, who for a lifetime have listened the clerics describe music as a gift from the Gods to jealously guard and on which the caste has exclusive domain, the crew’s impromptu concert was both a miracle and a blasphemy “But your performance was really amazing! I had never heard that song before.”
“Bink’s brew is one of the most popular tunes among pirates. We’d be happy to play some more, if you’d like to hear.”
You hurry to answer that of course, you’d be happy to listen to their music as long as they’d be willing to play; the request appears to immediately endear you to both the captain and his crewmates, some of whom approach to introduce themselves, show you their instruments… and ask directions to the best taverns in town. They really are a friendly and cheerful lot, a far cry from the bloodthirsty gang of thieves whose arrival your uncle had deplored, and you feel unexpectedly at ease among them.
In the end, the captain accompanies you on a tour of the ship, patiently answering your many questions and explaining the function of each room and element; he has a lovely smile, you can’t help but notice, so sunny you can feel yourself blush whenever that friendly grin is directed at you.
“Will you be back tomorrow? We need provisions and a few other supplies, and it would really mean a lot if you were able to help us.” Yorki says as he walks you back to the gangplank, and no matter how intense your instinctive desire to accept - because you have offered after all and are glad to be of help… and because you have already decided you wouldn’t mind spending some more time with Yorki. At all- you find yourself hesitating. You had planned on writing down a list of the merchants and craftsmen the pirates could do business with, but accompanying them to the market, where anyone could see you, is another matter altogether.
You can only imagine what your uncle’s reaction would be if news reached him that you have been spotted in the company of a pirate, the captain of the crew he has lashed out against as recently as last night at that; you’re not afraid of him, but as your tutor, not to mention one of the most influential people in town, he has the power and the opportunity to make your life very difficult, and do much more than forbidding you from attending a party.
Clerics do not usually patronise shops and markets, since it is believed that those who concern themselves with religious matters should keep away from worldly affairs like commerce and finance -out of the ten wealthiest individuals on the island at least seven are members of the caste, but that is not a matter that is discussed in polite company- but your uncle has so many acquaintances, loyalists and people who owe him favour among both sellers and market patrons, and who would be all too happy to tell him that you have gotten friendly with the pirates.
It is going to end badly, you are sure of it; what if your uncle uses this new defiance to force you to marry a man of his choice? You should leave it alone, promise the pirates you’ll put them in touch with whoever they need to do business with in town but it’s better if you’re not seen with them, not because you’re ashamed, quite the opposite, but because any act of disobedience towards your uncle is bound to end in tears…
Then you look at Yorki, at how he’s patiently waiting for your answer with a clearly hopeful gaze, and all your fears and objections seem to vanish into thin air. “Of course.” you hear yourself say “I’d be… delighted. Shall I return tomorrow at this time? The market opens early, and the best goods are sold quickly.”
You arrange to meet at the harbour’s gates, which is also where Yorki insists on accompanying you, whistling softly to himself, before gallantly kissing your hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, (name); I’ll see you tomorrow.” he says, and by now you have given up on stopping the blush from creeping up your face.
You depart to return home, only stopping at a shop to buy a few things you don’t really need or want, just in case your uncle demands to know where and how you have spent half of the morning. Later on, as you sit in your room with your needlework -tradition dictates that the clerics’ vestments can only be handled by the women of their families, which means that ever since your mother died you have been tasked with washing, ironing and mending your uncle’s tunics. You don’t really mind, like you don’t mind helping the cook or the gardner take care of their duties whenever you can, but one time you ended up tearing a tunic irreparably, and were rewarded with a slap on the face- you find yourself humming a tune under your breath, not the melody of one of the clerics’ hymns, which would be bad enough, but that of the song the Rumbar Pirates performed during their concert: it’s the tune of Bink’s brew.
Yo-hohoho, Yo-hohoho…
You immediately stop, and leave your chair to go check outside, fearing one the servants or, worse, your uncle himself was close enough to hear you; being the niece of one of the clerics, and considering how important the family’s good name is to your uncle, you would probably not be reported to the town’s councillors, but you can’t afford to spend the next month locked in your room on bread and water. After all, you are to meet Yorki at the harbour’s gates tomorrow morning, and it wouldn’t do to stand him up.
Fortunately the hallway is empty, and given how quiet your song, it’s improbable the tune could be heard in the rest of the house; relieved, you return inside to your needlework, smiling to yourself as you think back to your new acquaintance, to his blonde hair and bright smile, and look forward to see him again.
*****
When Yorki sees you arrive at the harbour on the next morning, wearing clothes of a completely different style from what is common on the island and with your hair covered by a hood, an amused expression colours his handsome face, his eyebrow arched in curiosity. “Let me guess… you have stolen from a Marine base, and earned a bounty on your head. Or maybe you are the runaway princess of a distant land…”
“Nothing of the sort; I… err, let’s say I’d prefer no one knows I’m visiting the market today.” you explain, not surprised to see Yorki blink in confusion; not wanting him to think you’re embarrassed to be seen in his company, you take his arm - a pretty bold action towards a man you have just met, but on the spot you don’t realise, like you fail to consider how at ease you feel next to him, as if you had known him for years “Shall we go?”
You spend a few pleasant minutes walking side by side before immersing yourselves in the hustle and bustle of the marketplace, with its rows of colourful stalls and the sellers crying to attract the clients and advertise their wares. Hidden under your hood, you guide Yorki to the stalls whose products you consider of the best quality, avoiding those whose owners you know overcharge the buyers; apart from food, the Rumbar Pirates need supplies to repair the damages their ship has sustained during the storm, and some other things that you are fortunately able to help Yorki find.
“I was born in the West Blue; most of us did.” he tells you a while later, after your new friend has arranged for his purchases to be delivered directly to his ship “But truth to be told I’ve always considered the sea my home; I don’t think I’ve ever spent more than three months in a single place.”
He has loved music since birth, you learn, his passion and natural talent leading him to learn various instruments to play for his own enjoyment or to entertain others. But Yorki has never aspired to a career as a professional musician, like many of his acquaintances predicted for him: he wanted freedom, the sun and the wind on his face, and a life of adventures to share his music with the world and the people who lived with it. He took to the sea when he was barely a child, and years later he became the captain of the Rumbar Pirates, an highly peculiar crew in that the only requirement for membership is not strength or sailing experience, but a love for music.
“It might not seem much compared to a trunk full of gold coins or some other fabulous treasure, but the beauty of music is that it can be shared over and over again without running out of it.” he explains as he walks by your side, his arm that over and over again slips under yours every time you need to part “A song may not fill your stomach or cure a wound, but it offers relief to those who need it, and makes pain more bearable. It might sound foolish…”
“No, I get it.”
“Really? Are you a musician, (name)?”
“I’m not.” you confess, and then hesitate for a moment, unable to explain the situation you share with most of the other laypeople of your island “People might not need it the way they need food or a lit fireplace, but I do believe music fulfills a necessity that makes life more worth living; the way a laugh does, or the presence of friends.”
“Or love.”
“Yes, or love.”
Yorki turns to look at you, his gaze intense as if to make sure that you really agree with his reasoning and you are not merely saying so to please him; what he finds in your eyes seems to meet his approval, because he smiles, resting his free hand on the one you have placed on his arm to squeeze it gently. You share a smile, soft and empathetic, neither feeling the need to ruin that moment with words, and then your steps lead you back into the melee.
The sailmaker’s stall is one of the last you and Yorki visit.
“We all appreciated your performance yesterday, my friend, but you might want to be more careful about who might be listening next time.” the vendor, a man who you remember had gotten in trouble a few years ago for singing a lullaby to his baby daughter as he pushed her pram across the town’s square, mentions as he handles Yorki his change “The clerics won’t be happy.”
Your new friend blinks, clearly perplexed by the warning he has no way of understanding, but a look shared with you dissuades him from asking for explanations; he thanks the vendor for his advice and lets you pull him away.
“What did that man mean, (name)? Who are the clerics?” Yorki asks as you reach his ship. Brook, busy helping some of his crewmates haul crates across the deck, waves in your direction, his gaze approving as he sees your hand still resting on his captain’s arm, and you sigh, reluctant to address such an unpleasant issue but aware that you need, because the vendor is right, the caste might cause serious trouble to Yorki and his crew, and you have a duty to warn them “I thought your town was governed by a council.”
“It is; the clerics are a religious order, and they have… well, it’s difficult to explain, but according to the law they have a complete monopoly on music here on our island.”
Yorki blinks, looking completely flabbergasted as if unable to even just imagine the scenario painted by your words. “What? Whose law?”
“Well… theirs.”
You end up discussing the matter over a drink, your legs dangling from the deck as you do your best to explain a state of things you have long silently disapproved, to a person who had never heard anything like it and who couldn’t look more stunned if you had told him that on your island ships sail on the sky and birds fly underwater.
“You’re telling me… that no one in this town save the clerics is allowed to make music? Not to earn money from it, but even just to play it?”
“And there is more. No citizen is allowed to own a musical instrument, or to sing, even in the privacy of their own home or to lull a child to sleep; your concert yesterday was the first time music was performed on this island apart from the clerics’ rituals, which always include a performance. A woman who lives in my street spent six months in jail because she had inherited a guitar as part of the estate of a relative who lived abroad, and she kept it rather than destroying it or handing it over to the caste.”
“Oh, my…”
It’s clear that the laws your people have lived by for centuries look absurd, maybe even foolish, to Yorki’s eyes, but seeing how deathly serious you are makes him think twice about laughing. Only a few minutes ago you agreed how music, be it instrumental or vocal or produced by any other means, is as fundamental to human life as food or warmth, and from his point of view an existence like yours must seem unbearable.
Perhaps it is.
“I’m sorry, I… I can’t understand.” he admits, shaking his head in astonishment “No one can forbid music; it would be like forbidding people to laugh, or to fall in love. Music is an expression of a person’s soul; I am not sure I believe in the Gods, but why would they have gifted music to people if they don’t want us to make it and find joy in it?”
That is a question you have posed yourself many, many times since you were old enough to think for yourself, never finding an acceptable answer. The caste would probably point out that the Gods have also made men able to forge weapons and that doesn’t mean any young child should be given a sword or a cannon, but what danger could music pose? What damage could befall your people if they sang together, to celebrate a town festival or simply to entertain guests in their home? Your uncle often says it doesn’t do for laypeople to question the Gods’ will and that clerics like him exist for this very reason… which of course is exactly the sort of answer you would expect from a man in a position of power.
“So you’ve never… been put to sleep with a lullaby? Sailors and farmers do not sing to coordinate their movements when they work? Bells do not ring to tell the time?”
“No. And the clerics of the generation preceding my uncle’s issued a law that forbade people to keep birds as pets, since their vocalization is a form of singing.”
“I can’t believe it…”
Yorki rises from the stool he had grabbed to sit in front of you and moves towards the wall facing the cabin’s door. “And your uncle is one of the clerics; it must be hard.”
“It is.” you admit with a sigh; your uncle is not a cruel man, and excluding that time you ruined his tunic and the three occasions in which you hindered his plans to marry you off to the highest bidder he has always treated you fairly, but that doesn’t mean that your life has always been easy, or that you have received much when it comes to affection “It’s not just music, you know. I know having laws is important, because they allow communities to exist in peace and protect our rights, but… this is not like punishing a criminal for murder, or the caste telling us we should help our neighbours and respect the sanctity of marriage. I don’t presume to understand the reasons behind the Gods’ actions, but I don’t think clerics should have a right to dictate how people live their lives… and order they suffer for it.”
That is a truth you have many times considered in the privacy of your heart, but never dared uttering out loud, not even among your closest friends, because those words could get you in serious trouble and lead you to question all the precepts you have lived your life by, which is a challenge you’re not sure you’re able to meet. And yet you have uttered those words, to discuss the matter with a man who is not a cleric or loyal to them, but who you have only met yesterday and have no rational reason to trust. Opposing the caste and expressing doubt in their role as the Gods’ spokespeople can easily result in a sentence of lifelong exile, niece of a cleric or not -actually, your uncle would probably choose to kick you out himself!- and you’ve never been reckless, the sort of person who ruins her life because she doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut.
But with Yorki… with this man you know practically nothing about, and who has no reason to want what’s good for you… with him you feel at ease, free to be yourself and to speak your mind, without fearing to be judged or to suffer for it; even in the heart of his ship, surrounded by men at his command and who he could order not to intervene if you ever called for help, you feel safe… as if you were able to breathe fully after holding it for so long.
“It may sound very strange for you, but I thought you needed to know how things work here; you don’t want to antagonise the clerics, and I’d hate for you and your crew to suffer from it.” you conclude, and you see Yorki smile softly to himself as he bends to retrieve something from behind a trunk.
“I really appreciate the thought, but we can look after ourselves. Ah, here it is!”
It is a guitar, one of many instruments scattered around the cabin in a way that makes it feel even more cramped; it’s an old and slightly battered but clearly lovingly repaired instrument, which Yorki carries back to the stool to sit and hold it against him.
“I said…”
“I know what you said. And again, I appreciate you looking out for my crew and me, but there’s no need; we can take care of ourselves.” Yorki reassures you; his smile looks even more beautiful in the soft light of the lantern resting on a bench near a pile of sheet music, and as you look at it, at him, you feel whatever nebulous but urgent fear had seized your heart recede. You have done all you could to warn him, and yours can’t be the first island the Rumbar Pirates visit whose population tries bothering them; if Yorki says they can deal with it, what reason do you have to doubt him? “Now, what sort of song do you like the most?”
“You… want to play now? For me?”
“Why not? Thanks to you I have run all the errands I had to in a third of the time it would have taken me otherwise; I have no other pressing matters to deal with, and I thought I ought to repay you. Have you ever been serenaded, lady (name)?”
The answer is obviously no, and once you have stammered an answer to Yorki’s previous question -“I-I don’t know; something… happy, I guess?”- you remain still, in more reverent a silence than any of the clerics’ rites have ever elicited in you, listening to the sound of Yorki’s guitar, the joyous but somehow solemn melody filling the cabin. You observe him, mesmerised by the small smile on his face, the way his elegant fingers touch the chords and other parts of the instrument you don’t even have a name for to coax the music from it, his lips moving slightly to hum along. He’s playing for you, that music is for you, not to exalt the power of the Gods and admonish the faithful to obedience, but to thank you for your help and give pleasure to your ears and soul.
It’s the most beautiful gift you have ever received, one you know you’ll remember even after it ended; the transiency of the music is the reason for its beauty actually, because a melody might not have the substance of a jewel or of a box of chocolate, but that is what makes it so precious, like the memory of a distant friend one keeps thinking fondly of.
You clap softly as the last notes of the melody melt in the air, and Yorki, who has opened his eyes and put his guitar aside, is immediately alarmed to see you dry tears from your eyes. “What’s wrong? I… did not think it was so bad…”
“It wasn’t; it was beautiful, Yorki, and I… I appreciated it more than words can tell.” you confess “I had never experienced anything like this; and I… I have a confession to make…”
You feel vaguely guilty at admitting that yesterday you came to meet the pirates out of personal reasons rather than courtesy or desire to welcome them in town, but Yorki doesn’t seem insulted, and listens intently as you tell him how subjugated you’ve always felt under the impalpable but oppressive sway the clerics hold over the town, and how years ago you have matured the decision to leave, and build a new life for yourself where your uncle and his caste can’t control the way you live your life.
“So… you want me to take you away?”
“I do; I know yours is not a passenger ship, but I can pay, and work if you want me too. You don’t know me, but… this is really important for me, Yorki; more important than anything else in the world.” you tell him, desperate to explain yourself, desperate to make him understand that you are not kept prisoner in a cell or left without food or a roof over your head, but life under the caste has become unbearable for you, and you need to leave, even if it means abandoning a peaceful and comfortable life to go embrace the unknown, with all the dangers and difficulties taking care of yourself entails. Sharing your deepest desire with a person you barely know makes you feel unpleasantly exposed, but this is your chance, your first and maybe your last, and you’re determined not to waste it “I beg you, take me with you; you don’t have to decide now, but… it would really mean the world to me.”
The friendly and easy grin you have already learnt to expect has disappeared from Yorki’s handsome face, giving way to a pensive, vaguely stern expression as his gaze lingers on you for several moments, as if trying to gauge your determination and decisiveness. In the end he does smile, looking vaguely guilty as he does so. “Alright.”
“... alright?”
“Yes. We’re planning on staying a while, but when we’ll leave you’re welcome to come with us, if that is what you really want.” Yorki concedes, looking completely unconcerned as he shrugs his shoulders “You’re welcome to give a hand here on the ship, but don’t worry about the money, you’ll need it once you decide where to live. I hope you don’t get sea-sick.”
You stare at him, at this man who after thinking about it only for a moment freely and easily granted you the realisation of your dearest dream, changing your life forever with the ease of a man ordering his usual at a bar. You swallow, emotion tightening your throat, torn between the desire to cry with joy, and laugh for the same thing. It will take some time, the last thing you want is to repay Yorki’s kindness by rushing him, but you have actually found a way to leave the island and find a new home for yourself, in the company of people you instinctively know you can trust, having known them for only a day.
You had been ready to beg Yorki on your knees, to promise him to do whatever, actually whatever, he wanted, to stow away even if you really found yourself having no other option… and all you needed to do was ask. You still can’t believe it… you actually did it! Maybe the Gods are actually smiling on you, even though you can’t say you have ever been their most faithful worshipper.
“Thank you. I-I really can’t explain how important this is to me; you won’t regret it, Yorki.” you promise, and the man in front of you smiles slightly in return, an expression that you could swear is of sadness, almost ruefulness, and that a moment later has turned into his usual grin, happy and untroubled.
Time does fly when one is having fun, and after a while you realise you have to hurry home if you don’t want to be late for lunch at home, which would have the doubly unfortunate effect of displeasing your uncle and leading him to ask where and how you spent your morning. Yorki walks you down the gangplank, and “I’d really like it if you came back, you know.” he says, with an easiness and spontaneity you can’t help envying, because you would have never dared admitting you did want to see his crew, and him, again.
“I’d really like that as well; when can I come?” you eagerly ask, unconcerned of the fact that the more time you spend with the pirates the harder it will be to keep your little escapades secret, and Yorki offers to host you in the evening, which is when he and the others, having completed their duties for the day, gather to socialise and play music all together. You’ll be there, you promise, reluctant to leave but already looking forward to your next meeting, for reasons that go well beyond the chance to listen to the Rumbar Pirates’ music again.
“The piece you played for me… what is it called?” you ask as you prepare to take your leave.
“Did you like it? It’s called Summer Waterfalls, a pretty popular tune in the West Blue.”
Yorki is pleased to learn you enjoyed his performance, but when you ask about the song’s lyrics, which you couldn’t decipher when you heard him hum under his breath, your new friend gently refuses answering, promising that one day, maybe, he’ll both play and sing the song for you, maybe on the day you depart the island together. You can’t understand the reason for that secrecy; perhaps Yorki is less sure about his talent as a singer than he is about his ability as a musician, or maybe the song holds a special meaning for him since it hails from his homeland.
Still, it’s yet another thing to look forward to for when you’ll depart, and so once you and your new friend have said good-bye and you have pulled up your hood to mask your identity, you depart to return home, while Yorki’s gaze follows your retreating form, a melancholic expression bathing his handsome face under the midday light.
I HAVE BEEN WAITIIIIIIINGGG omg i need to write down everything that popped across my head as i was reading this. what a journey. author, you are so incredibly talented, and i've enjoyed reading this as though i was a toddler with a lollipop.
first of all i was GAGGED by the incredibly detailed backstory of this reader!!!!! i adore the lore of this island, and i think it's so incredibly creative, plus the writing style sets the tone perfectly!! i was in awe reading the clerics' rules about music because it just made perfect sense that a place like this would exist in the one piece universe, an island where you are imprisoned simply for owning an instrument. wow. kudos to you, author.
i'm in love with this y/n and i want to give her a hug. she's so cute and kind, and i damn near cried when she was being serenaded by yorki. i felt so sympathetic toward her, especially about her uncle, who's NOT a good person but has never really done anything THAT bad. what good character writing i was picking up my jaw from the floor.
You arrange to meet at the harbour’s gates, which is also where Yorki insists on accompanying you, whistling softly to himself, before gallantly kissing your hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, (name); I’ll see you tomorrow.” he says, and by now you have given up on stopping the blush from creeping up your face.
HELLOOOOOOOO??????????? SIR JSBGUGVSURSVGHRSU i actually screamed when i read this out loud. he's SOOOO........... it's just a hand kiss but oohhhh my god i could perfectly imagine him doing the action GOOD LORD.
“People might not need it the way they need food or a lit fireplace, but I do believe music fulfills a necessity that makes life more worth living; the way a laugh does, or the presence of friends.”
“Or love.”
“Yes, or love.”
JUST KISSSSS ALREADY MY GOD AADEFUYBREUFYERFREF i am so normal about them and i was not giggling and kicking my feet ofc not...... author i don't know where you got the ideas for such juicy dialogue but i want your brain NOW.
“Now, what sort of song do you like the most?”
“You… want to play now? For me?”
“Why not? Thanks to you I have run all the errands I had to in a third of the time it would have taken me otherwise; I have no other pressing matters to deal with, and I thought I ought to repay you. Have you ever been serenaded, lady (name)?”
THIS ENTIRE SCENE HAD ME CLIMBING UP THE FUCKING WALL. "Have you ever been serenaded, lady (Name)?" hey so when and where can i marry this man because its not a need its a WANT. my goooood they have so much chemistry it's insane!! i was smiling like an idiot reading this.
and her reactioooooon i was crying with her she's such a cutie patootie and yorki is so sweet awee.
“The piece you played for me… what is it called?” you ask as you prepare to take your leave.
“Did you like it? It’s called Summer Waterfalls, a pretty popular tune in the West Blue.”
Yorki is pleased to learn you enjoyed his performance, but when you ask about the song’s lyrics, which you couldn’t decipher when you heard him hum under his breath, your new friend gently refuses answering, promising that one day, maybe, he’ll both play and sing the song for you, maybe on the day you depart the island together.
WHAT ARE YOU HIDING FROM THIS LADY YOUNG MAN???? MMMMHHHHhhhhhh i'm sensing unspoken feelingsssssss or maybe i'm reading too much into it but ugh I CAN'T HELP IT.
Still, it’s yet another thing to look forward to for when you’ll depart, and so once you and your new friend have said good-bye and you have pulled up your hood to mask your identity, you depart to return home, while Yorki’s gaze follows your retreating form, a melancholic expression bathing his handsome face under the midday light.
BRO I LET OUT A SCREAM WHEN I REALIZED THIS WAS THE ENDING NOOOOOOOOO. author drop the next two parts and my life is yours IM BEGGING YOU this is one of the best opla stories i've read and the fact that it's one of the first yorki fics just makes it better.
this was such a treat to read and i enjoyed every moment and TRUST i will be rereading until you publish the next parts. until then, dear author, many kudos to you, i hope your pillow is cold on both sides, your charger works at every single angle, you NEVER stub your toe, you get a FANTASTIC meal today, you never run out of inspiration, you never get writer's block, you get lucky and find money on the floor, and have an amazing year because YOU DESERVE ALL OF IT
coming back from the dead to say a knight of the seven kingdoms has consumed me and everything i am so i want to open requests for it! oneshots or headcanons idc, rules below
please note that i will NOT write the following:
non-consensual scenarios or themes.
underage x adult relationships (i'm still a bit reluctant with age gaps between adults).
graphic depictions of self-harm or suicide.
extreme violence or gore.
incestuous relationships. (yes targcest enthusiasts i'm talking to you)
no more than five characters, in case you're asking for headcanons
dude i NEED someone to edit whitebeard and blackbeard from one piece to father figure by taylor swift GUYS PLEASE ITS LIKE TAYLOR HAS WATCHED ONE PIECE I JUST CANT PROVE IT
YES YES ABSOLUTELY AND ALSO THE ENTIRE “I protect the family” THING LIKE HELLO??? And also I think “I can make deals with the devil because my dick’s bigger” fits whitebeard soooo well like that man is the STRONGEST of his generation not to mention of the entire world??? need an editor rn
dude i NEED someone to edit whitebeard and blackbeard from one piece to father figure by taylor swift GUYS PLEASE ITS LIKE TAYLOR HAS WATCHED ONE PIECE I JUST CANT PROVE IT
to anyone making comments about vivi not being white/complaining that they've made her 'black' in the live action i have a couple of things to tell you if the empty space you have for brains can comprehend them.
first of all, vivi's actress, charithra chandran, is of indian descent, not black, so you literally sound not only stupid but also ignorant and insensitive, considering she's a real human being with feelings who can read all of the comments that you write behind your little screen. people are being so fucking harsh on her through a THREE-SECOND CLIP of the first look on season two, where you literally can't even see her or her acting skills enough to start judging.
secondly, vivi is the princess of the DESERT. wouldn't it make sense for her to look like that since alabasta is inspired by india and egypt?? god forbid they actually want the characters to be coherent in the live action. on the same note, shouldn't you also be complaining that they made robin white and not tan? or that usopp's nose is not long? or that nami has blue eyes? be for real and admit in front of the world you're just racist and a prick.
thirdly, ODA HIMSELF handpicked her, so if you have any complaints about her, you can go whine to him and see how he laughs in your face for trying to doubt him on his personal preferences.
also, i am now aware of the other more-than-valid reason that people are angry at charithra’s casting is due to arab-erasure and not casting arab actors for these roles. but for that, condemn netflix and the showmakers, but don’t send death threats to the actress herself.
i wrote the original post feeling nothing but anger and helplessness as i watched one of my favorite actresses getting torn to shreds online. it was never meant to diminish the people speaking out against the very real issue, but rather directed at the small but vocal corner of the opla fandom who was racist.
but have you commented on an existing fic today? have you left guest kudos today on that fic you've already kudos-ed before but can't stop coming back to? have you shared a writer's post today?
have you supported your writers today such that they feel encouraged enough to write the fic you are asking for tomorrow?
to anyone making comments about vivi not being white/complaining that they've made her 'black' in the live action i have a couple of things to tell you if the empty space you have for brains can comprehend them.
first of all, vivi's actress, charithra chandran, is of indian descent, not black, so you literally sound not only stupid but also ignorant and insensitive, considering she's a real human being with feelings who can read all of the comments that you write behind your little screen. people are being so fucking harsh on her through a THREE-SECOND CLIP of the first look on season two, where you literally can't even see her or her acting skills enough to start judging.
secondly, vivi is the princess of the DESERT. wouldn't it make sense for her to look like that since alabasta is inspired by india and egypt?? god forbid they actually want the characters to be coherent in the live action. on the same note, shouldn't you also be complaining that they made robin white and not tan? or that usopp's nose is not long? or that nami has blue eyes? be for real and admit in front of the world you're just racist and a prick.
thirdly, ODA HIMSELF handpicked her, so if you have any complaints about her, you can go whine to him and see how he laughs in your face for trying to doubt him on his personal preferences.
shameless promo but reminder that i have a sonic cinematic universe story with an amnesiac reader + found family trope BOOM and i just posted a chapter after a four-month hiatus <3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
