Chapter 11: Looking for Fun
Self-preservation is an instinct for all living things.
But for an individual, that instinct must, to some degree, bow to their "nature."
What was Alvin Vergil's nature?
Crocodile pondered all the way and finally arrived at an answer.
Vergil's nature was a blend of "caprice" and "purity."
Similar to… playfulness.
If Vergil found something interesting, he did it.
Whether it was playing a rampaging beast on the Red Line to rescue slaves, or refusing to remain anonymous upon reaching his first real island… it all seemed to be for fun.
Just like now.
"Hey, look! It's Crocodile! One of the Seven Warlords!"
"The World Government doesn't pick just anyone. And there are still seven seats open…"
"Tch. A Government lapdog…"
"Shh! Keep your voice down!"
"…"
"By the way, who's that guy with him? The one who sank a ship with one punch."
"…"
Whispers swirled. Fear, curiosity, disdain, even challenge.
Crocodile saw it all and felt only irritation. He didn't want this attention.
"Tch!"
He grabbed Vergil by the collar, dissolved into a sandstorm, and whisked them both away from the gawking docks.
As they left, Vergil was still laughing and waving. "See you later!"
"Don't 'see you later.' Let's never meet again." Crocodile muttered, his headache worsening.
He just wanted to conclude his business on Sabaody quickly, then take Vergil to Alabasta to see if the man could unlock the Poneglyph's secret.
If not, he'd cut ties and let the whole sea deal with this primitive.
Truthfully, Crocodile was curious how a primitive from a century-old era would stir up these waters.
As he mused, Vergil suddenly grabbed his shoulder.
Grabbed was the right word. Crocodile was in a semi-elemental state. Ordinary people couldn't touch him. Only Armament Haki could grasp his true form.
But Alvin Vergil had just seized the very sand of Crocodile's shoulder.
"Your Devil Fruit's power?" Crocodile's eyes narrowed.
He recalled Vergil's words: The Chīguǐ form's power is the destruction and dismantling of 'land.'
Crocodile's body was sand, a form of "land." So even without Haki, in that form, Vergil could touch him directly.
Troublesome…
Crocodile ceased his elementalization, solidifying.
"What is it?"
Vergil didn't answer. Instead, he pulled out the wad of berries Crocodile had given him earlier, plucked a few notes, and waved them toward a nearby stall.
Crocodile: "?"
He looked around, understanding dawning.
They were in one of Sabaody's commercial districts. The archipelago was vast, comprised of 79 mangrove root-islands. It housed Marine and noble sectors, lawless pirate zones, but most notably, bustling tourist areas, docks, and shipyards.
This particular island was a thriving tourist hub.
"Hey there, young man! Grand Line specialty—Giant Takoyaki! Want some?"
"Fresh skewers! Just off the grill!"
"…"
For Vergil, who'd seen so little of the world's simple joys, the stalls were irresistible. He darted over, bought two enormous rainbow-colored cotton candies, and returned.
He kept one, offering the other to Crocodile with a smile. "Okay! Let's go!"
Crocodile took it. "…"
Thump.
Who wants candy from you?
The mighty Sir Crocodile, a Warlord of the Sea, eating cotton candy on the streets of Sabaody?
Ignoring Crocodile's murderous glare, Vergil looked mournfully at the fallen treat. "Who says tough guys can't like sweets?"
"…"
Crocodile's scalp prickled. He grabbed Vergil and dragged him onward.
After a moment, he spoke seriously. "Listen, primitive. If you want passage to Alabasta on my ship, you need to behave. At least don't ruin my deal."
Vergil perked up. "What deal?"
"I'm securing funds from the underworld, to be funneled legally into Alabasta."
Crocodile explained. He wasn't a patient man, but judging by Vergil's track record, if he didn't clarify this upfront, the primitive would undoubtedly cause even greater chaos.
"I'm establishing an organization in Alabasta. Provisional name: Baroque Works."
It was part of his conspiracy to usurp the kingdom. But Vergil was a primitive; he likely wouldn't grasp it. No matter.
"Understand? On these seas, military power is the only real currency."
"Even powers like the Marines or the 'Four Emperors' I mentioned—their dominance isn't built on individual strength, but on armies."
"…"
Crocodile looked at Vergil.
Vergil was eating his cotton candy.
Crocodile: "…"
Crocodile: "You didn't get any of that, did you?"
Vergil shook his head calmly. "Wasn't listening."
He knew the plot better than Crocodile himself. Why bother listening? Rehashing old schemes couldn't compare to real cotton candy.
But to Crocodile, this just confirmed the primitive's low intellect.
Got it.
Crocodile had a bad feeling. If he brought Vergil to the deal, and some underworld punk provoked him… another brawl was inevitable.
What to do?
As he pondered, dragging Vergil toward the fringes of the lawless zone, a few cheerful voices caught their attention.
"Hey there, handsome! Care to come inside and play?"
They turned. Several lively dancers were beckoning from the entrance of a bar. This was the border of the rough district; the entertainers here were more forward than those in the tourist zones.
Seeing this, Crocodile had an idea.
He pulled another stack of berries from his coat, handed them to Vergil, and spoke low. "The deal will be boring. Go have a drink. I'll find you later."
"…Alright."
Vergil glanced at the smoky, grim lawless zone, then at the dazzling dancers. The latter seemed far more interesting.
Life gravitated toward beauty. Concepts like "restraint" or "forced equality" were just oppression of beautiful things. Maintaining such perfect figures required daily effort and discipline from those dancers. They'd earned that beauty.
So Vergil smiled and called back to the dancers. "Let me taste the Grand Line's finest ale!"
"…"
Watching Vergil finally be led away, Crocodile couldn't help but sigh in relief. He turned and walked off.
As for Vergil, he was ushered toward the bar's entrance by the dancers.
Just as he was about to step inside, someone else blocked his path.
A thin, middle-aged man with a pencil mustache, dressed in a sharp suit, flanked by two hulking bodyguards.
The man tipped his hat with a greasy smile. "Impressive physique, young man!"
"…"
Vergil was silent for a moment. He pointed at the man and asked a dancer beside him, "Is he a… specialty of this bar?"
The dancers looked nervous, shaking their heads.
"Oh. I see."
Vergil understood.
The mustached man clarified, "Seeing you're in such shape… Interested in making some serious money?"
Hearing that, Vergil's grin widened. He looked at the man oozing ill intent and replied cheerfully,
"You guys look like my kind of fun, too."
(End of Chapter)
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