silverwolfcc (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
silverwolfcc) wrote2009-01-26 03:47 pm
silverwolfcc) wrote2009-01-26 03:47 pm
Bad Attitude Part 3
Disclaimer: I wish I owned One Piece but then it would suck because it'd be all focused on the marines and politics.
Pairing: Smoker/Keitha
Rating/Warning: PG-13 for language and good old violence. And drinking.
Title: Bad Attitude (Part 3)
Lyrics: Bad Attitude by Meatloaf
Smoker roared down a backroad along the coast. He had no intentions of letting anyone in his town see him with a passenger but even if he'd been alone this is the route he would have taken; they weren't going through the city today. Keitha didn't seem to have anything to say to this but maybe she knew better than to try to talk to him while they were driving. Anything she said would have been lost to the wind rushing past their faces.
The marine captain had been down part of this path with the small lieutenant clinging to him once before. It looped around the coast, back up the side of the island to connect to the marine base. The road also connected to another path that wound up the mountain to the small villages the dotted the countryside of the island. The island was only famous for the city of Loguetown (birthplace and death of Gold Roger) and because of it's proximity towards the Grand Line. But it actually had several outlying villages and hundreds of farms along the mountains. It made sense really, with all the people in Loguetown someone had to feed them.
It was all under the White Hunter's jurisdiction whether he wanted or not and occasionally the responsibility of it tugged at him to make sure everything was as disturbingly peaceful as ever. As a child and a teen just before he was allowed to enter the academy he wanted nothing more than to find some adventure and escape this dull as dirt place. Ironically now he was back here trying to protect the place and keep it safe. His brand of justice certainly meant that he wanted to keep people safe but it rankled him being kept in one spot.
Keitha certainly seemed to be enjoying the ride. Occasionally she'd nuzzle the back of his jacket, it was distracting but Smoker couldn't bring it in himself to mind very much. He was half surprised she hadn't fallen off yet though. He kept expecting her to slide off, forcing him to stop and send her back to the camp. Perhaps her death grip on his waist was keeping her steady. Or maybe Benton was keeping her lucky.
As the motorcycle hummed down the road, Smoker keeping his eyes steady on the path, it seemed the road was made more of memories than the packed down dirt. So many things remembered; so many he wished he could have forgotten. Mouth going dry on ashen cigars, Smoker decided as soon as it was possible he was getting a drink.
They say, "You never come home, boy you've been driving too fast
When you gonna shape up? How long is this gonna last?"
That was a joke. Driving too fast... he revved his engine harder, pushing the motorcycle to go faster. How long had it been since he'd been going fast enough for his tastes? Ever? Had he ever truly reached that point? Keitha seemed excited at going faster, the trembling familiar to him; not from fear but pure excited energy.
It wasn't like anyone had been worried about his safety. Tashigi might have been but she'd never said anything about his driving -- she knew better. Oh no, the people who scolded him for driving too fast didn't care about him, just how it looked to others. Smoker didn't give a damn how it looked. If people had a problem with it they should toughen up and get over it. He'd never hurt anyone even accidentally, and never would. He was always too in control, of his life, his temper, his machine, to allow something like that to happen. But people were so quick to assume he'd lose that control he worked so hard for and become what? Casualties? Maybe they just hated that he needed whatever taste of freedom he could get.
"You may be laughing today but listen to some good advice..."
Even long ago Smoker didn't laugh much. There wasn't much to laugh about. The few times as a teenager he had laughed, it hadn't been as much from mirth as bitter mocking of the people who tried to control him. How many backhand slaps had he taken from those laughs? Too many to count or even care now. Unbeknownst to the marine captain, his jaws tightened with restrained anger, an old familar gnawing at the injustices of the world.
"And take a look at tomorrow in a working man's weary eyes."
His father had been a marine and consumed by his work. That was fine with Smoker, the less time he saw the man, the better. He didn't exactly hate his father because that meant he still had some feelings left toward the man, some undealt with resentments lingering in his bones. No, Smoker felt pure apathy now, even if occasionally, he wished the marine would burn in hell.
"You gotta pick a career, go for the gold,
Smile for the camera, do what you're told."
The pressure to become a marine himself had been insurmountable but that was fine with Smoker too. Smoker wanted to see Justice through and being a marine was certainly the way to do that. He certainly could have done without the lectures about "marines take orders, so do what you're told," though. Smoker rather doubted he'd ever be able to smilingly do as he was told. Particularly not when it interfered with his own conscience.
Well you can kick away the ladder 'cause I ain't gonna climb it!
There's a stairway to heaven and I swear I'm gonna find it!"
Even mroeso he could have done without the lectures about climbing the ladder of rank and "playing the game." The White Hunter didn't care what rank he had so long as Justice got served. And playing the game? Not something Smoker would probably ever be able to bring himself to do. "Playing the game" meant grinning at some stupid lackey like he didn't have any brain matter and waiting like a weasel to kiss up to some smarmy ass of an admiral, all the while kicking people of a lower rank than him to reach the top.
Smoker was loyal and he wasn't about to ruin someone else's life for his own. If he did something wrong he'd take the blame. If one of his men screwed up, he'd take the blame -- it was his fault for not teaching them better. These things were not the way to get ahead in the marines but it was the way of true justice. And telling men no matter what rank they were what he truly felt about them; that was earnest truth, but a good way to get demoted and stuck in someplace like Loguetown for the rest of his life. Still, Smoker wasn't about to lie or try to hide the truth. If someone pissed him off, he'd tell them and deal with the consequences thereafter. Better than trying to pretend to be something else.
Well there are winners, and outlaws, and leaders, and lovers
Behind every man in the news
And the one thing I know is behind every one is a boy who had nothing to lose
Behind every man who has something say
There's a boy who had nothing to prove
And every hero was once, every villain was once, just a boy with a bad attitude.
How many times he had read the newspaper able to sift through other people's bullshit like it was telling apart sand from water? Frustrated that everyone else fell so easily to believing lies. Frustrated that they'd rather believe the lies than search for the truth lying underneath. Men who made the news; good or bad, Smoker suspected, were all like him. Rebellious punks who never said die, who never quit, who couldn't stand by and let injustices continue so long as they had breath in their body.
Keitha was the same way, as Smoker knew all too well. Her recklessness only reminded him of himself at her age. Only she'd probably get killed from it. His gloved grip on the handlebars of his bike tightened with a kind of fierce determination. If she wasn't careful, she was going to lose that. She'd be crushed by the sheer amount of men in the marines who didn't follow justice, by all the corruption and wrongs in the world. He worried that the same thing would happen to Tashigi but luckily the Sargeant Major didn't delve so deep in politics the way Keitha fearlessly did. Smoker wanted to protect that defiant edge in the red-head, even as it irked him and drove him crazy. It would be her saving grace, give her enough strength to toughen out the marines with her soul in tact... or it would break her.
Another girl floated through Smoker's memories. An old flame. One he'd also like to forget.
She says, "You never call, how come you're acting so tough?
You either hold me too tight or you don't hold me enough."
The accusation reminded him of something Keitha had once told him about how he was either so stressed he was ready to kill everything in sight, or so relaxed he was nearly comatose. He hadn't started things with Fayleen either. Smoker swallowed, tasting the bitter nicotine and soothing himself with the wind and smoke. She'd always been chasing him. Pink hair bobbing just out the back of his eye, trying to worm her way into whatever he was doing; much like Keitha always did. The key difference being that Fayleen hated things Smoker did. She couldn't stand his fights with his father, always feeling that he should have done as he was told to get ahead. She hated that he'd rather practice fighting pirates than go out for "fun", hated that his idea of fun was sparring. Hated that he didn't like being told what to do; trying to tell him what to do in her own girlish way.
Had Keitha ever ordered him around? Was he just thinking she hadn't because he was glossing her over in his own mind? When had he started to genuinely like the fiery red-head? She challenged him on a daily basis. She was a brat without the common sense to keep her trouble to herself. But then, perhaps, sometimes, every so often so was Smoker.
Don't be afraid of me angel I ain't about to clip your wings
Just put your feet on the ground and your arms around the real thing.
Keitha was an angel, in her own stupid way. She was feisty and annoying but she was sweet and far more naive than she thought. She wanted to help people, rescue them from danger, protect them even if they didn't deserve it. The kind of thing many women went into the marines for before realize they weren't cut out for it and switched to nursing or being a doctor. Her (current) captain could only hope she was cut out for a marine life, she'd be nothing but an asset to the marines in the long run; if she didn't break first.
You gotta love me for keeps, feather the nest
Aim for the future, give it your best.
For some reason Smoker couldn't fathom, Keitha actually seemed to appreciate him the way he already was. Gruff, grumpy, angry at the world, rebellious and all. The only answer Smoker could come up with was that she was purely insane. Nothing else made sense. That and she seemed to feel... safer around him? That couldn't be right. It made even less sense. He was dangerous. Dangerous for her physically, danger for her emotions (which seemed to go into hyper-drive of fury and rage around him), and definitely dangerous for her career.
Boy you were never gonna have a normal family life
Steaming up and speeding down the speedway on the back of your bike.
He wasn't going to have a family life, normal or otherwise. He couldn't get married, not with his dedication to justice, and he couldn't have kids out of fear for their lives. Truth told, that was why he liked kids. He wanted to protect their innocent smiles to be sure, but there was something there in that it was an enjoyment he'd never have. Chose to never have, perhaps, but still; one he wasn't going to get to normally enjoy. Besides, kids were a lot more fun if you didn't have to be the one to deal with their bad attitudes. If Smoker had kids the rotten bastards would probably all end up as pirates. Some gratitude.
Well there are winners, and outlaws, and leaders, and lovers
Behind every man in the news
And the one thing I know is behind every one is a boy who had nothing to lose
Behind every man who has something say
There's a boy who had nothing to prove
And every hero was once, every villain was once, just a boy with a bad attitude.
Smoker turned suddenly, Keitha gripping her knees tight against his thighs as if she'd been riding with him for years and knew exactly how to hold on. Maybe she was used to riding horses. He could see her as the kind of the girl that liked horses. She'd said once how her father was always trying to get her to act more feminine, perhaps this was one of things. Smoker personally failed to see how anyone could find her anything but feminine.
She wasn't a complete idiot like certain manipulative ditzes that sprang to mind but she was alluring, all curves, she knew how to walk in such a way that it got the attention of every male in sight and she could be manipulative as anyone else he'd ever known. But perhaps because Smoker was so used to Tashigi's swordswoman presence he forgot the stigmata so many women who relied on a sword face professionally. He'd been told the marines was an "old boy's club" but perhaps it was knowing too many sucessful women that made him forget why others would find this less than feminine.
Smoker chuckled, turning it quickly into a small cough so he wouldn't have to explain it to the girl on his back. Keitha took as unhealthy an interest in clothes as any girl he'd ever seen (though Tashigi certainly seemed to care less) but said it was based out of comfort -- something he could understand all too well. And while he personally found her kicks and nails and ear tugs all too feminine, perhaps it was the kind of thing that wasn't typically appreciated in a sex that was meant to be coy and demure. She definitely wasn't demure, not with her bad attitude.
Demure girls didn't kick down doors of commanding officers or threaten them with seastone or challenge them to sparring matches for the sake of trying to embarrass them in front of their own men. And they definitely didn't taunt the brass to their faces with coy little screw you notes, arrogantly assuming the brass were too stupid to figure them out. She was probably right in her assessement of HQ's intelligence and what they would make out of her reports; but it wasn't the kind of thing typically "nice girls" did. Smoker was glad. If she was like the other "nice" girls he'd known he really would have killed her.
"Bad attitude, you got us tearing our hair
Such a bad attitude but you just don't seem to care.
We try to lay down the rules but you were born to refuse
What's the world gonna do with a boy like you?
You've got it bad, you've got a bad attitude.
Smoker couldn't get the song out of his head. It was starting to get irritating. Not a bad song necessarily but anything could get annoying after four or five times. And the wind whistling across his face didn't seem to be helping him run away from the song or the memories. It was all because the idiot had mentioned her report. If she could have just kept it secret... Well to be fair, Smoker had wanted to know. He liked it that she (unlike him) was so easily amused and found almost everything funny.
They were high up in the mountains now, circling around the paths and surrounded by forests that bordered farming fields. The ocean was no longer visible but Keitha didn't seem to mind even though Smoker knew for a fact that she tended to get antsy when she was away from the ocean for too long, though truth told, so did he. It had to do with wanting adventure, and movement, and pirate hunting, and the ocean was always ready to supply those in abundance.
He pulled down a much smaller road, lined completely on trees, Keitha taking the advantage of his slowing down to lift her head up as if she was trying to memorize the route they were taking. Smoker had several specific destinations in mind but there was one in particular he had to see first. The gruff marine captain didn't want to but he felt obligated for some reason he didn't fully understand.
Winding through the forest, noticing that it was already reaching up on twilight Smoker realized he hadn't made Keitha eat lunch or dinner. Damn. Now he was going to have to make sure he fed the brat. She was like an obnoxious puppy he had had to take care of. Finally exiting the forest, headed for a clearer area, he slowed the bike down as they passed a bunch of tombstones. Keitha didn't say anything until they completely stopped, Smoker rummaging through his saddlebags for things he'd set aside some time ago knowing he'd need them. He'd been planning this particular part of the trip for a while now but thanks to her stupid blood drive getting pushed up sooner he hadn't had any time.
The red-head lieutenant tugged off the helmet, shaking out red hair. She left it on the seat, sliding down to follow Smoker. He didn't say anything, he certainly wasn't about to give an explanation; just walked through rows of tombstones. There was a temple of sorts, down a ways but Smoker ignored it and given that it looked rather unused, Keitha found the whole thing a bit creepy in the twilight. "Neh, Taisa," she shivered, rubbing her hands on grey-sleeved arms. "Bit spooky ain't it?"
She must have been spooked to slip into slang. As a writer (even of songs), she disliked using incorrect grammar for fear she'd develop bad habits and usually was overly cognizants of her choice of words -- which made the fact that she swore like an old crusty sailor, a bit unnerving sometimes. "You can go back to the bike if you wish," Smoker waved a gloved hand holding a pack of cigarettes towards the large motorcycle. "I won't be long."
Keitha looked around and shivered again, stepping closer to the large captain for protection. "Yeah you'd like that wouldn't you," she grumbled quietly but being so close, it wasn't hard to hear her. "I'd go over by the motorcycle and bam! Kidnapped by ghosts!"
Smoker chuckled. Being afraid of graveyards was such a little girl thing it made him truly doubt that she was full-grown marine officer most of the time. "Lieutenant," he shook his head still laughing, "There's no such thing as ghosts."
Keitha pouted, "That's just what they want you to think."
"Why would they want you to think that?" Smoker arched an eyebrow swearing at himself internally for indulging this idiotic conversation any further.
"To make it easier to kidnap you!" Keitha answered holding her hands out in a claw like motion that Smoker could only assume was meant to simulate ghosts grabbing people. Too bad it was too damn cute.
He started laughing again, "And what do they do once they kidnap you?"
"Eat you of course," Keitha rolled her eyes as if she shouldn't have to explain the behaviour of ghosts given that it was obvious.
Still laughing Smoker informed her firmly, "There's not such things as ghosts, Lieutenant."
"I dunno, Taisa... I've heard a lot of stories from the Grand Line," she shivered nervously looking around for things that would jump out and grab her.
"Not even on the Grand Line," Smoker shook his head with mirth.
Keitha frowned chewing her lip, "Then where do the stories come from?"
"Overactive imaginatons seeing things and assuming it's something else," Smoker suggested stopping in his stomping tracks at one tombstone in particular. It was pretty nondescript, nearly identical to the others but Keitha figured he must have known the way pretty well by now.
"I don't know Smoker. They have islands where nightmares come true and they used to say there was no such thing as mermaids and got proven wrong, didn't they?" Keitha asked, taking his arm for the reassurance that he was there and relatively solid flesh.
"When did they say that?" Smoker shook his head as he unceremoniously tossed the flowers down on the offering, before leaning down on his knees. Keitha stood standing, perhaps to watch for any oncoming danger.
"Hundreds and hundreds of years ago," Keitha frowned.
Smoker looked up at her, quite a switch from their usual arrangement. "Yeah, how do you know that?"
"Books," she shrugged simply. She did read a lot, especially for someone as hyperactive as her. He usually liked her taste in books; they corresponded nicely with his own collection and he'd had occasion to "borrow" some of hers without asking and return them before she noticed they were gone.
"Are you sure it wasn't fiction?" he gently kidded her, putting down the box of cigarettes and lighting them in the stone offering instead of the usual incense.
"Yeah," she replied distractedly, still taking another darting look around before accidentally bumping his back with her knee in her attempts to stay close to him.
Smoker popped open the bottlecap on a bottle of wine, with a thumb before dumping the red contents over the grave top. With that he left the empty bottle with the still burning cigarettes, stood up and went back to the vehicle, as casual, nonchalant and unreadable as ever.
"That's it?" Keitha asked in some mild confusion as she hopped after him.
Smoker shrugged broad shoulders gone a little more tense than he remembered, "That's it."
Keitha frowned, looking up at his carefully guarded face and back at the tomb where she could no longer make out the name (though even if she had, it wouldn't do her any good to clear things up). "You ok?" she asked nervously, jumping as wind whistled by them, brushing her hair back and making her cling to his arm in fright.
"Shouldn't you be more worried about you?" Smoker arched an eyebrow smirking. "You're the one ready to jump out of your skin."
Shivering again and adjusting shoulders she grunted at this. "I mean with the..." she trailed off knowing he wasn't going to explain and simply sighed. "Where are we going now?"
"I have to check in on several of the villages and make sure there's no problems. Technically they're under my jurisdiction and I haven't checked up on them awhile. Though really... I can't remember the last time they had anything resembling trouble that require a marine captain to fix," Smoker sighed, taking a long drag on his cigars.
"Yeah?" Keith was still shivering. Smoker was half-tempted to put his jacket on her in case she was cold. "Sounds fun."
Smoker growled irritably climbing into his motorcycle, "Once again, Lieutenant, you and I have very different defintions of what is fun."
Keitha giggled at this as she climbed back on, curling up tight behind him. She didn't say anything more to this, so Smoker let the engine roar to life once more, letting the single headlight guide his way. By the time they reached their destination the tiny lieutenant had stopped shivering even though it'd gotten colder with the higher elevation and nightfall, so Smoker figured it was just because she was scared of graveyards after all. How childish. And a little too cute. He wished he could just see it as being annoying (since she'd forced her way to coming anyways) but it really was endearing.
Smoker parked his bike in the town square knowing that no one used it for anything and no one would be stupid enough to touch it. Keitha hopped off again, putting the helmet on his seat before following him inside an inn. "The mayor runs the place so if anything's up he'll let me know," Smoker explained over his shoulder, Keitha following him in a small daze as if she'd fallen asleep, blinking and trying to take the town in. "And you need to eat some food."
"Awww Taisa," she protested but her stomach growled giving her away and the dark look Smoker shot her was enough to silence her objections. "Yeah, yeah, fine. Food."
"It's pretty good," Smoker informed her. "The chef here really knows his stuff and given the location they get all the fresh stuff from right in town." The marine captain also happened to like the mayor's home-brewed ale but she didn't need to know that.
The lieutenant followed him inside, stifling a yawn -- maybe she had fallen asleep but it wasn't that late. She sat down next to him on a barstool, following suit and to Smoker's immense appreciation, didn't decide to spin around on it like she always did at the Gold Roger. He didn't think he could bear the embarrassment of bringing a kid like her in if she did.
"Ahhhh Smoker-Taisa!" the innkeeper/mayor greeted him happily, "It's been a while hasn't it?"
Smoker nodded. "It has. Anything I should know about before ordering a plate of your chef's famous roast beef and mashed potatoes?"
"Oh they're not famous," the mayor said modestly. "But everything's as quiet as ever. You're too kind to check in on us."
Keitha tilted her head at the captain. Polite civilties were not his strong point and he usually didn't put up with anybody trying to kiss up to him. Perhaps them the civilties were genuine between them? They didn't seem fake but they did seem like every other person's when they were trying to merely be polite.
"Make sure you get her something on my tab," Smoker gestured his head towards Keitha, "The little rabbit doesn't eat as much as she should."
Angry irritation flickering across her face, Keitha scowled, "I eat just fine thanks. And I can pay for myself."
"Suit yourself," Smoker rolled his eyes. "As long as you eat, I don't care."
"Who is she?" the mayor asked as handed Keitha a menu.
"Musician," Smoker grumbled over cigars, "I caught her masquerading as a marine. An officer no less. Claims to be a lieutenant."
Keitha pouted, "Awww Taisa that's kind of harsh."
"If true," he pointed out.
"Well I figure if you can catch pirates, anyone can," she batted her eyelashes at him sweetly but as sarcastic as ever.
Smoker chuckled darkly at this with a look that promised to punish her ten ways from Sunday. Deciding it to be an inside joke that he doesn't want to know about, the mayor took the red-head's order and shuffled off to the kitchens. As if Keitha wasn't even there, Smoker grabbed one of the newspapers from near the front and started skimming through it. Keitha arched an eyebrow at this but shrugged and pulled out her panpipes, mentally marking down the fingering and notes.
"New instrument?" Smoker asked, still buried behind his paper, one leg crossed over the other.
"Yeah, well kind of new. I got it in Loguetown's marketplace a couple of weeks ago. You know, right before the thing with Aiden," she answered, not blowing into it and risk the disturbing the peace of the place.
Smoker said nothing to this and made no movement other than turning the page before sitting there in dead silence once more as if she wasn't there.
Fidgety as always, Keitha squirmed in her seat. "Actually it's more like I got conned into buying it," she chuckled. "Those marketplace vendors are voracious."
"Ben," Smoker told her.
She stared at him in utter confusion at this one word response. For a second she thought that must be the mayor's name and he was calling the man over to have Keitha removed from earshot. Always with the threatening to kill her...
"The vendor of the panpipes. He plays them well. His name is Ben," Smoker stated gruffly, turning another page.
"He's evil," Keitha moped looking down at her panpipes, "It's a good instrument but I can't get it to sound anything like him."
Smoker lowered the paper a fraction of inch, and muttered, "You're holding it wrong."
Keitha looked down at her hands, one in the middle, the other on the end. She couldn't see what was wrong.
Luckily Smoker was in a good enough mood to clarify, "You're holding it like a flute. You keep closing your hand over the end to hold off the sound but you don't have to. You should hold it like a harmonica. One hand on the middle, and don't put your hand on the end, just don't blow into the notes you don't."
"It's kind of big Taisa," she objected.
"Just trust me," he grumbled, flipping the newspaper back up and ignoring her once more.
Keitha looked down at her small hand cupped around the reeds and colored string. Harmonica. Right. She suddenly had a burst of inspiration and couldn't wait to try it out. She looked around the room furtively but couldn't seem to bring herself to start playing in public.
"Oh!" the mayor said with a note of surprise as he walked in with their drinks, "You really are a musician!"
Smoker arched an eyebrow, "I said she was, didn't I?"
A giant bead of sweat seemed to form on the innkeeper's head, "You did, yes. I'm sorry."
Keitha grinned sardonically.
The mayor passed Smoker his ale, giving Keitha a small...
"Lieutenant," Smoker asked sarcastically, as he emphasized her rank as if she was faking it, "What is that?"
"Ale," she shrugged, "I heard it was good here."
Smoker seemed surprised but said nothing to this.
"Um?" the Mayor asked nervously, "Should I not have let her have one?"
"What?" Smoker said once again underneath his newspaper, "No, it's fine," he waved a hand dismissively.
She sipped it slowly, "Mmm... It is as good as everyone says," she beamed at the mayor who seemed embarrassed but pleaseed.
Smoker snorted, but said nothing, sipping his own ale.
"Aren't you going to play, Miss?" the innkeeper ventured, wringing his hands on an apron.
"Huh? What? Oh this?" Keitha laughed nervously, "I'm not really sure I have it down yet. And it'd be impolite to..."
The mayor cut her off, "Oh no! I'd love to hear!"
She blinked nervously, fidgeting on her stool. "Well um... alright," she shot glance at Smoker, still reading his paper.
She took his advice and it did sound better, though nothing close to Ben's. She played a song she'd had stuck in her head for a while, Smoker's ears perked at the notes before he burrowed even deeper into the paper.
"It's very nice, Miss," the innkeeper beamed encouragingly. "What's the name of the song?"
"Bad Attitude," she chuckled. "It's not really the right instrument for it... doesn't really fit the song but I can't seem to get it out of my head."
"I liked it," the mayor smiled, "You've got a real talent for it."
Keitha blushed, "Oh no... my brother's the bard. I just kid around with it really."
"Well if you ever want to take it professional, you're welcome to play here anytime. Skill like that would probably draw customers," the mayor offered.
The lieutenant blushed some more, murmuring, "Thanks... I'll consider it.
Smoker lowered his paper some, growling over cigars, "How long has that song been stuck in your head?" He was convinced now she must have been singing or humming it earlier and it was all her fault it was stuck in his.
"I don't know," she leaned back against the wall, "An hour? A little before we reached town but not back at the... other thing."
Smoker sighed. Damn. Not her fault. She wasn't lying, he could tell with her easily enough. Still that raised the question of how it got stuck in her head. Freaky coincidence? Had he accidentally been singing it or humming it himself? Maybe it was like the connection she claimed to have with her brother. Still it seemed strange. Did she have a strange connection with him? It made him nervous to even consider. If she could get inside his head that easily, dealing with her was going to be even harder than it already was.
Reburying himself in the newspaper once again like he hadn't spoken at all, he determinedly skimmed through articles. Most of it was bullshit as always but there was something soothing to the basic necessary routine of it. As the mayor turned to go back to the kitchen he whispered softly in Smoker's ear in passing, "We've had some trouble with bandits. Small time, trying to make a name for themselves. I think the leader fancies himself a whatchamacallit? One of those yakuza leaders? I forget. Anyway we could sure use the help. He'll probably stop by later for 'protection' money."
Smoker's ears laid back, looking for all the world like a wolf having caught the scent of prey, and the mayor shuffled into his kitchen as if he hadn't said anything. Keitha caught Smoker's reaction and titled her head to the side, watching him continue to read the newspaper as though nothing had been said. She couldn't hear the mayor's whisper and didn't seem realize the mayor had even secretly shared something with her captain so she looked around as though trying to figure out what he was hearing.
Eventually she gave up with a small shrug and since Smoker didn't seem talkative went back her to her pan flute. She began playing another song, swiveling her head to reach the notes she wanted. As she finished her song (Smoker felt he should have recognized it, something about birds or fish or both but he still couldn't get Bad Attitude out of his head) she cocked her head to the side watching him. "Oi Taisa," she called, "How do I get a flat or sharp note?"
She expected him to snap at her that he had no idea and that she should leave him alone letting him go back to his paper. Instead he surprised as he was beginning to do all too often. "Loosen and tighten your jaw," he answered nonchalantly.
The red-head blinked in stunned amazement. "You said you didn't know anything about music!" she sulked accusingly.
"I don't," he ruffled his paper.
"Then how do you know so much about this thing?" she held out the reeds, still pouting.
Smoker's jaw shifted as he determinedly ignored her.
"I bet you secretly play it too," she grumbled testing an E flat and F sharp.
The marine captain's ears laid back on his head again. "I might have been suckered into buying one too," he admitted in a low grumble.
Keitha burst into delighted laughter. "I knew it!" she grinned wickedly as she often did when he made such confessions. She pushed the pipes at him. "Play something."
Smoker arched an eyebrow. He truthfully didn't know much about music. He only played by ear and while his ears were good, he couldn't have read or plaid from sheet music to save his life and it wasn't even really a passing interest. Even though she'd only been playing for a couple of weeks she was leagues better than him already. "No," he hid behind the paper.
"Please?" she begged with saucer eyes.
The White Hunter's stomach lurched. There was no way she was going to convince him to embarrass himself in public like this. If she wanted to do it herself that was all fine and well but he was not going to join her. "Definitely not," he growled trying to deter her with a threatening voice.
"I bet you're great," she coaxed, slim fingers slipping into his lap almost unconciously.
Smoker avoided looking at her, taking a sip of his ale and trying to hide behind the newspaper again, "No."
"Please?" she wheedled, her hand sliding up from his knee to brush along his inner thigh. Nope, definitely deliberate then. Smoker took a deep breath feeling his pulse quicken. He made a mistake and just as he was about to tell her to back off, he looked down into her eyes. She was peering up at him, head almost in his lap, turned just right so that her hair gave her a protective wounded look. Her usual sarcastic smirk was gone, in place the genuine little girl smile he loved so much, her eyes wide blue-green and genuine. He clenched his jaw around cigars and glanced at the kitchen door to make sure no one was going to come out.
"I want to see how it's done," Keitha said with a hint of pout to her bottom lip.
Smoker swallowed hard. Why'd she have to be so damn cute when she did that? "Only a little," he vowed, still cursing himself for being so weak.
"Yay!" she clapped her hands together in delight, sitting back upright in her own chair. The tall marine really wished that kind of response didn't secretly delight him as well. It was always nice to see her face light up like a child's at a carnival but really, it shouldn't be so nice, it should be annoying. It was loud and childish and.... too damn cute.
Sighing heavily, Smoker put a gloved hand over her instrument, bringing it up to his lips and blowing softly. He didn't want to play Bad Attitude and let her know it had been stuck in his head all morning and day so he tried to think of something else. He couldn't remember all the lyrics or even half of the notes, just the chorus and one or two of the verses but he played what he knew for her. Keitha's eyes shone with delight, her face a miniature picture of the kind of rapture only Smoker seemed to be able to give her. He kept nervously eying the kitchen doors, refusing to be caught playing like the amateur he was and hastily gave her back the pipes when he finished what he remembered of the song.
"Thank-you Smoker," Keitha murmured softly, "That was beautiful."
Smoker grunted. "And if you ever bring this up again I'll kill you."
She grinned, sarcastic as ever and replied, "Yeah I know," before chuckling to herself and downing her ale.
Smoker arched an eyebrow behind his paper at this behaviour. Had she even had any alcohol before? She was downing it like a pro, shrugging off the burn like she was more than familiar to it. But if she liked alcohol so much why did she never have any around him before this even when they'd been in bars? Maybe she was trying to act familiar but really this still fairly new to her. Smoker frowned, she could get hurt doing that.
As Mayor Bombadil brought both her and Smoker another ale, Keitha went back to practicing Bad Attitude once more. Great. Just what he needed. That was going to get out of his head real fast. Just as he was about to ask her if she knew any other songs, the innkeeper returned carrying their food. "Sorry it took so long," he said grinning abashedly, "But you know what they say... Excellence takes time."
"It's perfect timing Mayor," Smoker said easily as he folded up the newspaper. He'd run out of anything interesting to read in it and Smoker was going to snap from another round of the chorus to Bad Attitude on pipes she herself thought were an inappropriate instrument for the song. They really were all wrong for the song, Smoker mused to himself. They lacked the energetic charge and power the song needed that was so reminiscent of motorcycles and jitte sparring and punches and kicks and yelling at superior officers.
The panpipes were really much better suited for the quiet, thoughtful kind of songs Keitha usually played on her flute. Something that was woodsy and reflective, not an angry teenager frustrated with the world. Maybe she just really had the song stuck in her head though. Smoker certainly couldn't seem to get rid of it but he was currently blaming her for starting it in the first place.
"Yay!" Keitha declared gleefully, eyes lighting up on the plate placed in front of her, "I'm starving!" She cut up a bite of her cranberry chicken and seemed to melt into it. "Oh, this is so good..." she seemed to be purring.
"Haha, I'm glad you like it Miss," the mayor chuckled, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "Everything to your satisfaction, Captain?"
Smoker took a swig of ale to wash down his own mouthful of delicious food. "Of course," he grinned. He wanted to pass along the message that he still had his eyes and ears open for the bandits but the Mayor didn't seem to want it discussed out loud so the man was just going to have to trust the marine.
The mayor nodded thoughtfully, seeming to have caught the message nonetheless. "I'll be in the back then, call if you need anything."
Keitha pounced on her food, ravenously devouring it like a cat eating a fish. "So good," she murmured almost to herself.
Smoker shook his head. She really was enjoying the food. At first he thought it was for his benefit since he was forcing her to eat but she seemed delighted. Maybe she was just a ridiculously picky eater and didn't like marine barracks food. Obnoxious brat. But then he remembered at the last restaurant they'd been at she'd only had a tiny sandwich. She was a weird kid. He couldn't seem to get a beat on her.
Wolfing down his own food, Smoker started to dawdle as he neared the end of it. He needed an excuse to stand watch over the inn until the bandit leader showed up and Keitha would ask too many questions about why they weren't checking in on other towns if he just sat there drinking. She seemed to realize something was up nonetheless since Smoker almost always finished his food before her even though she ate considerably less.
Sipping her second ale (and starting to get a little woozy from it it looked it) she murmured softly, "Oi Taisa."
"Mmm?" he replied, twirling his fork in more mashed potatoes.
"You gonna tell me what you're up to?" she asked, eyes narrowing on him.
"Nope," he answered simply.
She sighed leaning back again, kicking a heel up onto her other leg in imitation of him, "Fine be that way. But I'm going to figure it out eventually."
"Mmm-hmmm, you do that," Smoker told her callously. She sighed again fingering her pipes once more. Luckily the bandit arrived, sparing him from listening to Bad Attitude on the miniature mouth organ again.
"Oi!" a tall man with a sword strapped into his haramaki, not even sheathed, demanded of Smoker, "You that marine they're always talking about?"
"Who wants to know?" Smoker asked languidly.
"This is my town now. You better spread the word," he answered in a challenging tone.
Keitha burst out laughing, holding her sides she was laughing so hard, "Has saying that, ever worked?"
As silly as the situation was, laughing didn't really seem like the appropriate response. If the Mayor was having troubles enough to be a little afraid of the man, there had to be more than met the eye. "Girl," Smoker growled warningly, "Stay out of it."
She snorted and shook her head, still grinning with amusement.
The bandit didn't seem about to let it go. "I've defeated hundreds of men in battle, so yeah, you could say it works for me."
"Wow," Keitha grinned even more mockingly than before, "A whole hundred. Can you even count that high or do you just parrot back words you've heard other people use?"
Smoker put a gloved hand over his eyes, this was not going to turn out well.
The bandit spluttered angrily, "You'll pay for that lass!" he growled pulling out his sword.
"What are you supposed to be, anyways?" Keitha looked him up and down, arms resting behind her on the bar, unphased by his slow withdrawl of the weapon, "Some sort of pirate?"
"No way!" he answered indignantly, bringing the blade to her neck slowly, "I'm a bandit!" Smoker decided not to rescue her this time. She needed to learn self-control or at least when to keep her mouth shut.
Her eyes narrowed with a dangerous glint Smoker hadn't seen ever before but they sprang back to her cocky "I'm too drunk to care," look she'd had on before. "What was that?" she asked, seeming to check her nails for any breaks.
"I'm a mountain bandit. I've never fought a woman before but I'll be happy to make an exception for the arrogance," he told her, twisting the blade so that it shined from the lamplight and Keitha had to move her head or be cut. He seemed to have completely forgotten that there was a famous marine captain sitting next to her. Smoker was just about to capture the idiot, refusing to rescue Keitha be damned, he wasn't going to watch her get cut up just because she couldn't handle a mug or two of ale but Keitha sprang into action like a viper.
She darted from her stool, the Benton in her hand so quickly it was as if the sabre was a part of her that just jumped into play when she wanted rather than having to be withdrawn. She was half the size of the bandit but as Smoker knew full well, she actually preferred fighting people much larger than herself. The movements were almost too quick for Smoker to see. Did she always fight like this? He couldn't seem to remember her moving so fast when he'd sparred with her but maybe it was just because she wasn't facing him at the moment. His men had always said she seemed to move like lightning.
A couple of quick slashes and the bandit didn't even have time to respond or even realize what was happening before he crumbled to the ground, Keitha leaning over him, the Benton at his neck and his own sword kicked away down the end of the bar. Having defeated hundreds of men was clearly an exaggeration on his part but dozens was possible and Mayor Bombadil had his own skill at fighting, enough that the town hadn't had to deal with too many punks before for as long as Smoker had known it.
"I hate bandits," Keitha growled with a ferocious intensity her commander was unused to. Passion was certainly common in Kietha but not the kind of almost uncontrolled rage and downright loathing. "Freaking scum too scared to go on the ocean, trying to take up the weaker areas for your own. Just another goddam bully on the playground picking on kids half your size."
It was a sentiment Smoker often shared about most pirates. And then his eyes widened as he realized something. Keitha was often too soft on pirates in his opinion. She hated killing them and despite being a trained assassin, he knew full well that she'd never driven her blade into anyone with the intent to kill. Always, always, she tried to simply disable her foe so that she could arrest them. Admirable, Smoker himself disliked killing anyone he didn't absolutely have to and was well-known for his arrest record of disabling rather than kill his prisoners but it was also risky. It was harder to do and far chancier.
But she'd completely cut the man's hamstring without hesitation and her little arms were trembling on her blade's hilt not because she was upset about doing it but because she wanted to kill the man. Keitha, who hadn't even been satisfied with dashing pirates on the rocks and letting them drown on their own but had begged him in a soft whisper to go pick up the survivors. Keitha who could have slit the throat of one of Blue-Cheek's pirates cornering her in an alley but instead kept trying to fight them defensively to the point it almost got her killed.
That same red-headed almost too kind-hearted Keitha was trembling with the attempts to cool down her rage enough not to kill this man, who while clearly an idiot, hadn't killed anyone and was small-time at best. Smoker leaped to his feet, dashing over to pull her sword away if necessary. "Lieutenant," he prodded softly. No response, her eyes still boring into the greasy-haired bandit who was trying to back away and whimpering in pain from his leg. "Keitha!" he called more urgently, taking the blade from her hands and putting it back in the sheath on her back. "You hamstringed him," he reminded softly, still sounding as gruff as ever, "He's not going to be moving."
Blinking as if being pulled out of a trance, Keitha looked up at her captain, rage and frustration still flickering across her face.
"No less than he deserves," she growled, eyes harder than he'd ever seen them. What happened to her in the span of a whole fifteen minutes? That long ago she'd been a happy child and suddenly she was... well like him. Angry at the world and grappling inner demons. It was unnerving. She tossed a pouch of berri on the table (more than enough to pay for the meal, tip and then some. It always made him wonder where she got it all) and stormed outside.
"Hey, Bombadil?" Smoker called, keeping his eye on the bandit. He almost felt sorry for the man.
"Oh yes, Smoker-Taisa?" the mayor immediately saw the tall bandit on the floor. "Oh!" he said pleased but flustered, "You caught him already?"
"Not me," the captain shook his head in wonderment, "Seems our little lieutenant is more of a marine than I realized." Confusion flickered across the mayor's face but Smoker continued, "Can you handle taking him to your jail on your own or do you need help?"
"I can take it from here," the mayor puffed out his chest proudly.
"Make sure you get him a crutch. He's been hamstringed," Smoker informed the mayor, who winced at this information before grimly deciding it must have been necessary. The White Hunter put his own berri on the counter before frowning and following the lieutenant outside.
She was leaning with her back against the wall, looking up at the stars and running a hand through her crimson hair. "Shit," she said softly as he joined her, curious at her earlier outburst. "It's been a long time since I almost lost control like that."
So much rage... how did she contain it all? Smoker barely had a grip on his own, always it leaked out at unexpected moments. Did she normally channel it through everything else? Swordfights? Music? Was that the true source of her boundless energy.
"What happened in there Lieutenant?" Smoker growled gruffly.
"The last time I saw stars this bright was in the middle of the ocean," Keitha murmured softly ignoring his question.
Smoker twitched. She didn't always answer directly, but she almost always answered and truthfully at that. To have her blatantly ignore him... "Lieutenant," he growled, "I want an answer and that's an order."
She lowered her gaze to his steely eyes, "It's a long story Taisa."
"Fortunately I've got time," he answered her dryly, wishing he'd had another mug of Bombadil's semi-famous ale, "We're going for a walk."
Keitha sighed, hunching shoulders forward but followed obediently like a small but loyal dog that knew it was about to be scolded.
Pairing: Smoker/Keitha
Rating/Warning: PG-13 for language and good old violence. And drinking.
Title: Bad Attitude (Part 3)
Lyrics: Bad Attitude by Meatloaf
Smoker roared down a backroad along the coast. He had no intentions of letting anyone in his town see him with a passenger but even if he'd been alone this is the route he would have taken; they weren't going through the city today. Keitha didn't seem to have anything to say to this but maybe she knew better than to try to talk to him while they were driving. Anything she said would have been lost to the wind rushing past their faces.
The marine captain had been down part of this path with the small lieutenant clinging to him once before. It looped around the coast, back up the side of the island to connect to the marine base. The road also connected to another path that wound up the mountain to the small villages the dotted the countryside of the island. The island was only famous for the city of Loguetown (birthplace and death of Gold Roger) and because of it's proximity towards the Grand Line. But it actually had several outlying villages and hundreds of farms along the mountains. It made sense really, with all the people in Loguetown someone had to feed them.
It was all under the White Hunter's jurisdiction whether he wanted or not and occasionally the responsibility of it tugged at him to make sure everything was as disturbingly peaceful as ever. As a child and a teen just before he was allowed to enter the academy he wanted nothing more than to find some adventure and escape this dull as dirt place. Ironically now he was back here trying to protect the place and keep it safe. His brand of justice certainly meant that he wanted to keep people safe but it rankled him being kept in one spot.
Keitha certainly seemed to be enjoying the ride. Occasionally she'd nuzzle the back of his jacket, it was distracting but Smoker couldn't bring it in himself to mind very much. He was half surprised she hadn't fallen off yet though. He kept expecting her to slide off, forcing him to stop and send her back to the camp. Perhaps her death grip on his waist was keeping her steady. Or maybe Benton was keeping her lucky.
As the motorcycle hummed down the road, Smoker keeping his eyes steady on the path, it seemed the road was made more of memories than the packed down dirt. So many things remembered; so many he wished he could have forgotten. Mouth going dry on ashen cigars, Smoker decided as soon as it was possible he was getting a drink.
They say, "You never come home, boy you've been driving too fast
When you gonna shape up? How long is this gonna last?"
That was a joke. Driving too fast... he revved his engine harder, pushing the motorcycle to go faster. How long had it been since he'd been going fast enough for his tastes? Ever? Had he ever truly reached that point? Keitha seemed excited at going faster, the trembling familiar to him; not from fear but pure excited energy.
It wasn't like anyone had been worried about his safety. Tashigi might have been but she'd never said anything about his driving -- she knew better. Oh no, the people who scolded him for driving too fast didn't care about him, just how it looked to others. Smoker didn't give a damn how it looked. If people had a problem with it they should toughen up and get over it. He'd never hurt anyone even accidentally, and never would. He was always too in control, of his life, his temper, his machine, to allow something like that to happen. But people were so quick to assume he'd lose that control he worked so hard for and become what? Casualties? Maybe they just hated that he needed whatever taste of freedom he could get.
"You may be laughing today but listen to some good advice..."
Even long ago Smoker didn't laugh much. There wasn't much to laugh about. The few times as a teenager he had laughed, it hadn't been as much from mirth as bitter mocking of the people who tried to control him. How many backhand slaps had he taken from those laughs? Too many to count or even care now. Unbeknownst to the marine captain, his jaws tightened with restrained anger, an old familar gnawing at the injustices of the world.
"And take a look at tomorrow in a working man's weary eyes."
His father had been a marine and consumed by his work. That was fine with Smoker, the less time he saw the man, the better. He didn't exactly hate his father because that meant he still had some feelings left toward the man, some undealt with resentments lingering in his bones. No, Smoker felt pure apathy now, even if occasionally, he wished the marine would burn in hell.
"You gotta pick a career, go for the gold,
Smile for the camera, do what you're told."
The pressure to become a marine himself had been insurmountable but that was fine with Smoker too. Smoker wanted to see Justice through and being a marine was certainly the way to do that. He certainly could have done without the lectures about "marines take orders, so do what you're told," though. Smoker rather doubted he'd ever be able to smilingly do as he was told. Particularly not when it interfered with his own conscience.
Well you can kick away the ladder 'cause I ain't gonna climb it!
There's a stairway to heaven and I swear I'm gonna find it!"
Even mroeso he could have done without the lectures about climbing the ladder of rank and "playing the game." The White Hunter didn't care what rank he had so long as Justice got served. And playing the game? Not something Smoker would probably ever be able to bring himself to do. "Playing the game" meant grinning at some stupid lackey like he didn't have any brain matter and waiting like a weasel to kiss up to some smarmy ass of an admiral, all the while kicking people of a lower rank than him to reach the top.
Smoker was loyal and he wasn't about to ruin someone else's life for his own. If he did something wrong he'd take the blame. If one of his men screwed up, he'd take the blame -- it was his fault for not teaching them better. These things were not the way to get ahead in the marines but it was the way of true justice. And telling men no matter what rank they were what he truly felt about them; that was earnest truth, but a good way to get demoted and stuck in someplace like Loguetown for the rest of his life. Still, Smoker wasn't about to lie or try to hide the truth. If someone pissed him off, he'd tell them and deal with the consequences thereafter. Better than trying to pretend to be something else.
Well there are winners, and outlaws, and leaders, and lovers
Behind every man in the news
And the one thing I know is behind every one is a boy who had nothing to lose
Behind every man who has something say
There's a boy who had nothing to prove
And every hero was once, every villain was once, just a boy with a bad attitude.
How many times he had read the newspaper able to sift through other people's bullshit like it was telling apart sand from water? Frustrated that everyone else fell so easily to believing lies. Frustrated that they'd rather believe the lies than search for the truth lying underneath. Men who made the news; good or bad, Smoker suspected, were all like him. Rebellious punks who never said die, who never quit, who couldn't stand by and let injustices continue so long as they had breath in their body.
Keitha was the same way, as Smoker knew all too well. Her recklessness only reminded him of himself at her age. Only she'd probably get killed from it. His gloved grip on the handlebars of his bike tightened with a kind of fierce determination. If she wasn't careful, she was going to lose that. She'd be crushed by the sheer amount of men in the marines who didn't follow justice, by all the corruption and wrongs in the world. He worried that the same thing would happen to Tashigi but luckily the Sargeant Major didn't delve so deep in politics the way Keitha fearlessly did. Smoker wanted to protect that defiant edge in the red-head, even as it irked him and drove him crazy. It would be her saving grace, give her enough strength to toughen out the marines with her soul in tact... or it would break her.
Another girl floated through Smoker's memories. An old flame. One he'd also like to forget.
She says, "You never call, how come you're acting so tough?
You either hold me too tight or you don't hold me enough."
The accusation reminded him of something Keitha had once told him about how he was either so stressed he was ready to kill everything in sight, or so relaxed he was nearly comatose. He hadn't started things with Fayleen either. Smoker swallowed, tasting the bitter nicotine and soothing himself with the wind and smoke. She'd always been chasing him. Pink hair bobbing just out the back of his eye, trying to worm her way into whatever he was doing; much like Keitha always did. The key difference being that Fayleen hated things Smoker did. She couldn't stand his fights with his father, always feeling that he should have done as he was told to get ahead. She hated that he'd rather practice fighting pirates than go out for "fun", hated that his idea of fun was sparring. Hated that he didn't like being told what to do; trying to tell him what to do in her own girlish way.
Had Keitha ever ordered him around? Was he just thinking she hadn't because he was glossing her over in his own mind? When had he started to genuinely like the fiery red-head? She challenged him on a daily basis. She was a brat without the common sense to keep her trouble to herself. But then, perhaps, sometimes, every so often so was Smoker.
Don't be afraid of me angel I ain't about to clip your wings
Just put your feet on the ground and your arms around the real thing.
Keitha was an angel, in her own stupid way. She was feisty and annoying but she was sweet and far more naive than she thought. She wanted to help people, rescue them from danger, protect them even if they didn't deserve it. The kind of thing many women went into the marines for before realize they weren't cut out for it and switched to nursing or being a doctor. Her (current) captain could only hope she was cut out for a marine life, she'd be nothing but an asset to the marines in the long run; if she didn't break first.
You gotta love me for keeps, feather the nest
Aim for the future, give it your best.
For some reason Smoker couldn't fathom, Keitha actually seemed to appreciate him the way he already was. Gruff, grumpy, angry at the world, rebellious and all. The only answer Smoker could come up with was that she was purely insane. Nothing else made sense. That and she seemed to feel... safer around him? That couldn't be right. It made even less sense. He was dangerous. Dangerous for her physically, danger for her emotions (which seemed to go into hyper-drive of fury and rage around him), and definitely dangerous for her career.
Boy you were never gonna have a normal family life
Steaming up and speeding down the speedway on the back of your bike.
He wasn't going to have a family life, normal or otherwise. He couldn't get married, not with his dedication to justice, and he couldn't have kids out of fear for their lives. Truth told, that was why he liked kids. He wanted to protect their innocent smiles to be sure, but there was something there in that it was an enjoyment he'd never have. Chose to never have, perhaps, but still; one he wasn't going to get to normally enjoy. Besides, kids were a lot more fun if you didn't have to be the one to deal with their bad attitudes. If Smoker had kids the rotten bastards would probably all end up as pirates. Some gratitude.
Well there are winners, and outlaws, and leaders, and lovers
Behind every man in the news
And the one thing I know is behind every one is a boy who had nothing to lose
Behind every man who has something say
There's a boy who had nothing to prove
And every hero was once, every villain was once, just a boy with a bad attitude.
Smoker turned suddenly, Keitha gripping her knees tight against his thighs as if she'd been riding with him for years and knew exactly how to hold on. Maybe she was used to riding horses. He could see her as the kind of the girl that liked horses. She'd said once how her father was always trying to get her to act more feminine, perhaps this was one of things. Smoker personally failed to see how anyone could find her anything but feminine.
She wasn't a complete idiot like certain manipulative ditzes that sprang to mind but she was alluring, all curves, she knew how to walk in such a way that it got the attention of every male in sight and she could be manipulative as anyone else he'd ever known. But perhaps because Smoker was so used to Tashigi's swordswoman presence he forgot the stigmata so many women who relied on a sword face professionally. He'd been told the marines was an "old boy's club" but perhaps it was knowing too many sucessful women that made him forget why others would find this less than feminine.
Smoker chuckled, turning it quickly into a small cough so he wouldn't have to explain it to the girl on his back. Keitha took as unhealthy an interest in clothes as any girl he'd ever seen (though Tashigi certainly seemed to care less) but said it was based out of comfort -- something he could understand all too well. And while he personally found her kicks and nails and ear tugs all too feminine, perhaps it was the kind of thing that wasn't typically appreciated in a sex that was meant to be coy and demure. She definitely wasn't demure, not with her bad attitude.
Demure girls didn't kick down doors of commanding officers or threaten them with seastone or challenge them to sparring matches for the sake of trying to embarrass them in front of their own men. And they definitely didn't taunt the brass to their faces with coy little screw you notes, arrogantly assuming the brass were too stupid to figure them out. She was probably right in her assessement of HQ's intelligence and what they would make out of her reports; but it wasn't the kind of thing typically "nice girls" did. Smoker was glad. If she was like the other "nice" girls he'd known he really would have killed her.
"Bad attitude, you got us tearing our hair
Such a bad attitude but you just don't seem to care.
We try to lay down the rules but you were born to refuse
What's the world gonna do with a boy like you?
You've got it bad, you've got a bad attitude.
Smoker couldn't get the song out of his head. It was starting to get irritating. Not a bad song necessarily but anything could get annoying after four or five times. And the wind whistling across his face didn't seem to be helping him run away from the song or the memories. It was all because the idiot had mentioned her report. If she could have just kept it secret... Well to be fair, Smoker had wanted to know. He liked it that she (unlike him) was so easily amused and found almost everything funny.
They were high up in the mountains now, circling around the paths and surrounded by forests that bordered farming fields. The ocean was no longer visible but Keitha didn't seem to mind even though Smoker knew for a fact that she tended to get antsy when she was away from the ocean for too long, though truth told, so did he. It had to do with wanting adventure, and movement, and pirate hunting, and the ocean was always ready to supply those in abundance.
He pulled down a much smaller road, lined completely on trees, Keitha taking the advantage of his slowing down to lift her head up as if she was trying to memorize the route they were taking. Smoker had several specific destinations in mind but there was one in particular he had to see first. The gruff marine captain didn't want to but he felt obligated for some reason he didn't fully understand.
Winding through the forest, noticing that it was already reaching up on twilight Smoker realized he hadn't made Keitha eat lunch or dinner. Damn. Now he was going to have to make sure he fed the brat. She was like an obnoxious puppy he had had to take care of. Finally exiting the forest, headed for a clearer area, he slowed the bike down as they passed a bunch of tombstones. Keitha didn't say anything until they completely stopped, Smoker rummaging through his saddlebags for things he'd set aside some time ago knowing he'd need them. He'd been planning this particular part of the trip for a while now but thanks to her stupid blood drive getting pushed up sooner he hadn't had any time.
The red-head lieutenant tugged off the helmet, shaking out red hair. She left it on the seat, sliding down to follow Smoker. He didn't say anything, he certainly wasn't about to give an explanation; just walked through rows of tombstones. There was a temple of sorts, down a ways but Smoker ignored it and given that it looked rather unused, Keitha found the whole thing a bit creepy in the twilight. "Neh, Taisa," she shivered, rubbing her hands on grey-sleeved arms. "Bit spooky ain't it?"
She must have been spooked to slip into slang. As a writer (even of songs), she disliked using incorrect grammar for fear she'd develop bad habits and usually was overly cognizants of her choice of words -- which made the fact that she swore like an old crusty sailor, a bit unnerving sometimes. "You can go back to the bike if you wish," Smoker waved a gloved hand holding a pack of cigarettes towards the large motorcycle. "I won't be long."
Keitha looked around and shivered again, stepping closer to the large captain for protection. "Yeah you'd like that wouldn't you," she grumbled quietly but being so close, it wasn't hard to hear her. "I'd go over by the motorcycle and bam! Kidnapped by ghosts!"
Smoker chuckled. Being afraid of graveyards was such a little girl thing it made him truly doubt that she was full-grown marine officer most of the time. "Lieutenant," he shook his head still laughing, "There's no such thing as ghosts."
Keitha pouted, "That's just what they want you to think."
"Why would they want you to think that?" Smoker arched an eyebrow swearing at himself internally for indulging this idiotic conversation any further.
"To make it easier to kidnap you!" Keitha answered holding her hands out in a claw like motion that Smoker could only assume was meant to simulate ghosts grabbing people. Too bad it was too damn cute.
He started laughing again, "And what do they do once they kidnap you?"
"Eat you of course," Keitha rolled her eyes as if she shouldn't have to explain the behaviour of ghosts given that it was obvious.
Still laughing Smoker informed her firmly, "There's not such things as ghosts, Lieutenant."
"I dunno, Taisa... I've heard a lot of stories from the Grand Line," she shivered nervously looking around for things that would jump out and grab her.
"Not even on the Grand Line," Smoker shook his head with mirth.
Keitha frowned chewing her lip, "Then where do the stories come from?"
"Overactive imaginatons seeing things and assuming it's something else," Smoker suggested stopping in his stomping tracks at one tombstone in particular. It was pretty nondescript, nearly identical to the others but Keitha figured he must have known the way pretty well by now.
"I don't know Smoker. They have islands where nightmares come true and they used to say there was no such thing as mermaids and got proven wrong, didn't they?" Keitha asked, taking his arm for the reassurance that he was there and relatively solid flesh.
"When did they say that?" Smoker shook his head as he unceremoniously tossed the flowers down on the offering, before leaning down on his knees. Keitha stood standing, perhaps to watch for any oncoming danger.
"Hundreds and hundreds of years ago," Keitha frowned.
Smoker looked up at her, quite a switch from their usual arrangement. "Yeah, how do you know that?"
"Books," she shrugged simply. She did read a lot, especially for someone as hyperactive as her. He usually liked her taste in books; they corresponded nicely with his own collection and he'd had occasion to "borrow" some of hers without asking and return them before she noticed they were gone.
"Are you sure it wasn't fiction?" he gently kidded her, putting down the box of cigarettes and lighting them in the stone offering instead of the usual incense.
"Yeah," she replied distractedly, still taking another darting look around before accidentally bumping his back with her knee in her attempts to stay close to him.
Smoker popped open the bottlecap on a bottle of wine, with a thumb before dumping the red contents over the grave top. With that he left the empty bottle with the still burning cigarettes, stood up and went back to the vehicle, as casual, nonchalant and unreadable as ever.
"That's it?" Keitha asked in some mild confusion as she hopped after him.
Smoker shrugged broad shoulders gone a little more tense than he remembered, "That's it."
Keitha frowned, looking up at his carefully guarded face and back at the tomb where she could no longer make out the name (though even if she had, it wouldn't do her any good to clear things up). "You ok?" she asked nervously, jumping as wind whistled by them, brushing her hair back and making her cling to his arm in fright.
"Shouldn't you be more worried about you?" Smoker arched an eyebrow smirking. "You're the one ready to jump out of your skin."
Shivering again and adjusting shoulders she grunted at this. "I mean with the..." she trailed off knowing he wasn't going to explain and simply sighed. "Where are we going now?"
"I have to check in on several of the villages and make sure there's no problems. Technically they're under my jurisdiction and I haven't checked up on them awhile. Though really... I can't remember the last time they had anything resembling trouble that require a marine captain to fix," Smoker sighed, taking a long drag on his cigars.
"Yeah?" Keith was still shivering. Smoker was half-tempted to put his jacket on her in case she was cold. "Sounds fun."
Smoker growled irritably climbing into his motorcycle, "Once again, Lieutenant, you and I have very different defintions of what is fun."
Keitha giggled at this as she climbed back on, curling up tight behind him. She didn't say anything more to this, so Smoker let the engine roar to life once more, letting the single headlight guide his way. By the time they reached their destination the tiny lieutenant had stopped shivering even though it'd gotten colder with the higher elevation and nightfall, so Smoker figured it was just because she was scared of graveyards after all. How childish. And a little too cute. He wished he could just see it as being annoying (since she'd forced her way to coming anyways) but it really was endearing.
Smoker parked his bike in the town square knowing that no one used it for anything and no one would be stupid enough to touch it. Keitha hopped off again, putting the helmet on his seat before following him inside an inn. "The mayor runs the place so if anything's up he'll let me know," Smoker explained over his shoulder, Keitha following him in a small daze as if she'd fallen asleep, blinking and trying to take the town in. "And you need to eat some food."
"Awww Taisa," she protested but her stomach growled giving her away and the dark look Smoker shot her was enough to silence her objections. "Yeah, yeah, fine. Food."
"It's pretty good," Smoker informed her. "The chef here really knows his stuff and given the location they get all the fresh stuff from right in town." The marine captain also happened to like the mayor's home-brewed ale but she didn't need to know that.
The lieutenant followed him inside, stifling a yawn -- maybe she had fallen asleep but it wasn't that late. She sat down next to him on a barstool, following suit and to Smoker's immense appreciation, didn't decide to spin around on it like she always did at the Gold Roger. He didn't think he could bear the embarrassment of bringing a kid like her in if she did.
"Ahhhh Smoker-Taisa!" the innkeeper/mayor greeted him happily, "It's been a while hasn't it?"
Smoker nodded. "It has. Anything I should know about before ordering a plate of your chef's famous roast beef and mashed potatoes?"
"Oh they're not famous," the mayor said modestly. "But everything's as quiet as ever. You're too kind to check in on us."
Keitha tilted her head at the captain. Polite civilties were not his strong point and he usually didn't put up with anybody trying to kiss up to him. Perhaps them the civilties were genuine between them? They didn't seem fake but they did seem like every other person's when they were trying to merely be polite.
"Make sure you get her something on my tab," Smoker gestured his head towards Keitha, "The little rabbit doesn't eat as much as she should."
Angry irritation flickering across her face, Keitha scowled, "I eat just fine thanks. And I can pay for myself."
"Suit yourself," Smoker rolled his eyes. "As long as you eat, I don't care."
"Who is she?" the mayor asked as handed Keitha a menu.
"Musician," Smoker grumbled over cigars, "I caught her masquerading as a marine. An officer no less. Claims to be a lieutenant."
Keitha pouted, "Awww Taisa that's kind of harsh."
"If true," he pointed out.
"Well I figure if you can catch pirates, anyone can," she batted her eyelashes at him sweetly but as sarcastic as ever.
Smoker chuckled darkly at this with a look that promised to punish her ten ways from Sunday. Deciding it to be an inside joke that he doesn't want to know about, the mayor took the red-head's order and shuffled off to the kitchens. As if Keitha wasn't even there, Smoker grabbed one of the newspapers from near the front and started skimming through it. Keitha arched an eyebrow at this but shrugged and pulled out her panpipes, mentally marking down the fingering and notes.
"New instrument?" Smoker asked, still buried behind his paper, one leg crossed over the other.
"Yeah, well kind of new. I got it in Loguetown's marketplace a couple of weeks ago. You know, right before the thing with Aiden," she answered, not blowing into it and risk the disturbing the peace of the place.
Smoker said nothing to this and made no movement other than turning the page before sitting there in dead silence once more as if she wasn't there.
Fidgety as always, Keitha squirmed in her seat. "Actually it's more like I got conned into buying it," she chuckled. "Those marketplace vendors are voracious."
"Ben," Smoker told her.
She stared at him in utter confusion at this one word response. For a second she thought that must be the mayor's name and he was calling the man over to have Keitha removed from earshot. Always with the threatening to kill her...
"The vendor of the panpipes. He plays them well. His name is Ben," Smoker stated gruffly, turning another page.
"He's evil," Keitha moped looking down at her panpipes, "It's a good instrument but I can't get it to sound anything like him."
Smoker lowered the paper a fraction of inch, and muttered, "You're holding it wrong."
Keitha looked down at her hands, one in the middle, the other on the end. She couldn't see what was wrong.
Luckily Smoker was in a good enough mood to clarify, "You're holding it like a flute. You keep closing your hand over the end to hold off the sound but you don't have to. You should hold it like a harmonica. One hand on the middle, and don't put your hand on the end, just don't blow into the notes you don't."
"It's kind of big Taisa," she objected.
"Just trust me," he grumbled, flipping the newspaper back up and ignoring her once more.
Keitha looked down at her small hand cupped around the reeds and colored string. Harmonica. Right. She suddenly had a burst of inspiration and couldn't wait to try it out. She looked around the room furtively but couldn't seem to bring herself to start playing in public.
"Oh!" the mayor said with a note of surprise as he walked in with their drinks, "You really are a musician!"
Smoker arched an eyebrow, "I said she was, didn't I?"
A giant bead of sweat seemed to form on the innkeeper's head, "You did, yes. I'm sorry."
Keitha grinned sardonically.
The mayor passed Smoker his ale, giving Keitha a small...
"Lieutenant," Smoker asked sarcastically, as he emphasized her rank as if she was faking it, "What is that?"
"Ale," she shrugged, "I heard it was good here."
Smoker seemed surprised but said nothing to this.
"Um?" the Mayor asked nervously, "Should I not have let her have one?"
"What?" Smoker said once again underneath his newspaper, "No, it's fine," he waved a hand dismissively.
She sipped it slowly, "Mmm... It is as good as everyone says," she beamed at the mayor who seemed embarrassed but pleaseed.
Smoker snorted, but said nothing, sipping his own ale.
"Aren't you going to play, Miss?" the innkeeper ventured, wringing his hands on an apron.
"Huh? What? Oh this?" Keitha laughed nervously, "I'm not really sure I have it down yet. And it'd be impolite to..."
The mayor cut her off, "Oh no! I'd love to hear!"
She blinked nervously, fidgeting on her stool. "Well um... alright," she shot glance at Smoker, still reading his paper.
She took his advice and it did sound better, though nothing close to Ben's. She played a song she'd had stuck in her head for a while, Smoker's ears perked at the notes before he burrowed even deeper into the paper.
"It's very nice, Miss," the innkeeper beamed encouragingly. "What's the name of the song?"
"Bad Attitude," she chuckled. "It's not really the right instrument for it... doesn't really fit the song but I can't seem to get it out of my head."
"I liked it," the mayor smiled, "You've got a real talent for it."
Keitha blushed, "Oh no... my brother's the bard. I just kid around with it really."
"Well if you ever want to take it professional, you're welcome to play here anytime. Skill like that would probably draw customers," the mayor offered.
The lieutenant blushed some more, murmuring, "Thanks... I'll consider it.
Smoker lowered his paper some, growling over cigars, "How long has that song been stuck in your head?" He was convinced now she must have been singing or humming it earlier and it was all her fault it was stuck in his.
"I don't know," she leaned back against the wall, "An hour? A little before we reached town but not back at the... other thing."
Smoker sighed. Damn. Not her fault. She wasn't lying, he could tell with her easily enough. Still that raised the question of how it got stuck in her head. Freaky coincidence? Had he accidentally been singing it or humming it himself? Maybe it was like the connection she claimed to have with her brother. Still it seemed strange. Did she have a strange connection with him? It made him nervous to even consider. If she could get inside his head that easily, dealing with her was going to be even harder than it already was.
Reburying himself in the newspaper once again like he hadn't spoken at all, he determinedly skimmed through articles. Most of it was bullshit as always but there was something soothing to the basic necessary routine of it. As the mayor turned to go back to the kitchen he whispered softly in Smoker's ear in passing, "We've had some trouble with bandits. Small time, trying to make a name for themselves. I think the leader fancies himself a whatchamacallit? One of those yakuza leaders? I forget. Anyway we could sure use the help. He'll probably stop by later for 'protection' money."
Smoker's ears laid back, looking for all the world like a wolf having caught the scent of prey, and the mayor shuffled into his kitchen as if he hadn't said anything. Keitha caught Smoker's reaction and titled her head to the side, watching him continue to read the newspaper as though nothing had been said. She couldn't hear the mayor's whisper and didn't seem realize the mayor had even secretly shared something with her captain so she looked around as though trying to figure out what he was hearing.
Eventually she gave up with a small shrug and since Smoker didn't seem talkative went back her to her pan flute. She began playing another song, swiveling her head to reach the notes she wanted. As she finished her song (Smoker felt he should have recognized it, something about birds or fish or both but he still couldn't get Bad Attitude out of his head) she cocked her head to the side watching him. "Oi Taisa," she called, "How do I get a flat or sharp note?"
She expected him to snap at her that he had no idea and that she should leave him alone letting him go back to his paper. Instead he surprised as he was beginning to do all too often. "Loosen and tighten your jaw," he answered nonchalantly.
The red-head blinked in stunned amazement. "You said you didn't know anything about music!" she sulked accusingly.
"I don't," he ruffled his paper.
"Then how do you know so much about this thing?" she held out the reeds, still pouting.
Smoker's jaw shifted as he determinedly ignored her.
"I bet you secretly play it too," she grumbled testing an E flat and F sharp.
The marine captain's ears laid back on his head again. "I might have been suckered into buying one too," he admitted in a low grumble.
Keitha burst into delighted laughter. "I knew it!" she grinned wickedly as she often did when he made such confessions. She pushed the pipes at him. "Play something."
Smoker arched an eyebrow. He truthfully didn't know much about music. He only played by ear and while his ears were good, he couldn't have read or plaid from sheet music to save his life and it wasn't even really a passing interest. Even though she'd only been playing for a couple of weeks she was leagues better than him already. "No," he hid behind the paper.
"Please?" she begged with saucer eyes.
The White Hunter's stomach lurched. There was no way she was going to convince him to embarrass himself in public like this. If she wanted to do it herself that was all fine and well but he was not going to join her. "Definitely not," he growled trying to deter her with a threatening voice.
"I bet you're great," she coaxed, slim fingers slipping into his lap almost unconciously.
Smoker avoided looking at her, taking a sip of his ale and trying to hide behind the newspaper again, "No."
"Please?" she wheedled, her hand sliding up from his knee to brush along his inner thigh. Nope, definitely deliberate then. Smoker took a deep breath feeling his pulse quicken. He made a mistake and just as he was about to tell her to back off, he looked down into her eyes. She was peering up at him, head almost in his lap, turned just right so that her hair gave her a protective wounded look. Her usual sarcastic smirk was gone, in place the genuine little girl smile he loved so much, her eyes wide blue-green and genuine. He clenched his jaw around cigars and glanced at the kitchen door to make sure no one was going to come out.
"I want to see how it's done," Keitha said with a hint of pout to her bottom lip.
Smoker swallowed hard. Why'd she have to be so damn cute when she did that? "Only a little," he vowed, still cursing himself for being so weak.
"Yay!" she clapped her hands together in delight, sitting back upright in her own chair. The tall marine really wished that kind of response didn't secretly delight him as well. It was always nice to see her face light up like a child's at a carnival but really, it shouldn't be so nice, it should be annoying. It was loud and childish and.... too damn cute.
Sighing heavily, Smoker put a gloved hand over her instrument, bringing it up to his lips and blowing softly. He didn't want to play Bad Attitude and let her know it had been stuck in his head all morning and day so he tried to think of something else. He couldn't remember all the lyrics or even half of the notes, just the chorus and one or two of the verses but he played what he knew for her. Keitha's eyes shone with delight, her face a miniature picture of the kind of rapture only Smoker seemed to be able to give her. He kept nervously eying the kitchen doors, refusing to be caught playing like the amateur he was and hastily gave her back the pipes when he finished what he remembered of the song.
"Thank-you Smoker," Keitha murmured softly, "That was beautiful."
Smoker grunted. "And if you ever bring this up again I'll kill you."
She grinned, sarcastic as ever and replied, "Yeah I know," before chuckling to herself and downing her ale.
Smoker arched an eyebrow behind his paper at this behaviour. Had she even had any alcohol before? She was downing it like a pro, shrugging off the burn like she was more than familiar to it. But if she liked alcohol so much why did she never have any around him before this even when they'd been in bars? Maybe she was trying to act familiar but really this still fairly new to her. Smoker frowned, she could get hurt doing that.
As Mayor Bombadil brought both her and Smoker another ale, Keitha went back to practicing Bad Attitude once more. Great. Just what he needed. That was going to get out of his head real fast. Just as he was about to ask her if she knew any other songs, the innkeeper returned carrying their food. "Sorry it took so long," he said grinning abashedly, "But you know what they say... Excellence takes time."
"It's perfect timing Mayor," Smoker said easily as he folded up the newspaper. He'd run out of anything interesting to read in it and Smoker was going to snap from another round of the chorus to Bad Attitude on pipes she herself thought were an inappropriate instrument for the song. They really were all wrong for the song, Smoker mused to himself. They lacked the energetic charge and power the song needed that was so reminiscent of motorcycles and jitte sparring and punches and kicks and yelling at superior officers.
The panpipes were really much better suited for the quiet, thoughtful kind of songs Keitha usually played on her flute. Something that was woodsy and reflective, not an angry teenager frustrated with the world. Maybe she just really had the song stuck in her head though. Smoker certainly couldn't seem to get rid of it but he was currently blaming her for starting it in the first place.
"Yay!" Keitha declared gleefully, eyes lighting up on the plate placed in front of her, "I'm starving!" She cut up a bite of her cranberry chicken and seemed to melt into it. "Oh, this is so good..." she seemed to be purring.
"Haha, I'm glad you like it Miss," the mayor chuckled, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "Everything to your satisfaction, Captain?"
Smoker took a swig of ale to wash down his own mouthful of delicious food. "Of course," he grinned. He wanted to pass along the message that he still had his eyes and ears open for the bandits but the Mayor didn't seem to want it discussed out loud so the man was just going to have to trust the marine.
The mayor nodded thoughtfully, seeming to have caught the message nonetheless. "I'll be in the back then, call if you need anything."
Keitha pounced on her food, ravenously devouring it like a cat eating a fish. "So good," she murmured almost to herself.
Smoker shook his head. She really was enjoying the food. At first he thought it was for his benefit since he was forcing her to eat but she seemed delighted. Maybe she was just a ridiculously picky eater and didn't like marine barracks food. Obnoxious brat. But then he remembered at the last restaurant they'd been at she'd only had a tiny sandwich. She was a weird kid. He couldn't seem to get a beat on her.
Wolfing down his own food, Smoker started to dawdle as he neared the end of it. He needed an excuse to stand watch over the inn until the bandit leader showed up and Keitha would ask too many questions about why they weren't checking in on other towns if he just sat there drinking. She seemed to realize something was up nonetheless since Smoker almost always finished his food before her even though she ate considerably less.
Sipping her second ale (and starting to get a little woozy from it it looked it) she murmured softly, "Oi Taisa."
"Mmm?" he replied, twirling his fork in more mashed potatoes.
"You gonna tell me what you're up to?" she asked, eyes narrowing on him.
"Nope," he answered simply.
She sighed leaning back again, kicking a heel up onto her other leg in imitation of him, "Fine be that way. But I'm going to figure it out eventually."
"Mmm-hmmm, you do that," Smoker told her callously. She sighed again fingering her pipes once more. Luckily the bandit arrived, sparing him from listening to Bad Attitude on the miniature mouth organ again.
"Oi!" a tall man with a sword strapped into his haramaki, not even sheathed, demanded of Smoker, "You that marine they're always talking about?"
"Who wants to know?" Smoker asked languidly.
"This is my town now. You better spread the word," he answered in a challenging tone.
Keitha burst out laughing, holding her sides she was laughing so hard, "Has saying that, ever worked?"
As silly as the situation was, laughing didn't really seem like the appropriate response. If the Mayor was having troubles enough to be a little afraid of the man, there had to be more than met the eye. "Girl," Smoker growled warningly, "Stay out of it."
She snorted and shook her head, still grinning with amusement.
The bandit didn't seem about to let it go. "I've defeated hundreds of men in battle, so yeah, you could say it works for me."
"Wow," Keitha grinned even more mockingly than before, "A whole hundred. Can you even count that high or do you just parrot back words you've heard other people use?"
Smoker put a gloved hand over his eyes, this was not going to turn out well.
The bandit spluttered angrily, "You'll pay for that lass!" he growled pulling out his sword.
"What are you supposed to be, anyways?" Keitha looked him up and down, arms resting behind her on the bar, unphased by his slow withdrawl of the weapon, "Some sort of pirate?"
"No way!" he answered indignantly, bringing the blade to her neck slowly, "I'm a bandit!" Smoker decided not to rescue her this time. She needed to learn self-control or at least when to keep her mouth shut.
Her eyes narrowed with a dangerous glint Smoker hadn't seen ever before but they sprang back to her cocky "I'm too drunk to care," look she'd had on before. "What was that?" she asked, seeming to check her nails for any breaks.
"I'm a mountain bandit. I've never fought a woman before but I'll be happy to make an exception for the arrogance," he told her, twisting the blade so that it shined from the lamplight and Keitha had to move her head or be cut. He seemed to have completely forgotten that there was a famous marine captain sitting next to her. Smoker was just about to capture the idiot, refusing to rescue Keitha be damned, he wasn't going to watch her get cut up just because she couldn't handle a mug or two of ale but Keitha sprang into action like a viper.
She darted from her stool, the Benton in her hand so quickly it was as if the sabre was a part of her that just jumped into play when she wanted rather than having to be withdrawn. She was half the size of the bandit but as Smoker knew full well, she actually preferred fighting people much larger than herself. The movements were almost too quick for Smoker to see. Did she always fight like this? He couldn't seem to remember her moving so fast when he'd sparred with her but maybe it was just because she wasn't facing him at the moment. His men had always said she seemed to move like lightning.
A couple of quick slashes and the bandit didn't even have time to respond or even realize what was happening before he crumbled to the ground, Keitha leaning over him, the Benton at his neck and his own sword kicked away down the end of the bar. Having defeated hundreds of men was clearly an exaggeration on his part but dozens was possible and Mayor Bombadil had his own skill at fighting, enough that the town hadn't had to deal with too many punks before for as long as Smoker had known it.
"I hate bandits," Keitha growled with a ferocious intensity her commander was unused to. Passion was certainly common in Kietha but not the kind of almost uncontrolled rage and downright loathing. "Freaking scum too scared to go on the ocean, trying to take up the weaker areas for your own. Just another goddam bully on the playground picking on kids half your size."
It was a sentiment Smoker often shared about most pirates. And then his eyes widened as he realized something. Keitha was often too soft on pirates in his opinion. She hated killing them and despite being a trained assassin, he knew full well that she'd never driven her blade into anyone with the intent to kill. Always, always, she tried to simply disable her foe so that she could arrest them. Admirable, Smoker himself disliked killing anyone he didn't absolutely have to and was well-known for his arrest record of disabling rather than kill his prisoners but it was also risky. It was harder to do and far chancier.
But she'd completely cut the man's hamstring without hesitation and her little arms were trembling on her blade's hilt not because she was upset about doing it but because she wanted to kill the man. Keitha, who hadn't even been satisfied with dashing pirates on the rocks and letting them drown on their own but had begged him in a soft whisper to go pick up the survivors. Keitha who could have slit the throat of one of Blue-Cheek's pirates cornering her in an alley but instead kept trying to fight them defensively to the point it almost got her killed.
That same red-headed almost too kind-hearted Keitha was trembling with the attempts to cool down her rage enough not to kill this man, who while clearly an idiot, hadn't killed anyone and was small-time at best. Smoker leaped to his feet, dashing over to pull her sword away if necessary. "Lieutenant," he prodded softly. No response, her eyes still boring into the greasy-haired bandit who was trying to back away and whimpering in pain from his leg. "Keitha!" he called more urgently, taking the blade from her hands and putting it back in the sheath on her back. "You hamstringed him," he reminded softly, still sounding as gruff as ever, "He's not going to be moving."
Blinking as if being pulled out of a trance, Keitha looked up at her captain, rage and frustration still flickering across her face.
"No less than he deserves," she growled, eyes harder than he'd ever seen them. What happened to her in the span of a whole fifteen minutes? That long ago she'd been a happy child and suddenly she was... well like him. Angry at the world and grappling inner demons. It was unnerving. She tossed a pouch of berri on the table (more than enough to pay for the meal, tip and then some. It always made him wonder where she got it all) and stormed outside.
"Hey, Bombadil?" Smoker called, keeping his eye on the bandit. He almost felt sorry for the man.
"Oh yes, Smoker-Taisa?" the mayor immediately saw the tall bandit on the floor. "Oh!" he said pleased but flustered, "You caught him already?"
"Not me," the captain shook his head in wonderment, "Seems our little lieutenant is more of a marine than I realized." Confusion flickered across the mayor's face but Smoker continued, "Can you handle taking him to your jail on your own or do you need help?"
"I can take it from here," the mayor puffed out his chest proudly.
"Make sure you get him a crutch. He's been hamstringed," Smoker informed the mayor, who winced at this information before grimly deciding it must have been necessary. The White Hunter put his own berri on the counter before frowning and following the lieutenant outside.
She was leaning with her back against the wall, looking up at the stars and running a hand through her crimson hair. "Shit," she said softly as he joined her, curious at her earlier outburst. "It's been a long time since I almost lost control like that."
So much rage... how did she contain it all? Smoker barely had a grip on his own, always it leaked out at unexpected moments. Did she normally channel it through everything else? Swordfights? Music? Was that the true source of her boundless energy.
"What happened in there Lieutenant?" Smoker growled gruffly.
"The last time I saw stars this bright was in the middle of the ocean," Keitha murmured softly ignoring his question.
Smoker twitched. She didn't always answer directly, but she almost always answered and truthfully at that. To have her blatantly ignore him... "Lieutenant," he growled, "I want an answer and that's an order."
She lowered her gaze to his steely eyes, "It's a long story Taisa."
"Fortunately I've got time," he answered her dryly, wishing he'd had another mug of Bombadil's semi-famous ale, "We're going for a walk."
Keitha sighed, hunching shoulders forward but followed obediently like a small but loyal dog that knew it was about to be scolded.