Chapter Text
Roronoa Zoro is about to shove his entire fist up a blond douchebag’s nose and probably get arrested when the doors of the restaurant literally fly off their hinges. He manages to duck out of the way when the splintered wood comes flying his way, but the blond dickweed isn’t so lucky and goes down like the useless sack of shit he is.
A teenage boy is standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips and a wailing pink haired twerp clinging to his shirt. There’s a whole lot of shouting after that, but Zoro’s too busy draining the rest of his booze to pay any of it much mind.
That is, until the new arrival slams his hands down on his table and yells right in his face.
“Roronoa Zoro! Help me!” What should be a plea or a request comes out as a demand, and Zoro can’t help but blink at the new kid. It’s been a long time since anyone tried to boss him around.
Somewhere to their left, buried under the remains of the doors, the blond guy seems to be proclaiming his imminent vengeance or something. Zoro doesn’t pay the slurred threats any mind, and instead leans back in his seat a bit more, crossing his arms behind his head.
Helping people isn’t really his thing, but denying people help isn’t exactly either. Admittedly, he’s a bit curious about where this is going. “With what?”
Apparently pleased with his neutral response, the boy notably relaxes, losing all of his urgency for something much more casual. He grabs the open chair and flips it around, long arms draping over the back as he sits down back to front. Like most here in the East Blue, he’s a slender thing, all spindly limbs and wide eyes, made all the more obvious by his slouching posture. He’s got red beads hanging around his neck, alongside an old straw hat. His nervous companion stands behind him, waving pale arms around and stuttering.
“I need help finding a pirate.” The boy says, with a blank, thoughtless face. He’s got that sort of look about him, like he’s lost but isn’t worried about it. Like he’s clueless and not looking to rectify it.
Zoro waits for the elaboration. It doesn’t come. “...Any pirate?”
“No!” The boy huffs, grabbing his hat and firmly putting it on. “The stupid pirate that stole my hat.”
Zoro eyes drift up to the straw hat freshly seated on the boy’s head, and his eyebrows follow.
“Not this hat!” The boy snaps as his hand beats the bar counter. “My hat!”
Zoro might be drunk. That might explain why this conversation isn’t making much sense. He looks suspiciously at the cheap ale he ordered because he didn't have enough money to buy a halfway decent bottle of sake, and decides, no, he’s probably relatively sober still.
Which is a point in the kid’s favor, actually. He could get a full wallet out of this, depending on exactly how worthwhile the mark was. And a full wallet means some decent booze.
Zoro opens his mouth to maybe agree, and it’s about that point that the ‘getting arrested’ part comes back with a vengeance.
The boy’s name is Monkey D. Luffy: he’s strong enough to punch the metal jaw clean off a man triple his size, and he’s left his home island for the first time because his favorite hat was stolen by a cheeky pirate. The very old, very worn straw hat the pirate left behind is his only lead, so he always wears it around his neck, day and night.
Zoro will admit, he’s pretty much morbidly fascinated by the whole thing.
They leave the pink haired kid with the surprisingly grateful Marines and hit up the nearest hunter bar. Unlike most places, these bars aren’t hard to find, if only because they’re so numerous in this day and age. They’ve reached the late stages of the Pirate King’s reign, and more and more people are aiming to be what Gold Roger is for their own sea. Especially here in the East Blue, home sea of the King himself, where every idiot with a boat thinks he’s got a chance of taking the throne.
They live in a lawless era, and there’s more than enough bounties to go around. From the bigwigs in the government to small town mayors, everyone is desperate to curb the pirate threat. As a result, the walls are plastered with bounties ranging from big to small, old to new, impossible to child’s play.
Zoro taps his knuckles against the bar’s counter, and the matron takes one glance at his hair, his earrings, and the bandana around his bicep before she straightens and turns away. When she comes back, her arms are filled with piles of posters that she lays out before them.
“These all the pirates active in the East Blue?” He asks mostly for Luffy’s sake, whose head is swiveling around in every direction as he tries to take everything in. He’s still got that blank, wide-eyed look about him that is becoming all too familiar. It feels a bit like Zoro’s brought a child to the bar, not a seventeen year old that can bench press stone statues.
“That we know of, aye.” The matron says as she prepares him some sake. Good woman.
“There’s so many…” Luffy picks up a few posters and unsubtly slumps against the counter within moments of looking at them. From over his elbow, he peeks at Zoro with an imploring look in his eye. “Do we have to look through all of them?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Zoro takes a deep breath and tries to remember everything his old master taught him about patience. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much, but it's enough to temper his bubbling yell into an aggravated sigh.
“It would be easy if you knew the guy’s name or had a picture. Or even what range bounty we’re talking about here…”
Luffy pouts at Zoro’s lack of sympathy, his brow furrowing as he stares down at the piles and piles of yellowed pages. For a moment, he’s mostly quiet except for the soft whine building in the back of his throat. Then he peeks up at Zoro once more. “Maybe it would just be faster to catch them all?”
Zoro chokes on his sake.
It’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. And yet…
“Now you’re talking…”