I have such a lack of confidence when it comes to releasing new chapters for my stories. It's caused a massive delay in getting any updates out, and I apologize for that. This chapter has been sitting on my computer for months, finished. I made some minor changes only a little while ago, and just never got around to posting it because of how poorly I view my writing sometimes.

I'm going to work harder on my updating in the hopes of sparking greater reviews from you all that have been reading, following and favoriting. Obviously, what is important is getting the chapters out so that there's content to be had rather than four measly chapters that could be something good.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and if anything seems off, or seems good, please do let me know!

Disclaimer: {One Piece, the world, and its characters, belong to Oda. OCs belong to me. Definitions typically belong to the Webster online dictionary.}

5. The Wait

cacophony (n.) - a harsh discordant mixture of sounds

Red had been waiting. Waiting, constantly checking, pacing. Being a homebody was something he felt he could never grow accustomed to. After having been selected – though, 'aggressively forced into' seemed more fitting – for the position as Rosalia's caretaker, Red's unending freedom had slowly dwindled away, until his existence became what it was now: a newspaper reading, shogi playing, cooking, babysitter.

And as any and all who've ever been subjected to this decidedly necessary, yet unbelievably boring concept of waiting: it gets old. As the clock continues to perform the same revolutions every day, mimicking the sun, so too does mundanity continue to ebb and flow into this endless cycle of drudgery.

He'd told Rosalia this fact when she was a child. He'd continued to enlighten her with ideas of what's out there, beyond the confines of the home, of the island, of rules and regulations. And as she aged and divulged into the poetic tales of the many great authors, the lexical masterminds of the world, Red realized a sad truth: he'd grown old. Not visibly; mentally. He'd aged in his outlook of the world, having accepted, with a somber heart, that the adventures of the past would remain there, so long as he were to stay on this island.

As he'd grown complacent in his behavior, Red had assumed that every night Rosalia returned from work would be like the last. He'd grown so used to everything she did. The majority of his existence, exciting or simplistic, was based on what Rosalia said or did. Which is why, as he sat there, reading an old paper in his favorite armchair, the names of the New World stole his breath, shocking him to the very core, rekindling a dying flame of emotion.

"Blackbeard." The name seemed to ring on endlessly in his ears, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in excitement. Had Rosalia been more awake, she might have seen the feral-like look on her friend's face, his eyes slowly unveiling the fires of adventure and rebellion. He'd begun to clench his teeth, contemplating how to read the situation without yelling out in complete jubilance.

Finally, after gradually collecting himself to a less energetic state, he uttered, "Blackbeard?"

Rosalia opened her dozing eyes, her breaths having become calmer as she was in the process of drifting off to sleep. Half-lidded, she regarded his question, and then nodded. "That's his name, yeah."

"Did he give you anything else? A full-name?"

Rosalia shook her head. "Just Blackbeard, Red. I'm sure when Ace wakes up, he'll be able to tell you more."

Red frowned, having taken in how exhausted she was. Normally, she'd be reading, or taking note of something she'd noticed. She'd spoken cognitively, but each word had become heavier when said aloud. He stood up, proceeding to cover her with a cream-colored blanket previously strewn haphazardly on the back of his chair. As soon as her breaths resumed to their gentle, relaxed ways, Red contemplated how long he'd have to wait for the pirate Rosalia brought back to their home to wake up.

He debated kicking the young pirate awake. While the action would certainly be a felicitous one for himself, as the pirate would most assuredly become startled enough to wake, the consequences could easily negate the desired outcome. So, in the wake of this revelation, Red huffed in annoyance and proceeded to perform an action only he could do extremely well: wait.

It was almost laughable how ridiculous this game had gotten. That his life's path was to wait, wait, wait and then eventually accept whatever the outcome of waiting was.

Perhaps he was experiencing a mid-life crisis years too early? Perhaps this was retribution for the deeds he'd done in the past? Or, perhaps, this waiting game was simply retaliation for assisting Rosalia years ago?

He wanted to laugh. He really did.

However, the wheels of time decided he'd waited long enough.

A slight shuffling noise arose from where the pirate had been disgracefully dropped. A foot moved, rocking on its heel. Then a hand, the fingers stretching and shrinking, probably trying to identify the floor they were on. And then the raising of the head, abrupt, flinchingly quick.

Normal. All decidedly normal reactions for an individual of his caliber. Red shook his head, the disbelief ever-present on his face.

They made eye-contact, and suddenly, Ace was up, flames slowly starting to light his left-arm. The response was certainly not one out of fear, simply self-defense.

"You're fine, Ace."

Ace's flames seemed to pause, the slivers of flame contemplating their next course of action.

"Rosalia's on the couch," he jutted his chin in her direction. "No need to be hasty." Red's hands raised, palms open, signally a lack of danger, at least for the time being.

The flames went out. Their owner's mind apparently away, deep in thought. Ace lifted his head, making it apparent that he would stand his ground if necessary. "And you are?"

Red smiled. Ace behaved in a manner akin to Rosalia's: cautious, yet not timid. It was a respectable approach when meeting strangers. "Her caretaker of sorts," he remarked sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. "If I were worried about you, trust me, we wouldn't be having a conversation."

"And why's that?"

His smile grew. "Well, for starters, you'd be dead."

Ace's eyes grew wide, a quiet fire smoldering within them. The room was tense. Not typically an approach Red was accustomed to taking, the current way the discussion was going was anything but peaceful.

"She said you're after a pirate. Named 'Blackbeard,' or something."

The topic change startled Ace. He felt unsteady in Red's presence – that much was obvious. He felt only worry about the man, which was why his flames were so readily available. Yet, this inkling of danger slackened when he saw Rosalia asleep. Debating how exactly to respond, Ace bit the bullet and grunted out, "I am."

"You prepared to be a murderer?" The inquiry was nonchalant; Red was aloof in that way. But for Ace, the question carried a different form of weight, him being a youth, right out of his teen years.

"An eye for an eye; a life for a life," Ace said, knowing that he carried the responsibility of a division commander on his shoulders. "He killed someone close to me."

Red mulled over Ace's words, impressed by how simple he made it seem. "You know," he began, "when she was a child," he pointed to Rosalia, "all she ever wanted was to wield a blade." Red smiled at the memory. "She'd – somehow – acquire some of the sharpest knives she could find, and cut things: bread, clothing, furniture. She had an innate desire to attack." He paused, seeing Ace angle his head to the left. "I asked her to kill a rabbit for me; skin it. Things of that nature. She wanted to cut, she'd have to learn how to kill," he placed his elbow on the armrest to prop his chin. "Rosalia cried, begged me to come up with anything else imaginable. She screamed that it was wrong, unethical. That the rabbit was a living being."

After a short pause, Red said, "You know, she wasn't wrong. In fact, when considering how a child perceives the world, what she said was powerful. Powerful and naïve."

Ace looked at him, prompting him to continue. "You can give a child a book, and they can decide whether or not they want to read it. If they do, they learn. In the same way, you can give a man a weapon, and they can decide whether they want to use it. The difference here," Red points with his two index fingers, one to the left, one to the right, creating a large 'V'. "The difference here is that your opportunity becomes exponentially larger. You can take the weapon and kill, or take the weapon and defend. Or, you can reject the weapon, and be ignorant of the ways of violence."

"Your point?" Ace asked, understanding some of what was said.

"My point is this: You have this weapon – this Devil Fruit. And when it matters most, in our case, in 'killing this rabbit,' are you in the position to kill?" Red let the question hang, knowing he'd chipped away at something that'd been bothering Ace. "This man was a friend of yours. The chance you get cold feet is far greater than me advising that Rose goes and ends the life of a rabbit.

"In two days, you have the ability to chase after this man again. Or, you can return to your captain's ship, embrace the men you've bonded with, and handle the situation differently." Red sighed. "The choice is ultimately yours, but if," he gestured to Rosalia, "she hears your plans, you might have to rethink your entire state of being."

He stood up. "I won't keep you awake, narcoleptic nap in or not. Sleep, and in the morning, the three of us can discuss your plans for leaving the island." Giving Ace one last look, he remarked, "I'm Red, by the way. Just thought I'd add in that detail."

As he ventured down the hall, Red frowned.

The name 'Blackbeard' and the man christened with said name – perhaps, this was a situation darker than he'd fathomed.

She couldn't stop giggling. "You think he's insane?" Another round of giggles ensued.

"Yes! There's something wrong with that guy," Ace answered, in complete and utter positivity that the man he spoke with last night was most certainly not right in the head.

He'd explained to Rosalia explicitly what had transpired in their conversation the night before, and the only, only issue she had with the entire situation was the fact that he'd told mistaken the animal he told her to go after – she was to go after a chicken and not a rabbit.

She continued to shake her head, laughing at Ace's complete outrage at her friend. "Well, if you're going to disagree with me, then you're crazy, too, Rosalia!" He crossed his arms, acknowledging that his outbursts were uncharacteristically immature.

"I am not!" She spluttered out. "He was trying to gauge whether or not you were the loon, Cowboy!"

"He said he was going to kill me."

"Oh, I apologize! I must have missed the part where I started to hold a conversation with your corpse."

Ace rolled his eyes. He so desperately wanted to laugh with her – her laugh being absolutely infectious. But he was concerned. Despite Red's urging for sleep, Ace was unable to relax, and instead, thought about the events that occurred at the bar and afterwards. Even the concept of sleeping with one-eye open was not enough to ease his lack of trust with Red.

Ace opened his mouth to admonish her, when Red appeared in the door way of the living room. "Oh, Red! Good morning!" Rosalia called out, still feeling giddy. "Believe it or not, we are the two luckiest human beings in the world!"

"And why is that, Rose?" Red asked, trying to maintain a serious facial expression, and failing miserably.

"Well, quite honestly, we are so unbelievably blessed with the gratuitous good fortune to have a living, breathing – shockingly not dead – body in this room: Ace's!" She started to giggle again, her body shaking at how ridiculous the morning had begun.

Red started to laugh. "You're a nut, Rosalia. I don't know how much longer I can put up with you."

"Psh! You're kidding. You'll never grow tired of me!" She called out, hearing him meander over to the kitchen.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm making breakfast for myself," Red remarked, the aftereffects of her laugh still reminiscent on his face. "What do you two want?"

Rosalia eagerly glanced over at Ace, grabbing him by the wrist. "Let's go make breakfast!"

And thus, he was enlisted into her plight for food.

"So, what did you two end up discussing?" Rosalia inquired, curious as she had missed everything due to her onset comatose the night before. She'd been pleasantly surprised by the eggs she'd managed to fry up herself, the yolk and bread a perfect mix of flavors.

To her mild annoyance, neither male seemed to feel the need to divulge and answer her question.

"Interesting," she ground out. "It must have been a positively amazing discussion for Red to have prompted that he was going to kill you, isn't that right, Ace?"

Ace flinched a bit at her tone, thinking that perhaps maybe Red was the lesser of the two evils.

"Sleeping gets you nowhere in life, Rose," Red responded. "How many times must I tell you for you to learn?"

"So? I fell asleep as soon as I dropped his comatose body on the floor and suddenly I'm the one to blame?"

Red took an egregiously large bite of his bread. "Yes."

"Oh, come on."

"Well, if you must know, Ace will be leaving after tomorrow," Red remarked, relishing the fact that dancing over the topic at hand was making Rosalia squirm in annoyance. Patience might be a virtue, but at this very second, she considered it nothing more than a nuisance.

Ace nodded in agreement. No matter what, his goal was ultimately to leave the island.

"And do what?"

Red looked at her. "And get on with his life? Why else would someone venture away from an island?"

"B-but – "

Ace started to laugh aloud, realizing that Rosalia's confusion stemmed from the fact that this home was all she'd ever known, something she'd disclosed to him in his drunken state. He'd been so busy scarfing down the majority of the food on the table, he hadn't whole-heartedly been immersed in the conversation. "It's like one of those story books you read, Rosalia. I'm like a lost kid going on an adventure."

"So, our next course of action is to make sure your father doesn't find out that Ace is staying here until the log pose sets."

Rosalia's eyes flickered between their faces, one second on Red's, another on Ace's. "There's something neither of you are telling me."

Ace and Red made eye-contact. "No," they both responded simultaneously.

"'No-o-o,'" she repeated, the sarcastic tone in her voice well-heard. "This is about that pirate. 'Blackbeard,' right? You're leaving to go after him?"

Ace nodded, both men understanding that the jig was up.

"So, what happens then? Are you going to tell the Marines? Turn him in? Or are you going to, well, I don't know – talk to him, maybe?"

Both men sighed. "Still so naïve, Rosalia."

"I'm going to kill him."

The comment carried weight. Her eyes seemed to become saucers, but there was anger within their shock.

"You can't." Her voice was shaky, breaking between both words.

Ace could feel the pain in her voice. "I have to, Rosalia. He's wronged my division, my crew and my captain."

She shook her head. "There are other ways," she whispered. Rosalia started to pick at her food, whatever's left of the egg becoming a disheveled shell of what was once a delicious looking breakfast.

"Rosalia."

She looked over to Red. "The egg isn't at fault here."

Rosalia slammed her hands on the table. The slam seemed to echo, maybe not throughout the house, but certainly, it rang through both Red's and Ace's ears. However, the slam was more than a cacophonous noise, a frightening jolt of sound – for Rosalia, it was a cry, an aching pain of something hidden under the guise of happiness, the mask of normalcy.

And Red knew it all too well. He'd seen the look before, and he knew he'd see it again. The face of sheer wrath and restrained ire – the expression of loss and vengeance and hopelessness.

"No one should have to experience that," Rosalia whispered hoarsely. She left the room almost immediately after, her feelings an intense swirl. At this point, her safest place would be her haven of words: her bedroom.

Red took a swig of his coffee, contemplating how he could relieve the tension he and Ace knowingly introduced. "Well, that went better than I expected."

He received a look.

"All right, all right. I get it; the situation seems pretty strained." Ace raised his eyebrows in disbelief at Red's commentary. "Well, last time we got into an argument, Rosalia hit me, so, like I said: it went better than expected."

Red received another look. "I hope you don't mind me saying, but, uh, that reaction seemed a little bizarre, if not over-the-top, even for Rosalia." Ace shrugged, hoping his commentary didn't come across too negatively.

"If you knew her, you'd understand," Red stated, seemingly trying to grasp at straws without revealing too much of a life very much so not his own. "She's the enigma that many have tried to piece together, but very few have remained long enough to get the chance." He paused, trying to collect his thoughts. "She abhors violence. She's lost individuals she was close with. She understands loss better than most kids her age."

"So, that's why you wanted me to hold off on telling her I would be leaving?"

"Precisely. And unfortunately, she's a bit too good at picking up on unspoken statements," he mumbled something derogatory under his breath, crossing his arms. "She'll be fine . . . I think."

Ace sweat-dropped. Scratch what he said earlier, Red was the greater of the two evils.

He walked slowly up the stairs. He knew he wasn't expected to check on her – he barely knew her. Anything beyond the rather polite and humorous discourse they had at the bar was completely out of his hands. And yet, something her ever-so-spectacular caretaker had said stuck with him. Ace felt that it was at least a common courtesy to inquire as to whether or not she was okay.

Of course, that meant possibly stepping into the lion's den with a girl who had an unexpectedly large and mysterious amount of baggage beneath her jovial outer appearance – something a person should never expect from a spry seventeen-year-old.

Ace opened the door, exercising extreme caution, and stepped into the brightly lit room – the sun cascading throughout. The room – her room – was a chaotic mess. Books were scattered everywhere: the foot of the bed, under the covers, on bookcases, underneath and on top of the desk. Beyond the books, papers were folded haphazardly into some books, thrown underneath others, crumpled onto the floor. And yet, that wasn't what intrigued him the most.

Words. Words were everywhere.

Quotes littered the walls, writing seemed to ooze from the paintings strewn around the room.

Quite frankly, Ace had never been in a room like this; not back before he set sail, not on the Moby Dick. He'd never really felt the need to deeply immerse himself in literature or in the writings of others, and yet, this room spoke volumes upon volumes of philosophy, of history, of great men of the past and possible leaders of the future, of worlds gone and worlds to come.

"Get out."

Ace couldn't seem to locate the voice. He expected her to be at the desk, but the chair was empty. The floor was far too messy to sit comfortably, which left only one place: the bed. He could see the small lump to the right of the books under the covers begin to twitch.

He wanted to laugh. He could feel the light rumble building in the back of his throat, though he covered it with a cough. "I wanted to speak with you."

She croaked out, "Why? So you can make fun of me for not wanting to destroy everything in sight like a pirate?"

Ace blinked, mildly surprised she'd attack him in that way. "I'm not here to make fun of you."

"Well, I'm not here to have you justify your plans."

She was stubborn. He hadn't realized that underneath her maturity, Rosalia shared a rebellious streak akin to another bratty pirate he knew.

He proceeded to walk over to the bed, placed the books on the floor and waited. Waited until she decided that she was being immature. Gradually, she dredged herself up from the blankets, showing Ace only the top portion of her face – from the nose up. A sigh.

"Red sent you up here?" she mumbled, eyes looking downcast towards the door.

"I'd be lying if I said he did," Ace remarked, giving her a small smile.

She sighed again. "Well, what did you want to talk about?" Rosalia still refused to look at him, but he noted the faint blush appearing beneath her eyes – embarrassment for him coming up here without Red's probing, Ace assumed.

"Dreams. Aspirations. Whatever it takes to get you to stop being so downcast."

An eyeroll. "Well, maybe I don't have any dreams."

Ace sighed. "You're not making this easy for me." She saw his shoulders hunch, dejected that she'd stubbornly shot down his inquiry.

She bit her lip. "All right, fine," Rosalia relented. "I, well, I'm not entirely sure what I want to do. I think . . . a mass record of every Devil Fruit discovered in the world would be interesting. A large, excruciatingly long, drawn out document concerning the users, where they acquired it, what it does. So on." She paused, thinking about all the different ways she could enlighten herself and others to the mysterious fruits. "You know, many people don't know about them. So, uh, I thought maybe I'd travel to learn about them."

Ace seemed puzzled. "Why Devil Fruits? Of all the things in the world to research."

Slowly, Rosalia began to reveal more of her face to him. "Well, many of the Marines have – by some means – acquired said fruits, and that's – well, quite honestly, that's bad news for the pirates. I may be a neutral party to both sides, but more often than not, the pirates have greater charm."

"So, you want to inform the world of all the abilities out there?"

She smirked, a slightly devilish look appearing on her face. "Do you remember what I said to you when you asked me for information? That I was the secret-keeper of the island?" Ace nodded. "Well, imagine how glorious it would be if I – somehow – was able to discover all of the secret abilities of men and women throughout the world. I'd become a crucial secret-keeper indeed."

Ace sweat-dropped. Red had raised an information-seeking monster of greed. Rosalia started to laugh. "I mean, it's a stretch. But I really do want to have that information. If the simpler folk, such as myself, were able to one-up the government, well . . . " She spread her arms wide, letting the words permeate in the air.

"You're bolder than I originally thought, Rosalia Cass," Ace admitted, certainly surprised by her aspirations, especially when they pertained to something as wild as having a greater hand over the government.

"Thank you," she quipped. At that very moment, she could have never imagined that she'd be revealing her greatest trump card to a stray pirate, but in that very same moment, everything she said felt exactly right. No word was wasted. "What about you, Cowboy? Do cowboys dream?"

Ace started to laugh. "Are you serious? That's how you're going to ask me?" She nodded vigorously, clearly trying to hide her own laughter. Smiling, he propped his chin up with the palm of his hand. "Well, I'm thinking that I'd certainly like to see my captain become the Pirate King – it would be quite a feat to become a commander to the Pirate King, don'tcha think?"