In the Interest of Justice
Prologue
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"Sengoku!"
The thunderously loud bellow has Rosinante flinching, scuttling to hide behind Sengoku's chair. In the boy's defence, it is the first time he'll be exposed to all of the boisterous riot that is Monkey D. Garp.
If he could get away with it, Sengoku would quite like to run and hide too.
The Vice Admiral barges his way into Sengoku's office as per usual; smashing straight through the paper wall as if it isn't even there. Yes, the paper wall. One can only go so long with rebuilding the usual walls, can only go so long with Garp continuously forcing his way through each supposedly sturdy wall, before the towel gets thrown in and the switch to paper is made. Easier to 'rebuild' and cheaper too.
"Sengoku, Sengoku, look! This here's my little girl!"
And without further ado, a tiny human is thrust right up into Sengoku's face. And she is a tiny thing, perhaps three years old at most.
She hangs from between Garp's large hands with no protest, what is undoubtedly Garp's old Marine cap thrown over her head and far too big. It tilts to a side, visor exposing only one half of her upper face as it slips to the left.
It's not enough to cover the little licks of what has to be a birthmark running down the left side of her face, halting at the hollow of her cheek. It seems like a big mark, from what little Sengoku can see of it.
Her features are soft, nothing like the hard edge Garp has; that must be her mother's genes shining through.
That beaming grin is all Garp though.
"Hi! I'm gonna be a marine!"
Head cocking back, the girl stares at Garp as if checking she'd spouted the right thing.
Garp... Garp looks like all his birthdays have come at once.
"She's so cute and adorable and she's gonna be a marine! Just like me!"
Good lord, Sengoku hopes not. One Garp is already too much.
Dressed in knee length shorts (the white material that's stained green by the hems indicates the girl has spent more than her fair share of time kneeling or skidding along in the grass) and a thin sleeveless shirt (the navy blue colour doing nothing to hide the stains of food that hint at an appetite to rival Garp's), the girl waves her hands happily in greeting.
Sengoku can all but feel Rosinante's incredulous stare. He feels quite the same.
"Well," Sengoku begins, scrambling for the words that'll get Garp and his spawn out of his office as fast as humanly possible, "she's certainly cuter than the last one." And that isn't even a lie.
He'd first met Monkey D. Dragon when the boy was three nearing four years old, oddly solemn for a child of Garp's. Right up until that creepy ass grin stretched his lips wide and bared pearly white teeth. For a just out of toddlerhood child, that expression had been as threatening as bloody Gol D. Roger and his manic grin.
The comparison doesn't bode well for Garp's brat, but like hell if Sengoku's gonna point out the similarities between the Vice Admiral's oldest and the World Government's biggest headache.
Speaking of potential headaches...
"And her name?"
Garp opens his mouth, but he's cut off by the brat he's still presenting in the space between them.
"I'm Monkey D. Kitsune! Remember it, 'cause I'm gonna change the world!"
Oh dear Lord.
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Chapter 1
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Monkey D. Dragon stares at the little infant clutches in his mother's arms, mind still wrapping around the facts.
His mother's stomach had swollen with a child, and now that child is out in the open, all wrinkly and pink and screaming.
She's dreadful, he thinks with a grin.
Rising to his tiptoes, the dark haired boy stares into the baby's little face, at those flushed cheeks that seem more mush then flesh, at the watery, hazy eyes that are still baby blue. His mother insists they'll darken as time passes, much how his own did. Dragon cannot remember looking into a mirror and seeing anything other than coal black eyes, but he'll take her word for it.
"What's her name, Garp?"
Mother looks to father, her honey eyes wide and warm, her lips tilted in a smile.
His father is not a small man.
It always seems strange, looking upon his parents as they stand side by side.
Mother only comes halfway up father's chest, short and slender. She's like a flower, and all that long golden hair doesn't help towards making her appear stronger. She's fragile and delicate and must be protected.
Perhaps that is why she married father, father who is muscle upon muscle, strength showcased in his every movement.
Dragon may not agree with a lot of things father does, certainly doesn't agree with the idea of such a strong man taking orders from those Celestial Dragons who are just so much weaker (who are just so wrong, everything about them is wrong and why can nobody else see it?) but his strength is undeniable.
Dragon hopes his future physique favours Father's, as much as he hopes this baby (his dear little sister, his only one) will favour their mother's. He will be a good big brother, Dragon decides. He will protect his sister from all those that threaten her, even if he must split the continent in two, even if he must overthrown the world.
She is his to protect now.
"Kitsune. Monkey D. Kitsune."
Kitsune.
Dragon sounds the name out in his head, staring at the little infant who's name seems far too big for her tiny form. The shameful connection between their names (mythical beings, how grand) is noted and stored away for later consultation. Now is not the time.
"My little princess to spoil," Father continues, cooing rather ridiculously at the infant. It's a miracle he's managed to get the time off work as things are.
The pirates on the Grand Line are a rowdy, rambunctious bunch and father seems more than happy to spend his time pitching cannonballs at them in efforts to sink their ships. More than once he's returned home, grumbling all the way about Gol D. Roger, his main target who always seems to effortlessly slide out of reach just as Father thinks he's got him.
He'll never say it aloud, but Dragon rather looks up to Gol D. Roger, a man who does what he wants and damn what the rest of the world thinks of it. Or how they suffer for it.
Dragon doesn't understand why the Marines get so upset about it; is his attitude not exactly the same as that of the World Nobles'? Why does blood, why do birth parents dictate a right to be morally excluded from what is just and what is inequitable?
These are questions that spin about in Dragon's head, that linger and persist; he just cannot ignore them. He thinks on them constantly and perhaps that is the reason it is rare to find a smile upon his face.
Thinking about these kind of things, it leaves him very little to smile about.
He gives up leaning over the side of the bed and instead climbs right onto it, ignoring the way Father frowns at him.
This is his little sister, his only one, and he will not be stopped from presenting himself before her.
"Here, Dragon. Hold her."
And Mother is pressing the tiny human towards him, swaddled in blankets as she is.
She's so small, so fragile and delicate in his arms. Is he suppose to feel the little flutters of her ribs so clearly? Hear the tiny wisps of her breathing, sense the palpitations of her little heart beating so furiously?
Blurry blue eyes flutter open, failing to true focus on anything at all.
It doesn't stop Dragon from smiling down at her, doing his best to not expose his teeth. Everyone says his grin is a bit crazed (he may or may not have brought the neighbour's baby to tears last year after smiling at him), even Mother has pointed it out to him. Dragon's smiled into the mirror before, and though his face does look a little unsettling, he wouldn't say it's manic.
Very carefully, he balances the baby in one arm, lifting the other so he can dance his fingers before her sightless eyes. How much can a baby see? Dragon doesn't know, it's not information he's ever needed before.
Kitsune doesn't respond to the motion of his fingers, so Dragon settles for stroking one long line down the side of her cheek instead. She has a birthmark, a large thing that begins above her exceptionally fair eyebrow and stretches halfway down her face, thickest in the middle where her eye rests. It looks like a loose flame, a wisp.
At least if she's stuck with a birthmark, it's not an ugly one. It's just there, present on her face.
"Don't you want to talk to her, Dragon?"
"What is there to say?"
Kitsune won't comprehend what he says to her. She's a baby, she doesn't understand the language they speak, words are a foreign concept to her. It would be a waste of his time to speak because Kitsune can say nothing back, won't be capable of saying anything for a fair amount of time now.
He says as much to his mother, while Father nods sagely in the background.
"Men," Mother grumbles beneath her breath, accepting Kitsune back into her arms.
Dragon's little sister is fast asleep now, though her eyelids twitch occasionally.
"How else do you think she'll get used to your voices? You'll be strangers if you don't talk to her."
It makes sense. Kitsune may not be able to comprehend what he's saying, but she will come to recognise his voice. Understandable.
"Hello, Kitsune. I am Monkey D. Dragon and you are my little sister."
She doesn't respond, doesn't even twitch, but Dragon can feel himself grinning.
This is his little sister. His. She is his to look after, behind Mother he was the next to hold her, she is his.
And he will protect her.
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After a week, Father returns to work.
Dragon stands upon the deck, Kitsune strapped to his chest in a sling and he watches the Marine ship catch the waves, watches it disappear from sight. The sun sits high in the sky, spring steadily reappearing in the world, washing winter away with its showers of rain.
His little sister naps against his chest, one tiny hand wrapped up in the thin cotton of his jumper. Her fingers are no longer as red and wrinkly as they had once been, though they are still so very feeble looking. It would not take much effort for them to be snapped.
The very thought has Dragon watching everything, cataloguing all possible threats, from the travellers he doesn't recognise to the birds that could peck their beaks at his delicate little sister's face.
There is so much to defend her from, Dragon realises. It is a good thing indeed that Father's strength lingers in his own limbs, coiled and ready.
Unlike Father though, Dragon does not yet know what he wishes to do with his strength. The core principles behind the Marines, the concept of upholding justice, does not sit right with the ten year old.
Who decides what constitutes as justice? Who gets the final say upon what is right and what is wrong? Why is it that the World Nobles, these Tenryūbito, hold so much power over every other being in the world? They so rarely interact with the world at large, and Dragon has never once heard of them performing what most would consider a good deed. All he has heard of them is of their rights to have whatever it is they desire, even if it ruins others, even if it tears others apart until they are considered less than human, nothing more than property.
Dragon does not understand.
He's not quite sure he wants to.
Dawn Island may be segregated from the vast majority of the world, but that does not mean Dragon cannot look out there and witness what is occurring.
It is a tentative idea, but he wonders what would happen if someone were to bring about change, if someone stood up and said enough was enough.
Pirates, pirates do whatever it is they please, but they are selfish in their actions. They only have regards for what they want, for what benefits them and theirs.
It is only small, not even a spark, more like a bundle of kindling with a piece of flint close by. It's there, but it's not burning, there is no reaction.
When Monkey D. Dragon is ten years old, he is a big brother and he is a boy with questions.
He is a boy with a skeleton of an idea, a newly built 'what-if' that sits in the back of his head, lingering but never pushing for realisation, for substantial existence.
Monkey D. Dragon is ten years old and he does not know what he will do with his life.
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Then, Monkey D. Dragon is three months older and he is motherless.
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Her corpse is still warm, lying in her sickbed, lying in the town hall where all those who are ill have been moved to, quarantined so as to stem the spread of disease. There are no doctors, though the village had two.
Three weeks ago, a Celestial Dragon had been sailing by.
Three weeks ago, a call was made for all doctors upon the surrounding islands to leave and head for this World Noble's impressive boat.
Three weeks ago, the village doctor and his apprentice left.
Two weeks ago, disease had hit Dawn Island, and it had hit it hard.
Dragon's mother had been one of the first to contract it, though not the first to breathe her last as a result of the disease.
Had the doctor been here, had his apprentice been here, then maybe Dragon's mother still would be.
Dragon is sat on the porch of their house (his house now, his house for Father is never home and now Mother never will be) and the world around him feels numb.
He is ten years old, he is five months off of eleven.
He is without a mother now.
Her pale pink lips will never twist up in a gentle smile again, her honey eyes will never gaze upon his face again. He will never hear her voice, never again be told to set the table, to try and keep his trousers clean as he goes off into the forest and wrestles bears to increase his already impressive strength.
She will never again tell him to speak to Kitsune, that she must know the voice of her big brother. Now she will never know the voice of her mother.
For their mother is dead, and Dragon is not incompetent, he knows who is to blame.
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Five days later, he will learn all of the doctors were summoned to deal with a man's simple head cold.
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As things stand, Dragon recalls he is not the only one who has lost a mother today, he is not the only one who has had a parent ripped away by the cold clutches of a death spurred on by the World Nobles.
Though he feels no desire to, he rises to his feet, stumbling into the home that will soon be devoid of his mother's soft scent, of her gentle voice and warm presence.
When he finds Kitsune, she is right where he left her, lying upon the plush rug on the floor.
Unlike before, her eyelashes are not dusting her cheeks, she is wide awake and stares up at him with steadily darkening blue eyes.
He feels weak as he lies beside her, this tiny being that is so much smaller than he. She has thrown one of her pudgy arms up, placing pressure upon one cheek flushed with the heat of summer, her fat lips smushed together. She looks at him now, an improvement from those hazy glances when she was a newborn. More aware, though Dragon wishes that wasn't the case.
"Mother is dead," he says.
Just like that, it seems unquestionable, void of all emotion and nothing more than a simple fact.
The sky is blue. The ocean wet. Mother is dead.
Mother is dead, and with Father never home, Dragon must look after Kitsune who cannot yet look after herself. She is fragile, helpless, completely dependent upon him.
Mother would never forgive him if he were to allow her to just fade.
"You will need feeding," Dragon realises, recalling the formula that Mother had taken to using whenever she was 'sore'. Dragon didn't pay too much attention when Mother was feeding Kitsune, it'd been too strange a sight, but he has fed her before with the formula stuff, even prepared it. He knows all about sterilisation, about germs and ensuring Kitsune and her weak immune system is not exposed to such things. He's ten but that is no excuse for idiocy.
Preparing the formula, utilising milk kept cool in the fridge and then warming it by use of the bottle sitting in a sink full of warm water, it's familiar. Not as easy as breathing, but after these past few weeks he can recall the steps without checking the instructions the neighbours left him.
Kitsune latches into the rubbery nipple of the bottle as soon as he presents it to her, one small hand on the side of the bottle, the other grasping at his own.
Formula milk is not as good as a mother's milk, the neighbour had warned him. Dragon has no other option now though, mother is no longer here and there are no other women in the village who can supply a mother's milk for Kitsune. The body cannot produce on demand, only if set conditions are met. And Kitsune is the youngest child in the village by two years.
Dragon will make do with what he has, and pray that it is enough to keep his little sister alive.
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It is days, days of settling into a routine that centres around keeping Kitsune alive, before he allows himself to consider what he has lost.
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Monkey D. Dragon is ten years old when he learns of rage, when he learns of a fury that burns white hot, that licks at the kindling of an idea within his head and ignites it.
Monkey D. Dragon is ten years old when the flames of revolution first burn in him.
It is a blaze that shall never go out.
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The village has no way of contacting his Father- of contacting Garp, Dragon corrects himself. Perhaps if the man was a little less dedicated to the job, and a little more concerned with his family, he would have been here sooner.
Perhaps he wouldn't have arrived when Dragon is eleven years old and the only familiar figure in Kitsune's life.
Kitsune who is now nine months old, crawling and babbling incoherently. She follows him everywhere, she stays silent when he speaks and watches him with eyes that are now as dark as his own.
Despite the occasional visit from the neighbours to ensure they are still alive, Dragon is all that Kitsune has, just as Kitsune has become all that Dragon has. Only her... and the roaring flames of an idea, a burning determination that has only grown stronger as the months have passed.
He is sitting on the living room floor when Garp returns, Kitsune in his lap as he reads to her. The newspaper isn't exactly a children's book, but the infant in his arms, his little sister, pays him all of the attention she can. Her gaze is unnervingly focused for a baby, though her grin bright and warm.
It reminds him of Mother (Mother who is dead and buried now, a tombstone to mark her final place on this earth though her spirit has long since disappeared) but at the same time, Dragon can also see his own grin in her.
Because it is not gentle like mother's, instead filled with a boisterous kind of laughter, a dazzling appreciation for all that is housed within life itself.
Kitsune smiles as if all is right in the world, as if her whole life is complete.
As if just Dragon is enough for her.
She does not yet know the casual cruelty, the selfishness of the World Nobles that ruin so many lives. The corrupt government that their own father (brash and bull-headed but with good intentions) works for. She is ignorant and Dragon will see to it that she remains that way just that little bit longer.
Things will not change while she is an infant (there is no one to start this change, no one there to be the wind that first buffers a wave and leads it to crest upon the shore. There is no harbinger of this storm. Not yet) but Dragon will protect that childish wonder as long as he can.
His own eyes are open wide. Though he will never wish them closed, he misses the ignorance rose tinted glasses once brought.
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When Garp stands at the entrance, it is clear that he has already been informed of all that has occurred. His shoulders are slumped and devastation moulds the features of his face.
For all of his faults, it is clear he loved Mother, loved his wife. For all that love is grand though, not even that can conqueror all, no matter what the tales say.
He looks upon them with heavy eyes, with sadness an ocean he's swept adrift in, and Dragon discards the thought of detachment.
Monkey D. Garp may never agree with what curls like smoke and thunder in the edges of Dragon's mind, but the man shall always be his father.
So despite his anger, despite the bitter fury that boils within his stomach, Dragon allows Father to hide his smaller frame with his massive arms, just as he himself shelters Kitsune within his own embrace. There will be time to discuss and injure each other's pride later.
Right now, they just share their grief, with even Kitsune silent and sorrowful as she clings tight to his arms.
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Father sends them to live with a middle aged woman, moves them to a village that, while still being on Dawn Island, is a world away from what Dragon knows. It is unfamiliar, with people he doesn't trust, people he doesn't know, and he holds a great dislike for it all.
Kitsune, standing upon shaking legs and clinging tightly to his hand, stares from around her fist at the people of Foosha Village, thumb firmly docked in mouth.
Dragon does not trust the other children, does not trust the other adults, and begrudgingly puts up with the woman in charge of their care. Even then, it is only because Father's money goes to her now, no longer just arriving at the house as it did when Mother died.
Dragon could care for both himself and Kitsune on his own, has been doing so with no real problems. Neither of them are dead yet, so it is not as if he's incapable.
"Brovff."
It takes him a moment to realise Kitsune has removed her thumb from her mouth, staring up at him.
"Brovff."
Brother.
She is trying to pronounce brother.
The grin that spreads across Dragon's face in that moment successfully scares away every other child in the village.
Every child but his little sister, who giggles with delight and tangles the fingers of her free hand (thumb still damp from its stop within her mouth) into the material of his shorts.
"Brovff!"
"Yes, little sister," Dragon agrees, scooping the girl up into his arms to stare challengingly at the woman Father had entrusted their care with. He does not know her relation to them, her association with Father, nor does he care.
The look he graces that woman with is not a challenge so much as a declaration.
We do not need you.
We can get by just fine on our own, and we shall continue to do just that.
It is a statement, that he is Kitsune's brother, he is her protector. He will shelter her until she can stand upon her own two feet without his aid, and then he shall bring a storm down upon the world.
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Monkey D. Dragon is eleven years old.
He is a big brother.
And he knows exactly what he will do with his life.
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Monkey D. Kitsune is one year old and she doesn't have a clue what is going on.
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The first six months had been spent in a terrifying haze of sleep, eat and sleep some more. All of her senses betrayed her, all but her hearing.
The voice of a boy (and he is a boy, his tone soft and without the edge adulthood holds) a constant echo in her ear, speaking of corruption, of right and wrong and what could possibly be classed as justice.
For those first six months, all Kitsune knows is that the boy is Brother and he knows her as Kitsune. So confused and disoriented, it is Kitsune she becomes.
By her sixth month here, she has come to accept things, though she questions why Brother (whom is actually younger than his words and rhetorical questions had hinted at) is the one looking after her.
Kitsune is nine months old when Father returns and realisation strikes her like a lightning bolt.
It is one thing to fail to recognise the thirty or so years younger Monkey D. Dragon when he is missing his most distinctive marking (that tattoo), his impressive height and intimidating figure.
It would truly be shame on her to look upon Monkey D. Garp and not have an epiphany moment.
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Monkey D. Kitsune is twelve months old, is one year old, and she is nowhere near the story line she knows.
For all that is holy, there hasn't even been a Pirate King yet; Garp had still been muttering about catching Roger as he'd left them here in this village, in a Foosha Village she doesn't recognise beyond its sparse collection of windmills.
Dragon (Monkey D. Dragon, the Revolutionary, the most wanted man in the world and her eleven year old brother) had carried her down to the docks to see him off, his hand clasped in hers. It is a warm, strong hand, a familiar one. Kitsune knows it, for it has been the one to protect and nurture her for so many months.
Dragon is familiar, she has heard him speak of all that is wrong in the world (and wow did his crusade start out early) weaving tales of what he would like to see in the world's future as if they are nothing more than bedtime stories.
To be so entangled within a world where slavery exists, where there is no set safety unless you are born into the most powerful family in the world; it is a terrifying thing.
To realise life as you know it could be ripped from beneath your feet, stolen away on the whims of some being that has power only because they were born to it…
Kitsune clutches tighter to Dragon's hand, far too much of an adult in mind to permit fear to cross her features.
Her brother shall become a Revolutionary, that much is evident.
It burns bright in his dark eyes, eternal fire, fuelled by all that he sees, all that he hears and thinks upon.
Dragon will change the world, Kitsune realises, or he shall die trying. He has made that explicitly clear. And she…
What more can she do to repay her brother, but then to help him?
There is little she can do now, little she can help with as nothing more than a one year old.
But she can start laying the foundations, she can wiggle her way into things simply because others will not expect her to understand, to recall and remember.
Watching Garp's ship disappear into the horizon, Kitsune realises what she will do.
The Revolutionaries will stand against the World Government, will refuse to bow to the might of the Marines' Forces. To fight a war though, one needs to know what they are up against.
It is painfully obvious where Kitsune can best situate herself to be helpful.
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She will become a Marine.
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Dragon trains to grow stronger. He goes out into the jungle of Dawn Island and much like his future son once did (will do?), he hunts the larger than life animals that call the forest home.
Some days he returns filthy and with nothing to show for it, tells her tales of how he has spent his time wrestling with a bear, fighting with a tiger to prevent it from capturing its prey. Just because he can.
Some days he returns home with one of the beasts casually slung over his shoulder, providing bountiful meat for them to eat for days on end.
Kitsune is glad to be past relying upon formula milk, for it tastes foul and the humiliation of having to be bottle-fed lingers deep in her bones.
Even now Dragon cuts her food up into bite size pieces first, given she has yet to develop the motor controls to do so herself. There is little Kitsune can do to improve her situation right now other than wait. Wait and practice with her grasp and grip.
Drawing, a crayon in hand and sheets and sheets of paper before her, moving as slowly as possible, with as much control as possible. All those years of drawing, of portraits and sketches; it is painful to be deprived of that skill. Her eyes are not developed enough to allow for a good understanding of proportion, of scale and depth when it comes to the world around her.
So Kitsune draws what she knows. Tigers and bears, dragons that flick about in the sky. It is all painfully inferior to what she used to be capable of.
Dragon still smiles whenever he sees his namesake upon the papers though.
Once he implored her to draw a kitsune alongside one of her dragons, and she had bunched that paper up and thrown it away when her arm refused to cooperate, when she proved incapable of drawing a simple fox with nine tails. Her emotions in this body are all over the place, she has little to no control over her body's reactions, starting once again from scratch. It is frustrating and just serves to anger her to the point of tears. A vicious circle.
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They are approaching summer once again now, though Kitsune remembers little of her first summer. She remembers little of her mother too, just a warm voice. Mother is dead, she knows that, but having come from a life where she had perished before her mother, she still half expects the woman (which one, she doesn't know) to sweep in through the front door as if nothing has happened.
Instead she finds herself sitting in the back garden of this small house they now live in, watching as Dragon works his way through a series of sit-ups and steadily moves onto push-ups. There's sweat upon his brow, his face (how rarely does her brother smile, even that intense grin would be preferred to grim silence from a boy that feels so strongly, so acutely) painted with the hard brush of determination.
Wobbling up onto unsteady legs, Kitsune plods over towards the boy, letting herself fall down onto his back. Her arms are not yet long enough to curl easily around his neck, so she settles for gripping at his shoulders instead.
"Brother." And she has taken the time to forcibly pronounce that right. The lisp of childhood still lingers, no matter how much she fights, how much she tries to free herself from him.
Dragon stares at her from over his shoulder and Kitsune smiles, lying upon his back as she is.
This is her big brother, and though she does not know if he will be a good man, she knows he will be a great one.
This is her brother who says no to piracy, despite the freedom it promises him.
Instead he will stand up to the world, will fight it all to try and make the future a better and brighter place. Maybe selfless isn't quite the word to use, she does not yet understand him enough for that. But to wish to inspire such positive change…
Kitsune isn't sure about what anyone else will think, but she believes Dragon is a good person.
That is enough for her.
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"I will never join the Marines!"
Dragon's voice thunders through the house, a roar not unlike that of his namesake's.
She can picture him, despite not being present in the room where this argument takes place. His hands will be curled, not quite into fists but so that his fingers resemble powerful claws, his teeth will gnash together and his eyes will burn with dragonfire.
She wonders what Garp sees when he looks upon his only son. She wonders what he sees when he looks upon her.
At three years old, Kitsune has had a lot of time to think on what to do with her life.
The years have only proven how immensely difficult a task she has, even if she just tries to live her life without butchering the entire timeline. Maybe her presence has already screwed it all up anyway, after all, there had been no Monkey D. Kitsune that she can recall, there had been no aunt for Monkey D. Luffy.
Maybe he won't be born now, maybe Garp will never take Portgas D. Ace in. Maybe with her in his life, Garp will falter in his chase of the Pirate King. Maybe Gol D. Roger won't contract whatever disease prompted him to favour execution over a slow death Maybe there will be no Great Age of Piracy.
Who knows.
By now she is past the point of trying to pussyfoot around things. Why should she stick as close to the story as possible when it is shot to hell already?
No, Monkey D. Kitsune is not as good a person as her brother, is evidentially a bit more selfish than that.
She will live as she damn well pleases, care for those around her and only look out for them.
That is the damning evidence right there that she is undoubtedly related to Monkey D. Luffy, she thinks with dark amusement.
"You little-"
"I wanna be a Marine." She's stumbled up to the door, staring at Monkey D. Garp even as Dragon's head snaps around to stare at her. It's not quite betrayal upon his face, but the blankness of his expression makes Kitsune uncomfortable.
So, with the brutal honesty that childhood dictates mandatory, Kitsune smiles as brightly as she is capable of and continues. "I can tell brother all of the important things so he can follow his dream."
That dangerous grin, that grin that had seemed so very freaky the first time she saw it but now fills her with nothing but warmth has broken across Dragon's face, like the sun cresting over the ocean.
It has Kitsune's own smile widening to see Dragon so happy.
She recalls all she knows of attachments formed by children, knowledge brought on by psychology, a subject she'd studied in her previous life. She knows that because Dragon has been her primary caregiver that she's attached, but she doesn't have a problem with that.
He loves her without question, just as she loves him. Before Dragon she had never had a big brother.
She cannot imagine life without one now.
"Tell this brat Marine secrets?!" Garp splutters, staring down at her with wide eyes, his jaw hanging open and pulling at the tight skin around the surface of his trademark scar. "You can't do that if you become a Marine!"
"Then I won't tell him," Kitsune declares, jamming her finger up her nose and channelling her future nephew as best she can.
Behind Garp, who has taken a step forwards as if closer proximity will push his words further into the recesses of her mind, Dragon and his grin remains. He knows she would tell him anything, tell him everything.
He is her beloved older brother after all.
"Dragon can't be a Marine if he wants to follow his dream," Kitsune states sagely, removing her finger from her nose and flicking the booger on the end at Garp.
Her father scowls, brushing the new addition to his pants onto the floor, narrow eyes flicking over to Dragon.
"You're not going to become a pirate, are you?" The low threat in Garp's voice is blisteringly clear.
"No. I have no desire to be a pirate."
What goes unsaid between both Kitsune and Dragon is that what he will become is something perhaps even worse. Pirates chase after their own goals; Dragon will become something that actively fights against all that the World Government, all that the Tenryūbito stand for.
Her brother is the bravest person she knows.
"I will not go to the Marine base. If you take Kitsune, you will look after her properly."
"You brat, who do you think you are to tell me to look after my own kid!"
Kitsune watches them go head to head with wide eyes. She means that in the most literal way anyone can; Garp is bent in on himself in order to press his forehead to Dragon's, who meets the gesture just as fearlessly, teeth bared in a mean looking snarl.
For a thirteen year old, he's fearless.
"I'm her big brother! I'll tell you what the fuck I want!"
"Don't you speak to me that way! Fist of Love!"
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Garp's ship is huge.
She's not quite sure what his rank is right now, is he already a Vice Admiral, or does he have to climb the ladder yet? She's not sure, but the ship is big. It's not just a perspective thing either, even Garp looks like a regular human when standing on deck.
His crew scuttle around after her, loading the small bag that she and Dragon had packed her clothes into on board.
Garp had asked what kind of toys she wished to bring along, at which point both Dragon and herself had stared at him in blatant confusion. It's only after a moment of real thought that Kitsune had recalled almost all children her age had toys to play with.
But she is not a child, not really, more a child with an adult's perspective, with memories that are not her own that make her so much smarter than other children her age.
She is content following Dragon around, listening to him speak of all that he has found wrong with the world. She is content asking him questions, exploring his thoughts with him. She is content without toys, just with her brother to pass the time.
Blissfully warm, the summer sun brushes gently upon her neck, the air around them so deliciously warm. Kitsune likes the heat, she despairs the drop in temperature that winter brings.
"Ah, Garp, sir?"
"Yes, Bogard?"
"There's… The child, sir?"
Kitsune swings around from where she'd been waving down to Dragon, peering up at the man that stands before them. She can feel Dragon's eyes on her, even though he's all the way down there at the docks. He'll probably remain there until they're long gone from a human's line of sight.
"Bogard, look at my precious little princess. Isn't she the cutest little thing?"
Kitsune finds herself lifted into the air, presented before the other marine. She has no idea who he is, though clearly Garp likes him a fair amount, gets along with him well enough. Which must mean he's okay then.
"Hiya, I'm gonna be a marine!" Kitsune sticks out one tiny hand towards the flat-footed marine, who blinks in surprise before gingerly taking her hand. Her own tiny fingers clamp down upon the appendage and she doesn't miss the way he winces. Oh, she might have the build of her long dead mother, but that strength is all from Garp.
"She's certainly your daughter, sir," Bogard mutters, shaking his hand out when she releases her death grip.
Garp laughs, clearly delighted with his proclamation and jostles Kitsune about until she's half leaning over the railings.
"Now say goodbye to your no-good brother, Kit."
Kitsune likes the shortened name, it's cute, light and flows off the tongue. She'll make sure Dragon starts calling her that instead of Kitsune, but only Dragon. She can let Garp call her it too, because he is family after all.
"Bye-bye, Big Brother! I'll be back soon!"
Dragon grins, wide and manic and a grand total of four marines flinch back at the sight.
"Be safe, Little Sister."
Yeah, Dragon can call her that over Kit, that's a good alternative.
Kitsune smiles, waving exaggeratedly until Garp finally sets her down, barking orders for everyone to get to positions that that he wants to be at the base in ten days, never mind that the journey should cost them a fortnight of travel at sea.
Still, it is her first time at sea in this body, her first time scenting the salt water from somewhere other than the beach, from the docks, from land.
The steady rocking motion inspires a queasy sickness in her stomach, but she cannot stop smiling regardless.
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"Now, cup your hands, yes, like that."
Looking at the giant hands that are showcasing her the proper hold, Kitsune adjusts her own palms, fingers not quite sprawled but not uniform and remaining together either.
Garp nods his head beside her, squatting so that she's not having to near break her neck to look up at him. The man has to be at least seven feet tall, though maybe that's just her short stature playing with her mind.
He hums, a low growl in the back of his throat but the sound friendly enough to her little ears.
"Here."
A cannonball, perhaps the smallest one on board, is pressed into her hands and Kitsune's arms quiver with the weight of it.
She flicks a glance up to Garp, who just smiles encouragingly at her. While part of her is aware that he has a long history of throwing cannonballs faster than an actual cannon can fire them, to see it in action had been surreal. It seems to be a skill he's determined to pass onto her too.
Letting her fingers curl around the object in her hands, Kitsune tests the weight of it, tests the strain it places upon her muscles. her biceps clench, but she has no trouble holding it. She wouldn't have managed to hold this in her last life, even in an adult's body.
Here, it is no more difficult that picking up a carton of unopened milk. The weight is there, but it is doable. This is just with her inherited strength, it's incredibly to think of what kind of power she'll be capable of with training.
"Now throw it, just like Papa did."
Tongue poking out from between her lips, Kitsune focuses on one of the rocky outcrops that protrudes from the ocean's surface, eyes narrowing. While she may be capable of hefting the cannonball up, her arms are not yet powerful enough to throw it with one hand, so she settles for two.
The projectile is nowhere near as fast as what Garp managed (as showcased by the smoking mess just off the horizon, the one that'd been his demonstration for her) but it does manage to land on target and oh boy does it explode.
"Did you see that?!" Kitsune bellows, hopping up and down in excitement. She'd never had a body that worked so well, that had such brilliant hand-eye coordination, such raw strength in her fingertips… it could get dangerously addictive.
"Did you see that?!" Garp echoes, grabbing the nearest marine to point proudly out to what remains of her former target, his pride evident on his face. "Look at what my little princess if capable of! She's gonna make a damn fine marine!"
She would probably make a good marine, Kitsune admits, if that's where her interest laid.
But Dragon had got to her first, and effortlessly secured her loyalty even if that hadn't been what he was aiming for at all.
Kitsune may become a marine, but it will be like slipping on a coat to wear for the occasion but just as easily shed when the weather required it.
She will wear her role as a marine, just until Dragon brings the storm, then she will dance in the rain, a revolutionary at heart.
She doesn't know Garp, for all that he is her father.
And while he may have a loyalty for that simply blood-tie, be trying to teach her right here and right now, Dragon is the one she will follow.
That is that.
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Donquixote Rosinante stares at the man that has burst into Sengoku's office, entirely unsure of what to make of him.
He's heard tales of Vice Admiral Garp, a man with no Devil Fruit that is on the same scale as Sengoku when it comes to power, but in his two years following after the Vice Admiral he has never met him before today.
He certainly didn't expect to witness him powering through into Sengoku's office via wall, completely ignoring the door that was present and functional. He's seen a lot of the world since his father (and there is a wound that still stings, that still bites even now, two years later) took them away from Mariejois, but this is one of the stranger things. Right up there with Sea Kings and Devil Fruits.
Does Vice Admiral Garp secretly have a Devil Fruit? Is that why he can walk through walls?
"Damn it, Garp! Fix that wall!"
Sengoku points at the large, human shaped hole in question and Rosinante watches in awe as the offender just scoffs, folding his arms (and dropping the girl he'd been holding up in the process) in order to look petulantly away.
Thankfully the girl lands on her feet, though she does shoot a very unimpressed look up at her father.
Rosinante has not interacted with any other children his age, not since he left North Blue with Sengoku. They had all be horrible and vicious and mean. They had made him hurt, just because of what he had once been. As if he had any power over his life at that age. He barely has any right now.
"Crew, fix the wall!" Vice Admiral Garp snaps, only for one of his crew (stood in the hallway and looking very exasperated by this point) to yell at him to do it himself. It's blatant insubordination but Vice Admiral Garp goes to the cupboard to fetch the necessary materials regardless.
Rosinante watches in awe, though still quite aware of the little child in the room. Her hair is dark, feathered and falls around her face in a halo of choppy locks.
She's also unnervingly focused on him.
"Hi!"
Rosinante shrinks back at the startlingly loud tone, warily watching the girl's every move.
Her hands are not balled into fists though, her eyes are not angry. She seems exuberant. Just like the man that barged in here carrying her. He can see the resemblance.
"My name's Monkey D. Kitsune!"
That does have Rosinante flinching back as that middle initial finally registers.
A D?
His mother's worlds swirl in his brain, remembering how she would whisper that bad children are eaten by Ds. Reason catches up with him mere moments later though. Even if she is a D, a descendant of that feared family…
She's so tiny and small.
If she's a D… Does that make Vice Admiral Garp a D too? Is the letter in his name truthful? Do the Tenryūbito know this?
Rosinante remembers all that his parents told him of the D's, remembers all the warnings to watch out for them.
But… this little girl seems so incredibly harmless.
Big brown eyes stare up at him, round and set in a chubby little face, with a wispy birthmark stretching over the left side of her features.
"Ah… I'm Rosinante." He doesn't use his family name, the wounds still there, still raw and burning. He remembers Doflamingo, remembers Father, remembers feeling the strength leave his arms.
Donquixote Homing may not have been a good father. But he had tried, he had loved them.
He cannot understand why such evil had been born to such good people.
"You're really nice!" Monkey D. Kitsune declares, reaching with one tiny hand to curl around his own, smiling as she locks her fingers between his. They're tiny in comparison, but her grip is unbelievably tough.
"Show me around? I'm gonna be a marine!" She grins and it is such a bright thing.
It's been so long since someone looked upon him with such a smile, Rosinante is struggling to recall the last time such an expression was directed at him.
Still, he doesn't know if he is allowed, Sengoku was quite insistent when they arrived here that Rosinante stick close by.
"Can Rosi show me around, please?!" The child of D purses her lips, eyebrows lifting as her eyes stare imploringly not at Sengoku, but Vice Admiral Garp.
Rosinante does his best not to scowl over the shortening of his name. His mother gave him that name, and he likes it. He does not like this butchered version that has come from the D's mouth.
"Of course he can, anything for my little princess."
"Now Garp-"
"Hey, Sengoku, let's have some okaki!"
At the mention of Sengoku's favourite snack, Rosinante resigns himself to tour-guide, knowing he'll get no further help from his guardian now.
What did he do to deserve close contact with child of D? Surely it should have been Doflamingo that deserved this, not him?
As soon as the thought crosses is mind though Rosinante is quick to banish it.
No, he would never curse another person by wishing Doflamingo's presence upon them. Inheritor of D or not.
Monkey D. Kitsune pulls him out of Sengoku's office, through the hole her father has effortlessly created, her hand a vice grip upon his. He has no choice but to go along, though since Sengoku doesn't seem so worried about the little girl half of Rosinante's size, he will try to showcase the same kind of confidence.
No sooner has the thought passed through his mind does he trip over his own two feet, face slamming into the floor.
Monkey D. Kitsune has stopped walking, her hand still clutching tightly to him.
"Are you okay?"
Turning his head to a side, Rosinante peers up at the girl that grins at him.
She's crouching down, her head tilting to a side and she doesn't look away from him in the slightest. She doesn't laugh at his fall either though, enquires about his health like it is a normal thing.
She's nothing like the others from North Blue were. She does not know he was a former Tenryūbito though.
Things will remain that way.
"I didn't trip," Rosinante protests, climbing back to his feet and watching the little girl just smile up at him.
"Okay, you didn't trip. Food now?"
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Rosinante regrets bringing her to the cafeteria.
It is an all you can eat, as he has found most Marine bases are. He has never met anyone that has taken such a thing as a personal challenge though.
Monkey D. Kitsune's plates (for she has multiple that she'd suckered one marine into helping carry to the table) are steadily being licked clean, yet the pace at which she devoured all of the food placed before her never slows.
"Where does it all go?" one marine whispers in awed horror and Rosinante finds himself wondering the same thing.
The daughter of Vice Admiral Garp licks eagerly at her lips, stuffing a handful of carrots between her teeth and crewing thoroughly.
At least she has the manners to eat with her mouth closed.
Slowly shovelling a helping of mashed potatoes into his own mouth, Rosinante watches this child of D steadily inhale all of the food she possible can and reconsiders his previous thought on her inability to eat him based on her size. It is actually quite possible she could manage such a thing, though from the looks of her, he doesn't think she has much of a taste for human flesh.
Sengoku wouldn't let her eat him anyway.
Reassured, Rosinante pushes his tray of food away, no longer hungry.
It is soon snatched up by the little girl sitting to his left and that is the last Rosinante sees of it.
"Vice Admiral Garp's daughter, eh?"
"Yeah!"
Choking down her latest mouthful, Monkey D. Kitsune grins at the marine addressing her, hastily scrubbing her face with the hem of her tee-shirt, wiping it free of food but smearing it all over the fabric instead.
She's really not the fearsome being he'd pictured a D to be.
"I'm gonna be a marine! Rosi is showing me around!"
"It's Rosinante," Rosinante corrects, no longer quite capable of ignoring it, damn the consequences that'll come of reprehending the girl.
Monkey D. Kitsune pauses, twisting her head around to look at him and disregarding the marine completely. She meets his eyes for a moment, face expressionless even as her eyelids flutter, blinking rapidly.
"Rosinante is showing me around," she parrots, correcting herself on his name and then grinning as if she has something to be proud of. "And we're gonna be best friends."
Wait, what?
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So, I went looking and couldn't find an SI that didn't occur in the present timeline of One Piece. Maybe I just didn't look hard enough, but hey ho, I had the idea, so here we are. (I have so many Self Insert ideas that I have to ignore because otherwise I'll never finish anything but this just wouldn't leave me alone)
Well, Meet Monkey D. Kitsune. Dragon's younger sister who in my version of canon died at the same time as her mother. But not here. Instead of the Monkey scar that both Garp and Luffy have, or the tats that Dragon's got, Kitsune's got a whopping big birthmark over the left side of her face. Like a wisp of smoke from a fire, it's several shades darker than her golden tan. So yippie for following the theme.
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Unlike with Marines, which I have planned up until Chapter 50 right now, I have no idea where this is going past Chapter 3. Only that it's gonna ruin the story line of One Piece far more than 'to the Marines' ever will. So don't expect regular updates like Marines' gets, but I will try, I promise.
Also, unlike with Marines this is 100% gonna have a pairing. I won't tell you who with yet, but I've already decided who Kitsune's gonna end up with. Though feel free to take your guesses.
(I'm also struggling to find good One Piece SI's wrote in 3rd person, so anyone want to give me any recs?)
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No longer even attempting to pretend she hasn't been sucked horribly into this manga,
Tsume
xxx