A/N: Well, well! it seems the first chapter got a rather positive reception after all!

Thanks for that!

I was grappling with depression while writing this, so I do apologize for taking so long. In case any of you didn't know I'm...well, not quite right in the head. I'm still semi-functional mind you, but some days are better than others and at times it feels like my mind is going; I'm not even that old, so that's a chilling notion.

Scary thought, eh?

And as ever, a thousand thanks to The Patient One for helping me write this. I wouldn't have gotten very far all without him. Really helps to have someone to bounce your ideas off of, you know? Well, now, I know I mentioned this takes place at the start of canon, but only just. Meaning that while Luffy may have only recently set out for the sea, we all know how quickly time unfolds out there.

But, *spoilers* we'll be meeting them before long.

Also, for those that disliked it, that italic intro won't be happening again in this story, no worries. It was only meant to describe what I'd been up to before a random B.R.O.B decided to drop me headfirst into an adventure.

Now, in the shared words of The Patient One and NeonZangetsu, here's a bit of a description towards the Word-Word Fruit and some of its abilities:

The user can make something out of thin air, but that takes a lot of energy, far more than a novice can manage. The size of the word determines how much power goes into it; this means both the number of letters and the size that you write it as. The neatness of the writing determines how fine the control of the result is; scrawling "flame" would make an erratic blaze while calligraphy of the same word would produce something strong yet controlled. The ink quality also matters: blood is far more potent and less energy-expending than simple ink, and makeup that's hard to remove would be stronger than simple ink as well. Tattoos, likewise. The effects weaken as the words fade.

Different parts of speech have different rules; for example, nouns and adjectives only affect the person, area, or thing upon which the user writes them. Some words require more direction to have any effect at all; for example, writing 'picture' without context wouldn't do anything unless the user wrote something else alongside it. Writing in the air is a no-go unless you have a sparkler or something that writes them in smoke; otherwise, the user needs to focus on a solid surface, i.e. the ground.

The energy corresponds to the outcome, and stronger synonyms have greater power. For example, spark, flame, blaze, inferno. Drop, trickle, stream, cascade, torrent.

Physical changes are much less energy-consuming to cause than mental ones; attempting to alter someone's mind without their consent would require the user to overpower the subject's willpower. The same goes for their life; writing 'DEAD' or 'DIE' on someone would only have the desired effect if they were weak or weakened. On a strong person, it would at best make them mildly ill, though it would have some effect until the subject no longer has the word on them.

And there we have it!

In short, it's a powerful ability, but only if you're careful with it.

Now then, onto the story~!

"Me? I'm not a musician. I'm a storyteller. Nothing better. After all, words have power. Its all in how you use them."

~Ryan D. Swords.

When in Doubt...

For the second time in as many days, I woke with no recollection of where I was.

Mercifully, it was to a sustained absence of heat this time around. In place of the searing sands I'd feared to be my tomb, I stirred to find my back pressed against cool stone. Well. That was a cold comfort.

Thank you, thank you very much! I'll be here all day!

Blackened humor aside, it wasn't hard to figure out where I was. I didn't know why I was surprised; while Nico Robin might be a future Straw Hat, Crocodile wasn't the sort to save someone out of the kindness of his heart. If he even had one. It didn't help that my last coherent memory before I passed out of heat and exhaustion...heat exhaustion, was of said sandy snake sneering at me as though I were a gold-plated investment.

"Right," I groaned, "time to face the music..."

Opening my eyes, I confirmed that I had simply exchanged one deadly situation for another. A low roof greeted my vision, dense and aloof to the touch, and when I turned to the side, I saw that I was in a cage. Beyond the bars of which was a room showing off an abundance of opulent blue stone, polished furniture, and windows that gave a look at the water on the other side. As I observed one, I noticed a massive yellowish-green reptile swim by, leering at me as it passed.

Bananagator.

Despite the thick pane of glass between me and the beast, I shivered. If that creature got it in its head to eat me...

...well, I didn't want to finish that thought.

For a moment I gawped at it, unable to believe my eyes.

Well, there went any doubt; I was at Crocodile's secret base in Rain Dinners. Had that been all, I might've been able to quell the rising dread in the pit of my stomach and muster some sort of plan. But dangling just beyond the bars, a great banquet awaited me, sprawled out across a grand table. A veritable feast that looked to be crafted by the finest chefs the world over. An unseen breeze caught the aroma and wafted it towards me. My stomach growled at me in bitter complaint; a not-so-subtle reminder that I hadn't eaten in hours. Now, I don't claim to the sharpest tool in the shed, but I knew a carrot when I saw one.

So where was the stick?

More importantly, could I reach that banquet?

Tentatively, I reached out one of my hands to touch a side of the cage. My rational brain reasoned I couldn't possibly get to it, but I'd never been one to listen to logic before, so why start now? No, I found myself spitting in the face of reason like a stark raving lunatic and striving for that which lay beyond my reach.

"Urk! Mistakes were made!"

The moment my fingers so much as brushed the bars I felt an overwhelming exhaustion slam through every cell of my body. No, this went beyond exhaustion. Every muscle in my body suddenly clamped down at once, leaving me to hang against the bars lie a puppet severed from its strings. Urk. I felt ill. Even in my inebriated stated it didn't take long for my brain to make the connection. So that was what sea prism stone felt like. All told, I couldn't say I was glad of the realization; it meant the last few hours likely weren't a fever dream, which meant...

"You're awake. Good."

As I slumped, a flicker of movement beyond the table caught my attention.

"Who's there?"

Harsh, staccato laughter greeted my inquiry.

Say what you will about Crocodile but he can be a right sneaky bastard when he wants to be. I didn't even see him enter the room, much less Nico Robin, trailing in behind him. I couldn't even call it a walk; more a leisurely, stroll, one that ended with the two of them taking a seat at the very banquet I'd been trying to reach. Perhaps they'd been there all along, and I'd simply failed to notice them. Perhaps I was still hallucinating. Perhaps I was about to die.

Spirits, this was gong to suck.

"Oh, dear." an elegant voice dashed itself against my morose thoughts. "You must be starving. Here."

As if to defy that very statement, a familiar hand sprouted on the table and flung a banana in my face. My hand snapped up of its own volition before I could think to stop it, nimbly catching the fruit as it sailed between the bars-nice accuracy, Robin!-to smack against my open palm. In a heartbeat I peeled and devoured it with the ferocity of an alligator.

...I know there's a pun somewhere in there, but I'm not going to take it for granted.'

"Seems you can understand us, after all." Crocodile's deep, resonant voice grated against my already battered eardrums, a golden hook looming large before my still-clearing vision. "And it seems my suspicions were correct: you're a Devil Fruit user, aren't you?"

My expression must've been telling, for Crocodile stared at me, waiting for a response. After a few seconds, he folded his arms. Somehow that simple gesture filled me with dread; not only did it put his prominent gold hook-which I knew to be full of poison beneath its gilded coat-on fully display, but faced with that scope of sheer scope of presence, I found myself more than a touch intimidated. Although, speaking of intimidation...did Crocodile have Haki? They'd never particularly elaborated on that.

Whatever the case, I found myself gritting my teeth against the words that threatened to leap from my lips.

"You don't have to answer me." As if he'd sensed that very thought, his grin grew almost imperceptibly. Then again, I don't have to let you out of this cage. There's no need for this conversation, either. " He hadn't so much as risen from that chair, but I knew that bone-chilling tone all-too-well. "If you're so keen on your silence, I can just leave you here." The implied threat hung over my head like a guillotine.

A muscle jumped in my jaw.

On some level I knew the bastard was trying to provoke me; he'd said that just to rile me up. Or scare me, one of the two. And as much as I was loathe to admit it, he had a point; at this point, my recalcitrance would only earn me a slow, wasting death of starvation. Needless to say I wasn't keen on that.

"...What do you want with me?" I managed to say.

Was it so wrong that I wanted to smack the smug smile off his face?

"Answers, first of all. Who are you and what were you doing alone in the desert?"

...Simple enough, no real reason not to tell the truth there.

"My name is Ryan Swords." I delivered the words in a monotone reply, refusing to reveal just how badly he'd rattled me. "And...trying to survive, I guess."

"Trying to survive?" Crocodile repeated dryly.

Robin chuckled softly.

"I believe he implied that, yes."

'Oi! Not help, Nico Robin! Not helping at all!'

...I'd forgotten what an absolute instigator the future Strawhat could be. Theoretically, I knew enough about Crocodile to convince him it was in his best interest keeping me alive. In theory. As villains went, his motives were relatively ease to understand; if you were of use to him, he wouldn't kill you. Fail him...well...images of Mr. 3's near death escape flitted through my mind. Somehow, I doubted I'd be as fortunate if the Shichibukai got it in his head to feed me to his pets. The absolute last thing I needed was a certain archaeologist running interference solely for the sake of her own amusement!

And at that stupidly skeptical smug voice, my exasperation at the whole situation got the better of me.

"I don't know!" I exclaimed, throwing up my arms with a snarl. "One moment I was minding my own business, writing my next story. The next, someone knocked me out and dropped me in the wastes! If I hadn't eaten that damn fruit I would've been a shriveled-up corpse by the time you found me!"

A slender brow rose in grim triumph.

"Novice Devil Fruit user, then?"

Shit.

"Erm, I assume...?"

"Assume?"

...alright, I officially hate people repeating what I said in that dry voice.

"I was starving in the middle of the desert, so I ate a weird-looking prickly pear that I found. Might've been a hallucination." Not quite the truth, but it was plausible considering my circumstances. After all, what were the chances of encountering a Devil Fruit in the desert? It seemed so absurd as to be nonsensical; then again, what could be more absurd than landing in a world of fiction? Honestly, it was almost too good to be true!

More to the point, I was still sort of hoping that it was.

Even if this turned out to be some kind of fever dream-which I very much doubted judging by the pitiful wail of my stomach-this was...well, it was almost fun. I'd forgotten what it felt like to engage in a battle of wits with someone; even if said someone could slaughter me seven ways to sunday without so much as lifting a finger.

"One that lets you manipulate water, I assume?" Crocodile persisted.

"Well..."

"If you know the first thing about Devil Fruits," Robin cut in from nearby. "You know that submergence in water is the weakness of all users. Precious few are able to turn the element to their advantage. So how did you?"

Crocodile's expression had shown a bit of annoyance at Robin's interruption, but he seemed to dismiss it after a few seconds. Probably nothing he wouldn't have said himself. Sighing, I closed my eyes and wrinkled my brow in an honest attempt to remember what happened. The two strongest memories jumped out first, both dancing across my tongue. I felt my face contort in disgust.

"...You're wrong, you know. The first thing to know about Devil Fruits is that they taste horrible," I shuddered as a phantom taste lingered on my tongue, spurred by memory.

"Conceded," Robin agreed calmly. "Continue."

Something changed in her eyes, then.

Was that a smile, just now?

Pity, perhaps?

"Mmm...I was getting close to passing out from the heat." By now I'd abandoned all pretense of slouching against the wall of my "cell" and straightened myself up as much as my battered body could muster. It assuaged the tattered scraps of my pride enough to continue, at any rate. "Water was the only thing on my mind...some nutty part of my mind had me trace the word out in the sand. And then water appeared. I tried it again...and again until I burned myself out."

"...Did you create that glass the same way?" Crocodile asked, a touch of intrigue coloring his words.

Ah.

Interest.

Now there was something I could use.

"I traced out 'mirror' in the sand; don't remember a lot from survival simulations, but I remember how much a mirror can help." A flash of insight struck me, one I carefully tucked away before it could reveal itself on my stony face. Blood. I'd written the words in the sand to be sure, but that had been after I'd bloodied my hand. Did the ability require ink? Or blood? Could I trace the words on a solid surface without either? Questions bombarded me like cannonfire and I shoved them aside, resolving to test those theories later...

...assuming I survived.

"A Devil Fruit that turns words into reality...the Word-Word Fruit, perhaps?" Robin asked, a gleam of curiosity winking in her gaze.

"That's my guess," I shrugged, grimacing as the rags of my shirt protested against the sudden movement. "I know a lot of Devil Fruits, but I never heard of this one."

"Is that so?"

A rush of dry wind nearly shattered my confidence.

As I looked on Crocodile rose from his seat. It was like watching a towering dune sliding into motion, uncaring of its surroundings. In a rush of sand he vanished, reappearing well within arms reach, yet just beyond the bars between us. The near feral gleam in his scowl was all that held me back from a sharp retort. Somehow I'd angered him; that or I'd pushed his suspension of disbelief too far, too fast.

The hook tipped beneath my chin suggested the latter.

"You expect me to believe that someone stupid enough to go out in the desert alone," his voice emerged as a low, questioning growl, "Without robes, without water, without anything to survive, knows about 'a lot of Devil Fruits'?"

...I knew he was trying to anger me. Probing my defenses, trying to ferret out what secrets I knew in an attempt; to get me to spill some vital piece of information. But that knowledge wasn't quite enough to stop me from giving him what he wanted. My mind bleated out a terrified note of raw, bowel-voiding fear, but there in the symphony something lilted higher. Anger. Against my better judgement, I slowly nudged Crocodile's gilded appendage away from my neck and stood. It took every fiber of my being merely to meet his gaze, not to flinch in the face of a being capable of snuffing out my life with nary I thought.

And I smiled.

"Bitch, I am a walking encyclopedia." Many a time I've been told my grin was unnerving, judging by the slight grimace the warlord adopted, that fact held true in this world as much as the last. "I could name your Devil Fruit and cowgirl's over there in a hot minute!"

Crocodile's eyes narrowed. "I don't recall saying that I had a Devil Fruit."

This time, thankfully, I had an answer prepared. Even better, I had every reason to say it dryly.

"Sir Crocodile of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, formerly worth ฿81 million, empowered by the Logia-type Sand-Sand Fruit." I rattled off with a sardonic smile, "You're kind of famous."

Crocodile snorted in annoyance.

Robin's laugh was so soft I had to strain to hear her; but hear her I did, and this time, I didn't let her keep the upper hand.

"As for her, Nico Robin, worth ฿79 million, charged with destroying six battleships at the age of six." Quick as a bullet, I adopted a scholar-like tone and rounded on the tanned-woman to thrust a damning finger in her direction. "Wielder of the Flower Flower fruit. Also noteworthy."

Robin's expression hardened slightly, but she gave no other response...until I spoke again.

Memory supplied my answer, any true One Piece fan would remember what Crocodile had intended for this country...and his ultimate goal.

"Funny that she's here with you, though," I quipped, pressing myself as close to the bars as I dared. "Pretty sure a Warlord shouldn't be trying to conquer a country. Seems...unwise."

I expected anger, then.

What I received was cold indifference.

Somehow, the dead look in those eyes proved all the more fearsome.

"You certainly know more than you should, I'll give you that." Once more, that hook rose in silent warning. "Do you want me to kill you that badly?"

"On the contrary." Steeling my spine, I forced my face into a mask of neutrality and spread my arms in a shrug. "The World Government is a corrupt organization that frowns on freedom and enforces their status quo with an iron fist, up to and including using their battleships to blow away an island."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Robin stiffen. My eyes focused on Crocodile's as I went on. "You have my interest if you're interested in tearing them a new one."

"Bold words; have you considered they might've been the ones to dump you in the desert in the first place?" That scared face twitched in a dark rictus of a smile. "Seems they weren't too fond of that mouth of yours."

Outwardly, I forced a smile.

Inwardly, I winced.

No way in hell.

Nope.

If I cracked and revealed how I'd truly wound up here to Crocodile of all people...let's just say I wasn't willing to risk it. If this bastard learned even a third of what I knew he'd ruin everything. Worse, if he took it upon himself to have me tortured for said information, I wasn't sure how long I'd last. Strong-willed I might be, but I wasn't sure how long I could endure being brought to death's door before breaking. Right, I'd go with that excuse for now and pray he never caught on to the true depth of my knowledge. I fought down a small shudder and recited a silent mantra to myself. Just smile and wave boys, smile and wave...

I would let Crocodile make his own assumptions; let him believe he had my loyalty, when the truth was anything but.

And when the time came, I'd drop him like a hot potato.

"All the more reason to kick their sorry asses then." I riposted sharply. "If you're looking to give them a black eye, sign me up."

Again, that slight stiffening of Robin's shoulders caught my eye, but only just.

Crocodile slowly smirked. "You've got guts if nothing else, brat."

Oh nooooononono! Not this shtick!

"I'm not a brat." I momentarily made the mistake of grasping the bars to pull myself closer, only to recoil with a shudder. "Ugh, damn seastone! I'm in my twenties, damnit!"

The smug bastard didn't even pretend to hear what I'd said.

"Well, then." Leaning back, the warlord adopted a flinty expression. His good hand lingered over the curved arch of his hook and I couldn't help but follow the movement. My chest tightened as I braced myself for that telltale sting of scorpion venom. Honestly, I half-expected him to eliminate me solely on principle. As such, I found myself somewhat flatfooted by the offer that followed. "Considering the knowledge you've accumulated, I'll give you two choices, Swords. You can join me...or rot in this cell for the rest of your days."

Urk.

My stomach roiled.

Pain flared in my jaw as the muscles there clenched.

Despite all my frantic planning, I nearly refused him on principle.

I didn't want to join Baroque Works; if I had my way, I'd much rather be a Strawhat, or barring that, set off on my own. The notion of joining a group of killers and assassins nearly made me ill. These people-even Robin before she'd been reformed-would gladly kill, use, or slaughter anyone who dared stand in their way. Of course, I was no stranger to violence, but still...did I really want this? Was I willing to throw away my pride just to survive long enough to find an out? Would things even play out as they had in canon?

'Luffy's gonna kick his ass, Luffy's gonna kick his ass, Luffy's gonna kick his ass...

"Join it is, then...

...for now.' I swore.

Crocodile offered a rictus of a grin.

"A wise choice. Now then, about your ability..."

I'd seen that bone-chilling smile before and I knew all too well what it meant...

Bastard must've seen my fear because that smile only widened. "Once it's trained up, I think I have a use for it."

"Can I get something to eat, first?" I croaked.

"Ha! Fair enough."

The faintest glint of metal caught my eye; damnit, I hadn't even seen Crocodile move. Was he always this fast. Before I knew it, he'd inserted the key into the lock and opened the door for me. An arm hung out to the side, beckoning me to depart. Mechanically, I followed him, cursing myself for every step. The leering smile that followed sent a silent shiver shooting down my spine. Not one of fear, but the realization that I might've made a terrible mistake just now. I had no notion of the timeline, only that we clearly hadn't reached the Alabasta arc yet. Running wasn't an option, no, not yet. Not with my still-limited skillset. No, I'd bound myself to a devil and now I would have to see this through. It was this, or death.

You couldn't live to fight another day if you were dead.

For better or worse, my fate was sealed until the Strawhats found their way here. But worse than that...

"Welcome to Baroque Works."

...what have I done?

A/N: And there we go. In the end I decided to save the spider bit for later, with this chapter being so dialogue heavy. Crocodile and Robin were an absolute treat to write; while I might not like the former all that much, he's a damn terrifying villain when he wants to be. Add in the fact that he's one of the few who actually came close to killing Luffy. Not once, but twice. Had he been a touch more thorough, our favorite rubberman might not have survived Alabasta at all.

As for Robin, she's simply one of my favorite characters to begin with.

Now, moving beyond that, this is where the story starts to go off the rails; ripples spread out from this event, gradual changes leading to big ones and whatnot. Let's just say my arrival in Alabasta is going to wreak some BIG changes, as the text below hints.

So in the Immortal Words of Atlas...

...Review, Would you kindly?

No lengthy previews!

Only short ones!

(Previews)

"I have a job for you, Mr. 2."

Bon Clay stiffened.

"You want me to do some digging on our new recruit, Zero-chan?"

...you might say that. There's something about him that's been bothering me."

Note to self. The boss's present expression was one he never wanted to see again. Not if he could help it. There was something remarkably...concerning about that smile. He didn't even appear angry; if anything the Logia's smile was so slight as to nearly be invisible in its own right.

It was the eyes that terrified Bon Clay so.

Like a giant, looming predator.

"Start with the East Blue."

"You're a fool, Swords."

"Maybe, but this fool made you laugh."

...fair enough. I'll concede that point to you, then."

R&R~!