One Piece fic-PoSM, Chapter 13

[liashi]

Title: The Psychology of a Shattered Mind
Chapter Title: Ballast
Rating: PG-13/M
Characters: Usopp, Franky, Brook, OCs
Word Count: About 5.1k
Warnings: Disturbing imagery, implications of non-con/dub-con, and violence. Angsty Usopp and blatant excuse for nakama comfort. This will be intense. Possible spoilers for entire series. Jumps off from Usopp being stuck on the Bowin Islands.

Can also be found at FF.net here. If you want to comment it will be much loved, and feel free to do so here or over at FF.Net. I've begun to feel increasingly at home here on LJ. Con Crit loved also.

Chapter links (on LJ): Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15

Hands grab at him, pull him, roll him, and pain sparkles in his head like fireworks before fading into the disorientating black.

You broke him, you broke mine.

The incensed shrieking that rises coherent above a jumble of sound leaves behind ringing and hissing. He'd groan and curl up except for the fact that he can't figure out where most of the sensations making it through the black are even coming from. It's dawning on him that he must have developed a bad case of Never-should-have-gotten-out-of-bed-itis rather quickly since this morning, and it's showing some unfortunate secondary complications.

Why can't she ever leave my things alone?

He is content to leave a great deal of things alone if they just leave him alone too-

Hands grab his upper arms on each side and haul him to his feet. With his eyes open, the world registers as blurred white, so he closes them again. The dark shows off the occasional fireworks better anyway, and looking at the black doesn't make him even more dizzy than he already is, either.

A woman's voice, and a young voice-the woman's tightly controlled, and trying to calm the younger.

Nami? Chopper?

Must be, must be them-if he's hurt there's been a battle, but if they're here, it may also be over. Relief blossoms in his chest, though something niggles at the back of his mind about the hands holding him upright. If two of these four are Chopper's-it's funny, they're smooth, not furry.

"Mm Chopper, d'ya shave?"

There's a strange silence at the question, before the hands urge him along. Oh well. Maybe it was for an embarrassing reason-gum stuck in his fur or something-and Chopper doesn't want to talk about it. He makes the barest pretense of actually trying to climb the stairs the hands are pulling him up, and doesn't care when they finally let go and he simply plops down onto the floor, unable to stay standing. He's still trying to deal with the sensation of the entire world spinning.

Chopper-Chopper'll fix it in a minute. It's okay.

I hate her, I hate her, I hate her-

Silence.

What did you think you were doing?

Look at me-

Booga-shaka?

Nami crouches in front of him, but he can't focus on her, his vision swimming and swaying. Again he gets the feeling of something not quite right with Nami either, except …

The ringing grows louder, and his head starts throbbing harder, and logical thought disintegrates. "M'not Booga-shaka," he mutters, grabbing onto the words instead because they're one of the few things making sense at the moment. Besides, he's mildly insulted at being called something that sounds that goofy-by Nami, of all people. "M'the Great Capt'n Usopp."

Great Captain Usopp?

Yeah, Great Captain Usopp.

He shakes his head from side to side very slowly, trying to clear it. The world jiggles, kind of like a big jelly, before settling back to being simply disorientating, and he can't tell if it's been made better or worse than before. "I've got eight loyal … " he rubs at his eyes. That's not quite right. "No, eighty thousand royal followers." The bridge of his nose wrinkles in thought. Something's not quite right about that, either.

What is he talking about?

"You had followers?" Chopper-voice speaks in an oddly familiar whiny tone, from somewhere behind him. It doesn't suit Chopper, really. He must be worried about something.

"Dun wor'y," he says, tongue getting stuck in odd places in his mouth. He puts more effort into talking clearly, clenching at his ankles in hopes that it the ground will stabilize. "Been push down twen'ny whole flights of stairs before. 'N I was fightin' big hairy monsters at the same time." Chopper's question registers just after this, so he adds: "The eigh'y thousan' followers were good, too, 'cause they could cushion the fall down."

Though he next wonders why Chopper needs to ask. Surely he's told him about his followers many, many times before. Nami's head moves, looking up, somewhere. Maybe at Chopper. He seems to be standing behind Usopp, going by the voice.

"You can't fall down twenty flights of stairs and survive, that's just silly. Not unless you were a monster, too."

Chopper's sudden incredulity with regards to his stories is disappointing and worrisome, but Usopp considers this, then nods sagely. "I was pretty hairy, especially back then."

Chopper splutters, a reaction only slightly more appropriate-what is wrong with him today?-and Nami laughs. It hurts his head. "Goodnight," says Usopp, and lays down. Maybe if he rests, it'll stop throbbing.

He's forced upright again. Usopp opens his eyes a crack to glare at Nami, black creeping, spotty, at the edges of his vision. The ringing grows even louder, drowning out her words, though her lips are moving. He tries to hear her, to reach out with his hands, but fresh waves of dizziness grow the blackness even faster, until all thought is overwhelmed and collapses inward under the onslaught.

Full consciousness returns only slowly, the in-between filled with garbled voices, nonsensical images and an all-over ache radiating from the back of his skull.

Then, for a moment, he's not sure why he finds himself sprawled on the floor with light from tall windows streaming across his face. It's always been dark when Lady Adel has come to-

He jerks himself up into a sitting position, the chains that attach him to the floor clinking loudly. He looks around for that Celestial.

Wait, Nami and Chopper had-no, no it doesn't make sense, and those memories are so scattered and confused that, when he concentrates hard, the one thing that seems to clarify is that Nami and Chopper couldn't have been there after all. In fact, he's pretty sure Nami was actually Lady Adel, or maybe someone else entirely, or even just a dream. Otherwise, it doesn't make sense.

Which is-good, he decides at some length. He wouldn't want them to be trapped here too, since this is more and more something you wouldn't even wish on an enemy.

The round room that is Saint Iddis' bedroom surrounds him, with no one else to be seen, only plush couches and boxes of toys. He slumps against the footboard of Iddis' bed behind him, relief making him feel a bit weak and dizzy. Nobody here? That's fine. Being alone is becoming highly preferable, given the people that could be around.

But why she'd picked on him, after he'd entirely minded his own business just like Lady Adel told him to? He knows there's no answer to that question he'll be happy with. There can't be. He's met enough of her type, in all the confrontations he's gotten into with the Strawhats, to be sure of that. Gingerly, he feels at his back and head, wincing as he feels out the extent of the bruising. Next time he's going to run away before that woman gets too close-he's good at it, after all-and hope that Saint Iddis won't mete out something worse than what she would. And at least if Saint Iddis was dishing it out after he actually did something, it wouldn't so shocking.

A soft thud and then quick, light steps from behind alert him that someone had been sitting on the bed behind, and he straightens up so he's not leaning against the footboard. Saint Iddis' smaller-sized boots only stop in front of him a moment before he goes trotting over to the door to the stairs.

Usopp twitches slightly when Saint Iddis hollers for Lady Adel, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room.

"Yes, I'm coming, coming-" her voice echoes back from the stairwell.

Saint Iddis returns to Usopp with his arms crossed, and a strange, tight frown on his face. Lady Adel hurries in behind him with a tray in her hands, her long, layered skirt swishing.

"Feed him," Saint Iddis says, pointing at Usopp and still looking thoroughly ticked.

"Yes, Saint Iddis," Lady Adel says quietly, and sets the tray on the floor in front of Usopp. She holds out a tall glass of water. "All of it," she says, and pushes the tray closer to Usopp. A large bowl of something thick and lumpy and entirely unappetizing sits on the tray.

He'll have to make do as best he can. From their expressions, this is not an optional activity-but was anything? He stares at the lumpy-something, then the water, and pretends it's one of Sanji's iced Mango-Pineapple Crush juice drinks. The lumpy-something he can't get to form into anything nearly as nice, since it has a faint aftertaste of Chopper's powdered vitamins. Usopp realizes he's hungry anyway, and works his way through the meal.

With a shallow bow, Lady Adel excuses herself and goes over to the chair where she keeps an Iddis-sized black robe. She's embroidering it all over with an abstract design in red and gold thread. Saint Iddis remains looming over Usopp with his arms crossed, staring. Usopp begins to feel entirely too self conscious, and he chokes when he tries to wash another bite of the lumpy-something down with the pretend Mango-Pineapple Crush.

"Adel," Saint Iddis whines, stomping his foot. "Now he's choking on it."

The hunger turns into a funny, sick feeling when he realizes again that he's being treated like some sort of pet or specimen … or … or maybe a very bad patient of Chopper's? Yeah. The latter, at least, is a slightly less unsettling image.

He can't quite get the specimen idea out of his head though, and he starts to feel off-balance again, the sick feeling threading deeper into his gut.

"Would you come here and try this robe on one more time?" Lady Adel says from her chair, sounding entirely unconcerned by Saint Iddis' irritation. "I'm almost done with the embroidery, and I'm sure Saint Gathram will be pleased to see you wearing it at dinner soon."

"But-" Usopp can feel Saint Iddis' eyes watching him a moment longer, but thankfully, Usopp has managed to stop choking by clamping down hard on the thick feeling in his throat. "Oh fine," Saint Iddis says, turning away at last.

His shoulders sag in relief, and after a forceful swallow he continues eating the lumpy-something, the sick feeling easing … but only slightly.

Usopp wakes from a light doze to find Lady Adel and the finished food tray gone. Really, he doesn't remember falling asleep, and he wonders if there's something wrong with him. There likely is, after that fall, but-he rubs at the side of his head that doesn't throb at the very idea of being touched. It's not like they'd get him a doctor anyway.

At least it seems like-when he thinks about it-they're still feeding him and keeping him around, despite being injured. This is not to say that Usopp particularly wants to stay around, but since dying is probably the only way slaves leave here, staying around is a lot better than the likely alternatives. From their perspective, Usopp supposes, he is perfectly disposable. Saint Iddis could just buy another slave, easy, but as long as Usopp's still wanted by Iddis, he stays alive.

He sighs. Better try to stay wanted, then. He'll figure out a way out of here that does not involve death later. Hopefully. He's almost surprised with himself, that he hasn't really given up on that idea yet.

Saint Iddis lies spread-eagled on the floor on the opposite side of the room. Most of the contents of one of the Celestial's toy boxes are scattered all around his sprawled body. The irritation from earlier looks like it persists under a blank stare of boredom aimed at the ceiling, and Usopp drops his gaze to the floor again.

He blinks at a book that's lying fallen open in front of him. He hadn't taken much note of it before, but it's close enough to read without touching, if he turns his head to the right angle-

The Twenty Nobel Kings, says the title line at the top of the pages. He begins to scan the text, which describes something about the development of Mariejoa, and a King Delphas speaking about the allotment of supplies to another king, Horttan-

"Can you read?" demands Saint Iddis' voice, suddenly closer than when Usopp had looked up earlier. Usopp starts and looks away from the book immediately. Maybe if he acts really intimidated, Iddis won't care. Maybe he'll get lucky. Iddis could do anything to him if he's upset his slave was doing something without permission. No one would care what happened to Usopp.

"I said, slave," Saint Iddis says, now sounding much more annoyed, "Can you read? You're not deaf and I'm asking a question. So answer it."

Usopp gives a slight nod, still keeping his gaze on the floor. "Yes … " He wonders why Saint Iddis would even care.

Saint Iddis kicks him in the knee, just hard enough that it will probably bruise. "That's 'Yes, Master.'" He sounds even more irritated now.

Usopp swallows. "Yes … M-master." The word burns a little, coming out.

At this, Saint Iddis seems satisfied, and he mutters to himself for a moment. "Hmph … well. I didn't think slaves could do that. … At least my slave isn't totally dumb, then." He bends, picks up the book and tosses it at Usopp's chest. One corner of the book jabs between two of Usopp's ribs rather painfully. "Read it to me, and make it interesting. I'm bored."

Saint Iddis walks over to one of the room's plush high-backed chairs and throws himself into it, slouching down and glaring expectantly, one lip jutting out in an unflattering pout.

Make it interesting?

Usopp fumbles a little as he tries to figure out where he should start reading. He comes across the beginning of the chapter with King Delphas and King Horttan and decides starting the reading sooner is better than starting it later, so he clears his throat and takes a breath. Unfortunately he finds himself stumbling over and squeaking at certain things in the passage that are downright alarming.

"Thus the twenty great and wise kings, the Creators, began to establish the World Government with true firmness. With the daily executions of the violent seed known as the men of D, and the reorganization of the military nearly complete, some of the Twenty's thoughts began to turn to the celebration of their new, more peaceful and unified world. Other kings, however, recognized the need for a capital city as grand as the empire it oversaw…."

Wait-Executions? Men of D? Daily? What was this about?

The passage goes on without a large portion of Usopp's brain paying attention to the words for a time. He remembers Robin mentioning the Will of D to Rayleigh, asking about it-something about D is important, that much had become apparent to Usopp at some point, except-

There's really nowhere for him to take that train of thought. He doesn't know enough, and the book doesn't mention any more about the men of D beyond that one brief phrase. Eventually Usopp remembers what he was reading for, and a surreptitious glance at Saint Iddis reveals that he doesn't seem to be all that entertained by Usopp's efforts so far.

Great.

He pauses when he reaches the first line of dialogue. This text isn't much to work with, really. The writer is clearly in awe with how amazing he thinks these kings are, but Usopp knows that stories where everything is sparkly and perfect are never very interesting, unless they're ridiculous enough to compensate.

Usopp spares another quick glance at Saint Iddis, uncertain. Did Saint Iddis think a lot of these kings? He's bored with this, that Usopp can tell, but would he take issue with changes? Unless he changes something, this is going to be dull no matter how well Usopp reads it.

Saint Iddis had ordered "entertaining" …

He looks between Saint Iddis and the book, swallows hard, sends a silent prayer up to any higher power that might be listening, and plows on ahead before he can think too much more and chicken out from what his storyteller's gut is saying.

The first actual line of dialogue says something like: "The building of Mariejoa remains an issue of pressing importance, King Delphas."

What ends up coming out of Usopp's mouth is: "I do declare, Delphy-man, if we ain't buildin' this little meat-stand, no one's gonna get it done!" with his pitch cranked nearly as high as it will go.

No time for backing out now. He sniffles loudly, and butchers King Delphas next: "Aib bizzy, 'Orbtan (sniffle)."

"You trying to insult me, Delphy?" Here he has to pause briefly to scan ahead. "You're spending all your time in that lame-o garden of yours. We're trying to build an empire here, and all you're adding to it are bushes cut into the shapes of your pet dogs!"

No physical blow falls, and Saint Iddis is utterly silent. Usopp doesn't dare look up now. He skips over records of how much marble went into the HQ building in favor of a mention of King Delphas owning a large number of dogs, including one Cerberus, which the king had been an even match with in battle-thus earning the creature's grudging respect.

In any case, the whole conversation leads into some polite but biting argument between the two kings, which is portrayed as a waste of time when there is city building to be done. The book has the disagreement temporarily broken up with some cheesy platitudes by someone named Galleon the Wise. He mostly skims it. After that, a storm comes, and Usopp embellishes this part into an epic storm to end all storms-sky as black as coal, wind tearing branches from trees, flashes of lightning the only illumination in the driving rain …. King Delphas and King Horttan are forced to work together to weather the storm and protect what has been built.

Just as King Hortton is about to be hit by a falling stone, Usopp has a mysterious masked hero leap in and save him from certain death. In the book, this "savior" is actually a "loyal servant," who ends up getting squashed, and dying after some parting drivel about how much he loved to serve his lords. Romantic, but also slightly nauseating, for a reason Usopp can't quite put a finger on, engrossed as he is in playing the story up. So instead of the servant, the Great Captain Usopp jumps in and saves the day quite heroically. He manages to survive, too. To the two kings, Usopp supposes, the Great Captain Usopp would prefer to remain a mysterious vigilante, so before they can even learn their hero's name, a seaking jumps up from the ocean. The hero leaps onto its back with a cry of "farewell!" and as the pair vanish, the first rays of sunlight burst through the clouds, illuminating the brilliant white marble of the city….

The chapter ends there. Usopp closes the book with a nervous cough. He'd definitely gotten carried away. Worried about what Saint Iddis might be thinking-he's still not making a sound-Usopp keeps his head down but inches his gaze up.

Saint Iddis is still slouched in the chair, looking at Usopp, but his eyes have gone wide. The both of them stare at each other for a long moment. Saint Iddis half-slides, half-jumps from the chair and approaches with slow steps. A bead of sweat tickles at Usopp's temple, and he braces himself for whatever it is that's coming. The words on the open pages begin to blur. The inside of his mouth is starting to feel like cotton balls.

Did he go too far? Not far enough, if that was even possible? Was the Celestial too shocked, appalled or horrified to even react at the moment?

Had he just doomed himself to a horrible fate?

Saint Iddis stops in front of him and stares down in silence. More sweat trickles down Usopp's temples, nearly turning to rivulets. One page of the open book in his hands begins to turn on its own, shuddering faintly in the air as it moves-

The book is gone.

Usopp jerks his gaze upwards. The book now held close to his face, Saint Iddis mutters incomprehensibly, sounding like he's reading the text for himself. His brows, curved up with puzzlement, are just visible over the top edge of the book. He leafs back and forth several times, but at length jams the book back into Usopp's hands.

"Do that … that thing again," he says, eyes still wide, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Usopp finds himself staring dumbly.

"That thing," Saint Iddis stomps a foot and gesticulates at the book, "Where you read it but-but you don't read it!"

A bead of sweat drips from Usopp's chin to the book. "Ah-" Not very intelligible. No, completely unintelligible, but he's still stuck back somewhere at the junction of What Just Happened Street and I'm Still Alive Lane.

"Well, go on!" Saint Iddis throws his hands up. "And do a different part this time!"

"Ah-I-right, yes, ah-" Usopp begins looking for the book, not entirely sure where to start. Saint Iddis doesn't go back to the chair, instead plopping down cross-legged on the floor, wiggling his feet impatiently.

Given a brief reprieve of silence, his shattered equilibrium begins to put itself back together. Well-well, why shouldn't even a World Noble have an appreciation of the fine art of storytelling, anyway! This is no time for the Great Captain Usopp to hesitate! It's only natural that Saint Iddis would be impressed by his skills in this area, right? Right!

The corners of Usopp's mouth quirk up as he comes across a chapter detailing one king's explorations, and his discovery of a strange, unknown island.

Maybe, he thinks to himself, It's time for an old fan favorite …

Brook is the first to notice the woman sitting crossed-legged on the Sunny's lion figurehead, and Franky notices the noticing when the singing stops. Brook, the closer of the two of them, lifts his top hat and bows slightly.

"Ah, excuse me, miss … "

Franky likes to think of himself as easygoing, friendly, at most times. But when he looks at this particular stranger, he feels a twinge of strong dislike, and he pauses in his shoveling to stare at her, and Brook's attempt to begin a civil conversation.

"…might I have the honor of making your acquaintance?"

Franky frowns. When he examines the woman, with her loose ponytail of dirty blonde hair, sallow skin, white, shapeless clothing, and single katana resting across her knees, he feels his dislike grow. Any normal, sane, self-preserving person would typically announce themselves and their presence before jumping up onto a pirate ship and sitting down, he figures. Her look is weird, her behavior is off, her everything rubs him the wrong way.

Besides, the figurehead is Luffy's spot. There's always been something off-limits about it, and it went without saying.

Brook's attentive silence is met with no answer. Franky tenses.

"Ah-if I might inquire about something else?" Given the slight hesitance, but yearning in Brook's tone, Franky can pretty much guess what he wants to inquire about. The woman lifts a brow but says nothing, rubbing at the flat of her blade absently.

"Oy, Skeleton-bro," Franky says, voice low but warning.

Brook takes the silence from the woman as a invitation and continues. "…Do your panties have lace on them?"

The woman's heavy-lidded gaze shows no reaction to the question. Franky firms his stance, readying an arm as she lifts the blade slightly from her knees. To his surprise, rather than leaping forward to attack, she flicks a finger against the flat. A wavering hum fills the air-a hollow, lonely sound, like the ring of a wind chime. This hum continues on, steady, and Franky's head fills with a warm buzzing, blanketing the alarm rising up to meet it.

He stares as the woman rises to her feet, swaying. Or maybe he is swaying? He feels at his chest. Had someone replaced his cola with tequila when he wasn't looking, or-no, that couldn't be possible either. Even the surprise he feels at the effect the tone is having on him begins to slip away. He slumps to his knees, impact making his whole body shudder.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, an alarm is flashing, turning, red. This is not good, Franky, not good!

The woman descends from the figurehead, nearly falling over before swaying back the other way and staying upright. Though Franky knows he needs to move-Brook's fallen to his knees too, whatever she's doing it doesn't seem to matter if one hears with flesh ears or not-it's like he forgot to connect his brain to the rest of his body. The hum still drowns out everything.

She's reaching her free hand to touch Brook now, her eyes taking on a hungry gleam and her formerly vacant expression turning to a menacing grin as long as one of cook-bro's kitchen knives. His mental efforts to get his limbs to move shift into high gear, but he barely even gets a finger to twitch.

Even his eyelids are drooping, and it takes all the concentration he has to keep them from closing completely.

Damn it! I-I can't-

The humming has turned into a buzzing that rattles against his skull. The sight of the snow and the woman before him begins to fuzz at the edges. His eyelids refuse to lift-

A scream, distant. He jerks, one last-ditch effort, combined with surprise, enough to keep him awake. Maybe it's doing no good, but he renews his efforts to concentrate, to fight off the sleepiness that's blanketing his mind.

He looks up in time to see Brook clatter flat to the deck, unmoving. One of the woman's hands hovers in the air where Brook had been just moments before, then drops to hang loose at her side. Stepping around the fallen skeleton, the woman strolls toward Franky, seeming to shimmer in the air, limbs twisting and ballooning strangely. Franky still can't move, struggling to bring up an arm in self defense. Relaxing warmth flows through him, growing more overwhelming the closer she gets. It's like being drunk. He's starting not to care about anything, even the fact that she'd boarded unannounced, knocked Brook out, and brought Franky himself to his knees with little to no effort.

She's looking at him as she lifts her hand again, but her gaze is unfocused. The hand thrums, he can feel it in the air. His chest surges with revulsion and he jerks back. He finally manages to get one leaden arm up and catch her wrist, hyper-aware of Brook still lying behind her. He shudders with the simple effort of keeping her hand from resting on his face. She's moving forward, millimeter by millimeter, but Franky'll be dammed before he gives up.

After several agonizing moments her hand touches down, more icy on his forehead than the air, and the world tips on its axis. Snow turns to sharp pricks whirling across his skin, despite how tough it is. Her touch remains solid, like a magnet on iron, despite his straining to push her away. He can't even comprehend this weakness that seems to have taken over his whole body. He can see her mouth forming words, but he hears nothing except the dizzying hum. He sucks in one last breath before her brow furrows and his conscious thought is rent to shreds.

Continued in Chapter 14: Broaching-to">