A/N: ELLO so If anyone does end up reading this fic please note that I'm not a professional writer. I'm doing this out of fun and not to be some sort of expert. I love One Piece and wanted to try my hand at a fic. So to anyone reading this thinking I suck at writing, your right. I will either get better as time goes on or worse. Also I'm gonna try to write more in chapters.
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"Let's see what we've got… let's see," Riven muttered under his breath, crouched beneath Boochie's creaky old stall. His crimson eyes flicked with a glint greed.
He loosened the leather pouch he'd nicked earlier and tipped it over, letting the contents spill into his palm.
A grin spread across his face.
Nine crisp 10,000 Beli notes, folded, slightly worn, but still clean enough to spend without questions. A small pile of coins, mostly hundreds and fifties, clinking softly as they hit the dirt. He gave them a quick count, 1,356 Beli, give or take.
Two gemstones rolled out next, one a deep violet, the other a clear blue. Probably midium grade, maybe worth something if he found the right buyer.
And then… a key. Old, heavy, and carved with symbols he didn't recognize. Strange engravings ran along the metal like vines. Riven turned it over in his fingers, frowning.
"The hell is this…?" he whispered, the grin fading just a little before creeping back with renewed energy. He stuffed everything back into the pouch except for a single note.
"Jackpot," he chuckled, tucking the key into his waistband. "We're eating good tonight."
He peaked his head out from under the stall. "Boochie, all good?"
Boochie looked down only to see the little goblin's head peak out from under his stall.
"You keep doin' stuff like this, you're gonna give ol' Boochie a heart attack!" the big man grumbled, his round face creased with worry as he peeked down the alley for signs of trouble. "But yeah… looks clear."
Riven wriggled out from under the stall, brushing dirt from his elbows. He slipped into the patchwork tent stitched together from old sails and scrap cloth, the only real shelter Boochie had in this part of the slums.
"Thanks a ton, Boochie," Riven said, flashing a small, grin. "I owe you one."
Boochie exhaled slowly through his nose, then looked Riven over with a tired smile. "You don't owe Boochie nothin', little goblin. Just glad to see you still kickin'."
He handed Riven a splintered toothpick with a chunk of semi hard cheese impaled on the end. Probably weeks old and salty as the sea, but to Riven, it was a luxury.
"Ooh, yummers," Riven said, chomping into it. "Good to see you too, Big Booch."
Boochie chuckled low in his throat as he knelt to adjust a crooked crate, humming to himself. "You always this cheery after a job?"
"Good haul today," Riven said proudly, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Snatched nearly a hundred thousand Beli from some fat merchant captain. Dude had more rings than fingers."
Boochie paused mid hum, looking back with a grin. "Ha! Good to see you hard at work, you menace. If thievin' were a trade, you'd be a damn master craftsman."
Riven laughed, then reached into his coat and pulled out the pouch. He stepped over to a beat up table and placed six crisp 10,000-Beli notes down with a deliberate tap. The faint sound of the paper made Boochie turn, and his grin faded.
"Riven… no. That's yours," Boochie said firmly. "I can't take your coin, not like that."
Riven looked up, not with defiance, but quiet determination. "Come on, Booch. Let me help. We both know your debts are stacking up, and you've done more for me than half this island ever did. It's the least I can do."
Boochie shook his head, expression tight. "I didn't feed you all these years just to take from you now."
"I'm not a kid anymore," Riven said. His tone wasn't angry, it was soft, serious. "You gave me a place to hide, someone to talk to, food when I was starving. You kept me alive, man. And I'm tired of just surviving. We pay off that debt, we can get outta here. Me and you. Traveling the seas, finding someplace where we don't have to bow to scum in uniforms."
His eyes were shining, not just with excitement, but with real hope. The kind that came rare on Talon Island.
Boochie looked at him for a long moment. His eyes, usually soft with kindness, now flickered with something heavier, guilt maybe, or fear of false hope.
"Riven…" he murmured. "You talk like the world out there's any kinder than this one."
Riven smiled, lopsided and worn. "Maybe it's not. But I'd rather take my chances out there than rot here doing nothin."
The old vendor didn't say anything at first. Then he stepped forward and wrapped a meaty hand around Riven's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"You're a good kid. Better than most. Just promise me… if you go chasing dreams, you don't let 'em change who you are."
"I promise," Riven said, slipping the rest of the pouch back into his coat. "But I ain't going without you."
They stood there in the tent as the wind shifted outside, the smell of the harbor drifting in, briny and bitter.
And for the first time in a long while, Boochie let himself believe, just a little, that maybe things could change.
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The merchant's gold rings clinked loudly as he slammed his hand on the dusty, bloodstained desk. The room smelled like stale sweat and cigar smoke, a pit where plans were born and lives were ended.
"I want the little bastard found. Now," the merchant snarled, face flushed with rage and wine. "He took my money, my gems, even the damn key. You know what that fuckin key unlocks?"
Across the desk, lounging in a torn leather chair, sat Captain Gorran Slade, a broad shouldered, thick necked brute of a man, with a jagged scar down one cheek and teeth like rusted nails. His uniform was Marine-issued but long stripped of rank or respect. He was a "ghost captain", a man once stationed by the government but long since gone rogue, running the slums under the guise of "maintaining order."
Slade didn't flinch. He reached for a chipped glass of rum and took a slow sip.
"I don't give a damn about your key," he said, voice gravelled from years of smoke and shouting. "But I do care about someone stealing from you, and makin' me look weak for letting it happen."
"He's just a street rat," the merchant spat. "Some gutter dwelling brat. The marines called him Riven the Urchin. Thinks he's untouchable."
"Riven huh. I thought I taught that little punk where not to stick his nose." Slade said as he tapped his finger against his glass, making a small "tink" sound.
Slade set the glass down. His eyes, dark and sunken, flickered with interest, "There's a lot of mystery with this key anyway, what's it go to anyway, Flint? And why are you so pressed about it?"
The Fatty now known as Flint grew a small sweat. "The Lord has payed me a good sum for that fucking key! Never mind that just find him! That's what I'm paying you for."
Slade sighed, as started thinking 'I couldn't do anything to this ass hat fatty anyway, he's half way up the lords ass. Flint is protected whether I like it or not. Touching him would mean insulting the lord, and I can't afford a fight with the lord right now.'
The merchant then said "Remember, He's fast. Smarter than he looks. Slipped out clean with nearly a hundred thousand Beli. And worst of all?"
He leaned in, jabbing a fat finger toward the desk.
"He smiled while doing it."
Slade leaned forward, fingers drumming against the desk.
"You're not just asking me to catch a thief," he said. "You're asking me to break a symbol. The people down there? They see that boy and think maybe someone can stand up to us. That kind of hope's dangerous."
The merchant sniffed, adjusting the fine silk draped over his stomach.
"Exactly why I'm paying you. Double your usual rate. I want him dragged through the street by his hair. I want people to see what happens when you steal from the wrong man."
Slade cracked his knuckles. The sounds echoed in the silence like bones being snapped.
"Alright," he said, standing slowly. "You've got yourself a deal."
He stepped toward the open window, looking out over the slums of Talon Island, a twisted maze of rusted rooftops, smoke stained alleys, and broken dreams.
"I'll find your little urchin," he said. "And when I do, I'll remind this island who owns it!"