Golden dawn light spills over the wreckage as Lale – a compact storm of sarcasm wrapped in a salt-crusted cloak – glares at Ace, who's somehow still grinning despite treading water for hours. Her wild raven hair escapes its tie, whipping around a face that's equal parts delicate and dangerous, like a dagger wrapped in silk.
"When I said 'anywhere but that island,' this wasn't—"
A wave smacks her face. She sputters.
"—WHAT I MEANT."
"Relax, Witchy!" Ace laughs as he rights her with one hand. "We've got food, water—"
His stomach growls like an angry bear.
"...Okay, just rage and seawater. But look!" He points excitedly at circling seagulls. "Breakfast delivery!"
Lale deadpans as a gull steals Ace's hat.
"Congratulations. You've been outsmarted by sky rats."
A creaky, barely-floating boat lurches toward them. An ancient mariner squints through whiskey-colored eyes.
"Yer either deserters or dumbasses. Either way, I like yer spirit! Climb aboard – if ye dare."
The boat groans under its own existence. Lale eyes the 'repairs' – mostly seaweed and what appears to be chewing gum.
"This violates every maritime law ever written."
"Come on!" Ace yells, already aboard and shaking water like a dog. "He's got flags!" He points to a tattered Jolly Roger with a crudely drawn fish skeleton.
"Allahım, mənə güc ver..." Lale mutters in Azerbaijani as she boards.
Fishtown Isle greets them with the subtlety of a cannonball – raucous laughter, the stench of day-old catches, and a dozen grannies gutting fish with terrifying precision. One spots Lale and immediately pinches her cheek.
"Oho! Tiny stormcloud! You'll help me season the chowder." The old woman leans in conspiratorially. "I've got spices from the East Blue."
"That's either paprika or arsenic—" Lale murmurs, eyeing the suspiciously glowing powder.
A commotion erupts – Ace is being chased by seagulls, his shirt now half-shredded.
"LALE! THEY'RE GOING FOR MY PANTS!" he screams.
"Give me the arsenic," Lale says, dead serious.
Suddenly, the town's menace – Salty Steve, a tuna with a grudge and the size of a small warship – launches from the waves.
"FINALLY! A worthy opponent!" Ace yells, flames flaring.
His fireball hits the water, creating a steam cloud. When it clears, Ace is riding Steve like a bucking bronco, whooping like a madman.
"I'm not saving you this time," Lale mutters, massaging her temples.
"WORTH IT!" Ace yells, just before Steve flings him into a net.
Lale's Sharingan flashes. She locks eyes with Steve.
"You hate seagulls more than us. Chase them instead."
Steve pauses… then torpedoes toward the birds. The ensuing feather explosion rains down like dysfunctional snow.
Evening finds them on the docks, sharing stolen pastries. Ace's new lobster-hat clicks its claws menacingly. Lale fiddles with Granny's gifted seashell hairpin – a nervous habit Ace has started noticing.
"...This was fun," Ace says softly, for once.
"Your definition of 'fun' needs serious recalibration."
A beat. She sighs, relenting.
"...But yeah. It was."
Their hands brush. Both freeze. A gull swoops down, stealing Ace's pastry. The moment shatters in laughter.
To be continued...