TheEverything

A lone author sat on the edge of his bed with his laptop propped up on a pile of boxes, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. To his left sat a mug of tea—chilled, not steaming—on a coaster. To his right, a reference guide on grammar rules for dialogue. Before him was the screen of his laptop, open to a text document where the cursor blinked with quiet intensity, champing at the bit like a racehorse ready to spring into action at his command and fill the page with all manner of prose. He took a sip of his tea and set it back down. He rifled to a random section of the reference book, dog-eared the page, and put it back. The cursor blinked impatiently. "I have... no ideas." He took another sip of his now nearly-empty glass. Maybe something would come to him after a quick refill— "Hey. You gonna write something or what?" The author yelped like a spooked cat and lurched to the side, falling off the bed and taking his drink and laptop with him. He scrambled to his feet in moments

A man crouched in the alleyways of a bustling port town. His suit was a size too small, as though he'd merely stolen the first clothing he could find off a clothesline. This was, of course, true. He couldn't go running around in a prison jumpsuit after all, not with the Marine base's sirens still wailing and their troops pounding the streets looking for him. His plan had been perfect. Building one guard's trust, bribing another. Making discreet deals with people on the outside. Months of slow planning. But if anyone knew how to play the long game, it was Captain "Black Cat" Kuro. He'd faked his death before and he could do it again. But now, the Navy knew him. His looks, his skills, his tactics. Everything would have to change. A complete restart. And this was where his plan became irritatingly out of his control. His weak point was, as always, having to rely on other people. That's what had failed him before; trusting that Jango and the Nyaban brothers could handle a few rookies.

The Great Pirate Bazaar. Located in a dormant volcano, it was every smuggler's wet dream of illicit goods. Everything from gold and maps to devil-fruit power enhanced items, all at very reasonable prices and protected by an unspoken Truce. Anyone who made a move on a merchant would earn the ire of the whole island. Customer-on-customer violence was overlooked, so long as it didn't interfere with business. They were pirates, after all. Foxy (the Silver Fox), made no effort to hide his scowls as he prowled up and down the aisles. To think he’d fall this low. Shipless, crewless, penniless. Kicked out of the very crew he founded. Ungrateful brats. But he hadn’t survived the Grand Line by dwelling on could-have-beens. He'd build a new crew, a better crew. First, a pretty woman. Someone he could reel in with his natural charm and use as eye candy to draw in some muscle. Then he could have his pickings from any other crew he liked with rigged Davy Back fights. Suddenly, like a vision