16 Chapter 16: We’re Gonna Need a Bigger Boat

The ship we were given wasn't small, to say the least, with an impressive length of 40 meters. It was nothing out of the ordinary in terms of design; in fact, it was just a standardized warship from the Alabastan naval fleet.

As we stepped onto its deck for the first time, the pristine wooden structure gleamed in the sunlight, untouched by the trials of the sea. Sails stretched high above us, ready to catch the wind's embrace, propelling us towards uncharted waters. The ship's bow showcased a carved figurehead of a certain bird, which I, by its orange and gray color scheme, immediately recognized as a robin.

'Hmm? So the royals listened to my instructions...' I thought as I scrutinized every corner of the ship.

I turned to Robin, who was standing, frowning with arms crossed, a good three meters away from Camus, and asked, "So, Captain, what should we name her?"

Cocking her head slightly, she began to consider, but before she could give her opinion, Camus perked up.

"Bah! Who cares about a name for a boat? It's just a thing, no? You're both stupid." He didn't seem concerned about the way he was talking to his benefactors.

Sooner than I had the chance to either laugh at- or reprimand him for his blatant disrespect, Robin spoke. "Lucky Clover. The name will be Lucky Clover".

She looked only at me, acting as if Camus' interruption didn't occur. She was scowling and clearly annoyed with both me and Camus.

I gulped and thought to myself, 'Maybe, I shouldn't've just picked up the first homeless man on the side of the road'.

Robin and Camus continuously bickered with each other in the short time it took us to ready the ship and set off, and soon we were seeing the shrinking shape of Alabasta on the horizon.

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In a flash, four days passed.

Being the only one even remotely knowledgeable about seafaring, I was put in charge of acting as the navigator, helmsman, and shipwright altogether. Basically, I was doing everything worth of note.

I wasn't annoyed by this, however, only enjoying the freeing sensation of having such a large vessel completely within my control. Following the Log Pose was easy as pie, so I had a lot of excess brainpower, which I allocated to ponder this funny feeling. I felt powerful and important – quite the ego I had.

Robin made herself useful cooking and cleaning, as doing so with her devil fruit was a walk in the park. She often cursed out loud about being confined to duties with such negative female stereotypes, which I guess I could understand, especially since the person originally meant to perform these duties was doing anything but.

Camus, the person in question, had in the first four days of travel only done three things of relevance:

First and foremost, being an absolute menace to the peace and quiet on the ship at all times. Not even while standing at the opposite end of Lucky Clover were you able to deafen out his loud, drunken yelling and singing. When told to quiet down, he would loudly laugh at your face.

I should have asked for a bigger boat.

Second, he had, in a number of days countable on one hand, drunk two-thirds of the enormous amount of liquor much generously given to us by the royals – easily enough to kill any lesser man. Camus was just special like that.

And third but certainly not least, Camus had, by some divine miracle, managed to carve his name into the ship's wood with neither Robin nor me noticing.

When hearing this, one might not think much of it. It couldn't be that bad, right?

'Maybe he just carved it on his door to claim the room for himself or something'.

'Maybe he just carved his initials onto the mast because of some silly sentiment'.

But no, not even close. Across the outside of the ship's hull, in letters both large and thick enough to easily read from afar, was the name 'Camus' beautifully written in cursive.

How that man, mind you, while dangerously inebriated, managed to cling onto the hull's outside long enough to carve letters larger than himself, all with a pocketknife, is a mystery for the ages. What is painfully clear to anyone who sees the ship, however, is that it is the definite property of one Camus.

This annoyed Robin to no end, and by day four, I had, on multiple occasions, been talking her out of throwing the vandalizing freeloader off board in a fit of rage. I knew she would regret it later. So, instead of doing anything that drastic, the two of us had just reconciled ourselves to avoid interacting with Camus at all costs.

To me, what was even worse than Camus himself was that Robin partly blamed everything he did on me, as I was the one to invite him onboard.

I would get deep passive-aggressive sighs at every turn, and she would avoid eye contact. She even stopped playing Rummy with me.

"Well, what can you do" I shrugged. She would probably come around at some point anyways.

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It wasn't long before the next island became visible in the distance. Its name was Jaya.

According to Robin, the Island only had one populated zone named Mock Town. Despite its resort-like appearance, it was a lawless town where all sorts of pirates gathered, away from the watchful eyes of the Marines or World Government.

As we neared the dock, we were able to see just how torn down the scenery appeared at close range. Not a single building was still fully intact, and trash filled the ground everywhere. Sober people seemed a rarity, and pirates were literally fighting to the death at every street corner. The whole town looked crazy.

I had no idea what new experiences Robin and I would be leaving with after staying here. What I did know for certain, however, was that Camus wasn't leaving with us.