A Tree Is Known for Its Fruit

**Date Completed:** Ongoing
**Users Involved:** User:DazzlingEmerald, User:YuveYu
**Setting:** Papanapple Island (Paradise)
**Characters Involved**: Mashikura, Donnie

## Shark Bait

"What an odd way to treat a king-resu," Mashikura thought aloud. Hands and feet chained, he was hanging from a long stick the way a sloth did a branch. Tens of feathered humans belonging to the Papa Tribe marched the stick over their shoulders to their village. The stick was stacked above a pit of fire.

"Gaoroqou qaad noqou!" bellowed the head chieftain, stamping the bottom of his staff against the platform of his stage.

In unison, the hundred or so tribesmen that had gathered repeated after him. "Gaoroqou qaad noqou!"

Prior to this, Mashikura had been bathed by the tribe's women in a lake of butter. He had thought it to be an odd tradition of course, but the abundant collection of bosoms accompanying him somehow made it a pleasant experience. Now though, he was having a hard time believing that they planned to do anything but eat him.

"Barq rhourra qaad!" bellowed the head chieftain once more.

"Barq rhourra qaad!" chanted his followers.

"Yes, yes. Barq roar-whatever-you-said. You gonna let me down from here or what?!" Mashikura gritted his teeth. In the next minute, he was about to become a light snack for the chieftain.

"Been some time, eh?' Donnie asked rhetorically, sucking in the salty, syrupy hot air of Papanapple Island's beachy shores, on which waves of crystal blue seawater lazily ebbed and flowed. Had it really been that long? Donnie had only been gone for about five years. In the grand scheme of the world's history, five years wasn't much. However, it was still nearly a fourth of the young Commodore's life.

Regardless of the status of his question, an indiscriminate Commander appeared behind him and nodded furiously, answering, "Yessir! It is, sir! Yep!"

Everyone on the island loved him, especially this Marine base. After all, it was his. The higher-ups all knew of Donnie's abilities and capitalized on them by sending Donnie all over the Grand Line, but officially, on the papers and in the registries, this base of G-3 was his own. And as such, all of Marines stationed there were all buds with him. If asked, Donnie would even admit that they were mentors, as he had grown up around some of the older members of this base.

But why was Donnie here? Donnie himself had no real impetus to return to Papanapple Island. He liked a break or two (or too many), but he only intended to return home at all when he retired. He liked his home island a lot. He really did. But he always had a nagging feeling that if he ever were to return, he'd be admitting defeat. The answer to that question was, then, the high-flying pirate... the "Tengu," Mashikura. Despite the fact that he reigned in the New World, he had apparently caught wind of a rumor, one that spoke of how Papanapple Island was bountiful with Devil Fruits, something that this pirate dealt in. This rumor was somewhat true, as the island's abundance of prolific fruit trees meant that Devil Fruits had a much greater chance appearing there than anywhere else. As such, the Marines already were aware of this and had, in fact, established their G-3 base for this reason.

However, the only generally perceivable trace of Mashikura were a trail of unusually small footsteps heading right into the jungle. Bad idea. Everyone new that there was a vicious tribe of cannibals who seemed just a bit out of this world. Legends say that they were descended from people in the sky! Acting on Mashikura's disappearance, Donnie had already sent a squadron of infantrymen awhile back... followed by another...

The first one already hadn't returned, and Donnie was getting antsy about the second. Transforming into his full form, looking like a giant, white duck in all of its glory, Donnie beckoned another squad over to get onto his back. Then, unfolding his legs, he would begin barreling down the beach, flapping his wings haphazardly. No matter how much he would improve his fruit, this weakness always remained true: in his full form on land, he *needed* to perform a takeoff. He couldn't liftoff like any average bird. After a solid ten meters of dashing, he launched into the air, and picking up on the smell associated with those tiny footsteps, he would fly low over the jungle, hoping to track down this pirate.

The timing on part of the marines was fortunate for Mashikura and rather unfortunate for them. Though they had been looking for him, finding him was a different matter altogether. A pirate belonging to the world's most powerful crew was anything but a common sight in this facet of the sea. The marines, judging by their expressions, had not truly expected to come face to face with the Tengu. Or perhaps it was more likely that they simply had not prepared themselves accordingly beforehand.

To come before the Tengu was a test of one's will in itself. There were few who could maintain their sanity in his near vicinity or even breathe according to their wishes outright. He was a man, however small, with a larger than life reputation. These were marines who struggled to restrain the island's bandits. What could they possibly hope to achieve against one of the world's most wanted criminals?

The first of the two squads from G-3 accomplished nothing. Well, at least they managed to find the Tengu, hanging from a pole of the sort over a blazing pit of fire. But they were so mesmerized by the celebrity that he was that they hardly think right. All the many countless times they had seen his face on posters around the world... it all came flashing back to them. They simply could not believe that he could have ended up on a remote island like Papanapple.

It wasn't until many minutes later, when the second squadron of marines arrived, that the first squadron succeeded in doing just about anything more. They were reminded to raise up their muskets and take fire without warning. After all, the Tengu was an adversary worthy of innocent casualties. The world would not turn its head over a few dead natives.

"Fire!!!"

The first round of gunfire gave Mashikura just the break he needed. Furrowing his tail around the pole above him, he tucked in his core and spun his body right and around. This brought him to face in the direction of an incoming bullet and, with pinpoint timing, he managed to intercept it with his teeth. Holding it there for a moment as he spun his body to and fro to evade the rest of the gunfire, he then spit the bullet at the chain around his wrists, freeing himself.

By the second round of gunfire, Mashikura had freed his feet. And by the third he had grabbed the pole that he had been tied to, revealing that it in fact no ordinary pole at all but rather the most vital addition to in his repertoire, Nidai Shusui. When the marines launched another round of gunfire, with the second squadron joining in the fray, Mashikura was in no hurry to draw the noticeably long sword from its scabbard.

Truth be told, in the few years Mashikura had acquired this sword, he had never fully grown comfortable in its use. He was easily reputed as one of the sea's greatest swordsmen and even with such a merit to his name the likes of a nagamaki still left him stumped. This was a good a time as any to get in some more practice with it, so why forfeit such a chance?

He shielded the weapon with his energies, turning the purple and pink sheath jet-black. He slid the pole between both hands and began turning it in front of himself like a fan, deflecting the hundreds of bullets with strict ease. This was anything but an ordinary display of swordsmanship; so unorthodox that even Mashikura knew not what to make of it. He was lost in thought trying to come up with a proper name for this makeshift technique, while the form of a large bird appeared overhead.

There he was. The Tengu. Whether Donnie would be as surprised as the others to see him in the flesh was yet to be seen, but by locating him at all, Donnie had already surpassed more than half of the Navy.

"Kuro Kagami!!"

As Donnie passed over above, the soldiers on his back would jump down like a squad of paratroopers, ready to add to the heavy wall of bullets that Mashikura was expertly defending himself against. However, they would be met with a different command than simply "fire" as expected.

"Hold fire, dumbasses!" Donnie shouted from above in between frantic caws and squawks. There was literally, absolutely now way that these soldiers could take down *the* Tengu. None at all. It was a tough pill to swallow, but even Donnie knew that he wouldn't last too long in a fight against this Underworld baron. Potential-wise, he never found himself able to compare to the likes Raffy, Poppy, Tsubame, or any of the other former subordinates he knew who were bursting with potential to take the world by storm. Donnie also knew what it was like to fight against a tough enemy and lose men because of it, and he was not willing to do that again. He was not going to senselessly sacrifice lives, and if one of those Marines decided to play "hero," he'd be the first to step in front and take the bullet in order to prevent Mashikura from paying it back a hundred-fold and harming the rest of his men.

This *conflict* between the Marines and Mashikura couldn't be a war of swords and guns. It would be a war of words. Following Donnie's orders, the Marines slowly began to lower their rifles as the firing reduced from a heavy downpour of bullets to a light drizzle. Donnie speeded up this truce with a flap of his wings, sending a gust towards the squads that would knock the rifles out of their hands and make them stagger.

Smoothly transforming from his full form into his human form, Donnie would adroitly land in front of Mashikura, holding his hands up as if the treasure hunter were holding a gun to his chest. His calm face betrayed his fearful body language, however. These New World pirates, Donnie had come to learn, were tough in their own right, with the ones in Mashikura's league likely being able to destroy whole armies, but much of their true strength lay in the ability to know when to draw and when to hold fire. An average Paradise pirate is unhinged and cocky, believing that the world is theirs for the taking, but a New World pirate's very mentality is much more complex.

"Whatcha doin' here, lit-" Donnie began with his suave "cool-boy" routine of teasing others, adjusting his sunglasses, and flipping his pompadour. Stopping himself midway and realizing that he had just halted fire specifically not to anger Mashikura, he corrected himself and stop his teasing name partway, instead addressing the pirate simply as he was meant to be addressed as: "Mashikura."

Had the marines opted to engage any farther, then without question they would have all been massacred by the same bullets being fired from their muskets. Donnie had done well to prevent that. With red eyes and a ringing sensation in his mind, Mashikura observed the man-turned-bird. By the looks of things, he was the man in charge of this island, to whom these pesky marines answered. Coming as no surprise, Donnie seemed to be wary of Mashikura's renown.

A scowl surfaced underneath his mustache. After all, Mashikura was a man who could see the future. And while Donnie had saved himself from uttering what came to his mind, his intentions still surfaced within Mashikura's acute studies. He had thought Donnie different. But it was obvious that he did not yet possess enough control over his instincts. Before a man who could see the future, Donnie was still far too slow.

"Hoy... who are you calling little?!" The ground began to tremble as Mashikura's meager size emanated a not-so-meager aura.

## A Tree Is Known for Its Fruit

The ground was trembling. Mashikura's anger made him momentarily abandon his motives in favor of immediate justice. He slid the handle down his grasp, until the side of his hand clicked against the flower crossguard of his weapon. Then with his other hand he latched onto the scabbard of his weapon; with gritted teeth, he began to awaken the Tetsugiri.

"Urrgghhhhh...!!!!" Veins bulged across Mashikura's head, neck, and arms. The ground underneath his feet collapsed outright, plunging his small form deeper into the island. This was a deeply strenuous effort. Under no sane circumstances would Mashikura have drawn his blade from its sheath. But his pride was now damaged and he soon forgot anything but.

An intense pressure suffocated the marines. Donnie would be able to feel it too, but as their leader and the clear perpetrator of this incident, Mashikura hoped that he would be able to endure it long enough to be fed to his sword. Committing the deed himself, Mashikura could hardly remain conscious. Marines fell asleep all around him.

"RAAGGHHH!!!!!!!!!!!" When Mashikura pried the sheath off the sword, its blade was free at last. It took the will of king in order to wield this sword, but even so, Mashikura was hardly able to contain its hidden powers. Holding it between his hands, he could not help but feel like one of the marines.

Every ticking second was exhausting. Blood fountained from Mashikura's mouth. He knew he had one strike to put an end to all of this. Anything more and his mind would be shattered by the cursed soul of the blade that was trying desperately to consume him. With trembling arms, he swept the large sword back to rest against his right shoulder, like batting up to take aim at a thrown projectile. His eyes were rolling backward into his head.

"H-Hi...giri!!!!!" He swung his sword from one shoulder to the next, dislocating them both in the process. His aim was to launch a projectile slash at Donnie that would consume him and his squadron in one swipe, but his sword would not listen to him. Instead the sword jerked in his grasp and fired his attack into the sky, where it was carried beyond the clouds after splitting them in half.

The weapon fell from Mashikura's grasp and he fell to his knees with great pain stinging his arms. The hamon along the sword's blade was gleaming a deep crimson as it lay on the ground, as it taunting Mashikura for attempting to utilize its power for himself. "Why... why won't you... listen to me-resu?"

To cross paths with the Tengu on an island like this of all places was a rare. But even more rare was an instance in which his mind was clearly distracted and his body severely wounded. His arms flailed at his sides as if their life had been stripped from them. Donnie still did not know why Mashikura was here or what for. But he did know that this pirate had made a clear attempt to end his life and was now foolishly wounded due to his own carelessness.

As Donnie felt the sheer pressure of Mashikura's presence pushing down on his very conscience, all of Donnie's suaveness would miserably drain away, being replaced by terror. What was this feeling? What was Mashikura doing? Little did Donnie know that this incredibly aura was a rare variation of Haki. As far as he knew, the only effects of Haki were hardening limbs with all of that blackness. Seeing all of his soldiers collapse around himself, wondering if they were even alive anymore, he would sniffle and his teeth would chatter as he began to backpedal away, practically pushed by the waves of will that enveloped his body. No... he wasn't scared if his soldiers were dead. He could still smell the slow, sleepy breaths escaping their lips as they lay unconscious. Then, what was he scared of? Being defeated? Or was it Mashikura himself? Even in the New World, he had never seen a power like this before. After his teeth hurt from chattering, all he could do is stare at Mashikura with a dropped jaw.

But when Mashikura unleashed his attack, one that tore the very sky above into shreds, Donnie knew he had to do something! Nearly instantaneously transforming one of his arms into an enormous wing, one that was nearly as large as a small warship. Huge blusters of wind, the remainders of Mashikura's attack, descended from above, storming the whole region as they ran through the jungles, violently shaking the trees. Donnie, however, stood valiantly and swung his massive wing as hard as he could, unleashing a counter-air current to cancel out Mashikura's. Unfortunately, Donnie would find that the winds from above would merely swallow his move as it did with the few wispy clouds that used to linger above Papanapple Island. Crouching down, or rather forced down by pressure, all Donnie could do was cover himself and a swathe of the Marines, hoping that he wouldn't be swept away as some of the Marines outside his wing-barrier already been lifted off and tossed up. Once this titanic slash had run its course, he was met with a rather strange sight: Mashikura kneeling on the ground, surrounded by pools of blood.

"*...the fuck?*" Donnie thought to himself. Teeth chattering, Donnie's mind began to race: "*No, no, no... no way! W-why..? H-how?*" Frantically looking down at his body and at everyone else's, he would find that everyone was intact. "*Are you -wait- did it... Did it fail? Is that it? Huh? It failed. Didn't it! Shit! What the-*" Donnie could tell through the astute powers of deduction he possessed that the attack had failed because he wasn't diced up into teensy-weensy bits, surprisingly. "*So... you're tellin' me that the attack didn't work and still did this? Whaaat?*" Donnie asked himself. Clenching his teeth and tightening his gut, he would trudge over to the dwarf, taking care to step over the unconscious bodies of his subordinates.

Standing over the little creature, who seemed to be just a bit more than a seventh of his height, Donnie tentatively squatted down and adjusted his sunglasses. This man was clearly in no condition to continue a battle, judging by the state of his body and blood loss. With his limited medical experience, Donnie was able to tell these things. Or maybe he couldn't! Perhaps, those New-Worlders had an extra vascular system or something. Who knew what sort of strange power they'd pull out next? More importantly, Mashikura clearly seemed to be *incapacitated*, or in Marine lingo, a position to be arrested, detained, or possibly even *executed* on the spot. After all, that shiny bounty poster that nearly every Marine had stashed in their coat said *dead* or alive.

"*Bad idea...*" Donnie replied to himself, realizing where this observation was going. Killing, or even arresting Mashikura right there and then, for no reason whatsoever other than the fact that he had a bounty, would most certainly anger someone in the Black Widow Pirates, be it one of the commanders or the strongest woman in the world herself. Any of which could clean him and the rest of the island up for breakfast. Very bad idea.

All Donnie could do then, as he restrained himself from kicking Mashikura square in the head and knocking him out, was talk, albeit in a far more nervous tone. "Soooo... Mashikura... Bahaha... Hmmm. Mhm. Yep, I wanted to ask. Askin' is what I wanted to do. Yesiree..." Donnie began, stumbling miserably over his words as he drew himself away from the dwarf. When he was about a whole meter away, he would finally ask the question, "Whatcha... what *are* you... doin'-doing! Uhh... here? Bahaha."

Beads of sweat trickled down from Donnie's scalp, mixing with the hairspray and loosening his stiff pole of a pompadour into an uncooked, blonde sausage, as he awaited an answer..

A long sigh escaped from underneath Mashikura's bushy upperlip. When he tucked the nagamaki back into its sheath he was able to regain his conscious will, and upon standing up to his feet he spun his neck around and about. His shoulders audibly snapped back into proper alignment. A small branch of wood surfaced from the skin of his shoulder and he plucked it out and away into the woods in casual fashion.

"Oho. Feathery Boy. So you survived, after all." The dwarf laid his sheathed blade on his tail for a proper sleep. He yawned and flexed. He heard his name be mentioned. He confirmed Donnie's fears with a nod. "I see you have heard of my name. Then you have given me reason to spare your life. For now." He grinned. "Not that anyone on this island is worth killing-resu. I'm disappointed! Is this what a marine base is supposed to be like? Where are the women-resu!? The drinks, the food, the cheeks!?"

As if the rattling of displaced tendons and ligaments was not enough, Mashikura's body emanated yet another audible screech; this time it was his stomach, which moaned like a dried up well. "You! Feathery Boy! Take me to your base and show me what you have to eat."