YooHoo! (A One Piece Fan-Fiction)

1. Nutty

YooHoo!

- An arbitrary adventure of the nautical variety -

1. Nutty

 

"Dispute not with her: she is lunatic."

- William Shakespeare, Richard III

 

Slamming one particularly heavy tome onto a nearby desk, I cough as many centuries worth of dust smacks me in the face, and I get a taste of antique culture. The libraries in the university I attend are full of books like these- the curator seems to horde them all, everyone calls him 'Nut' behind his back because he's like a little squirrel, and well...a little unhinged. He's the reason why not many people occupy this vast land of fact and fiction all that often. He's probably also why people invented book stores, trashy magazines and the Kindle©, because although I do agree with Nut that books should be well maintained and all, and you shouldn't really eat or do anything imprudent in libraries like the students here do when others are trying to concentrate - no respect for university property and their surroundings, I tell you!- I however do not go round flailing spit in a slanging match and going Jackie-Chan-bat shit-crazy on each and every offenders arse like he does. Unless they severely annoy me that is, or participate in blasphemous acts like book burning or coughing obnoxiously when I'm trying to read, then I cannot control myself at all, and the wrongdoer shall die.  

Nah, only joking, I'm too much of a wuss to commit a felony such as murder; but it doesn't stop me from shooting death glares out of the corner of my eyes under a curtain of blue. Yeah, my hair is blue. No it's not natural. A few months back before I started university my mother said I should take this opportunity to make something of myself, and stop stuttering during conversations and being a complete 'fraidy cat' in public and embrace the witty outgoing side that emerges when I know I'm safe and not likely to get lynched for my sense of humour, which by the way, is quite... cynical... and relatively will only reside within the safe confines of my mind. Why she suggested I do this baffled me- she herself was a straight laced single mother; a strong individual with an iron clad constitution suited for her profession as a leading business woman, who looks as though she's never had a moment of weakness ever in her life. My mother wasn't outgoing herself, and I vehemently denied I was a recluse, but she wouldn't have any of it.  

She then took it upon herself when I resisted, stating that I only 'wanted to get on in life' and 'focus on my studies' rather than the local social groups, to truss my hands and feet together with two of my old school uniform ties and preceded to lather my hair in electric blue dye. When I emerged from the massacre scene (blue hand prints screaming down the white tiles and milky bathroom appliances from where my mother lost her balance struggling to keep my head over the bathtub) reeking of bleach and looked into the mirror, I was shocked at the deep cerulean pigmentation dripping down my body to my hips in ratted waves, and that she'd managed to splash the dye across my forehead and down my favourite pyjama top too. I screamed bloody murder that day for the loss of my dinosaur pyjamas, but as long as I live, they will never be forgotten- I've stashed them away in my empty suitcase back at my dorm room on the Uni-campus before she could throw the ruined garments away! I shall be buried in them methinks...  

Thus I ended up with blue hair, which of course, was noticed by nobody; about five hundred other people had dyed their hair too- on my first day of lectures there were four girls and one spontaneous male who'd dipped his hair in a bucket of pink pigmentation. I was sat there not focusing all that well on a lecture of Maritime poetry because all I could think was we could form a McFly© tribute band and perform a flash mob of 'five colours in her hair' in a nearby street. Needless to say, I was mortified, and if any of the others had been, I wouldn't have noticed, because I was too busy trying to colour over my hair with a yellow highlighter and hiding behind a ring bound folder to notice.  

That was mainly why I was in the library right now- not because of my hair, but because of the seminar's I attended. Our current research topic was setting and how it could emphasise the narrative perspective of a text. So here I was, trawling through book after dangerously dusty book just to find something suitable to base my assignment for this module on.  

Putting back the book I'd selected earlier, making sure to place it into the exact spot I'd excavated it from because Nut is a, well, nutter for that sort of thing, I pull out the tome next to it- and though it be but little it's as fat as I don't know what. Seriously, can books be obese? I pull off the hoodie I'd wriggled into this morning and wrap it around my waist before inspecting the book closer: 

It's a hefty little blighter, about as thick as an average human calf, bound in sagging grey leather and heavy set gold lettering so obscured by the books weather abused façade that its title may be written in a forgotten dialect- one's curiosity can't help but peak at the sight; something so battered in Nut's library? Unheard of... Mythical, actually. I flip it open to a few pages in and cough when a spray of dust is launched at my face- along with something that scratches the bared skin of my arms, which strangely looked like salt crystals. Whatever it was, I didn't really give a flip, but I can tell you it burned like hell, and I scratted at my left forearm for a good five minutes before the sensation retreated, leaving a lovely self-inflicted welt on my skin.  

After that was over and done with, I finally settled down to sifting through the grainy pages, which were presented as sea-battered and tide beaten passages of slipping hand-written ink and coarse textured cartridge paper, ink blobs marring the cream colouring of the pages like a fatal blow to the books supposed flesh. From the mainly illegible scrawl nothing could be gained, until I reached about halfway through the senseless ramblings and came upon a liberated flyer- which grinned up at me, I kid you not. 

It looked like an old wanted poster; unfortunately ripped in half and missing one side of its soul, but it gave me some clarity as to what I'd found on the shelf. The name of the perpetrator had been singed out, indenting the paper further, but what remained of the text accumulated to what must have been some form of bounty, I presume. There were quite a few zero's, so much so it made my eye's water, even if the currency was different to what I used to. Instead of a pound sign, there was an odd curling capital 'B', resembling from my knowledge of mediocre science from high school as the Greek letter 'Beta'. That worried me further, because it wasn't of British origin and obviously foreign to Nut's horde of wonder aka, the library, somebody may have planted this as a wind up to the cranky tweed suit and braces wearing man up front behind the entrance desk. Popping my head round the edge of the tall ebony book shelves, I could see him meticulously stamping book cards and stacking the 'checked in' volumes onto a rickety trolley.  

I decided to take a course of action beyond what I'd usually opt for; placing the unusual book back into place, wedged between two other thick volumes so that it didn't stand out too much, but keeping hold of the wanted poster, I stuck the slip of fragile paper under my t-shirt, tucking it into my jeans so the flyer wouldn't escape, and tugging my hoodie back over my head I tried to squirm past Nut without looking too suspect, forcibly fiddling with my back pack straps so I didn't have to stop and make phatic talk or eye contact. 

The cheerful gaze of a young male adolescent, dark eyes, black hair and sun kissed skin, a quaint straw hat accompanied by a red band of ribbon circling its circumference, and a curving 'D' shaped grin of precious porcelain teeth; wide and bright like the moon, burned a hole through my abdomen as I scrambled back to my assigned living quarters.