YooHoo! (A One Piece Fan-Fiction)

10. Sadist

YooHoo!

- An arbitrary adventure of the nautical variety -  

10. Sadist 

"The world needs sadistic people like me. If there were none of us you would never be happy because you would know no sadness." 

-Patrick Burn

I think that waking up in unknown places after being knocked out is becoming a habitual thing for me at the moment. When I open my eyes, the surroundings are rather familiar. I'm in the infernal medical bay of Trafalgar Law's submarine.  

Right now, I have a newfound hatred for the man in question- as I replay what had happened earlier.  

He's ripped me away from my Father, who I had just found after not knowing I even had one. Does the captain of the Heart Pirates enjoy my misery or something? 

Listlessly, I sit up on the rickety cot in the infirmary, surprised that no one is watching me sleep from the corner and making sure that I don't make a run for it. 

I slide out of the gently putting my feet on the floor and wincing as bare skin comes in to contact with a cold metal surface. When were my shoes taken? And my bag! 

With growing tension knotting my stomach into pretzel- like constructs, I pad over to the exit of the room, tugging on the handle and finding it locked. 

I rest my head against the door in dismay- just my luck... 

Suddenly the door swings open, hitting me square in the nose "Mother fu-!" 

"Oh, Aiko-Ya. Nice to see you are awake. I would suggest that in future that you don't purposely stand behind doors." Ha bloody Ha, you twisted man. 

"I-It's not a-as if I'm a m-m-masochist, Mr Trafalgar. I d-d-don't set out to b-b-be injured-regularly!" I say as benignantly as possible.  

"I'm sure you don't Aiko-Ya. But I do believe you must have some masochistic quality in you- after all, you keep running into me." He states, "Please take a seat on the cot so I can ask you a few questions..." he gestures to the cot I'd just escaped from. Angrily I do as he asks, and he smirks; "Good... Now let's begin. Full Name?" 

"Aiko Smith" he's gathered a clipboard and started scribbling on a little form. 

"Age?" 

"N-nineteen" he stops writing and raises and eyebrow at me, "W-what?" 

"It's nothing, you just look younger... Height?" 

"F-five foot t-t-two..." and he mutters 'tiny' under his breath. 

"Blood type?" 

"O." 

"Would it be imprudent of me to ask your weight? In kilograms, preferably". 

"The l-last time I w-w-w-weighed myself I-I was f-five s-s-stone, I t-think." 

He jots that down but scrutinises me uncomfortably, "So around thirty-two kilograms... Do you manage to eat properly? When was the last time you eat or drank something in the last few days?" 

"I... I try to... S-sometimes I j-just get r-really b-b-busy and forget to and the l-last time... I don't know a-about eating, b-but I had a cup of t-tea a few h-hours before I was c-captured b-by the s-slavers,"