Destined for Flames (One Piece Fanfic)

The Suffocating Waves

Hurts.

Hurts, hurts, hurts.

What the hell... did I do to myself again...?

Words - words spoken in a timbre not my own - float in and out of range, slipping through my thoughts like water through spread fingers.

"...She's... don't know if I can..."

"Suck it up!... Not like she..."

"But I... And we just.... Left... others..."

Light sears through the blackness of sleep, fishing for my attention, and I wearily blink open my eyes. Unfamiliar warmth presses against my chest, seeping out from a slender back whose contours I don't recognize. It's not Zoro; I've clung to his back enough times to for my pathetic self to map out his muscles. No, but it's definitely masculine, even if I've seen more muscle mass on a package of week-old hams.

Licking my cracked lips (and cringing as the crusted blood flakes off like rust onto my tongue), I succeed in lifting my head, my eyes fluttering on the border between conscious and comatose. "Usopp?" I ask, a smidgen of surprise tainting my voice. C'mon. It's not everyday one gets to witness the bony sniper perform any sort of strenuous physical activity.

He turns his head and, despite the mask, I swear he's smiling. "You're awake!" he exclaims, though he's quick to add, "Good thing, too! I'm about to c-collapse...!"

Tempted as I am to curl my flames through his mess of black hair for the blatantly whining comment, I content myself with the sight of Nami lashing her Climatact across his bare arm with stinging accuracy. He yelps, backpedals a bit, skips to the side, and - of course - whips around so that it's my head cracking into the wall. For the second time.

Still waiting for that damn medal of mine... This amount of bad luck must be record-breaking at least.

All feelings of gratitude and amity drain from my system as fresh, feverish blood seeps through the knot of crimson hair my bangs have become in recent hours. The state of bandana worries me; it's survived bouts of bloody idiocy before, but something's telling me a simple bath of bleach won't cut it this time.

A brooding scowl tugs at my lips as I unhook my arms from Usopp's neck, landing a bit awkwardly on my heels, teetering until I feel the reassuring pressure of the soles of my boots on solid ground. I grimace, pressing the heel of one hand into my temple. This dizzy, disoriented feeling is... different than usual. Chopper's mentioned his concerns to me before, about how often I seem to take in head wounds when fighting, and I'm starting to agree with him. I'm just a magnet for misfortune, aren't I?

"Alright!" I clap my hands together, startling both Nami and Usopp, who were otherwise occupied with their intensive bickering (apparently on my behalf, from the incredulous glare Nami levels at me). "Someone fill me in, please?"

Again it's Nami who weaves the story, a rather humiliating tale about a young girl by the name of Flynn D. Raya, who by sheer coincidence shares my name. By Nami's account, she tried her darnedest to provide support for the dashing hero (we'll call him "Sanjii") while he played a game of kill-or-murder with the Big Bad Wolf. She failed. Miserably. Only a few seconds in and she was down, her body jolting as though struck by a blow, then crumpling altogether. She caused quite the commotion, having to be whisked off to relative safety like that by a cowardly sniper and his busty companion. Maybe even turned the head of that thick-skulled swordsman she's always chasing after?

Nope, nope, nope. Stop that train of thought right there. I am not an obsessive girlfriend, nor was I an obsessive admirer of his. I don't think, anyway. Kami, that was a long time ago...