The sky was painted in hues of oranges, pinks, and purples as the sun slowly slipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the worn dirt path that led to Foosha Village. Eliot trudged wearily along the packed dirt and scattered rocks along the way. The battered man’s body was covered in cuts and bruises, his skin a patchwork of reds, blues, and purples. But it was his ribs that stood out the most, a mosaic of deep purples and dark blacks where the pommel of his sword that had been sticking out of the sea king when it flipped dug into him and tossed Eliot up out of the water only to come crashing down back on top of the beast. The sword had saved his life at the cost of nearly taking it from sheer blunt force trauma. Those that didn’t know would call his survival a miracle, but Eliot knew it was thanks to his devil fruit powers that he hadn’t ended up under the waves after his fight. The story the fruit had locked on had him victorious and on top, and the world complied and found a way to put him there.

The young man found it hard to be thankful for being saved when it was the fruits fault he couldn’t swim in the first place. As a matter of fact he found it hard to not be outright resentful after being stuck on top of the floating seaking corpse for hours, too exhausted and drained by the saltwater to move.

Eventually he had dried out just enough to get around to some pained shuffling on top of the slippery scales. Holding on to his blade still hilt deep in the seaking, and with a broken chunk of what was left of his boat in the other, he’d slowly paddled himself toward shore, each stretch tugging at his abused core. He’d spent hours paddling the corpse of the thing back to towards Foosha Village. Things had gone well, if slow, at first. He’d just gotten used to the smell of the seaking when Eliot started to feel the thing start to rumble and bubble through the blade. He thought he was going to die, some other beast finding a new territory and wanting a bite of the old boss, when the seaking let out a long warbling burp. Eliot’s laugh turned to coughing when the smell reached him.

Half an hour later, the smell still hadn’t cleared out. Every time the air was almost clear enough to breath without fear, there was another burp. The suffering man thought it couldn’t get any worse than the deep ach of his body, the burning in his arms has he paddled, and the stench of a dead seaking. Then he noticed with the last burp, the seaking corpse was starting sink.

Panicked, pained, and parched, the young man somehow paddled his way to within jumping distance right as the last of his footing sank under water. He leapt with all his might but came up just a bit short, lucky he landed on his back. Unluckily he was still close enough to where the very last bit of each wave as they crashed ashore just barely reached him. After an hour or so of shimming away between waves, he’d finally made it to dry land, or dry sand at least.

And now here here was, in Foosha Village, just outside of Partys Bar. Didn’t spot anyone besides the mayor when he looked in through the window, well the mayor and his reflection faintly visible in the window.

A pang of discomfort hit him as he caught a glimpse of himself. Unfortunate that, He usually tried to avoid his reflection if at all possible. He couldn’t help but see the same thing the villagers had seen in him ever since he was a kid, since he’d eaten the devil fruit. His eyes held the weight of seeing too much, looking right though the nice and pretty lies lucky kids gets to believe in. There wasn’t an ounce of hope in his stare, just a sort of desperate determination, and not many people like getting looked at with a stare like that, made them uncomfortable in a reasonable sort of way.

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With a deep breath, Eliot moved on and pushed open the door, the hinges creaking in protest. Mayor Woop Slap sat alone at a table. Drinking juice in a bar should have been illegal in Eliot’s opinion, but how could you convince the mayor to uphold a law like that when he as the one doing it. Mayor Woop looked up over his glass, his eyebrows arching in surprise as he took in Eliot's disheveled appearance as the young man plopped bonelessly in a chair next to him.

"I’d ask what the cat dragged in, but you look more like something it coughed up," the mayor quipped, a hint of amusement in his voice. "What happened to you boy?"

Eliot managed a sheepish smile. "The Lord of the Coast."

The mayor's eyes widened before tightening took on a stern look. "I had a rule about dealing with that Seaking. Now what was it again…" The mayor tapped his bottom lip as he pretended to think on it, “Oh that’s right. Don’t.”

"Won’t do it again, Whitebeard’s honor." Eliot shrugged, wincing as the motion aggravated his bruised shoulders.

The mayor's face hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You got him for good, didn’t ya?” Eliot met the mayor's stare unflinchingly. “Boy, didn’t I always tell ya what happened to Luffy wasn’t your fault? I don’t give a damn what some devil fruit has to say on the matter.”

Eliot nodded, best to just leave it at that. He knew what he knew, and the mayor knew what he had to say, and there was never going to be much in common between the two points. Better to change the subject. “I need a new boat.”

“What happened to your old boat?”

“The lord of the C-”

“See boy, that’s why I had the rule!”

The pair stared at each other for a bit. Eliot sinking down into his chair, near falling out of it, the mayor drinking his juice through a straw.

Eventually the mayor sighed, if he waited any longer Eliot was bound to fall asleep and then out of the chair. “If i get you this boat, are you gonna go do something else stupid with it?”

"I’m going Bounty hunting."

“So that’s a yes. You know how I feel about Pirates and Revolutionaries, don’t ya?

“Of course, pirates are the scourge of the seas, they bring nothing but trouble and misery wherever they go,” Eliot had heard the mayor rant on the subject dozens of times, " and Revolutionaries are just bandits with an excuse.”

Mayor Woop Slap regarded Eliot for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. Finally, he sighed, “Bounty hunters aren’t much better.”

“They can be.”

The mayor slung back his drink and finished the rest of the juice, “You better be. I’ve got your ship.” Even as tired as he was, Eliot couldn’t hide his surprise. “Had it for a while now, just didn’t get it to ya before you took that deathtrap of a dingy out.”

The young man was just now realizing the ship he’d been jealous of and drooling over for the past month was his all along.

“Almost wasted a perfectly sentimental gift by getting yourself killed.” The mayor laughed at his own joke because someone had to and Eliot didn’t have the energy. “But I want your word, boy. Your word that you won't become like them. That you won't let the lure of the fame or lawless life seduce you."

Eliot gave the mayor that look he’d always had, the one that said he’d always do what was right, but not necessarily what a smart. The mayor nodded, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "Good. Now get out of here before you fall asleep on the floor, you’re too big to carry back to your room."