Usopp sat on the upper deck in his extension office, tinkering with a spyglass he’d found in the ruins on the last island. The terrifying ruins that had nearly fallen on top of him, which he’d only survived by the skin of his teeth and Zoro’s well-placed sword strike. Not that he was actually scared. Or needed to be rescued at the last dramatic second when he thought for sure he’d be squashed into Usopp-paste. And he swore Zoro did it on purpose, based on the smirk he’d worn afterward.
The sun played peek-a-boo behind the fluffy white clouds drifting across the blue sky. A steady breeze kept the sails billowed, and the Thousand Sunny rode at a smooth clip across the sea. Occasionally, they hit a rough patch that tried to send Usopp’s tools scattering, but he’d long since grown accustomed to the whims of the waves. He’d made everything magnetic, including his overturned-crate-turned-desk. He’d also built a high edge around it to keep whatever he was working on from rolling off. He patted himself on the back regularly for being a genius.
On the other side of the upper deck, the door to the library opened. Usopp heard it because the hinges squeaked like a chorus of mice singing an aria. He’d have to tell the others the story about how he once conducted a mouse chorus on an around-the-world tour, but had to quit because he’d only been paid in cheese, and there was a limit to how much cheese a man could tolerate.
“Oh, Usopp,” Nami’s voice floated to him above the rustle of her mikan trees. She sounded distracted. “Run this down to Sanji-kun, will you?”
Usopp set down his mini-screwdriver, which attached itself to the desk with fine magnetic force, and pushed his close-up magnifying goggles onto his forehead. “Sure,” he said, getting to his feet. He didn’t mind a stretch break. Or an eyeball break. He twisted from side to side as he walked over to her and took the paper from her hand. It looked like a spending breakdown with a few questions in the margins.
Nami gave him a preoccupied nod and went back into the library.
The upper deck of the Sunny sat above the galley and housed Usopp’s external office, his and Robin’s gardens, and Nami’s trees. Usopp crossed to the galley access hatch and went down the ladder. Mid-afternoon, the galley was quiet. Sanji stood at the counter behind the breakfast bar dividing the space, a furrow to his curled brow as he wrote something down.
Usopp brought Nami’s note over to the bar and slid it across to Sanji. “From Nami.” He knew better than to dare enter the kitchen side of the galley. His eyebrows were still singed at the corners from the last time.
“My darling Nami-swan wrote me a note?” Sanji half-swooned as he reached for it. “Has she finally decided to allow me to sweep her off her feet?”
Usopp felt the need to point out the obvious, from a safe distance, with heavy, unmovable furniture between them. “It’s more likely that Zoro won’t get lost than that ever happening. You know, he circled the service elevator in the Aquarium Bar the other night six times before he found the door to the deck?”
“That idiot could get lost standing still,” Sanji said offhandedly, brow furrowing again as he read Nami’s note. He picked up a small blueprint from the counter in front of him and pushed it across the bar toward Usopp. “Will you take that down to Franky?”
Usopp picked it up. “Sure, why not?” He could pick up his micro-buffer for glass in his main workshop while he was down there.
“Thanks,” Sanji murmured, his attention fully elsewhere.
Usopp glanced at the blueprint as he left the galley. It looked like some sort of dishwasher. Sanji had crossed out a lot of things and written NO!!! in huge letters. Usopp could see why. Who needed a laser defense system for dishes? Was a Marine going to show up and empty the dishwasher?
Below deck, the air ran about ten degrees warmer, though Franky’s ventilation system kept the hold from turning unbearable. Usopp made his way down the dim stern-side corridor, past his own workshop, to the open doorway of Franky’s. The room had the same practical clutter as his own – tools, filing cabinet, work desk, miscellaneous spare parts – but Franky filled it differently, hunched over his drafting table with his massive altered frame making the space look half its size.
Usopp rapped his knuckles on the door to gain Franky’s attention before entering. “Got something for you from Sanji.”
“Great.” Franky pivoted in his chair, accepting the blueprint Usopp handed to him. “I wanted to get started on this next.”
“I think he wants changes first,” Usopp said.
Franky frowned, and his blue hair sagged as he looked over the scribbled-on blueprint. “Damn, this is going to take me time to rework.”
“Maybe think less defense, more scrubbing,” Usopp suggested. “You know, I once had to wash a million dishes by hand. It was all the scrubbing that nearly did me in. But I prevailed, and I only had dishpan hands for a week.”
“That’s great, bro,” Franky said, focusing on the blueprint.
Usopp took that as his cue to leave. He turned to go, but Franky stopped him. “Hey, if you’re going back up on deck, take this to Robin, will you?”
Usopp shrugged. He was going back up top anyway. “Okay.”
Franky plucked a paper off his desk and held it in Usopp’s direction. “Tell her there’s more where this came from.”
Usopp took the page and glanced at it as Franky turned back to his desk. It was a poem. Usopp didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or horrified. You smile like murder’s not a crime.
Shaking his head, Usopp swung by his workshop, picked up his micro-tool, and tucked it into the front pocket of his overalls. He made his way back up onto the main deck. Robin sat in a lounge chair beneath the shade of one of the trees, a book in hand, eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
“Franky asked that I give this to you,” Usopp said when he handed her the poem. “It’s from him. One hundred percent from him. I am only the text messenger. I had zero input in this.”
Robin’s lips curved with faint amusement. “I will keep that in mind.” She set her book on her lap and read the poem. She covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed softly. “Franky does have a way with words.”
Franky needed some lessons in how not to write bad poetry. “I’m a poet myself, you know,” Usopp said instead of what he was thinking. “I’ve written hundreds – no, thousands of poems. They’re known far and wide. I get accolades wherever we stop.”
“Do you?” Robin’s small smile remained.
“Yes! Students study my poetry in school,” Usopp elaborated. “Some have even set it to music. Very catchy. I’d recommend listening after a few drinks.”
“That is a good idea,” Robin said.
Usopp frowned slightly. “Listening after a few drinks?”
“Setting it to music.” Robin offered Usopp the poem again. “Would you be a dear and bring this to Brook? Perhaps he might be willing to turn it into a song. I believe he and Chopper are in the men’s quarters.”
“You want to turn this into a song.” Usopp took the poem back, studying her worriedly. “Are you feeling okay? Maybe you’ve been out in the sun too long.”
“I believe the shade from the tree is adequate, but thank you for your worry,” Robin said with quiet amusement. “I would hate to suffer from the effects of heat stroke and have my brain boil in my skull. Although it might make for an interesting experience.”
“Your definition of interesting and mine are very different,” Usopp said.
Robin merely smiled at him and went back to her book.
Usopp left her to it. He reluctantly brought the poem to the men’s quarters, where he did find Brook and Chopper seated at the sunken table, playing a game. The hanging bunks swayed on their chains as the ship rocked. The portholes were open, giving a nice cross-breeze and airing out the male funk that permeated the room.
“Ah, Usopp-san, would you care to join us?” Brook offered as Usopp stepped over a pile of discarded clothing.
Usopp declined. “I’m working on that spyglass I found on the last island. But Robin wanted me to give you this.” He passed over the paper. “Franky wrote it. She thought – for some ungodly reason – that you could set it to music.”
“Oh?” Brook read it over, and his always-smiling teeth somehow smiled even more. “Yo-ho-ho, this will be a challenge. Rhyming Ohara with cola is an interesting take on verse.”
“Can I see?” Chopper asked, leaning over the table.
Brook offered the poem to Chopper, then addressed Usopp. “I shall get working on it right away.”
“Great,” Usopp lied. It was not great. Now he might hear I wear a tiny speedo and fill it out SUPER-bly with violin accompaniment.
“Would you mind doing me a favor?” Brook asked, reaching for the bottle of choji oil sitting on the edge of the table. “Would you take this to Zoro-san? He was gracious enough to allow me to borrow it.”
Since Usopp was apparently playing messenger today, he agreed. Plus, he wasn’t a jerk. “Sure.”
“Would you bring him these, too?” Chopper spoke up, digging through the medical bag at his side. He took out a small, narrow roll of bandages, the kind he used for fingers. “He probably took his off already. Tell him if I find out he’s not wearing them, I’ll be very cross!”
Usopp accepted the bandages, even though he doubted Zoro would comply. The man had never met a bandage he didn’t immediately try to remove. “Not a problem.”
“Thanks,” Chopper said brightly. He turned his attention back to Brook. “Do you think I can help you with the song?”
“That would be an honor, Chopper-san,” Brook said. “I shall get my violin.”
Usopp took that as his cue to run, before he was subjected to more of Franky’s poetry.
The sun had disappeared behind a puffy white cloud in the shape of a sea cow when Usopp returned outside. The wind rustled against the sails. The crow’s nest was perched atop the foremast, and Usopp climbed the rigging to reach it. He pushed open the hatch and was greeted by the usual sight of a shirtless Zoro lifting stupid amounts of weight, this time with his teeth.
“Delivery,” Usopp told him as he crested the opening. He set the oil and bandages on the bench seat curving around the crow’s nest. The cross-paned windows were open in all directions, letting in fresh air. “Chopper said he’d hogtie you and make it so you can only eat and piss for a week if you don’t wear your bandages.”
Zoro thumped the weight onto the floor. “He did not say that.”
“He implied it,” Usopp said. “There was even a finger shake.”
Zoro scowled. “Tch. Whatever.”
Usopp valued his health too much to go against Chopper. He liked having all his blood and organs inside his body. Unlike Zoro, who seemed to make a sport of finding out how much he could get carved up before it became a problem. “Your funeral.”
Zoro ignored him and instead gestured to an empty plate sitting on the bench. “Take that down with you. Tell the cook he sucks.”
“No, I will not be doing that. I happen to like my face without a shoeprint on it,” Usopp said, even as he picked up the plate. “You want him to know that, tell him yourself.”
“I’m busy.”
“Then write a note. Today seems to be the day for them.”
Zoro’s brow creased like the idea confused him. Then he grunted and ambled over to his locker. Usopp watched as he took out a crumpled receipt – probably for sword-cleaning supplies – and smoothed it out. “Got a pencil?”
Usopp did have a pencil, because one never knew when inspiration would strike for a new gadget or when he might need to make calculations. He plucked it from the front pocket of his overalls and passed it over. Then he stared. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Zoro write anything. Or read anything beyond the numbers on his weights.
Zoro bit his tongue as he wrote, which Usopp would pretend he never, ever saw, because it turned the big, scary monster into a cuddly teddy bear and he knew better than to say anything about it. Usopp still preferred his blood on the inside of his body. That hadn’t changed in the last few minutes.
The ode to Sanji’s eyebrows, or whatever Zoro was writing, took a good minute and several scratch-outs. Usopp’s gaze turned out the window, surveying the sea. The sun poked its head out again, bright light catching against the waves. In the distance, he could make out the hazy outline of a ship. He picked up the binoculars nearby and focused on it. It looked like a Marine ship, but it was sailing away from them. Good. Usopp preferred not to get into a fight with the Marines today. He preferred not to get into a fight with them – or anyone – on any given day. Alas, as much as he bragged otherwise, he was not the captain of the ship, and Luffy’s idea of a good time was punching people in the face. Granted, it was usually people who deserved it, but once again, Usopp preferred his blood to remain inside his body.
Zoro finally finished and shoved the note at Usopp with a solid hit to his sternum. “Here.”
Usopp wheezed and managed not to drop the binoculars as he took the note. “Gee, thanks.”
Zoro grunted at him and went back to his weights.
Usopp put the binoculars down, picked up the plate where he’d set it, and muttered as he climbed through the hatch. “‘Thank you, Usopp. You’re the best, Usopp. I appreciate what you do for me, Usopp. My brain is filled with green worms, Usopp.’”
“You say something?”
“Nope!” Usopp said, and scrambled down the ladder.
The Sunny rolled with the waves, and the leaves whispered in the deck trees. Usopp paused by Robin on his way to the galley. “Brook said he’ll do his best with what he’s been given.”
“I look forward to hearing it,” Robin said. “I’m sure it will be quite moving.”
“To tears,” Usopp agreed. He knew he’d be sobbing in pain when his eardrums heard the poem set to music.
He continued on his way, up the stairs to the galley. His project still awaited him on the upper deck. He’d drop off the plate and note to Sanji and get back to what he wanted to be doing.
Sanji’s hair was doing interesting things when Usopp entered the galley. It looked as though he’d run his hand through it too many times and now it stood up in places in staticked disarray. Usopp felt that. Flyaways and frizz were a bane of his luxurious locks. And don’t get him started on edge control.
“You’re back,” Sanji said from behind a puff of cigarette smoke. He shoved a paper across the bar toward him. “Take that to Nami-san.”
Usopp sighed. “Fine.” He was heading back to the upper deck anyway, and the library that doubled as Nami’s office was right there. He brought the plate over to the bar, glancing at Zoro’s note as he went to pass it over as well. U suk + then u kin fuk me was what it read in between cross-outs.
Usopp’s eyes bulged, and he quickly shoved it with the plate across the bar. “From Zoro,” he squeaked, then snatched the paper for Nami and scurried up the ladder to the upper deck.
Once in the open air again, Usopp looked up at the sky and wailed quietly, “My poor eyes.” First Franky and his That’s romance, archaeologically poetry, and now poorly spelled sex notes. He put his hand to his heart and promised the blue heavens, “I will never read another person’s note again.”
He still needed to deliver Sanji’s to Nami, though. He did not look at it as he entered the library and walked up to her while she was busy at her desk. He held the note out like it might bite him at any second. And it might. He’d been bitten by paper before, and that wasn’t even a story. Papercuts were no joke. “From Sanji,” he told her, “and don’t tell me what it says. Please.”
Nami paused in her map making, setting her compass and slide rule aside. She took the note from him with a confused glance. “Okaaay.”
Usopp turned to leave, wanting to get back to the sanity of his work, but she stopped him. “Let Jinbe know we’re going to run into a storm in another hour.”
Usopp glanced out the window lining the observation room, but he didn’t see any dark clouds. Still, this was Nami, and Nami was never wrong about the weather. “I should be getting paid to deliver all these messages,” he said.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” Usopp said as he went out the door. Knowing his luck, he’d end up paying her if he repeated himself.
He went down the ladder into the galley, made sure he did not look at Sanji, and continued out to the main deck. He crossed the ship, climbing the double set of stairs to the raised foredeck. Jinbe stood at the helm, with Luffy perched on the figurehead nearby.
“Nami said to let you know we’re sailing into a storm in about an hour,” Usopp told Jinbe.
“Ah, thank you, Usopp,” Jinbe said. “I appreciate the message.”
Usopp waited. When Jinbe didn’t say anything else, he asked, “No return message?”
“Should there be?” Jinbe said with a tilt of his head.
“No,” Usopp said. “I’ve just been running messages between people. It seems to be a thing today.”
“I’m afraid there are no messages from me,” Jinbe said. “But if one comes to mind, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Usopp smiled falsely. “Great.” He walked right into that one.
“Ne, Usopp,” Luffy called back to him. “Can you ask Sanji to make me a snack?”
“And there’s the message.” Usopp sighed. “Yeah, I’ll ask,” he called back to Luffy. He had to pass through the galley again anyway.
He stopped by Robin again on his way past, informed her about Nami’s weather prediction, and continued up to the galley. He pushed through the door, mouth opening to deliver Luffy’s request. The words caught in his throat and came out as a strangled sound as his eyes landed on Sanji and Zoro.
Usopp’s first thought was that Chopper would be pleased Zoro was wearing the bandages in a place Usopp should never, ever see. His second was that he hadn’t known Zoro was that flexible.
Without further pause, Usopp fled up the ladder to the upper deck, packed his stuff into his cross-body bag, and used the exterior emergency ladder to descend. And he kept descending, down the slide, down the hatch to the hold, until he slammed the door shut to his workshop and threw the lock. Then he barricaded it for good measure.
“I am done. Done!” he declared. “Usopp’s Messaging Service is no longer operational.”
Some days, he understood why the den den snails hid in their shells.
End