In which we never actually use Gintoki as an anchor...maybe.

[seadevil]

Who: The crew of the Katabami, possibly the Bloody Roses if that's how we want to work this arrangement out
Where: At sea, to Malihini, and beyond!
When: After parting ways with the Strawhats at OH GOD GIANT SPIDERS EVERYWHERE through roughly the end of November
What: Catch-all log.
Warnings: May lower your IQ
Style: Any
Status: Closed.

Itinerary
- Greeting your new crewmate(s)
- Drinking excessively
- Shenanigans
- Sailing to an island paradise so Sakamoto can pick up chicks he really shouldn't be picking up (may also occur here, I assume.)

Comments

[undeadparts]

Wow...

[Despite the unenthusiastic "wow", Zozo really is impressed. Hopefully Motorchicken Motochika has picked up on the whole "sucking at expressing emotion" thing by now. At least she looks genuinely impressed...kinda.]

Do you have any other stories? That one was pretty cool.

[seadevil]

[Motochika tends to assume everyone is impressed with him to begin with, so Zozo looking impressed at all immediately feeds into his ego.]

Lass, I have enough stories to fill years and years and still have some left. [Some of them are even true!] Quite a few of them I'd never share with a young lady like yourself, but let's see...

[He rubs at his chin as if he's thinking the matter over, but it's mostly just for dramatic effect.]

What would you like to hear, then? More stories of battle? Strange things seen at sea? I doubt you'd be much of one for a ghost story...

[undeadparts]

[Once he makes the comment about having enough stories to fill years and years, Zozo pulls a barrel over to her and props herself down on it. It seems like a good idea to get comfortable, just in case this takes a while.]

I dunno, a ghost story sounds pretty cool. Know any good ones?

[Because she knows a few herself.]

[seadevil]

Of course I do! Let's see...well, there was once a crewman of mine, excitable youngster he was, and quite fond of women. Not a day went by that he didn't have a tale of the latest heart he'd broken and though I told him many a time that a woman's heart is one thing a man should never steal, he was ever a slave to his passions.

One day after we'd just set sail after paying a friendly little visit to what used to be Azai lands, he was telling all that would listen about the great beauty he'd found there. Now, all of us knew that to be the territory of the Demon King's sister where dark things are known to happen, but at the time we gave it little thought and he gave it the least thought of all. All he could talk about was how sweetly devoted she was and how she'd grieved upon hearing he'd be returning to the sea. To be honest, it was no different from his usual tale of romance that we'd long since grown tired of hearing.

Then things changed. The next time we left port after sailing on, he returned to the ship pale as snow without a word for anyone. We ribbed him, aye, for surely he'd either found himself one monstrous woman or no woman at all, but he wouldn't speak of any of it. In time, he regained himself, and was in good spirits when we made port again. We were all drinking together one night in town, so there wasn't a man on the crew that didn't see him find his next woman. Or rather, she found him. She was a beauty, no doubt, with long flowing black hair and pure white skin and as soon as she laid eyes on him, she never left his side. Thinking back on it now, we only ever saw her kneel or sit, never stand, and never once did she utter a single word, but drunk as we were and of as good breeding as she seemed to be, we thought little of it.

The next morning, when he returned to the ship, his hair was as white as her skin had been, as if his very youth had left him. He said nothing and we sailed on.

It was a long stretch without a port after that and most of us were quick to put it out of our mind. That is, until one night. Shortly after the sun had risen, when there was enough light to properly see by, there was a horrible scream, one such as I'd never heard before and never wish to hear again as long as I live. I ran below to see what had happened and found him in his berth eyes fixed and wide with terror. And surrounding him on the walls as if scratched by a fingernail, on his hammock as if in the blood left from that scratching, hundreds and hundreds of times, was written “come back.” “Come back,” filling every space from floor to ceiling.

We lost him to the sea that night.

When next we returned to that first port, where he met the lady who wept to see him leave, they told us they'd found him there, his body wrapped from head to toe in what could only have been long black hair.