Flower District?
The name struck Maude as jarringly out of place. Wasn't that a common euphemism for… well, that kind of district? Sol went there for morning exercise? At his age? With his physique?
Maude was momentarily speechless, the incongruity baffling.
The shop was technically open, but with the doors still closed, silence reigned. Sunny didn't give Maude any specific tasks, and he didn't ask. He retreated to his corner near the wall, closing his eyes, resuming the mental task of sorting and organizing his fragmented knowledge of the One Piece world.
Once that was done, he knew he needed to resume the rigorous daily physical training regimen he'd maintained for years in his previous life. The Hunter's Note offered immense potential, but it wouldn't provide substantial, immediate power boosts unless another convenient target like Watt literally walked through the door.
Time trickled by. Two hours passed, and not a single soul disturbed the shop for now. Maude glanced over at Sunny, still engrossed in a newspaper behind the counter, occasionally flipping the pages back and forth. Her utter calm suggested this lack of customers was typical for their weapons store.
Still, the silence felt… excessive. Maude frowned, looking towards the closed double doors at the front. For a town supposedly rife with street brawls and chaos, the past few hours had been remarkably peaceful, marked only by the faint sound of occasional footsteps passing by outside.
Curiosity piqued, Maude pushed himself off the wall and walked towards the entrance. Sunny didn't react, seemingly lost in her newspaper. Feeling slightly more confident, Maude carefully opened one of the wooden doors just enough to peek outside, leaning out to get a better view.
After a moment, he pulled back inside, closing the door silently. His expression was one of flat disbelief. 'Interesting... this isn't a main street at all! It's a back alley in some residential area! No wonder it was so quiet.'
Opening a weapons shop in such an obscure location… One would think they were selling moonshine, not munitions. The image he'd built in his head of Mad Hatter Town as a bustling, dangerous hub began to subtly shift.
He let out a silent sigh, the urge to explore the actual streets flickering briefly before being extinguished by pragmatism. Worrying about that later. Priority is figuring out how to acquire a gun from Sol.
Maude turned back towards his corner. He had only taken a few steps when the front doors were suddenly pushed open again, this time with more force.
He looked back instinctively. His eyes widened slowly.
A group of three men stood framed in the doorway. They seemed to be walking together, yet the two flanking men unconsciously hung back half a step, subtly highlighting the importance of the man in the center.
The man on the left had curly, center-parted hair and a long-barreled flintlock slung across his back. A wide, earth-toned belt cinched his waist, a bulging ammunition pouch hanging from its left side. The man on the right was obese, towering over the other two despite his girth. He wore a green turban, perched incongruously above a pair of small, wine-red sunglasses that looked ridiculously undersized on his large face. He was currently gnawing on a half-eaten piece of meat.
It was the man in the middle who had pushed open the doors. He looked directly at Maude, noticing the boy's startled reaction. A hearty, somewhat surprised smile spread across his face. "Whoa there, little brother!" he boomed cheerfully. "Didn't mean to startle you!"
— — —
Mad Hatter Town, Cape Point Street.
This district bordered around pubs and housed the town's largest black market hub. Here, illicit transactions of every kind could be conducted openly and brazenly. The street revolved around Mad Hatter Town's biggest auction house, with various establishments tied to the underground economy radiating outwards.
Among these was the [House of Beauty], the morbidly named establishment where Arthur the Undertaker worked. His days were typically packed, his services in constant demand – though, truth be told, much of his 'business' stemmed from his unique 'ability' rather than standard undertaking practices.
Today was supposed to be his rare, cherished monthly day off. He had meticulously cleared his schedule yesterday, anticipating a day of relaxation. He had eaten well, drank heartily, and was just about to head to the Flower District for some recreational activities when the standard purupurupuru of a Den Den Mushi shattered his plans— a sinking premonition settling in his stomach.
Half an hour later, he was back at the House of Beauty, sighing internally as he changed back into his work attire. 'Working for others… always a pain.'
The uniform, the mask, the armband emblazoned with the character for 'Death' – standard issue for all Undertakers. Dressed, Arthur waited resignedly for instructions. Other colleagues were trickling back in, likely recalled temporarily by the boss.
"You guys back too?" One asked another. "Trouble at the 'Pig Farm' again?"
"Yeah, heard there was another riot this morning. Slaves."
"How bad this time? Many casualties?"
"Don't know details. Supposedly worse than the last one."
"Tch. Thought it might be a big order. Just cleaning up their mess again." An Undertaker grumbled, clearly disappointed.
The lead Undertaker surveyed the assembled group, his voice calm. "Alright, listen up. We move out when everyone's ready."
Arthur sat quietly in a corner, listening to the chatter. Another incident at the 'Pig Farm'. Likely many dead or injured slaves. Meaning a long, busy day ahead. And worse, it was the kind of low-paying cleanup job Undertakers disliked. So much for his rare day off.
"...heard there are some major items up for auction at the end of the month," someone whispered nearby.
"Like what?"
"A Devil Fruit, a Meito, and a Fishman slave."
"Seriously? Where'd you hear that? The official booklets aren't even out yet."
"Swear on my honor!"
"Then it's definitely fake."
"Huh?"
"Oh, right. Forgot I'm a heartless Undertaker. Lost my 'honor' when I signed up. How about I swear on something else?"
Arthur's ears twitched. He glanced over at the whispering colleagues. Devil Fruit? A famous sword? He was intrigued but skeptical. While rumors did circulate quickly in a place like this, fueled by loose lips and alcohol, Devil Fruits were exceptionally rare. An auction featuring one would typically involve massive publicity beforehand.
'Devil Fruit...' A flicker of longing sparked within Arthur. With his income, affording one —should it even be available— would take decades of saving and a major loan. But if the rumors were true, even attending the auction to witness it would be something.
As for a famous sword… Old Sol would likely be interested in that.
— — —
Inside a rowdy tavern.
Despite it being midday, the place was packed. Taverns were prime territory for pirates flush with cash, magnets for the rowdy elements of Mad Hatter Town.
Eustass Kidd sat alone at a table, an island of volatile solitude amidst the boisterous crowd. No one dared approach him. The dozen or so pirates currently groaning unconscious on the floor around his table served as a clear deterrent.
Just then, a man wearing a distinctive blue mask entered the tavern. He scanned the room, then walked directly towards Kidd's table and sat down without invitation.
Kidd looked up, acknowledging the newcomer. "You're here."
The masked man nodded. "Did you get the gun?"
"No." Kidd shook his head curtly.
"Someone else bought it?"
"No. The old bastard wouldn't sell it to me."
"Wouldn't sell? Why not?"
"Don't know," Kidd growled, taking an irritated swig from his bottle.
The masked man seemed to guess the likely reason. "Alright. Give me the money, I'll go buy it."
"Money's mostly gone."
"..." The masked man fell silent, clearly exasperated.
Kidd just shrugged, looking completely unconcerned. In his worldview, money was just something you took when you needed it.