Buggy smiled as he watched the town get closer and closer.
He felt his red nose twitch as he got more used to the breeze of the sea. It was a slow process for him, but he had understood how his Devil Fruit worked now.
The way he could control his limbs, how they would automatically reattach if he didn't try to control them.
It was as if the smaller parts were magnetically drawn to the larger ones. Quite a convenient power to have.
Still, Buggy was unwilling to accept that the 'Chop-Chop' fruit was only a defensive devil fruit. If you were to ask someone with even 0 knowledge of the show, they would immediately think of chopping wood, the action of chopping, not getting chopped.
'I gotta figure out how to externalize my chopping,' he thought, watching his detached glove drift lazily in the sun before snapping back to his wrist. 'If my conjecture's right, this fruit isn't just useful - it's busted. Or at least… very passable. Like, OP-adjacent.'
Busted was putting it lightly. Buggy knew that he was immune to all cutting attacks, no matter whether they had haki or not.
Of course, that didn't mean he could fight a swordsman who had Armament Haki just yet. After all, Haki means that their body has reached a certain level of strength.
Strength to turn his asshole inside out with their fists alone, or the blunt part of their blades.
Regardless, if he wanted to scrap with anyone in the Grand Line, Buggy knew he at least needed a better mastery over his own abilities. After that, he would need haki to even survive in the New World...
But would he even bother going there? Well, the Grand Line was also where the "fun" lived. Mermaids he wanted to ogle in person, princesses he fantasized about awkwardly flirting with (in a totally non-offensive, clownish way).
There was also the upcoming war, which he would rather not skip over. Getting the slight chance of saving Ace was the dream of just about any One Piece fan...
Well, not Buggy specifically; he saw Ace as a bum that got rage-baited into dying.
But he really liked Whitebeard, and the old man would've wanted nothing more but for Ace to survive.
Buggy was also excited to get to meet his future subordinates. The strongest sword painter, Mihawk, and the potentially gender-bent Crocodile.
Well, who knew if they would end up as part of Cross Guild at this point? Buggy sure as hell didn't want it to be under the same circumstances.
He was still undecided about his role in the entire mess... But one thing was for sure. He didn't plan on becoming a hero or a martyr. He was also against being just a prop in someone's skit.
Not everything needed to be noble.
He had his reasons for liking Whitebeard: the old man's status and the big-hearted tragedy of it all appealed to his "survive and get applause" instinct.
The Grand Line promised endless absurdity and opportunity, and Buggy intended to sample it all. Plenty of room for him to make a splash, metaphorical, comedic, and perhaps literal.
Not necessarily to conquer, but rather, to appear in the biggest, loudest cameo and collect the applause (and maybe some easy booty while everyone was distracted).
Too many fun things were happening in the world for him to sit on a dock and roost.
He fingered his red nose thoughtfully. 'Mihawk, Croc, Cross Guild…' He'd plant himself at the center of a circus of alliances and opportunistic deals. Maybe he'd even recruit some future heavy hitters.
Maybe they'd be charming. Maybe they'd be murderous. Either way, they'd be useful for stage props.
The ship hummed as it eased closer. Buggy felt the little electric thrill of a plan forming: test more, train more, and maybe learn enough Haki to stop being a joke in a brawl.
He liked the idea that he could be a living punchline... one with a strong punch and bite.
Orange Town grew larger on the horizon, the silhouette of a sleepy port town coming into view.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to the crew, because why not make an entrance?
"Then it's decided! Orange Town today, rum and chaos tomorrow, maybe meet some interesting people at dawn! Prepare yourselves!"
Mohji and the others blinked and hustled the way pirates do when their leader is both terrifying and terribly charismatic.
They were unsure how shaken their captain's brain got after being hit by that mast, but when Buggy shouted, they pretended this was normal. At the very least he no longer seemed to give a shit about his red nose... Not that anyone had dared to mention it in his presence yet.
They dropped anchor, made the lines secure, and formed up at the gangplank. Despite the drama of their approach, there was an odd hush about the town as they drew near.
Windows were shuttered. Doors were hammered. Flags were furled. It was… almost alarmingly tidy for a place that sold citrus by the bucket. A rather important hub for many merchants and even marines.
Johnny, a lanky deckhand, peered toward the market. "Captain… looks like folks closed up early."
"Closed up?" Buggy, repeated the tone, jubilant. "Closed up is good! Closed up means they're tidy. Tidy means there's clean loot hidden away. And clean loot… is practically begging for a clown with good manners to politely liberate."
"No, Captain," Mohji said, careful now. "They locked everything. They boarded the stalls. The people saw our ship and closed up. They're hiding."
Buggy blinked, then laughed, a theatrical sound that might have been eerie if it didn't also convey sheer delight. "Hiding! Beautiful. They're playing the invisible audience bit. Excellent. Excellent. Didn't think the fine people of Orange Town were so cultured in psychological warfare!"
Cabaji ambled to his side, looking at the town with that bored expression carved into his face. "Oh, and here we were about to set up a circus tent... No customers, no audience. Should we make an announcement? Leave a calling card? Maybe sing a sea shanty off-key?"
"Calling card?" Buggy tapped his chin dramatically. "No, no. We're pirates, lad! PIRATES! We are, however, also well-mannered; our mothers raised us right... Someone go kick in a door. Politely. Like… very loud politeness."
He spread his arms. "Laddies! Since they're too civilized to greet us, we'll greet them ourselves and accept their hospitality. TAKE EVERYTHING! THEIR FOOD, THEIR MONEY, AND THEIR WIVES!"
He paused, mid-sentence, and cocked an eye. The crew's collective reaction contorted somewhere between horror, excitement and suppressed laughter.
"Wait. Scratch the last part," he added briskly, faster than an order. "If any of ya acts creepy, I'll kill him. Or keelhaul, which is just death with extra steps. Keep it civil but enthusiastic."
Mohji paled. "Captain-"
"Chill, Mohji. Go get your mutt and carry loot." Buggy wagged a finger as if punctuation could soften a threat. "We're pirates, not monsters. Steal cargo, steal fruit, make a joke, maybe rob a few 'shillings.' But no wives. That's just rude and bad publicity."
A few of the crew nodded vigorously, unsure what to make at that line of demarcation. Some swore softly; they were plundering pirates at the end of the day. Of course, no one dared to even begin complaining out loud. Their Captain was a lot more unpredictable now...
Besides, many continued to be vaguely traumatized by the early-morning "stab me" exercise and were not thinking clearly.
They marched ashore in loose formation. Buggy's arms bobbed jauntily at his sides, occasionally detaching and floating to steal a seagull's chip right out of the air before snapping back to his glove.
The town remained painfully still, as if it had been paused by the gods of municipal timidity.
A couple of boards were kicked off a stall. A cupboard was shoved open, fruit gone, leaving only the stale shadow of citrus.
A bakery's door creaked but revealed only empty racks and a stack of hastily hidden sacks. The crew's foraging turned into a rather efficient looting operation: polite, speedy, and with the merest hint of theatrical flourish.
From a second-floor window of a shuttered inn, a single pair of eyes watched.
She'd seen pirates before, more than a few, but something about this group made her purse her lips and count coins quietly in the back of her head.
They were disorganized, loud, and perfectly dangerous in that "come-to-town to cause a scene" way.
But the amount of gold glittering on their belts, the eccentricity in his actions, and the absurdly ostentatious nose suggested one thing: they were either richer than they looked, or flat broke.
She adjusted the scarf over her orange hair and peered more closely, calculating. If those boots were leather, not cheap imitation, and that cape had real stitching… then the purse size of the captain alone could fund her next expedition.
Even better, his bounty poster put his head at a whopping 15 million belly. If she could catch him off-guard, she'd be able to collect that reward and finally reach her goal.
Alas, that option was a tad more dangerous than she would like. Buggy was among the highest bounties in the East Blue after all...
Even without that, she could already see the money glistening in front of her.
'Not bad,' she thought, one eyebrow arched. 'Not bad at all.'
How much money had a notorious pirate like Buggy really amassed? Enough to buy a map? Enough to change a life? Enough to make her stop hiding and start negotiating with those who controlled her life?
She folded the shutter another inch and listened to Buggy's voice echo below, theatrical and unhinged and very, very loud. The answer might be a vault under those ridiculous boots.
The question was whether the boat with the clown captain would be careless enough for her to take advantage.
She smiled thinly. Opportunity, like a tide, had a timing. Now she just had to decide if this particular tide was worth a dive.
And so Nami, Cat Burglar of the East Blue, marked her next target.