One Piece Marine Captains Novels & Stories

George nods, “Not a problem.” He takes out his laptop from the drawer at the top of his desk and opens it up. He pulls up the list of all of the packs, organised by country. He goes to England and starts a search. “Two rivers, is that in the pack’s name or their crest?” Each pack in England had a heraldic crest to distinguish itself from others. Florence chews her bottom lip, “It’s on the crest. I believe they cross, or maybe twist, I’m not certain. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.” Florence looks dejected and starts to cry again. He nods and smiles at her,

he whispered. He tightened his grip on my neck, forcing me to look at him. "A deal is a deal, Captain," he murmured, his face so close his nose brushed mine. "And my request is rather simple, perhaps boring even.” “If you haven't thought about what it is you want from me, then think about it before you—” “I want you to sleep with me. Just this once.”

Her mouth actually fell open. Brad, to his credit, tried to play it cool. He smirked and gestured between us like we were old friends. “Stacey, this is Sebastian,” he said smoothly. “Sebastian, this is my girl, Stacey.” I gave her a small, polite nod. “Hey.” Her face was surprised with her mouth almost opening wide, like she had just discovered the juiciest piece of gossip in all of Hawthorne. The captain of Westfield suddenly living under the same roof as her boyfriend?

James points to another uniformed man, checking a myriad of dials along one wall and jotting notes onto a clipboard. “The Marine Engineer, madam. He’s in charge of the internal working’s of the vessel—propulsion, steering, lighting, pumping, anchoring and ventilation. I’m most fortunate to have him in particular. Mr. Higgins!” the captain calls and the man with the clipboard turns, nodding politely with a slight smile. He’s a plain looking man, with a round face, deeply cut with a great many lines particularly around his mouth and across his brow. “Mrs. James and Mrs. Hammond,” the captain introduces, adding, “Mr. James and Mr. Hammond, the Isle Royale’s marine engineer, Mr. Higgins. He’s am

The captain spoke with a firm voice that commanded instant obedience. "Was it supplied with the cargo before it was activated?" A man with two dimples and narrow eyes answered. Handsome. Charismatic in a quiet way. "Yes, sir." I stepped a little closer, and suddenly all their eyes turned to me. The attention made heat crawl up my neck. I felt absurdly embarrassed. Alexander answered while moving toward the door of ship number seven, the number carved deeply into its massive side. The long haired man followed him, his hair tied behind his head. Clearly the chief marine engineer.

“No more drills tomorrow.” Silence follows. One captain blinks. “Alpha?” “You heard me.” “But we’re almost ready….” “No.” Tyson’s voice leaves no room for debate. “We’re fighting a battle, not running ourselves into the ground.” His gaze sweeps across the room. “I need warriors who can think. I need witches who can cast. I need commanders who can make decisions. Not corpses who collapse before we reach the battlefield.” That settles it. The following day becomes the quietest day MoonHaven has seen in weeks.

The words sea dweller seemed to be haunting them as well as making them crazy. The diaries dropped on the table. "Did you find anything?" Cornelia asked. "No." Roland said. "Neither the second nor third generation of captains had any encounter with a sea dweller." Said Cornelia "Sea dwellers?" Rodrich asked. "Don't you mean mermaids?" "No, sea dwellers." Said Cornelia. "They have legs." "I have never seen one." Said the captain. "Perhaps captain Rodriguez would have written of them in his journal." "Where is it?" Cornelia asked.

Beside him, sailors secured heavy barrels of fresh water, crates of enchanted star-lily salve, and racks of specialized silver-tipped spears meant to penetrate the thick hide of oceanic leviathans. "The wind favors us today, Your Grace," Captain Vane remarked, stepping up the gangway with a rolled parchment chart tucked under his arm. Though the veteran commander’s hair was now fully white, his posture remained as rigid as iron. The tide turns within the hour. If we clear the harbor channel before midday, we will catch the trade winds straight toward the outer reaches of Aethelgard.

"Whether I like them or not. Whether they're useful to me or not. When they fail, I fail. That's what a captain is." It was a real answer. Not a deflection, not a power play. A real thing he believed. I didn't know what to do with that. "Go to sleep, Valdez," he said, picking up his marker. "You've got two goals and a bruised shoulder. Both of those things have consequences for tomorrow."

"Captain's rules, no slurs, no lying to the captain, no women aboard. Add one: no mouths on my time. It costs rope." "Thought the rule was no women," the red-haired sailor offered, halfway toward testing and not loving the tide. "And that boy." "Is crew," Harp said, arriving like a verdict. The deck under his boots seemed to decide to be a better floor. "Crew pulls their weight. Crew shuts mouths that get in the way of hands." A silence, thready, embarrassed. Freckles shuffled. The man with the halfway test found his hands and pretended to love them.