PART 2: KHAFA

CHAPTER 7: A CELESTIAL DRAGON, A REVOLUTIONAY, AND A BOUNTY HUNTER WALK INSIDE A BAR

OR: THE BEGINNING OF A BAD JOKE

Fuck summer on a summer island. He was never letting Cleo and her desert-proof pelt pick their destination again. The ambient air was so hot it threatened to blister his lungs. Actually, it was so damn hot his ice-less iced tea was hot, Echo observed with a disgruntled look at the offending drink.

He emptied the rest of his glass in one swing and moaned when the drink slid down his dry throat. Then, for the third time in less than ten minutes, he signaled to the bartender and mumbled his thanks when the grumbling fossil poured him some more of that too hot but blessedly sweet beverage.

The saloon he and Cleo had found refuge in was the first establishment they'd met during their day-long trek across Khafa's badlands (and possibly the only watering hole on this living nightmare of an island). The sunburned shed counted four extra patrons: a middle-aged couple of lovey-dovey explorers who shared excited whispers about a lost temple (harmless, safe for the heart-burn their cheesy one-liners were giving him). A young man seated at the opposite corner of the bar. Definitely suspicious, what with his baffling sense of fashion and the contradictory mix of boredom and excitement oozing out of him. No, but really, who wears a top hat in the desert? And last was the spindly woman, expression shadowed by the hood of a floppy hat, who sat with her sandal-clad feet propped aside her ale. Between the twin pistols framing her slim hips and her all-around self-assured attitude, odds were she was a bounty hunter. But since her sharp gaze hadn't strayed once from the blond weirdo, Echo figured he could safely turn half of his attention on his newspaper. Thus, he pulled the crumpled journal out of his rucksack and skimmed through the world government's propaganda, pausing here and there to catch up on the latest pirate activity (he had to re-read the head-line thrice when he stumbled upon a picture of an utterly annihilated Enies Lobby) before he found the article he'd been looking for.

A couple of weeks ago, a popular uprising had started on a mining island; an isolated incident that wouldn't have earned more than a paragraph in the world economic journal if the tides of revolution hadn't spread beyond control and taken all the eastern side of South blue by storm.

The newspaper crumpled under his white-knuckled fingers. Things had gotten completely out of hands stupidly fast. Fuck, the joy of newfound freedom hadn't even lasted a day before the prey became predators and the predators prey. A bloodbath. There was no better word to describe the events on Grena.

The authorities had officially attributed the initial uprising to 'the desert wolf'—Echo's stomach churned at the reminder—yet many theorized that the elusive terrorist organization known as the Revolutionary Army secretly commandeered the ongoing operations.

With a groan and a silent prayer to the ancient gods, Echo pressed his forehead to the bar. The simple thought of this debacle having put him on the Revolutionary Army's radar gave him chills. No good could come from such an organization's attention, not when he was tainted with devilish blood...

Movement in his lap brought his attention down on the furry urchin responsible for his current state of scalding misery. He smiled fondly at the young fennec zoan gorging herself on a plate of grilled lizards, thin but sharp teeth munching on dry meat with the refinement of an ogre princess. Her dark questioning eyes blinked up at him, and with a private chuckle, he nodded at the mess.

"Good?"

Cleo smiled as much as a fennec could smile and gave his chest an affectionate head-bump before she lunged back on her roasted prey. It was objectively gross, yet his chest filled with pleasant warmth watching his trouble-child tear through her meal.

The next minutes trailed by at a snail's pace. The dingy place didn't even have a dart-board to kill time with, so he lazily kept guard over their shaded corner and re-hydrating his veins with sweet heavenly tea that soured when an anxious wave of energy slammed into his side. The feeling clawed at his defenses, relentless in its attempts to parasite him, but with clenched teeth and a sharp exhale, he denied it entry.

Echo narrowed his eyes on the saloon's entry, and tensed when a jittery man dressed in long creamy robes walked through the swinging doors. Angsty people meant trouble, be it the kind they inadvertently brought with them, or the type they consciously dropped in his lap. And in this case, it looked to be the latter as the man's beady eyes zeroed in on him before he shuffled toward his little corner.

Echo'd spent the last couple of years in south blue and entered the grand line just shy of two weeks ago in what he'd assumed to be a discreet fashion. Now sure, he'd built a bit of a reputation in the south, but he wasn't entirely convinced the desert wolf's couple of good deeds (and the bloody uprising-that-shall-not-be-mentioned) would warrant notoriety on one of Paradise's most isolated islands. He wasn't even sure his bounty had made it to these waters (tho the aforementioned uprising may have precipitated its arrival). So, with a bit of luck, his toasted brain was reading too much into—

"Are you the desert wolf?"

Echo suppressed a groan. It was too warm to do fuck all, least of all help someone. Couldn't the man see he was melting here?

"Nah, she is," he said, pointing at Cleo.

"Um..." The man's frenetic gaze darted between them before he retrieved a dirty cloth out of his pocket to dab salty droplets off his forehead.

Thin fangs nipped Echo's index, the needle-like prick enough to force his attention down on a rather unimpressed-looking fennec. Echo rolled his eyes and flicked a fuzzy ear in playful retribution before his gaze strayed back to the bundle of nerves hovering by his side.

"Say that I am. What's it to you?"

"I need- I mean my village. We need help."

He wasn't getting off this island without a massive sunburn, was he?

The man didn't look dangerous, but as Echo liked to say, there was no such thing as over-caution, so he gave the nearest bar-stool a firm kick and sent it waltzing a couple of feet away.

"Sit," he said with a nod at the stool. "I'm listening."

Sweaty-man squirmed. "My name's Octar Sharif and I'm the chieftain of the Kalaki Oasis, one of the island's few sedentary farm tribes..."

"What happened?" Echo prompted even as scenarios started playing through his head. There were few reasons people sought him out, and Khafa's desert spread too far inland for pirates to be involved, so...

"Bandits," Sharif said with a pained expression. "There's always been some rough groups around these parts, but never one so bad. They can't be reasoned with, Mister desert wolf..." Please, not this again... Echo cursed his inability to provide a fake name, but even after years of these dumb nicknames, his tongue flapped like a dying fish whenever he tried to voice one. It felt too much like a betrayal when his name was the only thing his mother left him. And sharing his real one felt too private, dangerous even to the more flighty side of his brain. "... Said they'd return in the morning. So, will you help us?" Sharif asked with a nervous tremor in his voice. The man was sweating bullets.

"Um..." Shit. Was there a sensitive way to say he didn't listen? "Sure?"

"Oh, thank God."

With the man sagging in his chair, Echo extended his observation haki to the room. The once bored-slash-excited blond wasn't as bored anymore, and his excitement had contaminated the lady-hunter. Echo cursed himself for not having brought this conversation outside. Fortunately, the love-birds near the door were still caught in their own bubble, and the bartender was living proof that one could indeed sleep on one's feet.

Echo's frown deepened when a prod at Sweaty-man's sprawled form revealed a tsunami of anxious relief. It was an understandable mix, but the thin spike of guilt sparkling underneath invited Echo's suspicion to the party.

"Say, how did you know I'd be here?"

"O-One of my friends, he said he saw you around the Rose-star dunes. Wasn't sure it was you, but you're pretty recognizable, you know, with your—" Sharif swept a hand over his turban. His goggles. Right. "—So I thought I'd test my luck."

Echo hummed. "What about those bandits? Anything I should know?"

"N-No."

Echo didn't even need observation haki to sniff sweaty-man's bullshit. He leveled him with a flat stare and said, "I can't help you if you lie."

Twitching fingers drummed against the bar until Sharif leaned over. "It's their leader," he whispered with a nervous side-glance. "He's a devil fruit user... He-He can choke people with his mind," he said with an audible gulp that betrayed close-experience of said power. "I'm sorry. I know I should have told you, but I-I feared you wouldn't come..."

Only now realizing he was clutching his disk bracelet, Echo relaxed his hold. It just happened sometimes, an unshakable remnant of Ilsa's harsh training.

"Don't worry, I can handle it," he said at last.

"You mean you'll come?"

"Well, it's not like I can just leave your village in this choke-man character's hands..."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you so much!" Sharif jumped to his feet. "S-Shall we?"

Echo's eyes narrowed on the bright outdoors. He'd help, sure, but not even Cleo's best rendering of a pleading pup would lure him back into this furnace.

"I'm waiting on an informant. Not sure they'll come, but I gave them until sundown."

"Ah, of course, of course."

Sweaty-man leaned back against his stool.

"Warm iced tea?" Echo asked with a nod at his glass of liquid comfort. He was making the man wait on a ghost. The least he could do was buy him a drink.