Grumpy Old Man

Dawn's first light crept over the harbor, painting the sky in delicate shades of pink and gold. Aria sat perched atop a stack of crates, her gaze fixed on the small house across the way. The ocean breeze ruffled her purple-tipped hair. Her fingers absently traced the leather spine of her notebook, worn from weeks of constant use.

Three weeks of watching this old man, and I still can't figure out how he does it. She flipped through pages filled with detailed notes on wind patterns, tide charts, and weather predictions. Each entry meticulously compared against Gale's forecasts.

The door creaked open. Gale emerged, each step slow and deliberate. His right hand pressed against his lower back, shoulders hunched against the morning chill. 

Gale approached the assortment of brass instruments mounted on a platform beside his house. A barometer caught the first rays of sunlight, the old-style mercury-filled glass tube glinting. An anemometer stood nearby, its cups spinning lazily in the breeze. Various other weather instruments surrounded them, each polished to a shine despite their obvious age.

Aria watched as Gale recorded the barometer reading with trembling fingers. He reached for the higher instruments, a sharp breath hissing through his teeth.

"Morning, Captain!" a gruff voice called out. An old fishing boat puttered up to the nearest dock. 

Gale didn't look up from his notes. "Barret."

The fisherman adjusted his cap. "Weather holding?"

"Wind's shifting south." Gale tapped the anemometer. "Watch the currents past the point They'll turn treacherous by midday."

Barret nodded.

"Because heaven forbid we waste words on saying good morning." Aria muttered. 

As the sun climbed higher, more boats arrived. Each captain paused for Gale's wisdom. Most just nodded in greeting; a few called out. Gale spoke sparingly, but his words carried the weight of absolute authority.

A young fisherman approached, bright-eyed and eager. "The markets are good today-"

"Southeast swells." Gale cut him off. "Stay close to shore."

The sailor's mouth snapped shut. He hurried away, properly chastened.

"And another one bites the dust." Aria made a tick mark in her notebook. "That makes twelve failed attempts at small talk this week."

She forced herself to sit still, her body screamed for help. Instead, she recording her observations with meticulous care.

"Dear Diary," She wrote with exaggerated flourish. "Day 23 of Operation Stubborn Old Man. Subject continues to resist basic human kindness." 

Her hand drifted to the fresh bruise on her ribs, a souvenir from yesterday's pirate encounter. She winced at the tender spot, remembering the wild-eyed pirate who'd managed to land a lucky hit.

"At least they're getting more creative with their attacks," she muttered, rubbing the bruised area. "Though I could do with fewer barrel throws."

The past few weeks working alongside the local Marines had proven invaluable for honing her abilities. Each encounter with pirates gave her new opportunities to study and copy different fighting styles. Her Devil Fruit power had become more refined through constant use.

The pale blue light that indicated strength always started bright in her targets, pulsing like heartbeats beneath their skin. She'd learned to gauge someone's physical capabilities just by the intensity of their glow.

When she activated her power, the process felt like creating a perfect mirror image. The target's signature would dim as their strength flowed into her, their glow fading to match the natural level of ordinary humans. Her own signature would brighten to match their peak perfectly, though the effect lasted only about a day.

Though it faded after about a day.

A Marine patrol rounded the corner below. The younger recruits' faces lit up upon seeing her, while their sergeant maintained his usual stoic expression.

"Morning, secret weapon!" One called out cheerfully, waving with enthusiasm.

Aria rolled her eyes. "That nickname is never going away, is it?" The title had stuck ever since she started helping them with their pirate problem.

"Not as long as you keep dropping pirates at our doorstep," the sergeant replied gruffly. His stern expression couldn't quite hide the hint of approval in his voice.

Marines had started calling her their "secret weapon." They didn't know the specifics of her power - she'd kept that information carefully guarded. As far as they knew, she was just unusually strong.

A merchant captain approached Gale's station, clearing his throat nervously. "Begging your pardon, Gale, but the clouds to the west..."

"Standard afternoon thunderheads." Gale didn't look up from his instruments. "Nothing to worry about."

"But my cargo-"

"Did I stutter?"

The captain retreated hastily. Aria added another note: "Subject continues to terrorize perfectly reasonable questions with monosyllabic responses."

"Well, this won't do at all." She closed her notebook with a decisive snap. "Time for Plan B - or are we on Plan M by now?" A wry smile crossed her face. "I've lost track of how many times he's tried to chase me off. I can't stay here forever playing cat and mouse with Captain Grumpy."

The evening market buzzed with activity as Aria weaved between stalls. Vendors watched curiously as she gathered her supplies: brass polish, clean rags, and the expensive oil local mechanics swore by for stuck valves.

"Let's see," she muttered, checking her list. "Polishing compound, sure. Steel wool for the really stubborn spots. Maybe some spare valve seals..."

The shopkeeper, an elderly man with impressive eyebrows, raised one bushy brow as he rang up her purchases. His hands moved across the register..

"Fixing up a boat, are you?"

"Not exactly." Aria counted out her coins carefully. Each purchase brought her closer to an empty purse. She hesitated, then added, "You wouldn't happen to have any wood polish, would you? The good stuff, for beaten decks."

"Might have some beeswax in the back." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Pricey stuff, though. Pure beeswax, imported from North Blue."

"Perfect." She placed more coins on the counter, trying not to wince at her shrinking funds. "Because apparently my new hobby is bankrupting myself to help someone who'd rather throw me in the ocean. I'll take it."

The shopkeeper disappeared into his back room, returning with a small jar. "This wouldn't happen to be for old Gale's weather station, would it?"

"That obvious?"

He chuckled. "Word gets around. Most folk know better than to mess with his equipment."

"Good thing I never learned that lesson." Aria gathered her purchases. "Any advice?"

"Duck if he throws things." The shopkeeper grinned. "And maybe wear something you don't mind getting wet."

Back in her rented room, sleep proved elusive. Her mind raced with plans as she spread her supplies across the worn floorboards. The soft glow of her oil lamp cast dancing shadows on the walls as she organized each item meticulously.

"The barometer needs the most work," she muttered, arranging her tools in order of priority. "Then the anemometer bearings." Her fingers traced the wood polish jar. "The platform supports..." She grimaced. "Better save those for last. Less chance of him murdering me if I prove useful first."

"Pretty sure this counts as breaking and entering," she mused, arranging her tools. 

The steady tread of Marine boots drew her attention to the window. Their lanterns swept golden paths through the darkness below.

"Everything alright up there?" The sergeant's familiar gruff voice carried clearly in the night air.

"Just planning tomorrow's suicide mission!" She leaned out the window, offering a cheerful wave.

"Try not to start any fires this time!"

"That was one time!" Aria pulled back inside, returning to her preparations. "And it wasn't even my fault." Her hand brushed against her notebook, filled with weeks of observations. Tomorrow, one way or another, I'll get answers.

Her reflection caught her eye in the small mirror. "And if the old captain tries to chase me off?" A grin spread across her face. "Well, I guess we'll see who's more stubborn."

"Though I probably should have bought some armor," she muttered. "Or at least a shield. Maybe a helmet..."

Aria rose before dawn, Time for Operation: Annoy the Old Man with Kindness."

Gale appeared at six sharp. He stopped dead at the sight of his weather station, mouth falling open. Brass gleamed in the early light, each fitting polished to a mirror shine. Glass surfaces sparkled, free of salt residue and grime. Someone had been busy - very busy.

Aria polished the last barometer, pretending not to notice him. "Three, two, one..."

"You! Girl!" He limped towards her, fury radiating from every line of his body. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Interpretive dance." Aria straightened, meeting his glare with an innocent smile. "No wait, that's tomorrow."

"Stay away from my equipment!" Gale snatched the rag from her hand. "I don't need some nosy brat interfering with my work."

"Really?" Aria crossed her arms, nodding toward the freshly-oiled valve. "Because that valve was putting up quite a fight yesterday. Pretty sure it was winning too. Unless those grunts of frustration were your victory cry?"

"You mangled my barometer!" He jabbed a finger at the gleaming instrument.

"You mean the one that's actually readable now? Yes, you're welcome." Stay calm. Don't laugh. Definitely don't laugh.

Gale's face reddened to match the sunrise. "I've been tending to this station since before you were born, missy. I don't need you telling me how to do my job. This equipment requires experience, knowledge-"

"Not telling. Just helping." Aria kept her voice level, though amusement tugged at her lips. "Even the best tools wear out. Kind of like someone's patience right now. Though I'm pretty sure that wore out years ago."

A fishing boat approached the dock. Its captain opened his mouth to speak, caught sight of Gale's expression, then wisely decided to keep sailing.

"I want you off my property. Now."

"Fine." Aria held her ground. "But I'll be back tomorrow. And the day after that. I've got nowhere better to be and way too much cleaning supplies."

"Like hell you will!"

"Watch me." Aria gathered her supplies. 

"Besides, I've already named all the instruments. Can't abandon them now. Bernard the barometer would never forgive me. And Annie the anemometer? She's just starting to open up."

She marched away before Gale could sputter a response. His glare burned holes in her back.

"Don't worry, everyone!" She called over her shoulder. "I'll bring coffee tomorrow!"

"GET OFF MY PROPERTY!"

"Bye Bernard!"

A string of creative curses followed her down the dock. Several fishermen suddenly became fascinated with their nets, hiding smiles. One gave her a subtle thumbs up as she passed.

"You've got a death wish, girl," one muttered as she passed.

Aria grinned, patting her bag of supplies. "Nah, just very persistent and slightly crazy. Though the line between those is pretty thin."

The sailor whistled low. "Brave of you. That old bastard got a temper worse than a hurricane. "

"It's not that bad." Aria defended, "He's just... set in his ways. Very, very set.

"Set in his ways?" Another sailor looked up from coiling rope. His laugh carried the rough edge of too much tobacco. "I'm surprised he hasn't chased you off with a harpoon yet. That's his usual response"

"Give it time." Aria's lips twitched. "Pretty sure that's scheduled for next week."

The sailors exchanged bewildered looks. Their faces showed a mix of admiration and concern for her sanity.

"Well," The older one grinned, shaking his head. "Good luck. You're gonna need it with that old sea dog."

Each morning found Aria back at her post, armed with fresh cleaning supplies and increasingly thicker skin. Her determination seemed to fuel Gale's creativity - his threats evolved from simple warnings to elaborate curses that would have made veteran pirates blush.

She started keeping a separate notebook just for his most inspired outbursts. The pages filled quickly with colorful threats and creative predictions of doom.

"'May you be swallowed by a Sea King with indigestion,'" she read one morning, sidestepping a thrown rag with practiced ease. The projectile splashed harmlessly into the harbor. "That's new. Very specific. I like it." 

The routine continued until one chilly dawn changed everything. Aria found Gale struggling with a stuck valve, his stiff fingers fumbling against brass. The damp air had swollen his joints, making each movement a battle.

Without comment, Aria set down her bag. The familiar tools clinked together as she retrieved the special oil. She took the instrument with gentle hands, applying the lubricant with practiced care.

Gale watched, expression unreadable. His hands remained half-raised, caught between intervention and observation. When she finished, he held out his hand.

"You're still doing it wrong." His voice lacked its usual bite "Here. Let me show you."

"There's a wrong way to oil things?" Aria raised an eyebrow, "Who knew maintenance could be so complicated? Next you'll tell me I've been breathing incorrectly all these years."

Gale demonstrated movements precisely despite trembling hands. Aria memorized each step.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" 

"Nope." Aria grinned. "I'm like a barnacle. Once I latch on, I'm impossible to get rid of." 

Gale snorted. "Don't I know it."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips before he caught himself. He quickly turned away, muttering about impossible girls and their endless chatter. His attention shifted to the platform beneath their feet, where paint had long since surrendered.

"Could use a fresh coat of paint," she ventured. "The whole station, actually."

"Blue." Gale ran a weathered finger over faded wood. "Same as the house."

"Not pink? Because I had some great ideas about flamingos-"

"Blue." Gale's glare could have peeled paint.

"Spoilsport." But Aria brought blue paint the next day.

The change didn't go unnoticed. Dock workers whispered among themselves, watching the odd pair with growing curiosity.

"Is it just me," one remarked during their lunch break, "or has Gale been less... murderous lately?"

His companion coiled rope with practiced hands. "It's that strange girl. Think she's actually tamed the old sea beast."

Aria overheard them one day and couldn't help but chuckle. Tame Gale? Not likely. But she had managed to earn his acceptance, even if he'd never admit it aloud.

"Why are you doing this?" The question came during a quiet morning.

Aria looked up, meeting his searching gaze. "It needs doing."

"No shortage of work in the harbor. Boats needing repairs. Decks to swab." Confusion and suspicion warred in his eyes. "Why waste your time on an old man's junk?"

"Junk?" Aria set down her oil can. "This 'junk' keeps half the fleet alive."

Gale snorted. Bitterness laced his voice. "Rely on me? You think I don't hear them? 'The Sea Reader's lost his step.' 'Can't trust his readings anymore.' They're just waiting for me to drop dead so they can pick over my bones."

"Then they're idiots." Aria's voice sharpened. "You're the only thing between them and disaster."

Gale blinked, taken aback. "You've got a lot of nerve, girl."

"Part of my charm." Aria crossed her arms. "Someone needs to maintain these tools. And since you're too stubborn to ask for help-"

"I don't need help!" Gale snapped, but the words lacked their usual fire.

"Right." Aria raised an eyebrow. "That rusted bracket last week was just playing hard to get?"

They glared at each other, a battle of wills. Finally, Gale sighed, his shoulders slumping in surrender.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Have you met me?" Aria grinned.

To her shock, Gale barked out a rusty laugh. "Fine. You want to keep fussing over this stuff, who am I to stop you?"

Victory tasted sweet. Aria tried to keep her expression neutral as she worked, casually mentioning, "Now that you mention it, this platform could really use some work. The boards are rotting through. I could replace them, but I'd need to know the proper way to seal the wood."

Gale's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Suppose I could show you. If you've got sense to learn."

"I'm a quick study." Aria's lips twitched.

"We'll see." Gale turned to his beloved barometer. "Five tomorrow. Not a minute late."

"Five it is." Aria bit back a triumphant grin.

"And girl?"

"Yes?"

"Bring coffee. Real coffee." Gale's mouth quirked. "None of that dock water they serve below."

"Aye aye, Captain Grumpy." Aria mock-saluted.

Finally, she thought. Progress.