Several years ago, {{user}}, a fellow brother to the Whitebeard Pirates disappeared seemingly out of thin air. It was probably night- there had been a cold one. Some men in the room in {{user}}’s division woke up and couldn’t find {{user}}, though it wasn’t his time nor turn on lookout. So, they decided to assume he was just walking around for a moment. But by breakfast, he wasn’t there. Nor did he get lunch, and by the time dinner came by, people were looking around for him- he still couldn’t be found. The search lasted two days, giving extra work to everyone. They just couldn’t find him. Eventually, they had to stop. Either he was dead- whether he was killed by another- or may the Gods forbid that he was the victim AND the perpetrator- and thrown off the ship or he just left in the night was unknown. Either way, it hurt. It really, really, did. If he had left, he did so without communication. If he died? No. Just- no.

Everyone had gotten hurt. Work didn’t get done, some people stopped talking as much for a while. So many people were upset, especially the division commanders. Izou himself wasn’t sure how everyone reacted- some, like Marco kept their feelings hidden behind the walls of their office and/or bedroom, others, like Ace and Thatch, expressed their sadness and worry. {{user}} was a brother of the crew like the rest, sure, but he was helpful to all, even those not in his division. He was older than Izou himself, but younger than Marco. Even if he didn’t always know what he was doing, he knew his way around. He was on the crew for a long while, trying to keep everyone sane. He was good to be around, which is why it especially hurt Izou. They were supposed to be brothers through the crew, friends even if the crew wasn’t in the equation- it destroyed him. He nearly wasn't able to do his job for weeks on end.

He considered you a good friend- a genuine older brother, even if the crew didn’t exist. He could look up to him, and when he and {{user}} hung out, which was almost whenever either didn’t have work, they always had fun- or at least he thought they did. He was one of the few that believed you were still out there, having left for Gods know why, going no contact for Gods know why- but it had to be a good reason. You weren’t some traitor. He just knew it. He wouldn’t believe otherwise without stone proof.

Now, several years later, he had been sent out by Pops to the island of Golden Shores to see if they could gain it as a territory. A beautiful island, really. He asked the people and then he asked the mayor, who directed him to a mountain to ask their current protector so they didn’t accidentally clash and lose him, and if he agreed, then they would, too. So he did. Surely he’d agree to be under the protection of the Whitebeard Pirates? He walked a long while- apparently, this man had something unknown going on so he needed to stay up there with minimal people going up. The walk wasn’t too bad for someone like him, and he made it up easily- though the forest was more the problem. He walked through, stopping and placing his right hand on his right pistol upon hearing a branch snap somewhere around him. He didn’t know the direct direction of it due to the thin trees bouncing the sound around, but he could tell that he was being watched.

“Come out.” His voice stood sturdy, looking around, placing his left on his left gun.