Chapter 7

A Chapter by Minyonka

Standard disclaimer applies

"Marco, hurry up! We're going to be late!" Crista called down the hall as Marco fiddled with the buttons of the shirt he wore.

He supposed he should feel honored to be invited with Crista and Angelo to the most sacred ritual on Lacrime, as it had been described to him. At the moment, however, he was simply annoyed at the choked feeling his button-up gave him. He glanced out the window and saw the sun setting behind the two mountains that gave the island its name; he and Crista would have to leave soon if they wanted to be at the ceremony in time. Carmella's son, Luca, would be celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday, which meant he would eat one of God's Fruits, as the locals called them.

"I'm coming," Marco drawled as he stepped out of his room, wearing khaki slacks with his white shirt.

He found Crista waiting in the living room, an impatient expression on her face. She was dressed in a pastel blue down that looked as light as air. It was the first dress he'd seen on her, though he wasn't surprised that she looked as lovely as she did. Hanging from her shoulder was a dark blue bag that held the gift she'd chosen for Luca, a necklace that was said to have protective properties.

"Let's go," Crista urged as she hurried towards the front door.

"You look nice." The young woman blushed lightly, murmuring a 'thank you' and pulled him out of the house. As they walked to the mountains, where the ceremony would take place in the valley between them, Marco noticed the excited look on Crista's face. "What're you thinking about?"

"I'm happy for Luca, and I can't wait for my own ceremony," she answered wistfully. Marco chuckled at her eagerness. It was much like--

"I'm ready to fight, Nii-chan!"

"Not with that form. Do it again."

Marco shook his head slowly as the image of a young black-haired girl with a determined look on her face came to mind. She didn't look older than twelve.

"Do you know what Fruit Luca will be eating?" Marco asked, trying to keep his mind in the present. Now wasn't the time to dwell on a half-forgotten memory.

"No," Crista answered as she shook her head. "We never know until the time of the ceremony. The one turning twenty-five is the only one who knows the Fruit, because he or she has chosen it from the garden." Marco thought back to Angelo, knowing the younger man was twenty-five.

"What's Angelo's Fruit?"

"Fratello ate the Doki Doki no Mi. He's been gifted with Il Sangue di Dio."

"God's Blood?" Marco shrugged as he and Crista neared the grounds of the ceremony. He would ask her more about it later. Now, he would watch the ceremony and take part in the party afterwards.

"Sorellina! Marco!" Angelo greeted with a grin as he approached the two of them. "You made it just in time." He hugged Crista affectionately and shook Marco's hand.

"It's starting soon, right?" Crista asked as she and Marco followed Angelo to a table near the altar that was set up.

"Very shortly. Marco, you're very fortunate, being able to take part in this event."

"I'm thankful to be allowed," he answered as he glanced around the valley. The area they were in had been cleared of trees and decorated with multi-colored festoons and candles.

"Signori e signore, benvenuti," an older man dressed in white robes began.

That was about all Marco understood of the ceremony, as it was done entirely in the Ancient Language. Every once in a while, he would catch a word or phrase he could understand. Luca's name, naturally, came up often, as did 'twenty-five' and 'God'... or maybe they were saying 'God's Fruit'. Marco lost track and quickly decided to simply watch the ceremony as it took place before him. Speeches were made by men dressed in white or khaki, and by women dressed in pastel blue dresses.

Finally, after an hour and a half, Luca stepped forward and approached the altar, dressed in black slacks with a red button-up. Crista had previously explained to Marco that the one eating the Fruit was the wear red, per tradition, while everyone else wore the lighter colors.

Luca approached the altar and his chosen Fruit was presented to him by Carmella. Much like the Fruits Crista grew and the one Marco had eaten, it was covered in a swirling pattern and as large as a man's head. Marco didn't doubt that it would taste as disgusting as his own Devil Fruit had. The scrunched-up expression on Luca's face could attest to that.

Marco held back a knowing chuckle as Luca finished the Fruit and the guests applauded. Gifts were presented during the party afterwards and the evening continued like a typical party. Alcohol was abundant, music was loud and the people were lively. Marco watched from his seat as Crista twirled around the area marked as a dance floor with Luca and Angelo, a wide grin on her face. In his mind's eye, he could see the lithe, tanned, beautiful blond spinning on the deck of a ship.

"Care to dance?" Crista asked, holding out a hand and snapping Marco from his daydream momentarily.

"Dance with me, Marco," the blond insisted.

"Don't know how."

"Then I'll teach you. C'mon."

"I can't dance," Marco answered, but Crista grabbed his hand anyways. Her hand was so small compared to his, Marco thought fleetingly.

"It's not hard. See, the band is even slowing down now."

Just as she said, the music slowed to a calm, steady beat that was easy to sway to. Marco soon found himself stepping in time, his movements in threes, while he held Crista's hand in his left. The right was around her waist while she rested her other hand on his shoulder. Every so often, he would twirl Crista and they would return to the formal dance. Marco felt like his body was on autopilot for a moment.

"What do you mean you can't dance?" Crista asked. "You waltz perfectly fine. Where did you learn?"

"I don't know."

"It just came back to you, huh? Well, you're a great dance partner."

Later in the evening, the men were gathered around one of the larger tables for a friendly game of cards while the women mingled amongst themselves. Marco had figured that most of the women weren't interested in cards, or only played sparingly. He glanced around the table at the other men, taking note of each of their facial expressions. Angelo's hand sucked, if the scowl playing on his lips was anything to judge by. Luca had a pretty decent hand, as did a few other men. Marco still found it remarkable how easy it was to read the faces of nearly everyone in Sacro. They all wore their hearts on their sleeves. Marco looked down at his own hand of cards, careful not to let his expression change from his typical sleepy look. He figured he probably had one of the worst hands at the table, but what really mattered in this game was bluffing.

He won that round.

And the one after it.

"You're pretty good, Marco. You play often?" Angelo asked, his perpetually playful grin on his lips.

"I used to," Marco drawled with a shrug, pocketing the money he'd won.

"How long has it been since your last game?"

"Couldn't tell you. I don't know how many years are in the gap in my memory."

"Fair enough. Dunque, ho andare a casa. Ti vedro a domani, Marco."

"Arrivaderci," Marco answered as Angelo stood. He gave Crista a hug before leaving the party.

"You going to keep playing, Marco?" Luca asked. Marco shook his head.

"I'm done for the night."

"Marco," Crista began as she approached, "I'm going to be heading home. I want to water my garden once more before bed."

"I'll come with you."

"Don't worry about it. I can walk home by myself. Besides, you walk too slow." She gave him a cheeky grin, to which Marco could only chuckle.

"Fine, go ahead, but I won't be far behind." As Crista left, Marco caught the chuckles from the other men around him. "Ehi! What's so funny?"

"You're just like Angelo with her," one of the younger men, Carlo, answered. "Good thing she has two brothers to look after her."

Marco shook his head with a chuckle, bid the others goodnight and left the party soon after. As he walked, he thought of Crista. It was only natural for him to want to protect her. Being an older brother came easy to him, though he'd grown up as an only child. Perhaps it was ingrained into his personality from his forgotten years, Marco figured.

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