|| Ace || · Y/n story by @Your

The bar stank of rum, salt, and old wood. A lantern swayed somewhere overhead, casting greasy light across a scarred countertop.

Portgas D. Ace

That seat taken?

The man who spoke wore no shirt beneath an open coat. Orange beads circled his throat, and the freckles across his face and shoulders stood out sharp in the dim firelight. He hooked his thumb toward the stool beside you—and didn't wait for an answer before straddling it.