This one took forever. It ended up being about 4k words, but I was stuck at 400 for what felt like ever (but was probably just over a week). It got so bad I was writing Harry Potter fics. Seriously - this is a sign of desperation. The worst part was that I knew exactly where I wanted this chapter to go, but I just couldn't get it onto the page. The next one is all planned out, too; hopefully it goes a bit smoother.

There's a lot of commentary I want to make for this fic, especially for this and some later chapters. But since it's far too long and rambling for me to put into an author's note here, I've thrown all of them up on my LJ (link in my profile): look for the entry labeled as the All Their Sins Index, if you're interested. It's mostly a place for me to scribble thoughts about this fic. Now that that little bit of pimping's through, on to the fic! -Adali

All Their Sins
Bestiality and Suicide

At the top of a long, cobbled road that ran arrow-straight down to the beach, the Atrium perched, dark and spider-like, against the darker backdrop of the tor. Shadows seemed to flow from the hill's peak, reaching like fingers across the island. On this island of eternal night, the tor and its surroundings alone remained dark and wild, all else tamed by the bright lights of the town. How the shithead had found that hut, deep in the trees near the base of the tor, Sanji couldn't begin to guess.

The rain hadn't been enough to wash the street clean, but it had turned the filth to slippery mud. Sanji picked his way carefully up the street, as afraid of slipping as he was of stepping in something that wasn't mud. A cool breeze blew up from the water, cutting through his wet shirt and leaving him shivering. He ignored his body's desperate plea for warmth, just as he ignored his aching joints and the crusted blood that caked his precious chef's hands to the elbow. He had no memory of how it had got there, couldn't even remember if it had been before or after he'd lost the shithead.

He approached the Atrium slowly, his movements graceful despite the tension that ran through him, like a harp string waiting to be plucked. He already knew he wouldn't find her in there, but there would be something. Ever since he'd seen the small, discrete sign pointing the way, Sanji had known that this was where he had to go. There was something in the Atrium that he had to see; once he'd taken care of that, and kicked the shit out of something on principle, then he could go back to his desperate, hopeless search for his nakama.

The entrance to the Atrium was marked by a glowing arch, the name picked out in lighted letters like the entrance to a carnival. He felt something dark and fearful settle into the pit of his stomach at the sight of it. Nothing good could lie beyond a sign like that. His pace didn't slow but his hand twitched, reflexively, towards the empty pocket where he normally kept his cigarettes. Any fear of the unknown he might once have had had been lost, what seemed ages ago, thanks to Luffy. Or, more accurately, thanks to traveling with Luffy. He'd learned quickly to expect nothing, and to be ready to kick anything's ass. It was almost a zen state; but still the twitch.

Whatever Sanji had been not-expecting, what he found past the foreboding lit arch wasn't it. Inside the hulking, domed structure was a world of light and life. The vast dome lay before him in a verdant display of fauna, tidy flagstone paths picking wandering routes around trees and gardens. Carefully placed, expensive lights gave the illusion of sunlight. Hidden fans created a soft breeze, the warm air carrying with it the scents of flowers, soil, and animals. Somewhere, birds were singing.

The path led him to a clear area at the center of the dome. More paths rayed out from here, creating a star with a wall-less hut at its center. In the hut was a bar, sheltered by the thatch from a rain that would never fall. A lone woman was seated at the bar, her back towards him. Sanji took the seat two down from her, close enough for conversation but not intruding. Being in this bright, beautiful place after the horrors of the night outside gave him a feeling of unreality; he moved as if in a dream.

The dark-skinned man behind the counter grunted at him, but didn't bother with words. That, at least, was familiar on this island, and restored Sanji to his senses. "Omelet, or something," he told the man. It hardly seemed to matter what he ordered, anyway: the food would be passable at best, but he was eating for sustenance, too distracted to worry about the taste. It was a far cry from his usual insistence that even basic rations taste superb.

While the cook set to work over the greasy griddle, Sanji surreptitiously studied his companion. About thirty years old, he guessed, with long brown hair tied back with a plain, serviceable ribbon. Her clothes were serviceable too, the plain, hard-wearing khakis of someone who worked in the outdoors. The top few buttons of her shirt were undone, revealing a black kerchief tied about her neck and a set of breasts that threatened to best Nami-san's. Her face was plain, but pretty, lacking Nami-san's brilliant sparkle or Robin-chan's noble dignity. Not an unattractive woman, by anyone's standards. So why did he feel no need to gush and fawn over her? He sensed none of the wrongness that had been so obvious in many of the women of this island, especially those fake Robin-chan's and Nami-san's.

With a grunt and the click of ceramic on tile, omelet was set in front of him. He muttered his thanks to the cook, and dug in, hardly tasting the vegetable and meats that had been mixed in with the egg. Some small, distant part of him absently noted that it was a fairly decent omelet, the cook's skill overcoming the obvious shortcomings of his inferior ingredients.

"Can I help you with something?" the woman said suddenly. Startled - he'd been lost in empty thought - Sanji fumbled with his fork. "It's just that you've been staring."

Sanji swallowed the mouthful he'd been chewing, wishing he had something to drink. The simple action would have given him a way to hide his nervousness, covering his face for the brief spell it would take him to figure out what the hell he was doing here. "I doubt it," he sighed, sounding far more resigned than he had intended.

"One of those, huh?" She didn't sound unsympathetic, but also gave the impression of having heard it all many times before. Sanji thought she might have been about to say more, but the arrival of another man interrupted her.

The tiny figure scuttled up to them, all nervous twitches and barely restrained motion. He wore kakis to match the woman's, though his were stained with dirt and other, less easily identified, smears. "Raksha-sama! Thank the Maidu I finally found you! There's a customer who wants to visit Hathi."

The woman - Raksha - frowned slightly. "I'll have to check on Hathi before I can allow that. I'll do that now; please make sure the customer is comfortable, and thank them for their patience." She paused. "What kind of customer?"

"A woman," the little man squeaked.

Raksha nodded as though unsurprised. Sanji was quickly getting the impression that little surprised this woman. A jerk of her head dismissed the man, then she turned to Sanji. "Care to come along? You can see some of the animals, and then we can talk about what you're looking for in the Atrium."

Caught off-guard by this sudden proposal, Sanji could only nod dumbly. Well, it was in keeping with everything that had happened since he'd seen that sign out in the street - events had conspired to push him this way, so he might as well follow and see where they led him. He finished his omelet quickly, wiped his mouth on a paper napkin, and stood to follow.

"We haven't been properly introduced," he said as they set off. "I'm..."

"A Black-leg, I know. Don't know where you lost your suit, but you lot are recognizable from a mile off." She smiled sadly. "No offense."

Deciding that, after all he'd seen tonight, it was probably best not to admit that he was theBlack-leg, Sanji shook his head. "Nasu, I was going to say." Inside, he cringed at the name, but it had come out of his mouth before his brain had a chance to come up with a better alias. He'd had few enough nicknames in his life, and he wasn't about to introduce himself as Dartboard or Cook. At least he was well enough used to the name to answer to it without hesitation, even if his first instinct was to kick whoever was calling him through a wall. Stupid geezer and his stupid eggplant jokes.

Apparently his declaration that he wasn't a Black-leg Sanji was far more surprise than his claim to be the real thing would have been. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, and Sanji got the impression that she wasn't used to being wrong often. Her slight blush made his heart speed up a little, but then it disappeared and with it his desire to act as he normally would around a pretty lady. "I'm Raksha. I'm the head trainer here at the Atrium." The rational part of Sanji wondered why the head trainer - whatever that meant - was playing tour-guide for a nobody stranger like him; the rest just wished things would go to hell already so he could stop wondering what was about to go wrong.

With a confidence obviously born of long familiarity, Raksha led him along the twisting paths through the thick, jungle-like vegetation. She paused now and then, glancing back as though afraid Sanji would dive into the bushes and bolt. As they moved towards what Sanji thought of as the back of the dome, a smell that had been covered by the scent of flowers strengthened. "There's animals here," he muttered before he could stop himself stating what must be obvious to his companion.

She sent him a puzzled, searching look. "What did you think the Atrium was?"

"Didn't know," Sanji shrugged. "Saw the sign and thought I'd take a look." He didn't mention how it had felt right at the time, almost as though he were compelled. It would have sounded silly in any case, but here in particular... there was something about a beautiful, confident woman to whom he felt no attraction that put Sanji's hackles up. There was something very not-right here.

"Oh." He could hear the disbelief in her voice, but didn't challenge it. "But you must have wondered why it was called the Atrium."

"I figured was going for vivarium and couldn't remember the word." If not for his clenched teeth, Sanji's smile would have been flippant.

Raksha scowled briefly, obviously unsure what to make of his remark, and not trusting him. Good, he thought, I don't trust her either. "The Atrium is one of the entrances to Shang-tu." She paused, looking for some reaction to the name. Finding none, she continued, "We have a botanical garden and a menagerie." Another pause, this time gauging his interest. Sanji made his face as impassive as possible: this place had already proven to be a dead end, so the quicker he got out of here the better.

"This is it," Raksha announced after they'd walked some time in silence, and turned onto a small side path. Leaves the size of serving plates scraped against Sanji's face as he pushed through them after her, the plant stalks flexing back into place with the slightest of rustles. The dirt-packed clearing backed onto a stone wall, in which was set a heavy iron gate. A few logs and crushed bales of straw lay scattered about. "Hathi?" the trainer called.

A soft sigh answered from behind the iron gate. There was the clank of a heavy latch and the gate opened, shouldered aside by the elephant who shuffled through before turning and, with surprising delicacy, closing the gate behind it. Then it turned to face them, regarding Sanji and Raksha with one enormous, dark eye. Sanji stared back, surprised by the quiet intelligence and deep compassion he saw hidden in the enormous creature. It wasn't that he hadn't expected to find such a soul in an elephant, only that he hadn't thought to find it here, in the vile, festering hole of Kapila Aranya.

As though suddenly awakening, Sanji realized Raksha was talking to him although, hidden behind Hathi, she had not yet noticed his inattention. "She's pregnant, you know. The calf will probably be born in about two months, so we're being very cautious with her." The trainer was keeping her voice smooth and kind, as though talking to a wild animal. She doesn't realize, Sanji thought, meeting Hathi's gaze again. The elephant looked, if anything, bemused.Hathi understands every bloody word she says. He found himself wondering how many times Raksha or another trainer had railed at the elephant in that same sweet tone.

"Looks like she's good to go. If it were a man, I'd be worried, but we don't generally have problems with the women." Sanji was only listening with half an ear. His main attention was focused on Hathi, who had reached out with her trunk to play with his hair. The elephant blew on it lightly, and sniffed, running her nimble trunk through the strands.

"It's not very clean," he told her, reaching up to give her trunk a stroke, "so it's not as soft as it normally is." The elephant gave his head an extra vigorous rub, as though to say she didn't mind. With a quick, deft movement, she plucked up a bundle of the discarded straw and dropped it on her own head, staring at Sanji through the dirty gold strands. He smiled.

"I think she's taken a shine to you," Raksha said. "Maybe we'll have to name the baby after you."

Sanji snorted softly. "An elephant named Chibinasu. Wouldn't the old fart just die laughing," he muttered. Hathi trumpeted her agreement to the plan.

Something Raksha had said suddenly caught up to Sanji. "What do you mean, you don't have problems with women? What kind of problems do men normally cause?" Hathi seemed a perfectly sweet, gentle creature to him, and he couldn't imagine her being any different to another person.

"It's just that they sometimes get a bit competitive, you know? The women are happy just to let her use her trunk, but the men want to prove they're as good as a bull elephant and... oh." Her eyes widened. "You didn't know."

Sanji suddenly felt that same horrible, sickening feeling he'd had the first time someone told him All Blue didn't exist. It was the feel of some small, innocent, essential part of himself being crushed. But this time, there was no Zeff to prop up his failing faith - this time the wound wouldn't heal. "You mean they..." he couldn't finish. He didn't look at Raksha for confirmation, but to Hathi. The elephant suddenly wouldn't meet his eyes. "Oh."

He stepped forward, ignoring Raksha's hand trying to grab his arm. Hathi turned her head away, refusing to look at him, her large ears flapping with emotion. Reaching out, Sanji wrapped his arms as far around the elephant's head as he could before stepping back and giving her trunk a pat. "You do what you need to, to take care of that Chibinasu," he told her. She glanced his way and he forced a smile, feeling his heart break for this beautiful, noble soul. He received a hesitant, yawning elephant smile in return.

Still numb, Sanji let Raksha lead him away from Hathi's arena. The insistent slap of leaves on his face and chest forced reality back upon him like a weight. His guard sprang back into place in an instant, his features sliding into a cool, polite mask to hide a pain like one of Zeff's strongest kicks to his stomach. Though he never caught her looking, he could feel Raksha's eyes on him, searching, seeking reactions and thoughts and motivations; trying to discover who he was. She wouldn't learn anything.

"That's your business, then." It had been wrong to imagine that, just because it was light and clean here, the Atrium was any different from the rest of Kapila Aranya. The setting was a little different, and the clientele - although not by much, perhaps - but underneath it was the same.

"You disapprove?" Raksha queried, a slight hostility in her stance. Sanji kept his face empty but for a slightly inquisitive lift of his brow. He would not give this woman a single hint as to his thoughts. "Most of our animals come from homes and private zoos where they were abused or neglected. They're safe here, and we take good care of them. And we do not exploit our animals." It had the sound of an old argument.

Sanji shrugged, not rising to meet her challenge. "The same as any other brothel, then."

That had apparently stuck a nerve. "Except we actually do it," Raksha snapped. She turned smartly and stalked off. Sanji sauntered in her wake, wondering at the person who had made a brief appearance through the trainer's discomfiture. The woman had views, that much was clear, and Sanji would bet his best kitchen knife they were from first-hand experience. The assessment told him nothing of what he was supposed to do here, though, so he let the thought go.

The little man from the central clearing, or another just like him, was back, gibbering quietly to Raksha. His distress was palpable, and laid over something with the scent of fanatic excitement. He caught Raksha's measuring glance, and raised an eyebrow. It was a charade that would never have worked on the women of the Strawhat crew, but Raksha didn't have the insight or intelligence of those two fair ladies. Deep within himself, far below the part that worshiped his lovely crewmates, the part of Sanji that feared that deadly intellect suspected that no one could compare to them, and was glad of it.

"They found another one," Raksha said by way of explanation. "More paperwork." She sighed, resigned and indifferent, but Sanji caught the slight quiver of her hands before she could shove them in her pockets. Another pause, another searching look. Do you think I would break now? Sanji asked her silently. Whatever the little man had said to her, it had shaken the trainer badly, and in a way that worried Sanji. In Raksha, he could see a woman who had been broken once; she had been put back together, but twisted, and missing something that had once made her a woman Sanji could admire, missing something that had made her human. Nami had been broken once, fallen and twisted, but her inner strength had prevailed, and she had grown to a woman whose scars accented, not marred, her beauty. Zoro, too, had been wounded, before pushing the hurt so far inside that one could almost believe the scars on his chest and legs were the deepest he had ever received.

But Raksha had not had their strength. Looking at her now, his head filled with his two beautiful, fallen-angel nakama, Sanji saw a woman who had given up long before she'd been broken. Zeff, in his rough way, had been there to ensure Sanji never fell despite staring into the pit of hell itself, that month on the island. He'd left the old geezer behind months ago, but now two bitter, grinning demons and a laughing pirate boy stood between him and the cliff's edge. For them, he would not fall. For them, he would not let anything this woman showed him destroy him. And he would find them.

"Where to next?" he asked, confident and princely and every inch Sanji the Black Leg, who had walked through the rubble of shibukai palaces and Enies Lobby with his head high, the man who had faced a god without fear. He could feel that small, still-human part of Raksha quail, but his eyes saw only a slight paling of her cheeks.

"The clinic," she said before spinning on her heel and leading him briskly though the maze of paths. I'm only a man, Raksha, Sanji thought. Pray you never meet the devils that sit on my shoulders. It occurred to him that he should probably get some sleep soon, if he was thinking like that.

The room, hidden behind a discrete wooden door, proved to be just what its name implied. A large steel table dominated the center of the room, lit by harsh lights. Drawers and glass-fronted cupboards lined the walls of the room, filled with steel instruments and bottles of varying sizes. A refrigerator hummed softly in one corner, tucked between a massive pair of filing cabinets. The steel table was covered with a white sheet, which did nothing to disguise the unmistakable shape underneath. That was a human, lying there, and unless they had practice at staying completely, utterly still, it was a dead human. Sanji felt his shoulder tighten, and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets to hide the sudden whiteness of his knuckles.

With neither delicacy nor care, only cool disinterest, Raksha pulled the sheet back, revealing a young man. He looked about twenty, though Sanji suspected he would have looked younger without the make-up that caked his face. Bright, golden hair spread in a halo around his swollen face. No one had bothered to close his eyes so they stared, sightless and slightly protrudent, as bright a blue in death as they had been in life. From the smell, he'd soiled himself as he died, fouling his otherwise immaculate suit. Only the tie was slightly out of place, pushed aside to make room for the noose that had choked the life from his pale body. Whoever had found him hadn't bothered to remove even that, and had simply cut him down and brought him here as he had been found.

Shaken, Sanji swallowed and reached unconsciously for the cigarettes that weren't there. It was as though he himself had died and now stood as a ghost staring down at his own mortal remains. Raksha was looking at him sidelong. "We get about one a month - the occasional Fire Fist, once an Alvida, but almost always Black Legs." She sighed, sounding almost genuinely regretful. "What must it be like to be him, if his impersonators can't live like that?" Her voice lowered, and Sanji sensed that she had forgotten he was here, lost in some pain of her own that had nothing to do with him or the young corpse before them. "Admired for your looks, but not understood... used..." She was fingering the silk scarf at her neck. The fabric slipped, giving Sanji a glimpse of an old, vicious scar, a faded mirror of the one that adorned the neck of the corpse on the table. So that's her story. Somehow, Sanji wasn't surprised. More puzzling - and more worrisome - was what had brought about the rebirth that created the creature before him, the empty, hollow woman that had guided him through this nightmare dome.

He turned his attention back to his deceased impersonator. Alike on the outside - a far greater resemblance than any of the others he'd seen - but oh, so different where it mattered. This man - this boy - no more resembled Sanji than did the grotesque sketch that adorned his wanted posters. They were both only images, someone else's idea of what Sanji might be, falling far short of who he was. "How did you survive, then?" His words cut through the background noise and Raksha's soft murmur like one of his kitchen knives through a carrot - sharply, and with a ringing, inaudible aftershock.

"The Maidu saved me, in his generous wisdom." The delivery was flat, but underneath swirled the currents of fanatical belief. Whoever, or whatever this Maidu was, he held the people of the Atrium in far greater thrall than even Enel had the people of Skypeia. Sanji didn't bother asking further; any truth there was to know about the Maidu would only be found by kicking the bastard's ass.

There was a sharp pinching in Sanji's neck, then a horrible pressure, well familiar from all his time in Chopper's care. The excitable little man had slipped up behind Sanji - and who knew how he had managed that - and stuck the needle in his neck. As Raksha's impassive face slipped out of focus, Sanji could only curse his fucking bad luck.