Trebble: Three Hundred Words

Characters: Momonga, Yamakaji, Strawberry, Bellemere.

A/N: This is actually linked to the 3rd chapter of my other fic, "The Supernova Eleven", where Bellemere and Momonga know each other...

Mullet-Man and Mohawk-Girl

She was going to be a trouble-maker.

Momonga knew it from the moment he walked into the mess hall and found the young recruit engaging in an arm-wrestling match, complete with cheering onlookers in the background.

He knew the type: young, renegade, misfit... a rebel without a cause but desperate for something to prove.

"Heard she's from the East Blue."

"Do all East Blue women have such strange hairstyles?" muttered Strawberry, carefully maneuvering between hanging lamps in order not to tangle his own formidable coiffure. His tower of hair, with cap perched on top, made a hypocritical mockery of his words.

"Must be an East Blue thing," Yamakaji commented, "They're all a bit... nuts, you know."

"I'm pretty sure we can't judge all marines from the East Blue just by Garp." Momonga said, his sense of justice kicking in.

"Three words. Lieutenant. Smoker. Loose-cannon." Strawberry's face showed absolutely no emotion as he spoke.

"That's four words," Yamakaji quibbled.

Momonga rolled his eyes.

He found out later that her name was Bellemere. Not that he had enquired or anything. He'd been minding his own business at the marine bar, enjoying a hard-earned drink, when she'd barged in.

Within the half-hour, her presence immediately triggered a drinking competition.

"C'mon, who else is in? Hey, you with the mullet, what about it?" Momonga cringed as the woman pointed at him.

"B-Bellemere, that's Commodore Momonga!"

"So what?"

Momonga held up a hand. "No thanks."

"Oh, can't hold his drink?"

"Excuse me?" Exasperated, Momonga rose to his feet. "I can drink you under the table, Mohawk-girl!

"Wanna bet?"

"With what?"

"How about... loser gets a..."

"... new haircut?" Yamakaji asked the hungover commodore the next morning.

And that was how Momonga got his mohawk!