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[youshidiots]

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re-voicetesting.

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i see a wilderness for you and me

[mostlyarmless]

it’s high time we discussed the current state of affairs, don’t you think

in-person, preferably

[ there is no signature, simply a stamp with the red force’s jolly roger. the fact that the note is addressed and delivered to buggy specifically rather than the entirety of the cross guild’s leadership is potentially a minor giveaway as to shanks’ real intentions. if shanks is lucky, buggy will view it as mere consideration: a formal invitation extended from one emperor to another.

shanks is tremendously skilled, tremendously strong, but not necessarily lucky. he never knows what buggy is thinking, especially now, after his declaration which swept the seas of the new world. he would very much like to find out. ]

[youshidiots]

[the problem with this perfectly reasonable and ostensibly professional overture is that buggy is demented, and shanks tends to earn the worst of it just by existing too close for comfort.

but that was before buggy was emperor! before they were equals! shanks has a fleet of ships at his command, but so does buggy; shanks has powerful allies, now buggy does too. too powerful, even, to quake at the sound of shanks' name, who would undoubtedly (probably) (he's pretty sure) (actually he's not that sure) support him against his former friend turned arch-nemesis if shanks tried anything funny.

(like, moral support. sort of.)

regardless, buggy simply cannot resist the opportunity to bask in the adulation of his followers (they're losing their minds over their captain receiving what they unanimously assume is fan mail from red-haired shanks), nor does he want to miss the chance to parade his success in front of the only man he might have given it all up for, a very long time ago. so he sends his own courier back to the red force, with a package that is likewise addressed and delivered directly to shanks.

as soon as it's opened, a little clown doll with feathery blue hair and a body shaped like a red star pops up on a spring like a jack-in-the-box, spilling blue glitter and gold sequins everywhere. pinned to its chest is a garishly embellished card, bearing the words:

You have been invited to
✨ KARAI BARI ISLAND ✨
home of
🤡 BUGGY TOWN 🤡
𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓗𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓲𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓟𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓝𝓮𝔀 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭

more subtle than the glitter is the unwritten but obvious implication: if you want to talk, you better come to me.]

[mostlyarmless]

[ the invitation—the theatrics—make shanks laugh on his own, alone in his captain’s quarters. what else is there to do other than oblige?

the red force docks at buggy town less than two days later. shanks, a man with nothing to prove, beaches a small rowboat on the shores by himself. he makes his way through crowds emerging from newly built housing, inattentive to their suspicion. at the end of a branching footpath there’s someone who may well be another courier, or perhaps a guide, high up in the guild’s ranks and sufficient to aid a visitor. ]

I’m sure your captain’s already aware of my arrival, but my regards if he isn’t.

[ even this is a cursory attempt to be cordial. shanks could send all of these people weeping and boneless to their knees in the blink of an eye, but that isn’t the right attitude for the occasion. instead he stands as straight as he always does, which isn’t very, and maintains an even expression. he’s seen the posters; he knows what he’ll get when buggy comes down from on high.

the main reason for his ease is that there’s a vast gap between illustration and memory. he’s girded for the sneering icon credited with founding the cross guild, but there’s someone else he wants to see beneath it all: someone he used to curl up with during stormy nights. shanks can wait for that person. arguably he’s waited long enough. ]

meant 2 say pls lmk if you have smth else in mind anywhere, that is more than cool w me ✨

[youshidiots]

[the stares and low whispers follow shanks like fire across an open field, emboldened by the strength of the triumvirate ruling the island (the perceived strength, anyway), but even the thoughtless pass of his gaze is enough to silence tongues and turn eyes away. no one wants to risk being the first one to draw his attention directly.

not so their captain. shanks is directed to the big top, and informed that buggy is expecting him.

boy, is he ever. buggy had two days to plan a show of grandeur and he clearly didn't miss a beat, judging by the cannons that fire a riotously colorful mess of streamers - and more glitter - into the towering height of the circus tent, the spotlights that dance and dazzle, the circus screamers pounding out a triumphant march, courtesy of a few strategically established transponder snails.

and smack in the middle of this chaos is the star of the show himself, his costume stretched from floor to ceiling like a big red topsail with a manic clown head at the top, ever the true spectacle, with all the energy of a man riding a tsunami, too exhilarated to concern himself with the ground dropping far away beneath him. can a star fall if it never stops rising??]

SO!! Look who showed up after all!

[approaching shanks like a sentient storm cloud, buggy hovers as menacingly as he can manage - he's not quite delusional enough to think he can intimidate shanks, but the ginger bastard damn well better take him seriously regardless!]

Ready to bow out already, are you? Can't hack it with real fortune on the line, so you decided to come to terms with the future King of the Pirates!

wahaha it’s great dw! sorry to just bust in on you like this too ... GUERILLA RP ...

[mostlyarmless]

[ the fanfare is nice: shanks doesn’t bother to suppress a crooked grin at the spectacle, nor does he bother to brush the sprinkle of confetti from his cloak. the fact of buggy greeting him without his other two co-conspirators is nice. that they aren’t totally alone is—less nice. he wonders if buggy was able to ensure those snails weren’t fitted with some discreet way for the likes of crocodile and dracule mihawk to overhear their conversation. but then, he supposes, if buggy insists on shouting the whole time then shanks had better not say anything he wouldn’t like broadcasted to the whole island in the first place.

which also falls under “less nice”. the history between them is something shanks only shares sparingly, glancing and surface-level; the threat of accidentally divulging further to callous ears offends more than shanks’ sensibilities. there are conversations he wants to have with buggy, buggy only, buggy without pretense or bells or whistles—gazing up at the towering edifice of him, shanks thinks, surely there’s a part of you left that wants that too— ]

Not quite. Or ... [ grinning again, conceding ] not yet. But seeing as we’ve a ways to go till endgame, I thought I might ...

[ check in on his new rival? investigate the workings of the cross guild, the temp agency? all technically true. but not the truth. the truth, which shanks concludes does not hurt, which is why he kind of shrugs as he says, ]

... see how you were doing.

are you kidding it made my whole week 🥰 mind if i make it worse

[youshidiots]

[it's packed under a lot of makeup, camouflaged by paint and costume and his own mess of blue hair, but for just a moment, genuine uncertainty flickers across buggy's face. is that all?

shanks, you old sentimental fool - you came all this way just for that?]

LIKE SHIT!! What is this, some kind of trick?!

[he rears back, swelling once again to fill shanks' vision to the corners, demanding his full attention even though it hasn't once wavered yet. the freaks who were instructed to fire a cannon every time buggy does something that looks really dramatic and cool hit their cue, bursting more confetti like fireworks across the red backdrop of buggy's costume.]

See for yourself!! Just take a look around at the splendor of MY growing kingdom!!

[and then, as if responding to an entirely different cue, the roving spotlights go out, plunging the whole tent into comparative darkness. the music from the snails splutters and dies. the thing about whether or not buggy can be sure that his partners aren't listening is--

"I thought we talked about the glitter, clown."

--they definitely are.

apparently this little song-and-dance was about as much leeway as crocodile and mihawk were willing to give buggy on his own, particularly with an enemy of shanks' caliber now in their midst. the former warlords emerge from one of the alleys cordoned off from the main ring: first crocodile, wearing a menacingly unpleasant smile, then mihawk with his sharp amber eyes practically luminous in the poor light. buggy immediately begins to deflate.]

Aheheh... okay, show's over!! [buggy waves his hands rather urgently, gesturing for the exit.] Everybody get out! This is Emperor business now!

[buggy's stage crew are quick to obey, fleeing like rats from lions, until shanks may well perceive that only the four of them are left in the massive tent. crocodile's steps are ominously heavy in the sudden silence. he stops with one shiny shoe just inches away from a particularly sizable clump of cannon debris, which alarms buggy so much that he comes very close to throwing himself on top of it.]

Croccy! Baby! I thought you had paperwork...

["The glitter."]

YES! Yes. The glitter. I think maybe somebody missed a memo... that's all - organization this big, things are bound to slip through the cracks... nobody's fault, really, just one of those things...

why hello there

[shanksfornothing]

from here

[Shanks sends back a smiling red-haired face as acknowledgement, then gets to his feet on the third attempt, waves off any attempt at help, and ambles over that way. His feet slosh through the sand. At least he still has two legs. This'd be harder without.

(He pretends not to notice the handful of his friends and crew following him at a safe distance.)

He reaches the giant tent eventually, and yes, it's not exactly the best attempt at camoflage he's ever seen. A lot like Buggy, which makes a certain amount of drunkenly addled sense. Buggy stands out because he damn well wants to, and he makes other people accept him or not on his terms.

Shanks isn't sure whose terms he's here on, but he'd like to be on Buggy before the end of the night.

He finds Buggy's guard at the opening to the tent, and holds up a bottle with an enquiring smile.] May I?

general kenobi!

[youshidiots]

[judging by the drain of color from his face, the guard was clearly not informed that red-haired shanks might be on his way to their camp. to his credit, he tries to stand his ground, although if shanks so much as frowns at him he might very well perish on the spot.

"N-n-no autographs--"

But then the heavy flap of the tent rises, revealing a white gloved hand that makes a dismissive gesture at both of them, followed by buggy's faintly muffled voice from inside.]

It's fine, let him through.

[relief floods across the guard's face, and he quickly steps aside, holding the flap for shanks.

inside the tent, buggy is sprawled sideways in his high-backed chair, legs crossed over the arm to convey blasé disinterest in his late night visitor, despite the fact that he effectively invited shanks himself. he's munching on a cinnamon sugar donut, pulling it apart delicately and popping each piece into his mouth like popcorn. the heavy fabric falls back into place, cordoning them off from the world.]

Well, well! Looks like you made it after all!

[he tilts his head at shanks, giving him a grin that looks more like a sneer]

I'd say I'm impressed, but let's be real here, the bar is on the floor.

crosspurpose ⚔️ bite my tongue, bide my time

[youshidiots]

[the party, in one form of another, is likely to last well into the wee hours of the morning with the way they're going at it, and buggy can hardly blame them after their last battle against the marines. although the fighting part had been a proper mess, and they almost certainly would have had to retreat without mihawk as their ringer, the ultimate result was, in buggy's opinion, a spectacular success. a great number of the recruits showed legitimate promise with a little more training and some experience under their belts, they'd managed to secure the treasury, and buggy himself had even landed one of the hostages of reasonable value with the judicious use of knockout gas.

mihawk and the element of surprise were, obviously, inextricable from their victory. but no one outside of the cross guild's leadership needs to know that. all buggy cares about is the version that makes it out into the world, and as far as he's concerned, that version was immaculate. the performance of a lifetime continues to unfold around him!

the celebration's more buggy-targeted excitement fades as the sun goes down, although the red and blue fireworks continue to launch at random intervals. not wanting to keep mihawk waiting any longer than necessary, buggy was quick to scrounge up the most plump and juicy-looking pineapple he could get his hands on, and in the process collected some grapes, a bag of salty-sweet popcorn and, fortuitously, an unmarked bottle of red wine. buggy doesn't know shit about wine, and even less about mihawk's preferences on the subject, but he popped the cork briefly and it smelled strong.

well, hopefully it's the thought that counts.

the additional benefit of gathering tribute to appease his offended colleague is that it gives him ample time to consider his own error in judgment. he may be doomed to fuck up somehow at nearly every turn, but he's still trying to learn how to keep crocodile and mihawk happy. as a result, he does feel responsible for mending the bridge before anything else happens that might burn it down, even if it means submitting himself to mihawk's preferred manner of torment.

he's in this frame of mind when he leaves the party behind with his humble offerings and sneaks back to the main pavilion in buggy town. he only detours to his own tent long enough to change out of his flashy emperor costume, which just seems like the most prudent course of action. then it's straight to mihawk's quarters, just as he said he would - not only because he would immediately be caught if he did try to run, but because he's still fully committed to whatever course of action seems most likely to result in him becoming king of the pirates... even if it is in name and prestige only (with a reasonable share of the treasure).

eyes on the prize.]

Hawky~? [doing his best here to sound ingratiating without being so annoying that mihawk decides to respond with something pointy.] I brought your pineapple! Any chance I can come in and still keep all my pieces attached?

[crosspurpose]

[ The tent flap - because of course this damned circus doesn't have proper doors - flares upward, filling the frame with the back-lit figure of Dracule Mihawk. There's a brief swatch of pale skin to be seen before Mihawk leans closer into the dark of the night and towards Buggy, his eyes the last thing on him to lose the glow of detail and the flare of the hat's brim almost giving him the appearance of horns.

And there is, of course, a glint of metal as the blade of the Kogatana comes up to try and catch the clown on its tip beneath the chin. ]

You'll refer to me by my name or the first to go will be your lower jaw. Is that understood?

[ Mihawk's voice is a quiet thing, as if he's trying to keep his voice down so as not to wake a baby while still needing to have an argument. ]

[youshidiots]

[buggy freezes as soon as he feels the point of the tiny blade against his skin, his eyes wide. he's significantly less worried about the kogatana itself than he is about mihawk feeling the need to use it. so in the interest of not provoking the demon currently holding him at knifepoint, he tries to smile agreeably without moving his chin.]

Heheh... no problem! Whatever you say. Mihawk.

[his hands float up, balancing the basket at eye level.]

Hungry?

[crosspurpose]

[ At least there's no yelping or screaming to give Mihawk a reason to drive the knife up until it hits the roof of the clown's mouth; he had already planned that as a potential measure to shut the emperor up, and there is a part of him that finds some twisted satisfaction in confirming now that the blade would be just long enough to accomplish the task, as if Buggy's skull was made for it. Fear is about as obvious to the former warlord as a cloud in the sky and he's also satisfied to see it in the round of the younger man's eyes. Good. He takes this seriously even if he's putting on a brave face.

Buggy has a few points in his favor. Firstly, he's passed the tests of neither running nor keeping Mihawk waiting. Hawk Eyes had watched him scuttle about after their communication ended, perched atop the main tent and obscured by the ridiculous jolly roger signage. It had been easy to take in both the festivities from that distance and impossible to miss Buggy among them. It's probably what he would have done for a time had he been presented that invitation, albeit with far less malice and more room to enjoy the fireworks. His thoughts then were that whether Buggy ran or not, he'd have his own fun with the night.

But Buggy has lost pet name privileges for now, because Mihawk is still sore. Once that much is acknowledged, the older man eases back into the light of his tent. The tip of the kogatana whispers across Buggy's adam's apple as its weilder removes its threat. His eyes flick briefly to the basket, then back to the clown. ]

Come in.

[ He steps aside, though he holds the flap of the tent open like a proper host for their guest, dropping it after Buggy inevitably obeys to take the basket with his now free hand.

The room isn't anything too fancy, at least not yet. Mihawk is still expecting for this arrangement between the three of them to fall apart so it doesn't make sense to invest in much in the way of his aesthetic much less deal with the annoyance of the Marines surrounding his old castle. But that isn't to say the things here aren't nice - they are. The bed is a sturdy king with a headboard cut away to the point it displays three crosses (no relation at all, ok) and the rest is open space until reaching the posts framing the bed. It looks like a distant silhouette of a graveyard. The bed is made and the sheets are dark, and while they're not silk just a hand brushing them would let anyone know the thread count has got to be up there. A wine-colored rug stretches out beneath it and dominates most of half of the tent until reaching the central pole, where it gives way to a bare floor and other amenities that would be less than kind to flammable things reside.

Mihawk brings the basket over to his desk, which is on the carpeted side, to set it down. The desk is lacquered ebony, again well-made but nothing too ornate. It's well organized, but Mihawk clearly is beginning to amass too many papers as the stacks of them are framing one corner and they're tall enough to match the swordsman's height when he turns the chair towards the door and sits down. Yoru is strapped to the back of this seat, presenting an image not unlike what can be seen when Mihawk is on his boat. He places the kogatana down beside the basket, though his imperious gaze stays on Buggy. ]

Kneel.

[ He commands. He only wonders where in the room Buggy will choose to do so; he seems not to doubt that he will be obeyed. ]

[youshidiots]

[the adam's apple bobs as buggy swallows. he's already walking on eggshells (not his fault if he's clumsy!) and is still half-braced for violence as he navigates these dark and treacherous waters. at least mihawk is less inclined to nail buggy's mouth shut than crocodile tends to be. an experience doesn't have to hurt to be unpleasant as hell, is the thing, especially when they're in a mood already and they stab him with something and he chops and it just pisses them off more, and... well, the point is that this is going great so far, comparatively speaking. buggy is quick to do as he's told.

he's already dumbfounded just to be standing in mihawk's own private chamber of the pavilion, a place he has reasonably assumed to be treated like a predator's den (nest?) and avoided at all costs. he's aware of being extremely out of place - his hair in particular presents an unfortunate pop of clashing color against the gothic surroundings - but the danger doesn't seem to be... directed at him yet.

until mihawk gives him another order, that is.

buggy's skin prickles all the way up his back and over his scalp like the temperature of the room has dropped, along with his stomach; his pulse immediately doubles with apprehension. he can't let mihawk think he's this easy to push around; maybe he should find the best spot to make a show of it, or demand to know (ask politely) what he's kneeling for, exactly--

buggy looks down.

oh - apparently he's kneeling already. seems like his own body decided his brain couldn't be trusted to make the right call in this case and his knees had bent on the spot.

well then. time to grovel!]

Listen, Haw-- Mmmihawk-! [not sure what to do with his hands, buggy defaults to his gesture of innocence, holding them up plaintively in front of him.] You gotta know this was all just a big misunderstanding! I wasn't trying to take the credit away from you... I just thought I was doing what you wanted! You know, not bothering you with trivial things, or... things that have my face on 'em...

[crosspurpose]

[ Buggy folds right at the door and Mihawk folds one of his legs over the other. While Buggy begins his spiel, the older man seems to be dividing his attention. His eyes are on the contents of the basket, his expression rather bored as his long fingers comb over the fruit and delicately peels back the paper on the popcorn, but the clown might notice his head is turned so that one ear at least is cocked towards the groveling.

Finally, he reaches for the bottle of wine. There's already an open bottle on his desk and a wine glass that is empty but stained red with recent use; it appears Buggy got the color right, at least. Dracule uncorks the wine and gives the cork itself a sniff where it was obviously soaked in the contents of the bottle for a time. He wrinkles his nose, ironically making his own face as Buggy is talking about his image on things. ]

I swear, most of you would drink piss if it got you drunk.

[ He corks the bottle again and sets it aside, reaching instead for the pineapple. Finally, his eyes go back to Buggy himself. ]

Give me one of your knives.

[ He holds one of his hands out, expectantly. ]

there's only two types of people in the world: the ones that entertain and the ones that observe

[crosspurpose]

[ Dracule Mihawk was, decidedly, in a good mood. He isn't the sort of man who smiles often and is less the sort to be excitable enough to join the joyful congratulations among the crew, but he displays his pleasure in other ways. Firstly, he eats and drinks with everyone else during the party, and stays long enough that people begin to forget or not mind his eerie stare is there to watch their drunken antics. Some of the crew seem to find him more vaguely approachable than usual and he holds a few conversations. If someone had asked him to dance in a way that didn't look so pagan around the bonfire, he might have. All in all, it's a pleasant few hours before he decides he's had enough socializing for the evening and disappears into the dark.

He takes a detour to frighten whoever is on the ridge on lookout duty. Buggy was right - it's a good view all around, even picturesque with the moon reflected in the lagoon like a it's holding a great pearl in its depths. With its light, it's easy to make his way down to where his ship has been pulled ashore. From there, he can see distantly the bonfire, the bows of the other ships all pointed towards it like silent sentinels.

If this were one of the Red Hair Pirates parties, this is about the time Mihawk would expect Shanks to break away and give his honored guest some company. In fact, he realizes he's looking over the crowd for that familiar crimson before reality catches up. A moment later, his gaze falls on bright blue. Hm. Shanks had ever invited himself into Mihawk's life and often Mihawk wondered if there was a creator who had forgotten to hand out a sense of fear before shipping him out into the world. Now it amuses him to think perhaps the other Rogers boy got an extra helping to make up for it, though he's starting to think it might be sense too. He watches Buggy for a little while longer, reflecting over his role in their recent victory over the Marine fortress. Perhaps, Mihawk decides, he's not done with company for the night after all.

He has his transponder snail deliver the invitation and watches with curiosity to see how it's received. ]

Come entertain me, jester.

[youshidiots]

[the celebration is fueled almost entirely by the absolute killing they made in professionally cooked food off of that cruise ship, and the chances are better than zero that some of the crew will regret indulging in so much rich food by tomorrow, if not the end of the night. buggy is not one of them. he's riding high on their newest success, each one convincing him a little more that they're unstoppable and untouchable, particularly with mihawk accompanying the fleet. he knows better than to underestimate his fellow emperors; it's much easier to convince himself that they're doomed to underestimate him instead.

eventually, anyway. not tonight. tonight, he's celebrating with ghosts. mihawk gathered that buggy has been to this island before, but not that it's been more than twenty years since. carved into the bark of a tree somewhere on this small hoop of land are perhaps the earliest record of two jolly rogers that would eventually belong to the red force and the big top; skidding down from the lookout's ridge, shanks had ripped open one leg of his threadbare pants, and buggy, always the craftier of the two in more ways than one, had spent the better part of an hour painstakingly patching it, on his own insistence that shanks would just make it worse and then he'd have no pants and no one wanted to see his bare ass any more often than necessary. they'd been young enough, even, that he could say it without a trace of irony. they'd argued about something, too, although buggy can't easily recall now what it was... funny, though, because he remembers it had seemed so important at the time.

anyway. he's not really thinking about it. in fact he's deliberately not thinking about it, because that was a very long time ago, and all he's doing now is cashing in on a convenient memory, the way he's been doing this whole time. he's absolutely not thinking about shanks especially, and with mihawk silhouetted against the bonfire and the other moving shapes of the celebrants, buggy can believe himself easily.

he's kept his own word about not mentioning certain events, with the reasonable exception of those indirect references he drops when he's feeling spicy, though of course mihawk evades them easily. it's not easy for the clown to be patient, but in this case much of the work is done for him, because no one can make dracule mihawk do anything until he decides he feels like doing it. in fact buggy is sort of fascinated just to watch him interact with the crew, the hypnotic effect of good food and strong alcohol taking him out of himself for a bit, enough to watch without overthinking, for a little while.

it also means he loses track of the swordsman before mihawk departs to make his last rounds. buggy assumes the incoming snail message is from crocodile, either to extend new orders or demand an update; when he actually receives it, it sends a shiver through him so strong that a pair of hawk eyes could spot it easily from some distance away. he takes one deep swig from his bottle before corking it, and grabs a bottle of wine for good measure before making his way along the moonlit beach toward mihawk's landing point.

no use detouring this time; he'll be showing up in his star clown costume, obviously. but at least it can be said that he doesn't keep mihawk waiting - although the first thing he offers on his arrival is the bottle.]

Somebody out here requested entertainment~?

[crosspurpose]

[ The closer Buggy comes to Mihawk's boat, the less he'll have to rely on moonlight to guide him. At the bow blazes a pair of green flames atop what at least appear to be relatively massive candles, though no new wax wells or drips beyond what seems frozen in time. The former Warlord himself sits in the high-backed helm that resembles a throne, swathed in the ghostly light save for where the black of his clothing blocks it. Legs crossed, head canted to rest on a fist, he looks somewhere between at ease and bored.

Most people would have to actively climb or jump aboard since the ship is aground, as it turns out the vessel does indeed possess a keel and some depth to it - a real coffin, in other words, rather than just a raft. Given Buggy's particular powers, though, he could probably just draw his legs up to his floating torso and appear to compress to accomplish the same thing. Mihawk finds watching him move in this particular costume fascinatingly horrific when he's really paying attention. It's a good thing he has such a great poker face.

He sits up as he accepts the wine, the other hand reaching to tug the Kogatana free from his neck. Just because it's casual doesn't necessarily make it non-threatening. ]

I did, though I'll understand if the day has made you far too weary to perform. It is beginning to grow rather late, even for nocturnal things.

[ Mihawk's slips the edge of the cross into the corner of his mouth, unsheathing the little knife and twirling it in his fingers in a fluid motion to stab down into the top of the cork. Slowly, he begins to twist it free of the bottle; this is definitely a move he's done before. ]

[youshidiots]

[buggy does have to maneuver a bit to make his way onto the boat, but he springs up with relative ease between the twin green flames. with the ship aground, he doesn't even have to worry about falling into water he wouldn't be able to walk out of - preferable, especially, because he's pretty sure mihawk would just let him drown and consider it a persistent problem resolved.

but that's an uncharitable thought at a time when buggy is feeling extremely charitable, at least in his own special way.]

I'm not weary. [particularly not with mihawk doing scary-sexy shit, which always gives buggy a charge, even when it's heavy on the scary.] Are you weary?

[he doesn't look it, and buggy's assuming not. the swordsman may have gathered by now that the clown very often tows the line between obedience and entitlement, whenever he can get away with it; he does so now, setting his ostentatious hat aside as he drops expectantly to his knees in front of mihawk's gothic throne, and then leaning forward to drape himself against the older man's folded legs. buggy grins up at him, watching the shadows flicker across his face between the dancing flames.]

Any special requests, or... do you just wanna fuck my mouth again?

[crosspurpose]

Hardly. The fighting didn't even last a day.

[ And Mihawk has fought for several days on end in the past. Convincing Shanks to duel had always been a bit like pulling teeth, but when they got into it... Well, there's a reason a salty, old dog like Whitebeard spoke of the echoes over a decade later. The swordmaster practically cut his teeth on hunting and killing Marines before they started paying him to stop, a phenomenon which happened after he stopped having to prove himself to anyone else. Of course there were those among their ranks that could still provide him some sport, but they weren't at the fortress. Altogether, he considered the effort a nice little workout, something that broke a sweat but didn't quite give him that jelly-legged satisfaction of pushing his limits.

But part of that came because of his and Crocodile's scheming matched with Buggy's command. Incredible how the food motivation of a cruise ship within reach moved multitudes.

As the clown half-drapes himself across his lap, Hawk Eyes' legs tighten incrementally as if to acknowledge the weight, but he doesn't so much as twitch otherwise. The cork comes free of the bottle with a sucking pop of a sound. Still on the tip of the knife, Mihawk raises it to take a gauging sniff. He then sets the bottle to perch, open, on the arm of the chair. Red wine has to breathe for at least a little while to be the best to drink. Mihawk pulls the sheathe free from his lips and sets both that and the Kogatana aside on the same arm.

Buggy could, but certainly wouldn't thank Shanks for the fact Mihawk sometimes found the boldness of insolence charming. If they stayed in partnership long enough, Buggy might figure out when, and why, it was allowable. Tonight? It could just be luck, the turn of the weather, the fullness of the moon. But Mihawk reaches down to take the clown's chin and skims his thumb over the lower lip of the grin. ]

You're my guest tonight.

[ He unfolds his legs, the topmost one skimming across the top of that thick mane of hair, then coming to warmly frame him in. Still, the older man's free hand gives an elegant gesture to his own lap. ]

If it's a seat you'd like, you may have the best one on board.

[ Though if Buggy does indeed look like he's going to climb up, Mihawk will give a swirl of a finger in a 'turn around' sort of gesture. After all, it isn't proper to sit in a seat facing the back. ]

[youshidiots]

[whether it's a mark of cowardice or just common sense, the gracious acknowledgement and its subsequent offer make the clown emperor visibly apprehensive - but just as visibly excited. he is more than reasonably confident that it would be beneath the world's greatest swordsman to go through all this performance just to cut his head off and toss it in the ocean. it doesn't mean that mihawk doesn't have some other trick up his sleeve, but buggy made his peace with that possibility the last time he was on his knees in front of the older man.

his grin faded a little bit under mihawk's caressing thumb, but once buggy's made up his mind it comes right back, immensely pleased; at least it should be clear that he recognizes it as either an honor or a privilege, or both. he does begin to crawl forward, but pauses again at the gesture to turn, another brief moment where he gauges his own likelihood of survival and once again decides it's a risk well worth taking.

so buggy puts his back to mihawk and proceeds to curl right up into his lap, like a cat who's only been waiting for enough room to claim his spot. one hand draws his hair aside, over one shoulder - ostensibly so mihawk doesn't get a face full of it, but also to not-so-subtly display the clasps of his costume.]

You're right. It is a nice seat. [he glances over his shoulder with mischief in his eyes, and rolls his hips a little in the older man's lap to make himself more comfortable. then he does it again. and again, in a slow, lazy circle.] The view could be better, though.

crosspurpose ⚔️ I'm tired and angry (but somebody should be)

[youshidiots]

[it was a bad blow. no matter how much he hates to admit it.

the cross guild is still new, after all, an infant thing still learning to walk which could easily be killed off by a blow that severs its founders from each other. buggy is in far too deep to let that happen.

he'd begun issuing vehement denials before mihawk even finished reading the article - we didn't give those suckers so much as a rope burn, everyone had orders, we just wanted the payout, when we left the whole ship was lights out until the gas wore off - but the noise of it was the last thing crocodile had wanted to hear. although mihawk had agreed, when prompted, that they had gone bloodless on his orders to emphasize the incompetence of the marines, crocodile wasn't so easily satisfied that there wasn't a grain of truth to the slander being concealed from him.

after accusing buggy's crew of being a pack of dogs following a puppet on a string, he suggested the emperor was guilty of leaving some mistake behind, or allowing his followers to do so, that led to the fire starting. the way his narrow eyes darted to mihawk did not cast blame directly, but it was as though he was deciding whether he ought to hold him accountable for the clown's actions or not. buggy, flushing crimson, furiously insisted that they weren't amateurs, and even if they had fucked up somehow, they didn't even leave the area that night. if an entire cruise ship had gone up in flames in the middle of the black open ocean at midnight, surely at least mihawk would have seen it.

before crocodile could answer, mihawk had put a swift end to the argument by pointing out that only the marines benefitted from this story and that anyone with intel would see right through it, except he said it less nicely and made buggy's skin prickle from the chill. that was the first moment he realized just how angry mihawk was; buggy himself was angry, and humiliated, and terrified of the consequences on the table, but when he'd had a minute to go back to the half-thought later, he distinctly remembers that mihawk had almost had the same look on his face as when he saw the cross guild posters.

mihawk was the first to depart in steely silence; crocodile had gone to his office to consider their options for response. buggy was left behind not knowing what to do with himself, despising the marines, worrying about crocodile, wondering about mihawk. he ends up using the opportunity to build some anti-marine sentiment amongst the crew, which is very successful, but in spite of his hopes it doesn't make him feel better.

who else is gonna think this really happened?

mihawk disappears for a while, and when he finally returns to the pavilion, he's followed by loud whispers that a substantial chunk of the northern shoreline has been hewn from the island, leaving a flat plane of rock where low, grassy cliffs used to be. that sends a fresh chill down buggy's spine - although this time fear isn't quite the reason.

the emperor restrains himself as long as he can manage, but he finally can't stand it any longer. he doesn't have fancy wine or fruit or popcorn to offer, but he does have some extremely strong rum in case that will serve as a gesture of sympathetic intent. well, sympathetic isn't the right word. he wants to talk shit about the navy and get some answers. so he shows up outside the heavy tent flap separating mihawk's chambers, straining to hear inside.]

Hawk Eyes? Are you in there? Let me in, I wanna talk.

[crosspurpose]

[ When the Marines had shown up with an armada to surround Kuraigana Island, it had been the first time in a while that Mihawk had been excited. Reading the newspaper this morning had been a first time in a while that he'd felt well and truly angry.

In a way, Mihawk was glad for Buggy's outburst. As someone who took self-discipline very seriously, it wasn't the sort of thing Mihawk would have done, but it doesn't mean he doesn't want to. In a way he sort of lived vicariously through the clown's vocal frustrations. It was notable how he stood up to Crocodile as well - when they began this whole thing, Buggy seemed like he probably would have rolled over and shown his belly. Either he's gaining some confidence being among his handlers or he's just too angry to be afraid of Crocodile.

And Crocodile... Mihawk can see why he wants to jump on the clown. It's been their way, their stress reliever since the Cross Guild's inception. If Mihawk hadn't been on a few missions with Buggy and seen his competence for himself, this very well could have been him making accusations. Truth be told, his eyes do flicker briefly over as the clown insists he left everyone alive. It might be pride, but Mihawk feels certain that Buggy followed his orders because it would have been far too easy for the former warlord to go and catch him in a lie at the time. No, this is just Crocodile looking for an easy explanation, for his paranoia to finally be proved correct, and Mihawk understands that as well. It doesn't mean it doesn't piss him off. The reason Crocodile doesn't know anything about what's happening with Buggy or the missions is because he won't stop riding the fucking desk.

As is his way, when he's given an in by his counterparts, the swordmaster cuts through all the bullshit. Hawk Eyes respects Crocodile - he wouldn't have thrown his hat into this ring if he didn't - and he is normally respectful, but tensions are high and he is angry. He also knows you don't reason with a predator that's coming at you with teeth bared; you stand your ground and show it you're a force to be reckoned with too. In this instance, he proverbially smacks the crocodile right on the snout and watches the older man reel back mentally, coming to his senses. He stands there and participates in the natural stare-down that comes with a clash of ego. Mihawk is a man who cannot be bought or bullied - Crocodile has met his match, for better or for worse.

When he departs, Hawk Eyes essentially takes flight to the unoccupied portion of the island, needing his solitude more than ever. Going through the motions of training never fails to help center him, but he also finds he needs to feel the control that comes with destroying in the most calculated way. He's also overflowing with haki thanks to his mood, so the Emptee Bluffs are now even more empty.

And he feels a bit better, but only enough that he wants to be tucked away in his tent without tearing up anything else. When Buggy's voice filters through, he debates letting silence be his answer. But then he realizes talking is probably a good idea, and if the clown emperor is here, then he's not getting himself into trouble anywhere else. ]

Enter.

[ Hawk Eyes is currently in a pair of waist-high, black trousers that hugs his waist, contrasting with the more billowy white shirt he's wearing tucked into them. His sleeves have been rolled up to the elbow and he tosses a rag into a bucket on the counter of the kitchenette; he'd been scrubbing down the stove, which now does appear spotless save for where a bit of rust has formed on the old technology's handle on the oven. ]

[youshidiots]

[buggy has left his costume behind for the evening, turning up in a red-and-white striped t-shirt and sea green shorts - and, of course, his identically striped stockings. he can't complain to his own subordinates the way he wants to about the situation, not without having to dance around his own status in the cross guild. only mihawk seems like he can appreciate buggy's passion about the situation, even if the clown doesn't really grasp why.

when granted entrance, he sweeps the curtain aside and marches in, only to pause when he sees the older man standing in the kitchenette. although he definitely has other things on his mind, there's a distinct moment where his eyes follow the v of mihawk's bare chest downward, and he thinks about how much he'd like to wrap his arms around that narrow waist. or hist legs. then his gaze darts sideways to the bucket.]

If you're gonna make me pick up a rag, I'll just go back the way I came.

[crosspurpose]

[ Mihawk rolls his eyes. It's not a particularly elegant gesture, but in some respects he lets a few of his pretenses slip in front of his subordinate. His hand settle atop the stove. There's a sheen to his dark hair, which is down a hat and slicked back from his forehead into a something almost tufted, that suggests he might be fresh from some sort of bathing. ]

What did you wish to discuss?

[ His eyes naturally skate over Buggy, then over to the bottle. ]

What's that?

[youshidiots]

[bathing, huh. bet he smells nice. buggy joins him in the kitchenette, only as close as needed to be able to lean one hip against the counter.]

It's rum. Try it, it's the good stuff.

[does mihawk only drink wine? well, whether he tries it or not, it's still the good stuff. buggy looks irritable, though it's not directed at mihawk. he just needs something strong to ease the nervous energy under his skin, trying not to dwell exclusively on worst-case scenarios.]

I wanna know if you believe people are gonna see that bullshit for what it is.