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youshidiots) wrote2025-10-23 02:09 pm
youshidiots) wrote2025-10-23 02:09 pmopen š¤” overflow
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re-voicetesting.
re-voicetesting.
youshidiots) wrote2025-10-23 02:09 pm
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[out of sight and sound of any real audience, buggy sheds all aspects of performance, leaving only stinging bitterness behind. still raw underneath his protective camouflage, all these years later, but for the moment it's just the two of them. any performance now would just fall flat against shanks' even-keeled courtesy. what did he ever know about turning pain into art?
shanks wanted buggy alone, without the act, without the spectacle. for better or worse, he's got it, at least until the others rejoin them in the lounge.
the lounge itself, a privileged location exclusive to cross guild leadership, is separated from the big top by the long and narrow circus alley that buggy leads them down now, and in short order he brushes another curtain of heavy fabric aside to reveal a comfortable arrangement of couches, a round table made of polished dark wood surrounded by three high-backed chairs, and a stockpile of barrels and crates fashioned into a sort of pirate minibar in one corner, everything settled on a chaotic assortment of obviously plundered, ornate rugs spread across the floor. at even spacing around the outer edges of the space, other curtained entryways lead to private quarters: first mihawk, then crocodile, then buggy at the far end. it's in this direction that buggy stomps straight off, since his costume is wildly effective at garnering the admiration of the masses but doesn't suit well to slouching around close quarters with a bunch of men who aren't fooled by him in the slightest. he's getting changed first.
both hands pop off at the wrist; one pulls the captain's hat off his head, taking the immense cloud of cotton candy blue extensions with it, and hangs it up on a tall wooden post just outside the entrance to his own quarters. the other hand swats the curtain open so he can march through it.]
You owe me a treasure map. [BY the way. more than one, if buggy wanted to be really unreasonable about it.] I notice you don't have one of those tucked under your arm.
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[ shanks doesnāt mind the debt, though: more tethers to a subtle and permanent history, when the world is increasingly unmoored.
he brushes a hand over the extensions and spares a moment of amused rue for the fact that the hair isnāt all naturalāwell, of course it isnāt, that wouldnāt make any sense, but he always wondered how long buggy would let it grow; it always came in well, bundled up under those hats of his when they were children. back then shanks had only been privy to buggy letting it down in the privacy of their quarters. he knows damn well what he thought about it back then, too. twenty years past, buggy probably wouldnāt care to know.
shanks leans against a post opposite, glances sideways to survey the room again. ]
I did mean it, you know. About that first order of business.
[ pressing the issue, a little. shanks canāt tell how much time they have alone together. the fact grates. ]
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that hadn't lasted very long. certainly not long at all past buggy's realization that shanks had been noticing him, too.
ugh. he hates the way these memories swim up so easily the second that shanks decides to insinuate himself back into buggy's life. they sting when pressed, like fresh bruises. turning his back on shanks right now has nothing to do with modesty at all.]
You expect me to believe you came all the way out here for a friendly hello?
[floating hands are efficient with hidden hooks and clasps: buggy steps out of his big red costume in just a pair of lurid pink boxer-briefs and, of course, the quintessential striped knee socks (it does get awful warm in there, under all those spotlights). his hair is, in fact, quite long these days, and thick with the extra care that comes from having an image to maintain on the scale that he does now; he hasn't been able to easily wrangle the blue mess of it back under a bandana since impel down. for now, his disembodied hands pull it out of his face into a ponytail, using a bandana this time to tie it like a ribbon.]
Anyway, you got your answer, didn't you? Because I'm doing great, obviously. The best I've ever been. Just see for yourself!
[that isn't supposed to be a lie; he can't imagine where the sour taste in his mouth is coming from. buggy grimaces, fetching a pair of loose linen pants and a sleeveless leather vest so well-worn it's practically velvet. then he approaches a brightly lit vanity tucked in one corner of the room, digs out a cloth, and begins to wipe the paint from his face. he's gonna need to ingratiate himself to his mistrustful colleagues after this melodrama, and this isn't the look for that job.]