youshidiots | open 🤡 overflow

[ 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. ]

[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?

[ 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. ]

[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...

Edited 2023-12-03 19:34 (UTC)

[ 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. ]

[...ah. buggy's face falls as mihawk dismisses the wine with disgust. it was really too much to hope that anything worth the swordsman's taste could be found amongst what the crew was permitted to keep, but the clown feels his stomach swoop down a little further. bad sign? or just a hiccup? buggy can only be optimistic here.

still, his eyes dart between mihawk's outstretched hand and the uncomfortably sharp gaze pinning him to the spot, and then to the fruit; just a moment of hesitation, and then one hand is quick to produce a slim throwing knife, flips it to catch the blade, and sets the handle on mihawk's palm. it's not like mihawk couldn't just as easily produce a different weapon and slice him in half if he doesn't cooperate.]

Y'know...

[but he's still gotta push his luck.]

I don't think we make the worst team in the world. Especially when you, y'know, actually let me know what you want, instead of getting mad at me when I guess wrong!

[ Mihawk accepts the knife and gives a dismissing gesture to the disembodied hand that brought it to him. As Buggy continues to chatter, the swordsman holds the blade up to inspect the edge. It's apparently acceptable enough for him to sink the tip into the pineapple in a way that wriggles it between the scales of the fruit's armor, slowly prying up a perfect wedge. Did you know you could pick individual pieces off the core of the fruit like grapes from a vine or, perhaps more aptly, slices of orange?

He leaves Buggy in silence as he tastes the flesh perched at the end of the knife, biting just short of the rind. There's a momentary blink - there's more juice than he anticipated - and then the dark lashes lower a moment in a way that could very well be pleasure. With a flick of his wrist, he sends the piece of rind expertly flying into the nearby wastebasket. He moves to pry up another piece. ]

You know, shockingly, I think I find your face less contemptible now that I can associate it with an actual accomplishment... Your performance in the raid exceeded expectations.

[ Mihawk helps himself to that bite of pineapple while he lets that sink in for Buggy, savoring the sourness while he performs the same trick to discard the unwanted bit of the morsel. He swallows. ]

Did you exclude anyone else who partook in the boarding party from the celebration, other than me?

[the look on mihawk's face makes buggy trail off a little without thinking. now that surely is a great sign: the right fruit, specifically the thing he'd offered and that mihawk had told him to bring. in fact, he kinda wants to taste it himself if the older man is enjoying it as much as he seems to be. but before he can say anything, mihawk swipes every sound right off of his tongue all over again.

okay, so it's hard to know for sure if exceeded expectations means he actually did well, or just better than seagull shit, which is about where he suspects mihawk's expectations were before the battle. one star out of ten is still greater than zero. but it kinda sounds like buggy did better than that, even. like mihawk might be paying him a legitimate compliment right now, even.

small wonder he's speechless for a second, but boy does he let it sink in. his eyes are still very wide, although this time it has a lot less to do with nerves.]

Um... I - well, okay, no I didn't. BUT! Like I said, it's not that I wanted to exclude you - you're indispensable to the whole operation! I know it, Croccy knows it, everybody else knows it. Next time you'll be the first person I tell when someone says "fireworks".

[ It was a compliment, though Buggy is right to question it. Mihawk isn't the easiest man to read even when he isn't acting purposefully aloof, which he is right now. ]

We're not done with this time yet.

[ He trims through the fat, this barrage of flattery. Mihawk isn't Crocodile, but he's still not letting Buggy off the hook - or out from under his talons, as the case may be. Keeping his eyes on the other man, he reaches out and twists a grape free of the basket. ]

Regardless of your intentions, do you or do you not agree that your actions were disrespectful?

[ The grape gets thumbed into his mouth and sampled while he awaits an answer. ]

[the heat of humiliation begins to rise on the back of his neck. whatever pride buggy possesses that isn't easily pushed aside for the sake of self-preservation doesn't want to agree, telling him to double down, insist on the intentions, point out that mihawk and crocodile have never treated him with any respect whatsoever and mihawk just admitted he had exceeded expectations--

but pride gets easier to swallow, with something of real value on the line. in buggy's case, it's no longer just the fame and the fortune. getting even a scrap of genuine praise from dracule mihawk? buggy would carry that around like a diamond fucking ring.

his throat bobs again. he's watching mihawk's hands every time they move.] ...yes.

[ A dark brow arches over a bright eye and Mihawk's head tilts. It's as if he's found something new in the clown emperor to look at. His voice is a soft drawl. ]

Very well... [ His hand tilts back on its wrist, fingers fanning slightly in invitation towards the side of the room with the bare floor - in particular towards a broom and dustpan leaned against the kitchenette. With everything in this room looking like it's got a particular place, it stands out in a way that suggests this is not its usual home but where it has been put in preparation to be used. ] If you want to make it up to me, you can begin by sweeping that side of the room. All of you.

[ A few more grapes make their way out of the basket as Mihawk watches Buggy with the glow of curiosity. How long has it been since Buggy has done such a humble chore, he wonders, and will it be tough not to be able to divide his attentions as he so often seems to do these days? Mihawk has never known Shanks to be better than picking up a broom, but the man's ego is about as wide as the eye of a needle in his estimation, needing specific targeting. Buggy's seems as vast and brittle as his facade. ]

Edited 2023-12-04 02:20 (UTC)

You want me to sweep your floor?...

[that ego is certainly present in the grimace buggy forgets to hide as he notes the dustpan and broom. if it hasn't been years since he's swept a floor, he'd be hard-pressed to remember a more recent occasion. that kind of thing is beneath captains. it's what the crew is for.

like swabs. or apprentices.

there was a time when buggy took even menial chores seriously. shanks never had trouble distinguishing himself in those days, but buggy had to work hard and demonstrate his determination to prove himself worthy of a life at sea, standing and fighting among those men. it wasn't his choice to leave. shanks either, for that matter... although buggy would accuse him in a hot second of being the first one to turn his back on that life.

buggy steels himself, and then gets to his feet. he doesn't look at mihawk, although he is very, very aware of being watched, as he approaches the kitchenette.

at least no one else is watching. just mihawk, who thinks he's worthless, who could be doing much worse right now if he wanted, who is definitely comparing buggy to shanks in his mind and marking him far short in every single category, a thought more likely to drive him mad than any other if he's not careful. but - although buggy would set himself on fire before admitting it - shanks has a motivational effect on him more profound than any other, no matter how many layers of clown paint and poison and bad blood he's poured over it. one could even call him a muse... if they wanted to make an immediate mortal enemy, that is.

we really are on equal ground now, aren't we?

buggy's jaw tightens. floating hands tie his hair back from his face, and then he picks up the broom and starts to sweep.]

For a start. There are worse things to be doing, aren't there?

[ Like dangling from a hook while two men take turns hurting you. With Crocodile, it's like all of Hawk Eyes' more nefarious and cruel urges are heightened. They feed off of one another, neither wanting to look weak in the eyes of the other, admiring the style of a different apex predator; poor Buggy is just the toy they've both found fun chewing and batting between them, too sensitive to live but too weird to die.

Then again, it doesn't take all that much effort to scream and cry. Sweeping the floor is both a mental and menial task for who Buggy is and the station he currently holds. Soon enough, he might notice the floor isn't terribly dirty, meaning someone does this task on a regular basis, but not clean enough he can get away with just pantomiming.

Mihawk pulls off a paper from the stacks he has, draping it across his lap. Apparently he plans to read while Buggy does his work, pouring himself a fresh glass of red to go with the fruits. He would never ruin this kind of wine to make sangria... But he's definitely more or less having a deconstructed version.

Time to figure out how long Buggy can hold a silence. ]

[the silence does last for a little while, mostly because buggy is lost in thought and trying not to sulk. there's certainly a poetic irony in being treated like the apprentice he was during the period of his life he's been cashing in on so far. and buggy wouldn't think to recognize it, but this is good for him. a specific task, occupying his hands and his thoughts, and adult supervision - that is, someone to keep him honest, and someone he secretly hopes to impress.

never mind that he's a whole adult pushing 40 and shouldn't need training wheels to get his shit together. it's years too late to be worrying about those kinds of details.

gradually, the heat of embarrassment fades, swept away in the same repetitive motions that are clearing the fine layer of sand and carnival dust off of mihawk's floor. buggy's mind threatens to wander. he starts stealing glances at the silent swordsman, trying and mostly failing to get a sense of what he's thinking. is he even paying attention to buggy anymore, or has he banished him to the background of his thoughts like some nameless servant?]

...Whatcha reading?

[he remains on his side of the room in relative safety, gathering the dust in a little pile. but he's legitimately curious.]

I thought Croc was handling all the paperwork.

[ It's a grounding sort of task to be sure after all the flying Buggy's been doing lately among his fans. Mihawk likes a clean nest, but sweeping is the tedious sort of task he doesn't mind delegating, and it's far more valuable to him than any other type of apology. That's one thing he's noticed: that of all the words the clown has thrown at him like pasta at the wall, "sorry" or anything like it has not been one of them. With this it doesn't need to be.

He's very aware of Buggy even if he pretends he isn't. After all, they're in relatively close quarters in his territory. It's like he can feel the stolen glances, though whether they are hateful or apprehensive Mihawk couldn't say. What matters is he can hear those bristles scraping the floor in what seems like an earnest attempt to do the task that has been given. He does debate for a moment telling Buggy not to speak, or to not speak unless spoken to, but the question isn't an annoying one and he figures those other options are always things he can employ if they get there. ]

This is the news. Yesterday's news, to be precise.

[ Mihawk shifts the configuration of his folded legs. There's a crinkle of paper from both the news and from when he reaches into the bag of popcorn; it seems that he's been pecking at a little bit of everything so far aside from the wine. ]

I expect tomorrow we'll know whether or not our mission is to be publicized at all, and how the World Government wishes to spin it. The day after at the latest.

How's it coming along over there?

[the reminder of imminent publicity cheers buggy immediately. he wonders what it'll sound like - if the marines will even be able to spin it to their own advantage while admitting that dracule mihawk sliced their armada to wooden ribbons. and if they mention him, why, they have to mention buggy the clown! if they don't mention him... well, buggy kinda wants to see what would happen in that case. he can't imagine it would go well for the world government itself to deny the swordsman his due credit. all buggy did was make him miss a party, and look where that got him.

(sweeping a floor while mihawk enjoys the treats buggy brought him. much to interpret, actually.)]

I'm almost done.

[in fact he was just about to fetch the dustpan, and does so. as he crouches down to sweep the pile of debris off the floor, he casts another glance over toward mihawk, this one a little more hopeful. maybe they can have a actual conversation - like real colleagues!]

What do you think they'll say about us?

[ Mihawk shuts the paper, sets it aside on the desk for the moment, and unfolds himself gracefully into a stand. ]

Something to try and scare the general public away from dealing with us, I'd expect. [ To lessen the amount of new recruits turning up to go after bounties. ] It may be the best thing that they can do for us is to not say anything at all.

[ He says this all while walking gradually over to Buggy's side, clearly on the way to inspect his work. ]

[buggy scrambles a little when mihawk gets to his feet, picking up the pace to make sure that every last grain of sand has made it into the dustpan by the time the other man reaches this side of the room, since buggy definitely doesn't want to risk whatever worse humiliation would follow a job not completed to satisfaction. at least without crocodile around, mihawk seems to be a little more reasonable.

the words make his brow furrow, however, and he looks up at mihawk sharply.]

They can't do that! Say nothing at all, just because they lost?! [lying to protect one's reputation is only fun and silly and cool when buggy does it!] I mean, they can, but we shouldn't let them get away with it. They got their asses kicked by the Cross Guild, and everybody needs to know!

It happens more often than you might think.

[ Buggy only got to taste a moment of being Warlord before the entire system was abolished, but Mihawk had been one practically since its inception. He's been privy to a lot of the drama and skulduggery in the World Government despite his service to them being fickle at best. Granted, much of the information he'd gathered was not exactly with their blessing.

As he speaks, his sharp eyes scan over the floor. Hopefully Buggy can make do with an eventual nod of approval and a gesture to the bin he can use to dispose of the dust, because that's all he's getting. That, and this conversation, one could argue. ]

There's a vacuum beneath the bed that you can see to the carpet with.

[ In case Buggy thought he was done. It's just a cordless push vacuum, but it gets the job done in this small place. ]

Edited 2023-12-04 18:00 (UTC)

Aw c'mon...

[not just one menial chore, but two? when will it end!!

there's a touch of melodrama as buggy heaves himself off the floor to approach the bed - he would have sent a hand under there to feel around for it, but mihawk said all of you and that definitely isn't a hill to die on. it seems almost sacrilegious to be rummaging around under the swordsman's bed (and he tenses, without thinking, when he loses visual while remaining vulnerably exposed) but it only takes a moment to emerge with the vacuum in hand.

for a second buggy sits back on his heels, looking plaintively around the carpet, very obviously thinking do i have to?? and coming very close to saying it out loud. but, finally, he just gets back up, heaves a put-upon sigh, and starts to push the vacuum back and forth across the fibers. the petulance lingers.]

Well, I think we should publish our own paper, then.

[ Mihawk ignores the complaining for now, which he admittedly finds more amusing than the groveling. At least it's honest. It's not exactly like Buggy is supposed to be having fun here, so really it's just the sound of success. And in his mind, it's just finishing up the second part of a single goal: cleaning the floor. Wait until the man finds out there's another task after this.

There's a creak while Buggy is rummaging under the bed, signalling Mihawk has sat back down in his chair. He's got the paper back open when Buggy starts pushing the vacuum around, though he's probably a bit more obvious with his own glances over the edge of it as Buggy passes into view, which he often does because the swordsman has since turned the chair back (and Yoru) towards the desk and faces out into the room now. ]

Let's assume we can acquire a printing press. Are we hiding a bevy of talented writers here that I'm not aware of?

[ Mihawk would be surprised if most of their numbers were illiterate, especially the pirates. ]

I dunno. How many do we really need?

[he wasn't being entirely serious, but he wasn't entirely kidding, either. they should be controlling the narrative, one way or the other. he'd be willing to bet that crocodile, well accustomed to the nuances of shadow government, has already given consideration to the idea and likely come up with his own solutions, whatever those may be. so it's okay to toss some ideas out right now, even if it's just so mihawk can swat them down. this is what collaboration looks like!

hard to tell if this rug is getting cleaner at the same time or not. buggy is splitting his focus between the lines created by the vacuum as it rolls back and forth across the carpet, and mihawk's unnerving stare observing him from over the paper.]

Maybe it shouldn't be writing anyway! Maybe it's better if it's mostly pictures. Or drawings. Or cartoons! Picture this: the Adventures of the Star Clown and the World's Greatest Swordsman!! I'd read it every day.

[ Mihawk actually thinks having their own news production is a good idea and one he's idly fantasized about before, something he's getting around to admitting to Buggy by prodding him to expound on it. He even has an idea or two about how to get it done. But then the clown has to go and keep running his mouth. What a ridiculous idea. He's glad his face is mostly obscured by the newspaper because he feels a hot flush of what he can only guess is embarrassment and disgust rolling over him, uncertain of whether or not it's blotting his skin. It's been hard enough to know his image is living on hundreds of posters across the seas next to Buggy's (dwarfed by Buggy's, to be exact). He'll eat his hat before he becomes a cartoon character, much less with him.

This is threatening to put their progress back quite a bit. ]

Don't speak again unless spoken to.

[ There's a snap as the swordsman fully opens the paper to disappear, only the black top of his hat visible. He reaches to take a gratuitous swallow of his wine, chasing down the roil of the disturbance. ]

[whoops. and here buggy had been so pleased with the notion a second ago... carried away by his own delusions of grandeur yet again. instinctive protest rises up in his throat - complaints, maybe a little more groveling - but with some difficulty he swallows it once again, although the grimace of frustration is left clear on his face since mihawk is no longer looking at him.

he can be useful. if they'd just let him.

in a way that didn't involve housekeeping, that is. there's an element of thoroughly lopsided but very effective pride that keeps him motivated to do this well. but if not this, then something. mihawk already admitted once that buggy did better than expected. buggy is convinced that he can do better than that. he's certain he can prove, somehow, that his role in this venture is a critical one, that even if crocodile and mihawk could and will dispose of him the second his liabilities outweigh his meager benefits, they'd still have a harder time making it work without him.

sometimes telling yourself nice lies is the best way to make it through the day.

in any case, he keeps his mouth shut and glowers his sullen resentment at the carpet instead while he runs the vacuum over it. in the interest of proving something, he even wriggles his way under the bed to roll the mechanism into every dark corner, as nitpicky as he would be if he was setting the stage for one of his shows; if mihawk finds fault with his work now, he's liable to have a meltdown. but by the time he crawls out from under the couch and stands up again, he's feeling quite satisfied with his work.

despite the order not to speak unless spoken to, buggy doesn't want to just stand around waiting to be acknowledged while mihawk reads the paper and deliberately ignores him. so he speaks up anyway, a hand on his hip, the other holding the handle of the vacuum.]

Okay, I'm done.

[ Time allows Mihawk to cool off again, back to something less reactionary and more reasonable. Being mad at the clown for having a silly idea is like being mad at the humandrills for initially rooting around his garden with swords - justifiable, but it's only in their nature. And if he can teach baboons agriculture, he can surely work with Buggy.

It isn't as if there's no potential there. He had been debating on instructing the other man to get under the bed, but Buggy takes the initiative without being told. Mihawk watches him from around the edge of the paper, or at least the legs and torso sticking out from beneath the bed. Whatever little show tricks the clown must be doing and things like raiding seem to be keeping him in shape in ways that are more practical than the star blob he sometimes portrays. It doesn't seem like he's got any trouble having to employ his joints rather than shooting limbs off for this or that task, something Mihawk had been admittedly curious about.

Buggy may or may not hear the telling ripple of the newspaper flying back up into place as he comes free of the bed even if he doesn't see the wall move in time. When he eventually announces his completion, Mihawk slowly folds it and does a scan of the room before those piercing eyes rise up to look at Buggy. ]

You've missed a spot.

[ Cooly, Mihawk unfolds his legs, splaying them just enough to silently indicate the patch of rug beneath the chair upon which he's sitting. Presumably, Buggy is going to come and get the spot. When he does, and when he's finished, Mihawk reaches out to grasp the handle of the vacuum while it's still between his feet. ]

Good. Now... get on your knees.

[ The vacuum blocks anything closer than before the toes of Mihawk's boots. ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject