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[ 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. ]

[it might be impressive how quickly he still approaches a meltdown, in just the brief time it takes for mihawk's mouth to form the words 'missed a spot'. then mihawk parts his legs. buggy's mouth slams shut before he even realizes it was open.

he certainly does finish the patch beneath mihawk's chair, meek but visibly wary; he's not paying any mind to yoru, or the kogatana, or his own dagger lying sticky with fruit juice, but if mihawk decided to crack the bottle of piss-wine over his head, that would hurt. plus then he'd be covered in wine, like a fucking idiot. but mihawk's preferred methods of torture without crocodile to goad him on have been... mystifying, so far.

every single interaction feels like a carefully laid trap, and sometimes sheer curiosity compels buggy to spring them.

so he kneels again, this time very slowly. the fact that mihawk is still holding onto the vacuum is making him very nervous. it'll take a minute for buggy to bring his attention back to the other man's face.]

[ As Buggy kneels, Mihawk does reach back for a wine bottle... to pour the rest of the open one into his glass, the intent possibly clear from when he grips it by the base and not the neck, and the fact he does it so calmly. Then he picks up the glass and regards Buggy. So far, they've had that barrier of distance and the newspaper between them; now it's time to see how the clown really feels about having the fullness of Mihawk's attention on him. ]

I believe you've mentioned licking my boots before...

[ Buggy is right to feel as if these moments have been calculated - they have, from the moment the man walked into his tent. The responses have not been entirely (or even mostly) predictable, but the stimuli are deliberate. Like now, evoking the mention of the clown putting his tongue to his boots, Mihawk picks up the vacuum and slowly hovers it across one of the aforementioned shoes; his thumb is precariously close to the switch which will open the dirt trap. In the end, past the grueling seconds he watches for any sort of distress or anything else to form on his subordinate, Mihawk sets the vacuum down off to the side, leaning its handle against the desk. ]

I assume you know how to black them.

[ He takes a sip of his wine, the amber eyes almost seeming to glitter wickedly as he narrows them ever so slightly. The heel of one boot taps the lowest drawer of the desk behind him. ]

All the supplies are in there.

[oh, fuck, watching mihawk lift the vacuum over one boot had almost made him scream. if that trap had opened, he would have immediately collapsed into a pile of body parts and misery. when mihawk sets the vacuum aside and points him toward the drawer instead, buggy very nearly falls apart anyway, but at the last minute he manages to contain it to a desperate whine, slumping back on his knees.

how much acute psychological warfare must one sorry little clown emperor be made to endure??

he does, at least, know how to black them. it's been a while, but he remembers. shanks used to repair gold roger's shoes, while buggy mended rayleigh's; it was the raised-by-pirates version of a coloring book when they needed to stay out from underfoot. if mihawk insists on having his boots polished, buggy will turn in a professional job. but he still has to make a big dramatic show out of dragging himself over to the desk drawer to fetch the shoe shine supplies.]

Just how many of your chores do I have to do before you forgive me?!

If all that mouth is going to do is complain, you can continue to keep it shut.

[ While he doesn't smile, there is an air of smugness around the swordsman that suggests he might be enjoying Buggy's annoyance. He leans back in his seat, ready to watch the other man get to work with his drink in hand. It's been a long time since he's had someone in this particular position. Normally he has to take care of the oil tanned leather boots himself, but after their raid he hasn't really had the time to do so. ]

I've been thinking. You're usually good about asking me what I want. The party is the only thing I can recall recently where you didn't. Why do you suppose that is?

[buggy shoots mihawk a sulky look, but doesn't say anything else as he returns to the spot on the floor in front of him. there's no reluctance now in sliding closer to the swordsman - he's quite certain that mihawk won't try hurting him right now and risk ruining his outfit with boot oil. that means buggy is free to be fussy about it.

he also doesn't kneel again, but instead tucks himself up cross-legged right at the swordsman's feet, setting a brush and a jar and a pair of soft clothes down next to him. from this angle, it would be easy to just take a second and admire - even just for aesthetic reasons! - the intimidatingly attractive older man peering at him from within the silhouette of his hat, with his eerie eyes and his sharp cheekbones and his bare fucking chest - but right now buggy is far too busy nursing petty resentment to let mihawk catch him looking.

it does surprise him a little bit, when the older man speaks up again without issuing another order in the process. buggy glances up at him, only just biting back the insolent urge to ask if he's allowed to speak to answer. at the same time, he sends one hand with a cloth to the kitchenette to get it damp, not realizing that mihawk might consider it an act of disobedience instead of the clown's usual thoughtlessness; hopefully mihawk can overlook the cutting of a few corners now and then for the sake of keeping a process moving.]

I told you... I thought it's what you wanted. [he undoes the buckles on the boots, one by one.] How many times do I have to say I'm sorry I guessed wrong? [the thing he hasn't actually said once yet.] It'll be easier if you take these off, by the way.

[ There's a displeased little grunt as the hand shoots across the room, but seeing what it's off to do, he does judiciously decide pragmatism is more important than strict obedience. Buggy is where he needs to be and it's not a case of the man just lounging somewhere while his disembodied limbs do the work. ]

You still haven't said that you're sorry.

[ He will not fail to point out, having observed it before. He also pointedly fails to bother taking the boots off. ]

Wha--

[oops - called out on his evasive bullshit. the baseless protest dies quickly into a grumpy sound. since mihawk isn't gonna let him take the boots off, apparently, buggy proceeds to grab one foot and pull it into his lap, so he can see what he's doing as he starts to brush it down.

the silence draws out a little longer. then buggy mumbles, head bent over the boot in his lap.]

...I'm sorry I told you not to come to the party. Okay?

[ There is the softest intake of breath through the swordsman's nose as his foot is tugged into Buggy's lap. He wasn't expecting to be handled in that particular way, but he allows it, settling his heel wherever the clown wants it. The dark lashes lower a fraction as the apology eventually makes its way out; he's actually inclined to believe it with how reluctant it is as opposed to pleading.

After a beat of hesitation, Mihawk leans down, wine still in one hand but his free one reaching to take Buggy by the chin, a relatively more tame version of trying to draw the man's attention than what he employed when he first arrived. ]

While I can appreciate your consideration, there is no need for you to guess with me. [ There's one thing Mihawk hasn't given until now himself: acknowledgement that Buggy was trying to do him a favor. ] I won't penalize you for asking what I want and giving me choices. I almost certainly will if you take them from me.

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