BUGGY THE CLOWN

❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐢𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐝𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞. ❞

Independent, selective, heacanon and mixed media inspired RED HAIRED SHANKS and DRACULE MIHAWK of Eiichirō Oda's ONE PIECE, as featured on the multimuse blog SEAOFTALES. Crossover friendly, duplicate friendly, original character friendly, 18+

written by Rhea

As requested, his touch was light, only adding enough pressure to feel for what he needed. The area was hot like his ankle had been but he couldn’t detect any breaks or fractures unless they were hairline. 

“I was one of the doctors and first commander of Pop’s fleet. If I didn’t have this restraint on I could have your wound healed faster. I hate the Tori Tori fruit – phoenix model. I can completely regenerate from just about any wound. I can also heal others but unfortunately, it’s not as effective.” He mentioned. 

Why he so openly told him all that he wasn’t sure. Normally, he wasn’t very talkative when it came to himself. He preferred to listen and learn from others but he supposed since it was just the two of them he didn’t have much to lose. 

Buggy exhales and tries to relax under Marco’s touch. He winces as the man’s fingers press on, but keep his composure. Thanks to the firmness of his flesh, the bruise is not as bad as he makes it out to be, but he still dislikes the discomfort that comes with the injury. Truth be told, Marco is good with touch, obviously trained and careful. 

When the man tells his story, Buggy can’t help but listen curiously. Fellow devil fruit users are often too dangerous to have any kind of banter with them, so Buggy is quite often alone with people who have no idea what it’s like to wield a special power and not be able to swim. What will happen if Marco gets his cuffs removed? Will he just fly away, or give Buggy something real to cry about? He doesn’t want to think about it. 

“Seems like sucking up is all I do,” he grumbles, lowering his arm and propping himself on his elbows. “Well, we gotta get something to eat now.”

Buggy looks grimly into the thicket, trying to discern something in the shadows. The island seems an uninhabited paradise, so there’s bound to be food in abundance.

Buggy’s constant griping was beyond annoying. He was like a whiny child who was in a grocery store with his parent after being told he couldn’t have the candy he had tried sneaking into the cart. He didn’t miss the times when shit hit the fan and the newer crewmates were left whining and crying. But at least back then he had some of his other crewmates to assist him with snapping everyone back into shape. 

He was too old for this. 

Marco waited patiently for Buggy to remove his shirt with a bit of effort. Definitely bruised. Anyone could tell that with the dark blooming bluish-purple color covering his side. Part of him wanted to press down on the wound just in retaliation but he managed to resist. 

Ugh, does he have to let some quack touch him? But seeing as the quack is the only doctor around, and Buggy is definitely suffering, there is only one way out. He lies still, switching to manual breathing now that Marco mentions it. His side is sore but he can’t say it’s unbearably painful.

“Fine, then touch,” he gives a noncommittal grunt nevertheless. “Just be careful.”

He concentrates on a spot on the ceiling of the cave, preparing for a sudden jolt of pain. From what he knows, Marco is a real doctor, that’s good at least.

“I hope you didn’t buy your medical license.”

Which is what Buggy would do, if he ever had the slightest wish to help others. But he was looking out for himself, had to since he was a child. Not that it taught him much, but at least he’s been apprehensive enough to survive.

But now that he sees the man he had grown up with, the one he had loved so deeply and been so hurt by looking so... he wasn't sure what the word was but it sounded a little bit like sad he didn't want to rub anything in. Coming here had been in hopes that it would feel safe for Buggy. At least safe enough to talk to him.

He brought the drink over to Buggy and placed it in front of him before returning for his own and then settling in his chair. He looks over Buggy again. The man was saying please, was complimenting him without any backhandedness. There had been no yelling, no play fighting, sure they were adults but also - weren't they more? This wasn't two strangers meeting.

He didn't want them to be strangers.

So, ignoring his own drink he leaned over a little, hoping to both provide a sense of comfort I'm here in his closeness and a comfort in the small distance he kept I'm not in your space, he spoke, "What's really going on, Buggy?"

Instead of answering Buggy sweeps the glass off the table and downs it in one swallow. It burns, burns almost like the constant ache in his chest that he’s been nursing for 20 years. It got worse in the recent days, and Buggy fears it might grow into a fire that he’ll have no control over. As if he’s ever had control over anything in his life. This feeling of helplessness that seemed to have disappeared when he became a captain of his own, has now returned tenfold.

He thuds the glass on the table and heaves a sigh.

“Thank you, Shanks. Seems like it’s just what I needed.”

But there is no escaping those questions, he knows. Shanks has cornered him. Yet Buggy persists in his reluctance to divulge anything, much less anything to do with the Cross Guild. He folds his hands on his lap, under the table top.

“Why would you need to see my hands?” he laughs, and it’s an anguished laugh. “I’m not hiding any weapons, I swear. Don’t you trust an old friend?”

His eyes darting all around the closed space they’re in, Buggy straightens up in an attempt to resuscitate the Emperor’s air, his smile and arrogance.

“What’s going on is uh… It’s just not as easy to be Emperor as I dreamed as a kid, you know? It’s like, you see a poster with lions, but then you go to the circus, and it’s just a tired old clown being pathetic.”

Have he and Shanks ever been to a circus together? They must have. Buggy laughs at his own joke. Laughing is what people expect of a clown.

Independent and selective Marco the Phoenix from One Piece.

Penned by Mads. 21+ preferred. Minors dni.

Marco watched as Buggy scanned the island for a place they could hunker down in for the time being. The leaves overhead hissed as wind flitted through them, forcing them to dance and shudder on their branches. A few dying ones lost their grip and flittered down to the ground at his feet. When his companion returned he looked in the direction and nodded. 

“Could be worse. You could have this attached to you,” he gestured to the cuff swinging at his wrists. And things could be worse for him. he could have a sprained ankle and bruised rib. They needed to keep their spirits up if they were going to survive. 

With that, Marco began walking in the direction of the cave, minding his footing while Buggy went on his rant. His smile had faded by the time they reached the cave and allowed the other man to enter first, checking it out. 

“Good find,” Marco complimented. It was large enough for them to stretch out without invading each other's space. And it didn’t appear any animals had claimed it as their home. Perhaps it was too close to the beach or there weren’t any large predators except for them on the island. 

He entered and set Buggy’s feet down on the right side of the cave. His eyes scanned Buggy, monitoring his body language and noting he was favoring the side he suspected to have bruised ribs. 

The man’s cool, collected demeanor is almost insufferable. How dare he stay calm like nothing happened? To Buggy the scale of the catastrophe is obvious, if not painfully so. But Marco treats it like a stroll in the woods on a sunny day. It’s exasperating at best, and Buggy grumbles under his breath as he explores the cave. It’s dry, which is good, and chilly. Well that can be solved by starting a fire, if they are lucky.

He slumps on the ground and attaches his feet back, hissing in discomfort. Then Marco finally deigns to fulfill his medical duty, and Buggy carefully peels off his shirt, grunting a bit when he lifts the arms. His right side is pretty much entirely blue, and something stings when he turns his torso a certain way. Nothing like an injury when you least need it.

His fingers pass over the bruised flesh tentatively, by instinct trying to relieve the pain.

“This really sucks. I’d be much more useful if not for this,” he says seriously, knowing full well that even his entirely healthy self is pretty much useless. He stretches on the shirt spread over the floor of the cave, lifts the arm to expose the ribs.