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Seeing as the marine had closed them in the room together, Falcon took it upon himself to further close the distance until it was so minute--near toe to toe--that all the other had to do was move slightly and he would immediately breach Faclon's own personal space.

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Mihawk did not allow himself the comfort of having 'friends'. Perhaps, once upon a time, but the swordsman knew that all friends inevitably did was leave. For that, Mihawk would not consider Falcon to be a 'friend'. However, he was familiar, and he was constant, and that was more than Mihawk could say for most others save for a select few. Years of battles and rivalry had been forged, and that meant something. So much that Mihawk had managed to sit there with the other swordsman and simply sit to rest.

Mihawk settled back against his spot on the high wall, arms crossed over his chest as he looked out towards the sea. The setting sun was glinting against it in a gentle light and from this distance, he could hear it faintly lapping up against the shore. He closed his eyes, letting the sound rush into his senses as a grounding agent, before he focused on Falcon again. The attempt at a joke might not have brought a chuckle to Mihawk, but there was a kindness in his eyes that rarely fell on anyone.

What Falcon had with the other swordsman was, well, whatever he would like to label it. In fact, if the other man were to straighten his back, turn to Falcon, and declare them enemies from this day forward, all that the Wano native would do is raise hand to his own blade in acceptance. Let others cut their ties as they so please, and he would react accordingly.

People are constantly harassing me about bullshit. Asking for fights, asking for medical advice, asking for sex. What the hot fuck has this hellish world fallen into? Where a pirate can't even have a gods damn drink without some asshole showing up and hovering around behind them?

As a pirate he is well known across the seas and as a former warlord, he remains infamous despite being disbanded from the group.

Whose this now?

Blue-grey eyes gaze across the top of his nearly empty mug. Haki in use as well as his ROOM, being active. He knows the moment this stranger comes into the outdoor tavern. The same place, that his crew somehow cleared out by their sheer presence. Yet this stranger seemed ballsy enough to show up and this made the Surgeon smile.

"Something tells me you didn't come here for a drink did you?"

His smile was ... peculiar. Was he simply idling until someone worth the weight of their sword stepped up to challenge him? It was doable, but Fal was neither in the mood at the moment nor wanted to draw his sword based on the wrong assumption.

Seating himself, downward turned dark brown eyes caught sight of blue-grey and held.

His name was ...

While he rarely showed his face in the actual warlord meetings, this had piqued his interest. Or his ire, more accurately. A new warlord. It wasn't yet public information that he was being considered for the position, but Issho had divulged some of the details of the matter to him. Both of them hated the warlord system. Both had seen it in play first hand in Alabasta and Dressrosa. He knew the histories of most of the warlords well enough to gauge their motives and aims. but this new potential menace was a complete unknown.

He wasn't privy to an actual invitation, so he just sat on the stairs opposite of the conference hall until the meeting was inevitably, exhaustively long time later, over.

His eyes narrowed when he saw him, the one that must have been him. But… he wasn't quite what he had expected. Dressed in a fine kimono with long smooth hair hanging in a low ponytail.

The man met his gaze, his eyes down-turned in what he suspected was a perpetually tired look. Smoker folded himself into a cloud of smoke and glided across the distance just to materialize in front of him, right in his personal space, with an intent to crowd him back into the room.

Ensign Pammer, who apparently had been assigned as the man's handler, stuttered objections beside him. "Take a break, Ensign, I'll escort Mr. Beheader out." The young marine was about to protest but a sidelong look from the Vice Admiral silenced him.

Finally with just two of them left in the conference room, he looked at the would-be-warlord and rumbled, "You don't look like a pirate."

Of course they would want to keep an eye on him. Despite considering him for the position, he was still a pirate in their eyes and needed watching.

Both arms were encased in the long sleeves of his kimono, arms folded calming against his midsection as he walked so the sleeves swayed gently with no arms filling them to keep them steady. However, before he could completely walk out of the room, he caught the eye of another--a white haired marine.

He moved like smoke incarnate, with a magic that was befitting of the devil's bounty, and appeared before him as though he had issue with Falcon's very presence. Though, all things considered, he was a "pirate" touring the grounds of a Marine base. There were bound to be those who were not happy with that.

Tall. Imposing. Seasoned. Even before he spoke, he carried an air of importance and authority both. The Ensign paled in comparison--was stunned even, when he was relieved of his duties--and Falcon's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the chance. Was this the normal routine? Or was there something more to this handing off of his person?

Now left alone with higher-on-the-ladder-marine, there was only him to focus on which Falcon did until he aired an observation.

MUGENNOIRO  — a spectrum of muses spanning multiple fandoms. This blog is sporadic activity and HIGHLY SELECTIVE. OC muses heavily encouraged. Femme muses heavily encouraged. Illustrated by B (they/them) 21+. Minors & personals DNI. Please ⁠♡ or ↻ if interested.

featured muses: Nanami Kento and Takaba Fumihiko of Akutami Gege's Jujutsu Kaisen as well as Rudo Surebrec and Enjin of Urana Kei's Gachiakuta.