This week is a blessing, with Crocodile and Mihawk away and the island fully in Buggy’s power. He doesn’t want to see anyone, deal with anyone. He just wants to crawl up his bed and sleep. Gain the power for the next time he has to face his masters. Without all the fanfares, without the bright colors and feathers and make-up he looks every single year as old as he is, and he hates seeing that in the mirror.

When his secretary peeks inside and quietly announces the visitor due today, at first Buggy creaks from under his pillow, “Fuck them. I don’t wanna see anybody.”

But then, on the paper sheet left by the secretary, he sees the name printed out: Faye. Mmmm. He weighs the pros and cons. Faye is their brand new info peddler. Courteous and pleasant when she’s not pissed, not to mention pretty. Could it mean she has something new to share? That also might mean he could get some begrudging approval from Croc and Hawkeyes, and that’s worth a lot. That’s worth not having aching ribs and tons of foundation to hide the bruises. Fuck it, Buggy thinks. He throws off the blanket and goes to the bathroom. There, under a blistering hot shower, he leans his palms against the tiles and psychs himself up for a meeting. Act big and scary. Act unbothered.

After the shower, he orders to prepare a room for him and Faye, some fruit and wine, some candy and whatnot. What do people like these days?

Buggy does his hair and make-up himself. He isn’t giving up those precious hours of privacy to anyone else. He chooses glitter highlighter and vanilla perfume for today. Gotta look and smell as impressive and enticing as a giant cake.

The last touches in front of the mirror make him think of old actresses desperately trying to look younger before a career-defining premiere. But for Buggy, every day is career-defining, for he never stops acting.

Pushing the doors to the conference room open, he floats in with all the regal poise of a gargantuan parrot, the fabric of his suit shimmering and rustling, his greeting booming.

. It was still a mystery, who she was and what her plan had been. Part of him felt a sharp desire to ask and probe into what that tangled mess was; the rest was keenly aware that she had every reason to still be closed off and hostile. Whatever plan he'd ruined didn't matter right now anyways.

"Trafficking body parts seems like a weird business." The train rattled around them as it moved along. The compartment was relatively spacious, given it was just for storage, enough that they could sit on opposite sides and have breathing room. "Any idea why he'd be handing out pieces to some scientist?"

He hoped it was just a scientist and not some gruesome serial killer. Thinking about his creator only ever brought up more questions, like a great pile that'd never stop growing. The macabre decision to stitch together poor bastards into a new more gruesome bastard was a question only one person could answer; and Victor had no clue if they were alive or dead.

"You know, I'm a bit of a thrill seeker myself," Carolina said, twirling one of her knives between her fingers. She studied the elf across from her, thinking for a moment. "Got any good stories?"

"Cold? Hardly. There are far more harsh climates than this." Valen offered with a smile.

With his glamour up, he looked mostly normal. Perhaps the look of eye makeup was a strange choice, but no matter what he did, he could not stop the darkness from peeking through just there. Even so, he'd lean into a more professional rocker look just to have it all blend in.

. The hold on his limb quickly turned sore at her digging grasp, sucking in a breath through red-painted teeth. The laugh that followed her ire was almost smug.

"Still patient only for revenge, I see." There was a part of him that rankled at the notion of being protected. He was more than capable of taking care of himself. "In my defense, I was busy- and confident in your abilities, as ever." It was an error on his part, focused elsewhere and assuming it was too far away- though, he really was confident in her strength. At the question, he'd finally cleaned enough of the blood off his face to hand the soiled kerchief back.

"Just tired." Evidenced by the fact that he was still leaning on her. Not to mention the blistering headache and sore hands. He finally pushed himself to stand, despite how much he still wanted to lean. "We should keep moving. Don't feel like actually losing my head to a Nevron today."

@audaciious from x

@audaciious II "What's the catch?"

"Why would there be a catch?" Maelle attempted to inquire as innocently as possible but even the teen knew that her voice betrayed her, the lilt of a smile heard in the undertone of her words and shoving down a snicker hoping to maintain whatever semblance of a poker face that she could muster.

"Can't I just offer you some very nice pictos because I'm a kind soul and a fantastic teammate, Mel?" Though technically it wasn't a deception she couldn't pretend that there wasn't an ulterior motive to her gesture, but the youngest of Expedition 33 largely just wanted to be sure they were all prepped for the journey ahead. The facade drops when the redhead catches that her friend isn't buying her offer at face value, which to be fair she certainly wasn't doing a great job at selling it but that was something to work on at a latter date.

❝ how bad could it be? ❞ (for Eris) blood and darkness prompts.

“Very, it’s an idiotic idea.” Thick, dark brows had knitted themselves atop near enraged swirls of rouge and white; cyclic in their spin, their webbed nature of administering painful daggers through the hoods of her glare. “In a typical circumstance, throwing fire into a mass of fucking boxes is never a good thing– especially if there are people close to said boxes. And let’s consider the entire make of the building. Wood.” 

Truthfully, they just needed to get in and grab an item– leaving didn’t have any strict terms. They could parse away with flames, she just didn’t entertain someone else’s idea with much enthusiasm.  She was, however, extremely adept at making things meet in a happy middle.

“Let’s save it for leaving, perhaps. I’m not opposed to exiting with a bang.”