@demon1co liked for a starter
The ruins were older than any tale a crew could tell, their stones whispering secrets even the Grand Line had forgotten. Shanks stepped into the shadowed chamber, his brown sandals soft against the ancient floor, the air thick with rubble and time.
There she was–Nico Robin, or Miss All Sunday as she styled herself–sat cross-legged before a poneglyph, her fingers tracing its carvings like a lover reading poetry. The lantern light caught her sharp features as she pierced together fragments of a lost era, her expression a mask of focused serenity amid the dust and echoes. She likely knew he was here. A woman like her didn’t survive this long by missing footsteps in the dark.
Shanks had heard of her long before tonight. The last scholar of Ohara, a mind sharp enough to crack the world’s buried truths. Her name carried weight; whispers of forbidden knowledge, of a woman who could read the unreadable. That alone piqued his interest, but her choice to swear allegiance with Crocodile? That made the yonko’s gut twist. A woman with her power, tied to an unscrupulous schemer like him, was a tragedy waiting to happen. Dangerous. Too dangerous to leave unchecked.
Shanks leaned against a column by the doorway, keeping his stance easy, his single arm tucked into his cloak. No need to spook her with the missing limb. The straw hat he once wore was long gone, passed onto a small rascal he had saved in a little port village in the East Blue, in the hopes of ushering in a new era. Strands of crimson instead cast a shadow over his scarred eye, but there was no malice in his gaze, only curiosity, tempered with caution.
"...I've heard tales of a woman who can whisper secrets from stones like these," Shanks said, his voice low and steady, as if he was chatting with an old friend over rum. "Nico Robin, right? Or should I say, Miss All Sunday? Word travels fast in these high seas, especially concerning your particular set of skills."
