*does the same*

RESIDENT EVIL REQUIEM. || ACCEPTING!

THE CHEERING FROM THE other revolutionaries a few ways from them was heard. It was odd, seeing people so cheery. It was often similar to Scarlet Holm, who enjoyed research and exploration outside of the underground part of the island, but it was a foil to those that she was originally "destined" to serve,

The injury from her eye is still pulsing, she knew a medic told her there was no way that her eye would never see again. Better that than ever getting controlled again.

The silence from her mind isn't there, it's filled with the thoughts of the people around her. She's not fully used to this fruit yet.

Scarlet Holm was gone, like Ohara that was lost fairly recent too. She knew there was exchange about it and the Marines had yet to realize where the devil fruit they were looking for was...

A nod, as she looks over at him, "It's....oddly welcoming. It's not what I'm used to."

Something that she did not need to mention but it was still true. It was a good thing, "It'll take some getting used to." She gives a rare smile. The first one she had given out since she first met him.

The wind whistles through his hair from where he stands at the edge of the cliff, gaze trained on his ship below. There's something fond in his gaze as Luffy tracks his crew idly; spotting their activity even from this height, or rather enough of it to know they are all safe. As they should be, he'd be a lousy captain if he couldn't protect them. He'd not been separated from them for long, only for a small while, enough to stand here and meet the person who lingers behind him. He remembers what Gramps told him about this man, remembers the cries at Marineford and the confirmation Robin offered later after Sabaody, but its a disjointed reality that does not match up to the experience of his youth. This man is his father, perhaps, but an absent one, one he does not know, a stranger in a cloak who stands near him and seems to understand that which drives him forward. Freedom.

"I don't really know what I'll see on that day. But I know I'll be King of the Pirates and the most free man on all the seas." Unshaken in his faith, he draws a hand up to touch upon the straw cap on his head and lifts it clear, holding it to his chest as he thinks of Ace and Marineford, of every promise he has made and battle he has fought, and the will that drives him forth to do it again and again. It's worth striving for and he has learnt to handle loss better now, learnt the meaning of cost, and sworn to fight against it as much as he possibly can. He turns then, taking a chance to lay his gaze upon the man who has been more ghost than person in his mind, head tipping as he muses over his words.

"What do you want to see on that day? Robin and Sabo trust you so I trust your vision for the world is a good one, but I don't know yet if your freedom and my freedom are the same." There's an implication in his words, filtered in with the brazen audacity the captain leading the charge of the worst generation has come to hold. If your freedom differs to mine I'll fight you too. He's fought many people; people he hated but even those he cares about, even Gramps, and he'd do it again, if he needs to, it's clear in the resolute press of his lips and the defiant tilt of his chin.

the act does not bother dragon, nor does shanks pretending not to know him. because it's true, he doesn't know him—not any more than anyone who lives in the world and reads the news does. the revolutionary does not expect to be met with blown-wide eyes and teary gratitude. he was a little thing, small enough to fit under his arm along the slim length of a war rifle. certainly not old enough to possess any awareness of the carnage going on around him, nor the evil that took his mother, that took his brother, and perhaps telling him now would be a new kind of cruelty. uncharacteristically, dragon hesitates. it's been a long time since he allowed himself that luxury. the scar in his shoulder aches with the memory of his failure.

‘no, it's just—’ silver eyes narrow as they lock with the emperor's. what good is there in telling him now? the shame can't be washed clean, and the truth cannot give shanks back what he lost. it wouldn't change anything. i wasn't strong enough to save your brother then, but i am strong enough to save the world now. the tail of his cape flutters with a faint breath of wind, pulled loosed at the tip of dragon's fingertips. there's no mistaking the striking red hair. dragon's stare shifts imperceptibly somewhere beyond shanks, peeking into the flash of past he carries with him. the memory of god valley sears into him until he smells the smoke. there's no need to burden shanks with that knowledge. ‘we have met before, though you cannot possibly remember me. you were just an infant.’ 

⇻⇻⇻⇻⇻⇻⇻

Shanks’ grin doesn't falter. It never does, not when the sky splits open when he clashes with Whitebeard or when a blade kisses his throat in past encounters with Mihawk. But inside his chest, something lurches like the silver crescent brought down as it beheaded the man he had come to associate as the closest thing to a father back in Loguetown when he was fifteen and naive of the ways of the world and piracy.

An infant. The word lands heavier than any discomfort that seizes his innards after one of his usual hangovers. His head feels noticeably heavier, the throbbing sensation both achingly familiar and nauseatingly unwelcome as his Adam’s apple attempted to swallow the bile that refused to be stifled.

God Valley. The name has always been a bruise he never pressed; Roger’s crew had spoken of it in hushed tones whenever they spoke of his origins, the way sailors talk about spooks and imaginary ghosts anytime he swabbed the decks as an apprentice, clamming up anytime they noticed him within earshot. Shanks had been there? Found in that treasure chest...and possibly saved by Monkey D. Dragon of all people?

Never before has he questioned his past, yet, this is the second instance that’s made him wonder why destiny mercilessly chooses to tangle itself so intrinsically to his. He’s always opposed the notion of his origins, vehemently so. Yet, Shamrock had little qualms with turning his world upside down as he tried dragging him to his rightful place in Mary Geoise when he was a young captain, still so green and impressionable and whole. Back when his face was a spitting image of his elder brother, instead of this crippled excuse of a yonko with his scarred eyelid and missing arm.

The thought is absurd. The thought is terrifying.

He wants to laugh. He wants to demand every detail–what happened there, had his mother also been a redhead, was she still alive and out there somewhere, why was it him and not Shamrock who got saved. His fingers faintly twitch toward the nonexistent bottle at his hip, needing the burn of sake to steady the sudden tremor in his gut. He can’t stomach this conversation otherwise.

But his face stays easy, lazy, the same half-lidded grin he’s worn since he was eight and bluffing admirals as he wore Roger’s captain hat as it drooped low, the frayed ruby edge slipping over his brow and partially obscuring his crimson, mischievous eyes as he shoved another bar of chocolate that he’d stolen from Buggy’s stash down his throat as he sat on their opponents’ corpses.

certainly he can remember something about the marine before him... "hmmmmMMmmm...." he hums again, squinting behind his yellow glasses. borsalino's expression is quite funny with how pensive he looks. "ah!" he puts his fist into his palm. "you're LOUD... the one with the..." he waves his hand as he thinks of the word. he remembers the other's devil fruit power had something to do with the forests, or something. you would think borsalino would remember his fellow admiral. "ah! ... i recall ... AMARAKI..." he is purposeful with the incorrect name. he needs to have fun somehow in a lifetime.

Jugram could emphasized with the sentiment. The tone of his voice, the look his eyes, the choice of words. He knew exactly what Lille meant, but he struggled to find an appropriate answer. This type of conversation weren't particularily his forte, and it felt awkward, considering Lille was a senior figure and someone he always saw as an unwavering force who held ruthlessly onto his faith and His Majesty's will, regardless of the trials.

If this man was faltering, how was anyone else supposed to carry on. 'I don't think I did either...' He spoke after a while, keeping his voice low and his gaze averted from Lille's. After a brief pause, he continued, his tone clearer and more assertive this time. 'But it would be unfair to our people to let them down, when they need us the most for something as solipsistic as personal pride. Don't you agree?'

'You are right, but negotiations imply a willingness from both parties to find common grounds. There is no such thing with Shinigami. It's a lure.' Jugram responded dryly. He knew Uryuu meant well, but he was still an inexperienced young man, with a lot to learn and very naïve worldviews.