Never mind how that he knew or found out, just that he did; therefore, there would be no prisoners. The gift was aptly wrapped an obnoxious shades of green and inside, a tray of cookies, beautifully decorated with the Strawhat Jolly Roger and familiar cartoon-styled faces of the crew members. 'Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal!' scripted on a note card following a doodle of fangs, the 'Happy Birthday' intentionally scratched out. - Bartolomeo to Bellamy [ Take this, Bunny, pls k ]
Indolent eyes cast down to gaudy paper by an unnecessary bridge of the neck. Any parcel was often the trite, colored neutral and wrapped in parchment tied neat with thin basket weave rope tied into a thin bow. Papers, usually, carefully stacked and sent directly from shipping hull to higher ups to be sorted and given out as instructed. Often the head craftsman was very peculiar regarding shipments of supplies that could not be taken from resources granted naturally by the island. Presentation, even in a raw state, was of utmost importance. But among the drab letters and professionally ordinates documents is one garish, once nervously held aloft by postal crewman stuck sorting through peculiarities that it might save one’s time. It was not often any did not pass a check, and when it had done so, it was almost always due in part to it being a personal delivery. They wasted little time thrusting container Bellamy’s hands after setting sights on his name, off about the remaining load of dye pots and fine tipped quills tugged along in the cart at their back. A swift kick of the heel against the door to slam it shut behind him. Instinct begs it be sat down to properly lock up and yet something keeps the eye-catching gift settled in stained palms .
Back to the frame, sounds of voices fading with every passing second beyond its wooden make, as attention returns to the note card hastily taped upon the surface of loose green wrapping. Disturbed by the trip or simply a purposeful user choice he hasn’t a clue. Grip in one hand tightens, edging slip away with such delicate motion of large fingers that it does not so much as peel the color away from the material. Thumb glossing script, rubbing over toothed insignia with a thoughtful curiosity easing burdened creases in facial features. It was familiar, matching that which seemed so uncomplimentary to everything else. Multiple locks left ignored, he pushes away from the door to find a place to sit its contents down that hands might properly greet it with a proper shredding .
The package is one unexpected. If not energy that wills the buried sense of enthusiasm to move, it is the intrigue. Dulled nails serrate an uneven edge like the claws of a large beast. Little time is wasted between the tear and removal of the bright material left scattered in disproportionately bundled pieces along the table. A slight bump of oak knocks crumpled paper into the floor, left ignored much like the safety of his residence. The smaller woes are much better left for later .
Beneath he finds the tray of baked treats, tucked carefully away beneath the cover of a container meant for the preservation of a longer trip. A satisfying pop of plastic, uncovering the details of each laid individually spread upon silver. It is an entire arrangement of familiar faces from times long past, carefully decorated with a dedicated hand meant wholeheartedly to express admiration for each and every one. Nostalgia settles into a weary spirit upon the sight of a straw hat and an unabashed smile. A sudden dull ache in the cheek. The pain of change is not one forgotten; it lingers, gingerly, enough to be a constant chiding in every slip of character. It was with this aching Bellamy carried his lost spirit here to be found once more, greeted with the smell of clean air and fresh beginnings. He remembered that scent, gentle with the bounce of sea salt and nearby cleaned linen. Jolly rogers commanded the skies there. There was his own dedication to find here, one properly placed in the youth with a heart big enough to echo sense into one twice over .
You’ve changed, Bellamy .
Knot in the throat choking back a want to breathe even a small entertained breath. A skim of every personality, all the way to the jolly roger positioned above the confectionery crew. It is only then that he notices a smudged trail of hardened white icing along the sheen of the tray, the black of a skull’s eye partially claimed by the container. The trip over had undoubtedly disturbed it. Another brief moment of disappointment followed by a reassurance that guides a hand to pluck the cookie from its place and settle it just shy of an eager mouth .
❝ Chaotic bastard. ❞ He almost felt sorry, biting into the mark that had freed him from the tyranny of his own. Hand to chest, the cover of ink now more symbolic of his personal accomplishments than those of another. A sweet flavor combats the chemical tang of dye, bold in the way it assaults taste buds as if intending to combat every sense he had .
The sore feeling of a pit within his stomach fades as the hyena fills the emptiness with emotional sustenance, free hand packing it all away again for sometime later in the evening. It would not be fair, enjoying this moment rushed to prep for the morning without freshly bubbling milk. Crumbs tumbling from lips as a quick flick of the wrist snatches the note card from the table. He looks over it once more, a clearer picture of toothy smile rivaling the wild grin of the blond in his prime. He feels himself saved again, lifted from the jagged edges of a puzzle piece never quite finding its big picture. For so long it was an unending stress of never finding solace in life. Nowhere to rest, nowhere in which hierarchy accepted a man as equal and not as a being outliving its usefulness in a matter of moments. But the range in which that small, empty space was viewed was far too microscopic .
Bellamy had long since found his place. His pride, the dedication in which to be loyal but stay individualistic. This was his big picture .
Remaining bites are taken without interference of the hands. Two blank canvases billowed in black capes sling over a shoulder along with a bag of various artistic utensils consisting mostly of brushes and varying types of quills. Within now is also the written gesture, hidden between pages of a notebook filled with various concepts both written and drawn. A wry smile creeps along lips as they are licked once over to remove the residue of flaking kibble from them. Steps toward the door, a revitalizing spring in a previously weary step .
❝ Can’t believe I have to thank him again . ❞
Thus a hand pushes door outwards, greeted with the light of late morning as he remembers this time to lock up .
