#mihawk opla

Karimi couldn’t fathom how she had ended up in her present position. She would have sworn under oath that minutes earlier she had been pacing the length of her guest room, fuming in anger with the warlord she had left behind in the den after he had humiliated her without a second thought to anything but his own entertainment.

That she had been finishing the glass of wine she had taken with her, pausing perhaps halfway through to shout a series of profanities into one of the heavy feather pillows on the bed.

That she hadn’t had so much wine that she should have any holes in her memory at all—and yet here she was, back on the sofa again, pinned beneath the jerk again, his powerful grip wrapped around her wrists and shoving them over her head, denying her the right of defending herself.

But he didn’t hold his knife in his other hand this time. No; he held the edge of her green dress instead, his fingers curled around the hem of the shimmering material, pushing the skirt up her thighs, up to her waist, at the same lazy pace that his lips grazed across the delicate skin of her neck, biting down lightly just below her earlobe, just hard enough to leave a mark and pull a whimper from her parted lips.

“You see, darling…” Her eyes slipped shut as he murmured in her ear, her heart racing as his hand crept back down from the hem of her dress now bunched around her ribs, his fingertips trailing a slow path down the plane of her stomach and slipping just beneath the waist of her panties. “I’m not so cruel a master as you think. You behave…” And just a little lower, her breath coming in short uneven bursts as he pushed her thighs further apart with his knees between them, the pads of his index and middle finger brushing past her slick entrance. “And you’ll be rewarded in kind.”

Drawing in a sharp breath as he pressed his fingertips against her and ceased moving his hand entirely. She opened her eyes and found his sharp yellow gaze boring straight into hers, her breath hitching in her throat, a small smirk curving his lips as he lowered his head until his forehead rested lightly against hers.

“Now be a good little bird and beg for it.”

And she did beg—barely coherent, barely even registering her own pleas as they left her in a breathless whimper, she shamelessly begged. Each time she tried to arch her hips toward his touch he simply shoved her with one hand back down to the sofa, still rubbing the pads of his fingers against her clit in slow, teasing little circles.

Pulling her closer and closer to the edge with every touch, every caress, every murmur in her ear or against her lips, until what few words she could form became nothing but incoherent whimpers and moans, until she could register nothing but slowly mounting pleasure—not his words, not the almost painful pressure of his grip tightening around her wrists, not the sound of his voice or the warmth of his breath or the crackle of fire or smell of smoke.

Smoke.

Crushing his lips to hers to muffle her sharp cry of alarm and relief when he pushed two fingers into her. She clenched her eyes shut, moaning breathily as his lips left hers.

Fire.

As his hand drew away from her, leaving her with a feeling of emptiness that bordered on pain.

Pain.

As something cold and smooth pressed against her throat—something sharp, cutting into the soft skin, and she couldn’t even whimper at the sharp pain, as if her own voice had been stolen from her, stolen like everything else, stolen by fire and vengeance and—

Another voice, but it wasn’t Mihawk’s. She knew it wouldn’t be before the words even broke through the crackling of the fire, growing louder and hotter with every passing second, licking and burning at her skin. It was a voice that had haunted her for years, a voice she would never be allowed to forget, that would continue to live with her even with its owner long since gone.

“Let this be a lesson to you about what happens to pirate whores and filth.”

Vesper.

Karimi’s eyes shot open the second the name passed through her mind, sitting straight up in the bed in the guest suite.

A dream. Just a dream. “Just a…just...” She couldn’t even force the words out beyond her rapid, trembling breaths, so Karimi simply leaned forward, bending her knees up and resting her forehead there, not daring to close her eyes. She knew she would see him, plastered to the back of her eyelids, she always did after he visited her in her dreams—his maniacal grin, the twisted purple and red scars that covered the left side of his face, his empty eye socket filled with fire, his white Admiral coat half-dyed crimson with blood and his bowie knife pointed toward her.

“Nightmare?”

“Ni…nightmare. Just a nightmare.” She swallowed between her halfway incoherent mumblings, her hands shaking as she gripped the bedsheets. “Just a…”

And she stopped breathing as she jerked her head to look over at the Warlord leaning against the post at the head of her bed on the right side, arms crossed, observing her with the air of a cat that had happened across an interesting insect.

“What...?”

Looked down at herself, every ounce of blood in her body rising to her head as she took in that she was still dressed down for bed, wearing only an old, slightly tattered tank top and a pair of thin lace panties.

And back at him again, fury and embarrassment swelling into an entirely new entity within her as she gritted her teeth in utter rage.

“What the fuck, w—were you watching me sleep?!” she shouted, quickly drawing her covers up over herself, and Mihawk lifted his eyebrows at her in mild alarm. “What the f—”

“Why in seven hells would I have any interest in—?”

But she was already grabbing a pillow from behind her, without thinking, and swinging it toward him. “Get out!!” she all but shrieked, and he clearly hadn’t expected the sudden attack, as the pillow connected and knocked his hat from his head. He caught it easily before it could fall further a foot and set it back atop his head, sighing as he straightened it and leveled his eyes with Karimi’s.

“That,” he said slowly, straightening out from his relaxed posture against the bedpost and taking a step toward her, “was a mistake.”

Karimi hugged the pillow to her chest as he drew closer, her face burning, her jaw set, but she had left one weak point completely open, and the moment she realized it, it was already too late. She cried out as he wrapped his hand around her neck, just under her chin, and jerked her from the bed and to her feet, up to her tiptoes as he brought his face within an inch of hers. She had to wince against the burning in her eyes when he tightened his grip, not hard enough to cut off her airway entirely but more than enough to make breathing a physical chore.

“If you have any value at all for your continued good health, you will refrain from doing anything that stupid ever again.”

He leaned in the slightest bit closer and Karimi swallowed, her heart only racing faster. Closer, too close, too close, nearly as close as he had been in that accursed dream—no, now was not the time to think about that.

“Do you understand, little bird?”

She bit her lip and nodded—with his fingers only gripping tighter and tighter around her neck, she wasn’t sure she could have formed a word if she wanted to.

“Good.” His eyes drifted down, away from hers, across her bare shoulders, lingering on her left arm a moment. She flinched slightly as he lifted his free hand and brushed the pad of his thumb down the column of uniform scars that spanned from just above her elbow to the base of her wrist, her shoulder tensing until he lifted his hand.

It came to settle at her hip for a moment, and she averted her eyes as far away from him as she could as his fingertips grazed across the waistband of her panties.

Then, without warning, he shoved her back toward the bed, releasing her neck so she stumbled backward onto the mattress, rubbing at her neck and gasping for air, watching him turn on his heel and start toward the bedroom door. “You have half an hour. Be prepared to sign our contract and set out when you make your way downstairs.”

He didn’t wait for her response before he pushed through the cracked door, leaving it hanging open behind him, Karimi sitting there in her undergarments and staring in shock at the empty doorframe. Still rubbing at her neck, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would even survive a year working for the man.

She wasn’t sure just how long she sat there before she pulled herself to her feet and set to pulling a change of clothes out from her meager satchel of personal effects, striding across the bedroom to close the door before any of the help could pass by and see her. She made quick work of changing her clothes, straightening her hat on her head, bending down slightly to tighten the leather straps around her right calf that held her throwing knives, reaching for the doorknob.

And someone knocked. She rolled her eyes skyward—it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, why the hell would he be back?

“Would you please just leave me alone?” she half-groaned.

Silence met her in reply, a long silence, and after a moment of deliberation she pulled the door open—and flinched as she found Kaya standing there, blinking at her in alarm.

“I—is everything alright?” she asked, baffled.

“Y—sorry, yeah,” said Karimi, grimacing in embarrassment. “His royal pain in my ass just left a few minutes ago, I thought—” She sighed irritably, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter. I suppose we won’t be staying for breakfast.”

“You’re more than welcome to,” said Kaya, her frown only deepening with the concern in her eyes as Karimi shut the door behind her lightly and joined Kaya in the upstairs corridor. “It would make little sense to set straight out to sea without eating first.”

“Not my choice,” said Karimi, walking level with Kaya in the direction of the grand staircase. “I’d definitely stay a bit longer, if possible.”

“Then stay,” she said, shaking her head. Karimi sighed, grimacing. “You said it’s a contract—you’re not his…” She seemed then to notice Karimi’s grimace as she looked over. She lowered her voice a little when she spoke again, her tone a bit gentler. “Forgive me for asking, but…you’re not working for him by choice, are you?”

Maybe there was no point lying. Kaya had hit the nail on the head, after all—and really, Karimi had led her to it herself. After a moment, she gave a quick shake of her head, crossing her arms over her stomach. “It was my choice,” she said. “It just…didn’t seem like there was any other choice at the time.” She hesitated for a moment as they stopped at the top of the stairs, Kaya leaning her elbow against the banister, her brow furrowed in steadily mounting confusion and concern. “While we were at Baratie…Zoro thought it would be a good idea to challenge him to a duel. To the death. Winner takes the prestige of being known as the World’s Best Swordsman—I know,” she said, as Kaya pulled both her hands to her mouth, her eyes growing wide as saucers. “He’s alive,” she said, deciding it best to leave out the state he was in when she left. “He’s alive, and…I’m working for his would-be killer for a year, without pay. That’s the contract. I play errand girl for a year, Zoro gets to live in spite of his idiot challenge.”

“Oh—oh, heavens, Karimi—that’s—” Without any warning, she crossed the few paces between them and wrapped Karimi in a tight hug that made the mercenary tense and cringe slightly, as if she had been struck rather than shown kindness and affection. “Is there nothing you can do?”

“I somehow doubt it,” she said, briefly returning the hug with one arm before quickly backing up a couple paces, glancing down the stairs. She sighed irritably to herself at the sight that met her eyes. Mihawk was already standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the bannister, his back to the two of them as he flipped through a small stack of papers. No doubt it was the contract she had suggested herself, the words that would bind her in her own promise for the remainder of the coming twelve months. “And I wouldn’t anyway,” she admitted, shrugging a shoulder as she brought her gaze back to Kaya’s, the younger girl still frowning in sympathy. “I don’t break my own terms. Not a good look in my line of business.”

“No, I…suppose it wouldn’t be. And…” She hesitated a moment, glancing down to the foot of the sprawling staircase herself, her frown deepening. “I suppose working for one of the seven warlords could gain you some notoriety?” she offered.

“It could.” Karimi gave a small, humorless laugh. “Not really looking for notoriety, though. Luffy might be intent on racking up a bounty, but I’m definitely not.”

“Well...considering you would be under his employment, that should mean you’d gain some degree of immunity as well, wouldn’t it?” she said thoughtfully, curling her hand over her chin as both of them watched Mihawk roll the papers up and cross his arms. Karimi’s mouth turned down in a thoughtful frown at that.

“I guess it might,” she said. “Depending on what he has me doing.”

If, as Karimi had suggested upon first making his proposal, he did no more than send her off to complete government contracts he deemed unworthy of his time or effort, then she would likely be in the clear. She had made it six years on her own without drawing enough attention to possess even a small bounty—it seemed fairly likely that working for a Warlord might benefit her in that regard more than it would hurt.

It did hurt a bit to bid goodbye to Kaya again so soon. It was difficult not to scoff at the younger girl’s sentiment of don’t be a stranger—Karimi doubted she would be going anywhere she wanted or doing as she pleased for a considerable amount of time, if the contents of the contract were any indication. She followed behind Mihawk as she skimmed through them on the way back to the docks, her lips turned down in a frown.

As she had expected, the contract all but stated that she would veritably be his property for the remainder of the coming year—not permitted to protest any order she was given, expected to complete any task set before her without question.

“So,” she said as she stepped onto the small deck of Hitsugibune, folding the papers down slightly to look at him as he took his seat. He didn’t regard her, simply flipping open the newspaper he had picked up on their short walk through Syrup Village. “I’m a slave, then.”

“I thought we had settled on ‘indentured servant,’” he said absently.

She gritted her teeth to bite back a scowl, crossing the deck and pressing the papers against the back of his seat as she drew a pen from her bag. “Indentured servant,” she repeated coolly, rolling her eyes. “Yes. Right. That.” She finished reading through the last half of the final page, detailing that she would also be subjected to a rigorous training regime to ensure her work would meet his standards, before quickly scrawling her signature across the line at the bottom.”And where, O Master, shall I set our course for?” she asked, flipping the papers over the back of the chair, between his face and the newspaper.

He snatched them away, tucking them behind the newspaper. “Cocoyasi Village.” Karimi froze in pulling the rope from the dock, looking slowly over her shoulder. He didn’t look up from the newspaper as he went on. “You mentioned at dinner your friends might be headed in that direction. I’m curious as to what business they might have with the fishmen, considering all the trouble they’ve already managed to stir up.”

He didn’t need to look over to know the girl was looking his way, no doubt with suspicion laden in her green eyes. Even as she resumed readying his vessel for sailing, the weight of her gaze remained heavy—and her slow, cautious tone as she spoke up again spoke volumes. “You said—”

“I’ll be dropping you off,” he said, anticipating that she would make some protest regarding the green-haired moron who was so intent on challenging him. “I have business of my own to attend and will return to retrieve you the following morning. I expect a full report on their activities. You may assist them however you see fit, so long as it poses no threat to your continued good health.”

He flipped a page as she gave a snort of laughter. “That almost sounded like concern.”

“I wouldn’t want my property damaged.”

She gave another scoff before going silent, save for the occasional grunt of effort as she hauled up the anchor. That was good—he had expected more protest, more questioning. It seemed she had accepted the terms of their contract more openly than he had anticipated. He folded the newspaper over and lifted the parchment, his eyes drifting across the loopy scrawl of her signature.

Lionne. The surname again struck him vaguely familiar, little more than a ghost of a memory. His gaze fixed upon it as she shifted the sails overhead.

“You were looking at a bounty poster yesterday morning,” he said slowly after a moment. He heard her freeze again, ceasing in her movements. “If you damage my boat you’ll compensate for it with an extra six months added to your contract.” She gave little more than a small noise of frustration before resuming her work behind him. “Which one was it?”

“I wasn’t looking at any in particular,” she said, her voice level—but there was still a small degree of caution there.

“Is that so?” She gave a small affirmative hum in response. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“And why is that?” she sighed.

“After you chose to retire last night, I took an evening stroll to ensure my boat was secure,” he said. “And I noticed something interesting upon stopping by the posted bounties.” His tone remained casual, but a small smirk curved his lips as he heard her slow in her movements somewhere behind him—as he stood, pushing a hand into his pocket to retrieve the folded poster he had collected from the wall with a well-aimed toss of his knife to sever the top of the paper, from that high corner of the wall she had stared so intently at before changing the subject. He unfolded it as he stepped slowly around the edge of the chair. “Do tell me…” he said, flicking his wrist to unfurl the last fold, “who exactly is one Lyon D. Rollo to you?”

He held the poster out to her as she stood rooted to the deck a few feet away, her posture rigid as a statue as she met his eyes.

As her eyes darted to the sea water on every side of the ship, down to the deck itself, before flickering back to lock with his gaze again, avoiding looking at the poster entirely.

“Or...” Mihawk went on slowly, taking a couple steps forward to close the distance between them. He wrapped a hand around her wrist and lifted her hand, harshly enough that she flinched in alarm but not with quite enough force to hurt her, and shoved the bounty poster into her hand`. “...we could find out what happens if you choose to lie to me again.”

Previous chapter link again, for your convenience

-

There wasn’t much else to see in the dilapidated manor Giorgio was keeping her in. If you didn’t include the damned torture basement. 

Sabine had carefully, and woefully, tread along each hallway and into more rooms. Abandoned and dirty. Dust scattered in the air, she found herself struggling to breathe more often than not. Drifting along like a ghost, puffy red eyes and a spinning mind that caused her to feel like everything was moving in slow motion. She found a surprisingly workable kitchen and off that was the only place with life. Properly insulated walls, a clean bed and bathroom. It must have been Giorgio’s room, and surprisingly the puppet allowed her to clamor through it, rifle through his drawers. Nothing of individuality about him that gave her insight into him, no ammunition she could use to help herself. 

The dread of every creak, every scatter of mice along the floor causing her to panic- it was taking its toll. Once more she found herself growing tired, as if waiting with each chime of a clocktower that counted down to her coming doom. Like he was playing a sick game with her mental state, forcing her to wonder, to second guess, to keep her on her toes. An anxious ball formed in her chest, and oh how it pulsed and throbbed, made her feel like her body was crumbling in on itself. 

One place yet to explore. Stairs going up. Of course, she thought. Stairs down led to a room filled with death so she could only imagine what stairs upwards led to. Almost humorous to her, in the messed up sense of things, a faint chuckle leaving her lips as she began to take the stairs. Her legs screaming for reprieve from all the wandering and crouching, and reaching she’d done today in the name of escape. 

Sabine ran out of steam to yell at Giorgio's devil fruit powered puppet almost an hour ago. All the wine bottles shattered proved such. At this point it was like an obsessive pet that won’t leave your side, just… with more ability to bite. It still startled her, each time she caught sight of its black eyes and grueling teeth, claws. 

Cobwebs lined the way up to the attic, faint lights flickered above as she continued on. Inching closer and closer, a static noise rumbling at the back of her head. She almost expected something to jump out with each passing moment since she’d awoken. Expected herself to walk into an unfortunate situation that resolved in her doom. If only she’d had a weapon. 

A door at the end of the hall, its white paint in ghastly contrast to the darkness of the attic. The paint was chipping away and nail marks scratched along the lower foot. Like each door she’d come to before Sabine cringed as she grasped the handle, said a prayer and thrusted it open. 

“Wha-” 

Wide eyed Sabine stared at the girl on the ground in the corner of the room, a chain around her ankle. A heap of blankets at her side, a makeshift table with water, and what might have been a bathroom door to the left. The attic had no windows, the air was musty and reeked of bodily odors. 

“Oh no,” The girl stammered, “Well fuck.”

Sabine hurried to the girl’s side after the initial shock, grasping hold of the chain even as her vision went blurry for a moment, “Are you okay?”

But the girl didn’t respond, because in the light she could now see the puppet. Her mouth dropped open, shell shocked at the gruesomeness that hovered in the doorway, its aura plentiful, heavy as it made the air murky like turning a fresh pond muddy. Sabine looked over to see it and she shuddered. 

“He.. Really wants to torture you making it look like that.” The girl grimaced looking at Sabine, “For me he made it look like a regular man.” 

Sabine swallowed hard, “How long have you…”

“Been here? Few weeks maybe, but with you arriving?” She sighed, collapsing back against the wall, more annoyed than anything, “Got a few days.”

Her voice was caught in her throat, unsure how to speak to the other captive. Too much casualness in her body language and in her lack of fear that from Sabine’s experience with confessions, was of someone who’s given up. 

“Few days?”

“My name’s Eve.” Eve, who had similar hair to Sabine’s, gave Sabine a half hearted smile, “There was another girl when he brought me here, her name was Angelina. After two days he took her, so remember my name, please. I don’t even have it in myself to care right now.” She closed her eyes, resting her head into her palms. 

“I’m Sabine.” What could she say as dread filled her? Sabine raced to find the right words, so she could only whisper out her name to Eve instead. 

Solemn silence amongst the harsh wind that whipped tree branches against the manor’s attic. Miniscule noises of scratching and chittering that probably belonged to creatures trapped in the decaying attic and roof. 

Sabine faltered. She wanted to fix this, to busy herself with something that’d make her useful. She knew not how to sit and spend time with herself, she always needed guidance. And as she stumbled to her knees it hit her full force, realization that for years she’d not lived her life with autonomy. Always staying within bounds, the rules, reliance on another. 

Nothing would sway her for the time being, the sudden urge to break out the fine lines she stayed between. That door to the left did open to a bathroom, small and dirty. It angered her, that Giorgio would force women to live without dignity for their finals weeks to days. As she shuffled about going through the desolate drawers and bottles in hopes of finding anything- in the back of the cabinet, where the sinks pipes were- was a canister. A canister of metal, a glint to it with signs of rust along one side. She picked it up, feeling its weight in her hands, it had some liquid in it. 

Eve watched Sabine rustle around with a look of determination, a woman on a warpath as she came back to inspect the chains. 

“What are you doing?” She hissed.

Sabine shook her head as her fingers danced along the cold of the chains. Closer to where the chain met with the ankle cuff, there was discolor. And discolor, whether it was rust or due to strain, didn’t that mean that section could be weaker? One tug then two. The part nailed to the wall did not move an inch. 

“Hold on.”

Grabbing the canister Sabine had a thought, one she did not have the mental stability to properly think through. She knew not of physics or thermodynamics of objects, nor if it was in the realm of possibility to break a chain. Or if she were strong enough. 

It was the painful blossoming of guilt and throbbing to do something right, that pushed her forward. She needed to help, needed to try or else Sabine swore she’d never sleep at night again. Like a final promise to herself that helping Eve would fulfill her promises to herself, that this had been her purpose, and she could walk away from the Church with her head held high. 

With a deep breath, Sabine raised her arms above her head as she gripped the top part of the canister. Her aim was at the part of the chain she pulled taut. With all her might and the help of gravity, she struck. And again. Eve realized, tried to pull on the chain so it would not move when Sabine continued to try. 

“Hit this part,” Eve turned the chain link so it was on its side rather than flat, a slight difference but the options were limited. Hope the canister would connect just right. She really hoped so, especially as her arms burned and screamed in pain. Harder and harder to raise them. 

A chink in the chain, a chip of the metal laying beside them. The two stared at each other in awe through the vibrating tiredness that worked its way up. 

The puppet hadn’t moved, Sabine made sure to watch it with each blow. Perhaps it would not deem freeing Eve as a reason to come alive. Then maybe the two could buy more time, think of something, or at least find Eve something to eat. 

“It doesn’t seem to care?” Sabine whispered, gathering her bearings through the blaze in her arm muscles. 

The second a loud crack went down as the canister hit the chain link splitting it, the puppet reacted like it was called to life. As if encoded to react upon unacceptable behavior it roared to solidify and grow with frightening antagonism. 

Air swirling with darkness, bloodlust seemed to seep through the floorboards. Like in slow motion watching the demon come at them while they stared, frozen. Limbs chilled in place, so shocked that Sabine thinks she iced over completely. Canister foregone, kneeling on her knees with her mouth agape and eyes widened. It was the newly freed Eve that had the gall to act. 

“Sabine, go.” Eve tried to push at her; tried to push her to stand up on her feet, but it was too late. 

A heavy gust of grayed air, thick dust particles concentrated on the air at the puppet’s hand and it formed a butcher’s knife. Glistening, horror came over Sabine as she realized it wouldn’t be a mirage like the thing she’d chucked wine bottles through earlier. The puppet was once more the physical version of the demon she knew. Its eyes no longer empty, filled with a vicious hunger of a predator who hadn’t had a meal in days Its body language tense and engaging as it edged closer, playing with its food- her. 

Sure, Sabine had been questioning her faith a whole bunch the last year plus. Even prior little flitting feelings would arise; she'd have to shove back down for the sake of survival in the Sisterhood. But right now, if there was ever a moment she quite frankly did not believe and everything preached about the Father was a load of bullshit– it was this moment. Because if that figure above truly loved her, this wouldn’t have been happening. There wouldn’t be people like Giorgio who tortured for fun. Children wouldn’t be harmed. And it suddenly seemed so clear as Sabine put herself in front of Eve in a protective manner…

The knife plunged into her abdomen as she shielded the emaciated girl, then shoved aside by the now lively puppet. A startling scream sounded beside her, then a sickening crunch as Eve’s arm bent the wrong way, her bone sticking right out like a snapped twig. 

Sabine tried to call out for her but her vision went spotty. Intense contractions of shooting pain traveled to each extremity of her limbs. Head dizzied by the extraordinary ache in a way she’d never experienced before, along with a heated rush of something liquid. 

It descended upon them in a way meant to mock. The wide, sharp toothed smile beaming atop them, was unsettling and cruel. It made her stomach lurch, her brain flicker in overstimulation before she could let out a screech. Hands out straight as if it would shield her or push the demon away, but it did nothing, not as its icy fingers grazed along Sabine’s tear streaked cheek. 

Sabine shivered, whimpered and closed her eyes as it continued to touch her. It was clearer now that its own actions seem to resemble how Giorgio held himself, that he’d be the type to play with his food before eating it. That he’d touch her through the inhuman puppet to make her body recoil in discomfort. 

Her eyes wrenched open as the touch disappeared, she heaved through the expansion of pain at her abdomen that began to stretch along her whole body. 

The room seemed to spark alive in a multitude of different colors before the puppet began to fall apart, a vortex of black inky shadows seeming to become one with the air in the attic room. Swirling. Gone. Sabine almost didn’t believe her eyes, nor how the air seemed to feel pounds lighter and easier to breathe in. Was it invisible? Would it come through the floorboards or walls next? Through the pain at her side she tried to steele herself through it, to keep herself steady as her consciousness wavered.

“It means.. He’s summoned it.” Eve blanched, her face pallid and eyes dull. 

“W-What?” Sabine asked, trying to keep consciousness as she stared down at the hilt of the knife. Her hands ghosted along her skin as blood trickled from the wound, clouded debating thoughts as her pointer finger trailed down, numb at her side.

“Don’t… Pull it.” 

“Eve?”

Sabine couldn’t move from where she sat disoriented, not as Eve’s head lolled back against the floor with a thump, not as the blood pounded in her ears, and not as her toes began to lose feelings. Blood pooled beneath Eve’s broken arm. Sabine tried calling out to her, tried to reach her with the very tips of her fingers. But Sabine felt herself start to go. A numbing gray took over her as she slid down against the wall in a final bid to keep herself from bleeding out. 

More tears as her chest constricted in panic. She’d wished for a different ending. Wished she got to see more of the world, meet more people, just… be something more. A sob escaped her lips, with a final jagged breath as she cried thinking about all the people she wouldn’t be able to bid goodbye.

-

“Where is she?” Mihawk’s voice was frighteningly low, steady as Yoru blocked the man from moving- at the neck.

Giorgio, a bloodied and beaten mess, stared at him from down on his knees like a scared doe, blubbering nonsense as he begged for his life. He was a coward. A coward in his foolish confidence that left him the second Mihawk unsheathed Yoru. A coward in how he fought, instantly needing to call upon his short lived devil fruit powers that allowed him to create a puppet-like creature from air to fight. And as he laid his eyes upon a demonic-like figure that mimicked a member of the church, Mihawk knew that was the face behind Sabine’s nightmares. 

“Who?” Giorgio hacked up bloody mucus as he still tried to play coy, as if it was one last stand. But his body was broken, he was in no situation to bargain.

“You took something of mine, someone who belongs to me, and you’ve done god knows what to her… I’ve used up all my patience on your pathetic sniveling. Where. Is. She?” Mihawk hissed, the blade cutting further into the man’s neck. A fresh rush of blood dripped down his front.

“My home.” 

“And where is that?” Annoyance fluttered through him at a great speed. He needed the clutching and twisting within his chest to cease. 

“Meadow.. Lane,” Giorgio sputtered, the color beginning to leave his face from the wounds Mihawk had left during their short duel. If you could even call it one, “Outside the… Eastern gates, hidden.”

Not needing him anymore, his blade struck. A clean cut. Giorgio’s body fell to the ground, limp, with an empty thud. 

Within an hour of finding the hotel room empty, Mihawk had begun his search for Sabine. He went to the Cardinal she trusted, then informed the marines of everything he discovered. When looking at the mess that took hold of this island with impatience and blinding anger, Mihawk would get the answers he needed. People were more willing to share information without a smiling, encouraging nun standing there which stopped him from dishing out any pain. A sharp-eyed Warlord would have anyone shaking, spilling information from their tongues just to see him leave. The longest part of the night into the morning was tracking down Giorgio, as not many knew him enough to truly remember him, only off rumors. Mihawk realized something was very wrong after a tavern keeper told him of other missing women he’d not heard of prior. 

He made his way to the Eastern Gates of the city, mixtures of exhaustion and adrenaline swirled through him, licking at his heels as he pressed forward. The foliage was dark green, dense and the ground still dewey with the scent of after rain. Less upkeep towards this area was clear, splintering fences and overturned rocky paths, branches wild and untamed; it was as if a completely new island. Mihawk followed his senses, walking along a muddied path through a thicket with pieces seemingly carved out from years of usage. A secret passage of sorts, stomped weeds and brown grass that led him deeper into the wilderness. 

Until a dilapidated manor came into view. Weathered brick walls slowly dilapidated with time, glass missing from windows. Parts of the roof were beginning to sag. Vines crawled up and expanded along the surface, like veins underneath the skin. There was nothing inviting about the looming building that appeared abandoned, no signs of life, aside from dots of light deep within he could just make out. 

Giorgio was dead, there’d be no overhanging dread of someone with devil fruit abilities to worry about. And he had moments at most before the Marines came, tipping them off was probably his best path as a Warlord. Let them clean up this mess, he’d grab Sabine and go. 

Finding Sabine was the priority. Mihawk had already come to the conclusion she always would be. He’s anxious to get to her, blood coursing through him feeling thick, like he’d explode from the pent up emotions. Emotions he wasn’t used to. Murderous intent had lived within him, but killing Girogio hadn’t ended it, and stepping through the main doors of the manor didn’t either. Desperation to lay his eyes on her, hear her voice, feel her touch. 

Mihawk systematically began to search, the sound of his heavy boots on the rickety floorboards as loud as a gunshot. His stomach was a churning mess, lurching up into his throat as more time passed. The heavy scent of wine wafted on the stale air, shards of colored glass littering the ground of a grand room, Mihawk’s hands clenched at the sight of two wine glasses untouched. Sabine’s aura was unmistakable amidst a heavy fog of disarray and fear. An unsettling feeling took form in him, the foundations of this place screamed out not in fear but in melancholy. Hollowness. 

As he ascended splintering steps, Mihawk felt his throat tighten, mouth going dry. He continued with careful steps, though doubtful of another advisory waiting behind any corners. The end of the tiny hall in the attic called out to him. Urged him forward. And he complied. 

Brows downturned as he considered unsheathing Yoru. The door was half ajar, the stench of iron and blood clear. It made his stomach sink to the floor. Blood nor death had ever bothered him before, however as he thought of Sabine? He wouldn't be able to handle that. Not with her.

He stilled upon pushing open the door, air stolen from his lungs. A deathlike nausea bubbled from his gut to his throat as his golden eyes narrowed in on Sabine. A small pool of blood lay beneath her, her clothes deep with red from the stab wound in her side. His chest lurched with despair, like claws sinking into him imagining the worse as he rushed to her side. 

Sabine’s breaths were shallow. But nonetheless they were there, and that allowed Mihawk to keep his composure. Already did his skin crawl with the impulse to take his anger out elsewhere, the lack of control an unusual thing for him to feel or to have and it made him panic; yet on the outside he still appeared to be his apathetic self. 

Her lips were drained of color much like the rest of her skin. Eyes moved beneath the lids as she was clearly stuck in an REM state of dreaming, or nightmares. Hair splayed with no care but around her as if it were a halo, her a sleeping angel even with dried, caked blood maiming her. Mihawk’s heart thumped crazily at the sight of her, her unending beauty even at a moment like this. The faintest of whines from his throat escaped, Mihawk never wanted to see her like this, nor feel how life drained from her. 

“Look what you’ve gotten yourself into. I lose you for no more than a day.” Mihawk cooed under his breath, a finger stroking along her paling cheek before picking her up bridal style. Cradling her limp body against his chase, breathing in her scent as if it would cure the unsettled anxiousness within him. That having her in his orbit would make him whole, back in control, make his purposes set straight again.

He did not care that her blood permeated into his clothes. He also did not care for the other girl passed out beside Sabine, he’d let the Marines handle her. And the rest of this manor. Mihawk’s job was done- getting Sabine back, now he needed a doctor. 

Mihawk let his worries run wild as he took Sabine from that wretched place, leaving behind the reek of death and loss, the thick air that set out to choke. Left behind the dust that stained furniture black and the mold that blotted along the plastered wallpapers. He let himself worry for her health like a mother hen as she began to shiver even with his body heat, the glint of the blade taunting him from her abdomen. Taunting him by letting them know he failed to keep her safe. So he let himself imagine her dying, losing her before he properly had her, how it would wreck him. Because he deserved that if she did die. It wasn’t until he placed her in the care of a doctor did he let his intrusive, darkly rampant thoughts cease. And then he waited. 

-

posted: august 29 2024

-

SEVEN YEARS AGO

The sounds of pattering feet against ivory tile echoed in the empty halls of the Saint Mana Monastery- a line of veiled nuns walked towards the temple. Angelic chimes rang through the air from the chilled breeze. Soft murmurs of prayers left the lips of bowed heads that never wavered formation. 

A year had gone by since Sabine's father shipped her off. How her hands still shook with anger when she thought of him- his hideous face with the larger than life mustache. A weak, pathetic man who cared for nothing more than himself and booze to hold him over another day. Oh how she prayed at night he'd receive his karma, or wonder if he already had. As her head bowed and her breathing quick, she felt herself grow angry thinking about him. 

The shining midday sun glittered through stained glass in the temple- an expansive room with little pews for the nuns knelt on the cold tile floor. Dressings dragged as perfect rows in front an altar formed. Prayers, both in silence and echoing unison, rang out over the monotonous hour. Like a choir of singing angels existed in the holiness as glittering colored light shone, chimes and lovely words alike breathing life into stale air. 

Each day was of strict routine, monotonous repetitions asides the holy day of Sundays. Early mornings causing early nights. Constant prayers and studying. Chores. Prayers again. Then little alone time which caused little individuality to flourish between sisters; a purposeful thing, intended to create to create pliable female worshipers,

Before 'silence time' however, there was a waiting stack of dishes needed to be ready for dinner. 

Which was how Sabine found herself in the kitchens with other girls her age. Her eyes had grown heavy with each passing minute. Her brain all foggy from a restless sleep and racing thoughts that felt like a knife stabbing her chest over and over. This wasn't what she saw her life being at sixteen– washing dishes in a neat assembly line with water all splattered on a nun's habit she wore each day. The closet of her room was filled with dozens of the same fabrics, it seemed. 

Normally one for conversation when able, it was quickly noticed when she wasn't partaking. Sabine looked at each plate she rinsed as if it were the devil, glaring eyes and pursed lips. 

"What about you Sister Mary Sabine?"

Sabine's head jerked to look towards the other girls assigned to dish duty, whose eyes bore into her, "Huh? Sorry, wasn't listening."

"What would you want out of life if you weren't a nun? Sister Mary Ellen says she'd work in a brothel! Can you believe it?"

"We all want what we can't have," Another Sister said, "Life of temptation always seems so fun."

"So, what about it Sabine?" Continued interrogation from the ever-chatty blonde, Sister Anna Lea.

"Yeah, what's your deepest darkest desire?" 

Sabine stopped, held the sopping wet plate in hand as she hummed to herself for a moment. She didn't want to say the first thing that popped into her head but she couldn't think of anything better to say-

"I want a husband," Sabine then said with a dreamy look in her eye, "Someone who meets me and knows I'm the one. I don't care about having kids, I just want to be loved and in love."

A few snickers followed her reply but most hummed in an agreement of solidarity, "Genuine question, why do priests and cardinals get to marry but not us? Sexist that we have to marry ourselves to the Father."

The group of girls Sabine spent her time with were of like age- teens to young twenties, most hadn't taken permanent vows like herself. So it was no surprise their talk turned to gossip about outdated ways. As much as Sabine agreed she tried to never engage even inadvertently, you never know who's listening, and she preferred to bide her time with her head down. Good behavior, as if she were a prisoner waiting for an early release.

"Ladies."

As if on cue— The matriarch, the most feared one of the elder nuns who sat on top, stood in the doorway hands on her hips. Most girls had shocked, wide eyes as they stammered apologies or turned back to their duties. 

Sabine could only shake her head, feeling nostalgic thinking about a life she'd probably never have. Daydreaming as the hours ticked by, her stomach filling with butterflies and chest tightening as she thought about scenarios of loving encounters with a man. 

It was 9:00PM when an intrusive knock jolted her and her dorm-mate, Sister Therese Sienna, up from their beds. Half-awake they looked at each other before Sienna crept to the wooden door. Their room was small and plain, not expected of two teenage girls. Peeling white walls with crosses hung on each surface. Simple wooden wardrobes and a centerpiece rug. Windows that had to be glued stuck, with pilling curtains covering them. 

Sabine rubbed her eyes as she looked around, shifting in the primarily uncomfortable bed, "Who is it?"

Sienna, with a huff, opened the door revealing Sisters Anna and Lea, "Oh the chatty squad is here,"

"Don't be like that," Lea shrugged, "You two aren't asleep."

"Neither are you two?"

The two uninvited visitors pushed their way in, with Lea marching proudly to Sabine's bed side to strip her of her covers. She recoiled from the sudden chill in the air and attempted to shield herself. 

"Get dressed, we have plans."

"Plans we didn't agree to," Sabine murmured, grabbing a lone shawl across the chair at her bedside. Yet she wasn’t willing to sit this out, not the way Lea had a smug confident look on her face. 

Neither of them were fond of the idea of being out past curfew, especially without an in depth explanation. Only by the light of oil lamps and scattered candles could they move about, footsteps echoing in the cavernous monastery halls. They were like little scurrying mice, constantly looking over their shoulders and around corners, fearful. But growing in certainty as they entered a more desolate area of the monastery. 

"Oh hurry up," Lea spat under the moonlight that streamed through a cracked window as they hurried by it. 

"You're being ridiculous." 

An eerie silence amidst their footsteps as they descended an older flight of creaking wooden stairs, made Sabine internally cringe. This wing of the monastery was creepy. Old. Worn down. Probably disease ridden in the air they breathed. Old paintings that collected dust amongst the broken cement walls, doors boarded up, and relics discarded haphazardly.

Rumors said a prior cardinal died here after performing a ritual, or an exorcism, the stories are different depending who speaks them. That afterwards series of misfortunate events began to take place, sudden deaths and great grievances that would plague their church for years. After a nun took her own life in the tower, it was officially regarded as dangerous for use and locked up. But all locks could be broken. 

Sabine felt unsettled. A pit in her stomach made her more on edge than past times they’d snuck into the abandoned ward. It felt like the eyes of the people in the paintings followed their every move with starch judgment, it filled her with shame. But the adrenaline to have say over her life that was unjustly ripped from her, was too tantalizing to say no to. 

“Good, we’re all here.” An older girl with long blonde hair spoke as they all formed a circle in a dimly lit room. It was further down than Sabine had been before, no windows and the air was heavy and moist. Her pulse began to hike. 

Thin papers with messy scrawl were passed around. Eight girls in total were present around scattered petals that gleamed a color unknown to her. And eight goblets of burgundy wine were handed out next. 

“All of you are girls that have shown interest in men, disdain for the unjust rules thrusted upon women in our situations. Women in this world in general. I found an old book, which appears ancient and during my time studying it, I have found a ritual that when done correctly, will bring you to your true love during your lifetime. That someone is meant for us all but there is no guarantee to meet them.” The blonde said in a serious tone, a fire behind her words that had Sabine hanging on to each one. 

“How.. Will we know? If we meet them.” A Sister asked. 

“It says- you just know. That it’s like your world changes, that you don’t think you’ll be able to survive without the person, that it’s more than love, that they compliment you, cherish you, protect you. It may be foolish, may not work, but there should be no downsides to doing the ritual. Harmless to try it right? Especially on the off chance it is real.”

Murmurs sound. Sabine knows she’ll do it. Not a bone in her body willed her to leave. It seemed all the Sisters were in agreement, that the ensuring possibility of meeting your soulmate through a ritual made perfect sense. What was there to lose besides never crossing paths with them? 

Or they all knew it was a form of child’s play. A fun little thing to do as girls who wanted something more than the Sisterhood. Their way of rebelling. 

“Now do what the papers say, we’ll all speak together.”

Sabine bent down to gather the flower petals into one hand, the other holding the directions the older girl wrote out. Her fingers trembled. 

"I cast this circle of flowers round, in calling for a love meant for me, to find me."

She sprinkled the delicate petals in a circle in front of her. She felt chills run down her spine, a disheveling cold gust she swore was her imagination. 

"Forever will my true love bind.”

Next each girl drank their goblet of stale communion wine, the raunchy taste making Sabine shudder. Was it stupid to feel anew? A fluttering in her chest as her extremities tingle in and out of numbness. The tips of her fingers down to her toes, up to her head tickled in a glittering daze and immobilization while she stood stuck staring at the circle she made. 

At sixteen she didn’t have the capabilities of forethought or critical thinking beyond that of her generalized life experience. How foolish to smile like an idiot as she made sure every drop of the wine was drained. The girls were all too giddy. Definitely too loud with their giggles and conversations that would have normally had a matriarch descending on them like a hawk. But feet below the surface in a desolate room of an abandoned wing, they were undisturbed to gossip through the night. 

-

PRESENT

"Father, please help Zoro through this storm. Provide him the strength and courage to conquer this obstacle. I put my trust and submit my ways unto you to seek help for his battle. Amen." Sabine's mouth was dry as she spoke, hardly above a whisper. Tears stung her bloodshot eyes as a faint throbbing numbed her face. 

Seeing him like that— all clammy, skin as if he'd see a ghost. Bandages peeking from his shirt where a pink tinge of dried blood stained as a reminder of what'd taken place. Sabine, in such a short amount of time, had grown fond- protective in her own way- over the crew. All younger than her, so she perceived them as her dear kids in a sense.

"Why do you feel so bad?" Nami whispered, a cold tone masked behind the question, "I went to leave, to leave the crew. And you feel guilty because you'd been flirting with that Warlord?" The redhead frowned, seemingly answering her own thoughts in her mind as her eyes widened, "Oh- cause you haven't experienced-"

Sabine held her hand up, signaling for Nami to stop, "I think I'd surprise you. It's not necessarily guilt, I don't quite know what it is really. Responsibility maybe? Or the fact I've spent hours listening to those who want to be saved, and act like I'm some saint? Maybe this is all I can do to offer help."

"I think I'd surprise you too." Nami shuffled in place. 

"I don't think you would. I can tell from your far away gazes and survival skills. I know you're hiding something." Normally Sabine wouldn't talk out of turn like she just did. Taught to always nod in understanding, listen intently while carefully thinking through a response. Taught to never interrogate but gently lead in the direction they point. 

"What are you profiling me? I'm not some drunkard, abusive marine stumbling into a church to repent."

"I never said that," Nami was right with her implications, Sabine needn't play her role as a nun with them. And she wasn't with her harsher than normal words as this was what she felt was a final chance to intervene. Nami was bubbling up, "Maybe hiding wasn't the best word to use. I know from experience when there's more to a story. I'm not judging, nor am I asking you to share. But we're all supposed to be a crew, yeah?" 

If Sabine could see Nami's face from where she stood with her back turned, grand line map in hand, Sabine would see the troubled tears in her friend's lash line. And she'd see how Nami's moment of pain fell to a blank stare, determination suddenly dancing in her eyes. 

Sabine frowned as Nami left, her footsteps echoing as they sounded further and further away. She let out a heavy sigh, chest deflating as her shoulders slouched. Guilt about how harsh she'd been, but nevertheless she wanted to speak her mind. 

Her legs screamed from soreness as she stood, carefully moving closer to Zoro's sleeping form. Standing over him, she let her fingertips graze over his clammy skin. She wiped the sweat from his brow-line with her thumb, reaching for a cold moist towel that rested on his left bicep. 

"Oh Zoro," Sabine whispered, "You kids are just too much to handle sometimes I swear." Not that she was much older than them, almost five years she thinks. A smile cracked on her lips about how Usopp never failed to mention her elderly age. 

The reality of it all wasn't that Sabine nor Nami were inherently evil due to pieces of themselves they kept hidden. It only further justified how complicated life is— how complicated people are. 

Sudden commotion, beyond what Sabine was told to expect, made her hesitantly leave Zoro and head to the Going Merry's deck. Her heart palpitated in her chest with each slow step, hand gliding along the walls for any sort of balance. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears as the banging intensified like muddled water swirling. Crouching down, looking over the bannister, her stomach sank. 

Hand clamped over her mouth to silence herself, 

"No!" She still managed to stifle out watching Arlong toss Luffy into the sea. Quick relief washed over her as Sanji jumped into the sea to go after him immediately. Splashes of torrent aqua blue. Technicolor drowning within her chest like trying to scream underwater. But curiosity shimmered in Sabine's eyes as she watched Nami leave with the fishmen.

But as much as Sabine wanted to be shocked or angry like others of the crew— she wasn't. A level of understanding grew in her chest as the minutes went on allowing her time to think. Little growing vines crept into her head as she recalled Nami's words and body language alike. Arlong would have torn the ship apart to find the map- would have torn Sabine and a recovering Zoro to pieces after taking down Luffy, she was sure. So Sabine stayed quiet even as Zoro woke and the others shared their uncertain opinions— she knew Nami did it to protect them. That she'd been right to assume the younger girl was nursing a secret. A searing sensation made her gasp, as her legs gave out, causing her to go down onto the ship’s deck. She clawed at her chest, at the clothes that adorned her and covered the necklace hidden beneath. 

On the dainty chain was the ring. Mihawk’s ring. Why it felt as if it burned her skin she did not know. The suffocating sea air swirling into her nostrils and intoxicating her mind with its musk and scents from the restaurant. 

It was a gorgeous piece. Sabine could not tear her gaze from it as she studied it. Too large for any of her fingers. Eclectic yet manly, clearly worth more berry than her life would ever be. Truly, it was a piece of him. She could recount the deep vibrations of his voice settled within her core, how his calloused fingers bruised along her skin. And how his lips were on her forehead. She could feel it. Feel his intense aura that warmed her insides like it was wrapping her in an all encompassing, protective blanket, to keep the outside world from laying a finger on her. 

Terror instilled itself, this wasn’t supposed to be happening to her! Close encounters with death. Pirates. Life itself! She should have stayed locked up in her isolated palace that was the monastery. 

But then Sabine realized something. That the terror she felt was from her thoughts. Thoughts that leaving her Sisterhood was the path she needed to take. And that was terrifying, the thought of giving up what was comfortable. All this time sailing with the crew and she wasn’t any closer to coming to a decision, not until meeting Mihawk. 

-

posted: july 12 2024

Sanji

He heard about it when you made port, and there's no way he's not taking you.

He's been looking for an opportunity to take you on the perfect first date, and this is it.

Perfect opportunity for the two of you to get away from the crew for and have a little alone time.

A little dancing, a little wine, a little champagne—it's perfect.

Makes sure not to tell anyone else, if Luffy hears there's free food he'll insist on going and the whole thing will no doubt end in chaos.

He doesn't even tell you—all he tells you, after presenting you with a brand new dress and jewelry (which most likely cost him every last berry in his wallet), is that he would like to take you out for the evening.

And how could you turn him down?

"Come on, love. I promise it will be the best evening you've ever had."

The effort he's already put in, those puppy-dog eyes....

You spend the evening dancing, talking, enjoying the free food, every ounce of his attention on you the entire time as he ensures that you feel like a princess.

Making sure that everyone has their eyes on the pair of you on the dance floor, that they know you're there with him.

Somehow ending up chit-chatting with the catering staff toward the end of the night and being invited to their far less formal after-party.

Stumbling back to the Merry hours later together, half-drunk and giggling and positive that it's the best night you've ever had.

Zoro

"What the hell...?"

He got lost and wandered in.

No idea what's going on, why are all these people wearing masks and dancing?? What exactly is going on this is weird as—

Oh hey there's an open bar, cool.

You recognize him from his bounty poster fairly quickly. There are a lot of marines here, and he really isn’t causing any problems, but he's getting a lot of strange looks...so you decide to do the guy a favor and shove a mask in his hands.

He looks at you like you're speaking another language as you explain where he is and convince him to just put on the damned mask already.

"A ball? I thought this was some kind of weird cult or something."

You just stare at him in disbelief—he thought it was a cult and he's just standing around enjoying the free drinks. 

What.

You brush it off and tell him if he wants to fit in, then dancing is probably a good idea.

He's frowning at you again.

"Yeah, I don't really...do that."

You roll your eyes—there are still people eyeing him suspiciously, you have to do something, so when he finishes his next drink you just grab him by the wrist and drag him out to the dance floor.

Cue impromptu ballroom dancing lessons. He keeps stepping on your feet and mumbling apologies, but it's kind of cute how hard he's trying.

You really can't help but giggle at his explanation that he just got lost and wandered in here.

But you're glad he did—you doubt you would have had nearly as much fun otherwise.

Shanks

Heard about the whole shin-dig while in port.

"Hey that sounds like fun, we should crash it."

You try to be stern, but he pulls out the puppy dog eyes.

"Oh come on please?"

God dammit....

And maybe an hour later you're both making masks.

There's glitter and glue and feathers all over the captain's cabin and you're already dreading cleaning it up.

His has a giant gaudy pirate hat. Because of course it has a giant gaudy pirate hat. He's so proud of it, grinning like a little kid in an arts and crafts class when he holds it up to show you, that you can't even bring yourself to admonish him for it.

And of course the whole thing is invitation-only, and of course he manages to sweet-talk his way in anyway.

Just having such a good time, really doesn't care if anyone recognizes him.

Really doesn't care, just drinking and making small talk and joking with several lower-ranking Marines in attendance who are clearly very nervous.

Within an hour, while you're in the middle of dancing and deciding that maybe this wasn't *such* a bad idea, an announcement is made for everyone to leave immediately.

Judging by the sheer number of Marines outside there's no doubt as to why.

He just gives you a guilty grin before picking you up over his shoulder and bolting back to the ship.

Mihawk

Actually received an invitation, just rolled his eyes and tossed it in the trash.

You dig it out and pout about it until he rolls his eyes and gives in.

"Fine. No more than an hour."

At lease there will be free wine.

Unsurprisingly spends a great deal of time standing in a corner and sipping said wine while staring around haughtily at the other partygoers.

Would much rather be drinking wine back in his secluded castle and not having to deal with other humans.

Spends the vast majority of the evening standing in a corner and nursing a glass of wine while glaring around haughtily at the other guests, daring them to even think of attempting to make small-talk with him.

Doesn't move from his designated corner until he sees other guests daring to flirt with you, at which point he promptly saunters over to pull you to the dance floor and ensure everyone is well aware that you're there with him.

Lightens up a little after that (which may or may not have something to do with the several glasses of wine he's already consumed), but absolutely will not admit that it actually turned out to be a rather nice evening.

He will, however, hold this over your head and remind you that you owe him.

But you know the truth, considering he's a little more willing to attend such events with you after this.

Buggy

Oh what now? An excuse to be absolutely flamboyant and unhinged in public?

You're going. Period. There will no arguments.

He's already got a collection of masks and costumes anyway, this is going to be a blast.

You lose track of him shortly after you get there. You're pretty sure that the explosion that went off toward the back corner of the dance floor had something to do with him.

He finds you while you're sipping a glass of champagne in downright annoyance and proudly informs you that he's made bank going through pockets at the coat check while everyone was distracted by his little diversion.

"Ah, don't worry, babe, they won't notice. They're too busy schmoozing and kissing ass."

Standing around making small-talk with other guests in the most ridiculous put-on aristocratic accent he can possibly muster, introducing you variably as some foreign dignitary or princess from a far off land.