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Robin understood old things.
Dead languages. Ancient architecture. Mouldering remains.
Such constructs stood stubbornly against the test of time to deny fate and impart their stories to inquisitive minds. They were open books for Robin to read and discover and pull from the otherwise empty void of the forgotten.
Flowers, however, were frail and transitory things. Robin did not know much about flowers.
The irony of this fact did not escape her; she was literally a being of blooms, thanks to her Devil Fruit, though even those summoned gardens of limbs were very temporary and perplexing. Her abilities suited her as an apt metaphor- the cycle of blooming and wilting clearly matching her own tumultuous history.
She examined the dainty buds on display with a sense of casual observance, trying not to look bored as she waited for her companion to finish his conversation with the heart-faced young shopkeeper. The florist rubbed her palms against the fabric of her green apron nervously, eyes shifting between the dark, heavy-lidded archeologist and the evident source of her anxiety: namely the living skeleton attempting to converse in his usual polite and dated mannerisms, seemingly unaware of the effect he was having on the recipient of his query.
“Azure Xerochrysum?” the woman asked, sweat beading on her brow as she tried to figure out where to look on Brook’s face- the gaping holes where his eyes once sat seemed to be too much for her. In the end, she appeared to settle for some point high on his chest (possibly his orange satin cravat). “W- we don’t carry such a flower. I’ve never even heard of it, actually.”
“Oh? How strange. It’s native to the Grand Line, and I was hoping to dry a specimen.”
This, at least, piqued Robin’s interest. “Oh? Brook? I did not realize you were such an anthophile. Do you keep a collection of dried flowers somewhere?”
“Eh…” the skeleton stalled, thinking as he rubbed a long-fingered bone hand against afroed strands of his hair- a nervous gesture she was learning came naturally to him. “It’s not exactly like that, Robin-san. Rather the opposite actually; it is only one particular flower I’m looking for.”
Robin hid her disappointment behind her usual straight-faced mask, nodding politely. She often struggled when it came to making those small, meaningful connections to her crewmates. She easily recognized the weaknesses, strengths, and motivations of her fellow Straw Hats, made especially obvious by the way so many of the younger members wore their hearts on their sleeves. She had known what each of them was about the moment she had stepped foot on their ship. The moment she had met them. The moment she had first rifled through their belongings like the unapologetic spy that she was.
But the gathering of such information- so vital to her survival historically- was not the same thing as building friendships and community. As making those connections. As loving and being loved.
Robin had very little experience with such basic concepts, and what seemed so simple to her crewmates came to her in small struggling attempts.
Luffy was quickest. He tirelessly forged those moments of true friendship with no real need to expend effort on her part.
Franky was also pretty simple; when you share such a commonality of trauma, relationships can be built speedily and with minimal work.
Nami, Chopper, and Sanji all had reasons to create those bonds of kinship with her, both because of an affinity for her gender and because of her general usefulness to the crew.
Usopp and Zoro took some work. Both were naturally suspicious for very different reasons, and when first joining the crew they had been the last to fully accept her addition. Her views on the world clashed often with the pessimistic sniper (who preferred sanguine assurances over her own dark humor) and the swordsman (whose protective nature vied with her own calm resolve in the unsavory truths of life).
Brook… Brook was the newcomer to their ship, just as she had once been. He seemed to struggle in much the same ways she had struggled. Both she and the living-dead-man had a deep-seeded need to be accepted and loved, and yet both seemed to have nearly insurmountable barriers to doing so efficiently.
She had hoped, by going along with the walking enigma on his shopping trip, she may learn something of the machinations of the man. Some way, like with all the others, to connect that final link in the “nakama” chain.
Robin understood old things, but for some reason these mouldering remains eluded her scrutiny.
As they walked together in search of another shop, Brook attempted to brush off her voiced concerns regarding his failed quest.
“I know a thing or two about seeking out the unusual,” Robin tried in a soft voice, head tilted gently in contemplation, “perhaps we may try finding more information about such a flower- Azure Xerochrysum?- in a book. Then I could better help you search…”
Brook waved a skeletal hand dismissively, though there was something pleased about his oddly expressive mouth, and she could imagine a diffident smile tugging at absent lips. “It’s nothing of… consequence, Robin-san.”
“Hmm… you did set aside a day on shore specifically for your purpose,” she reminded him, pausing at the window of a small, dark bookstore. The faint light of a single candle in the dark cut through old, dirty crown glass windows, beckoning the woman who loved nothing more than searching through old musty books in such locales. “I was curious about it, you know.”
“Ah, well… I thought it would be a simple matter. My gut instinct was wrong, I suppose. Even though I have no guts! YOHOHO!” His usual abrupt laughter exploded from… wherever sounds emanated in a flesh-less being, quickly followed up with the clarification that it was, in fact, a “skull joke.”
Robin allowed the corners of her mouth to raise marginally, despite her lack of true amusement. In fact, once comfortable with someone, she was more than willing to bluntly voice her lack of enthusiasm, especially when it came to childish jokes. She had come to learn that this was considered rude by the general population, however, and tried to hold back whenever possible.
They went in the bookstore, and Robin lost her motivation for being social… in fact, the silent contemplation books could encourage was, by and large, the reason Robin gravitated so readily to such spaces. It was, as she had previously observed, dark and dingy inside, the light of the bright midday sun cut short by the blackened panes of wavy old glass at the front of the store.
She headed for the horticulture section. It was small- too small, apparently, because as she perused the only flower encyclopedia in the shop, she found Brook’s wanted bud was absent.
The books here ranged from spotlessly new to practically ancient, and she could tell by the smell that the large tome weighted in her arms was decades old.
And yet, nothing- there was an entry for Xerochrysum (known colloquially as strawflower), but the eight varieties listed were all shades of pink and yellow. Beautiful, with hand-painted illustrations… but not blue, as she assumed Brook’s variety should be.
Strange.
_________________
On Sabaody Archipelago, shopping with Nami, she asked at a larger flower shop.
No idea.
During her travels with the Revolutionaries, she met a contact in East Blue that grew up on a tulip farm.
Never heard of the “xerochrysum.” Was Robin sure she had the name right?
These days, Usopp seemed to have a particular interest in plants, so she had tried asking him.
Was it a plant that tried to eat, maim, or poison you? No? Then he had no idea.
She even checked a shop on Fishman Island, when the dust of battle had settled.
You know, they say a strawflower represents immortality. It was a little ironic that he’d never heard of such a variety then, huh?
Ironic indeed.
It wasn’t that she was putting in an exorbitant amount of effort into the hunt- she didn’t particularly care to. Brook certainly never mentioned it again… but once the seed was planted, the question posed, how could she not take the opportunity for a chance at clarity when it presented itself?
Heavy emphasis on the “chance.”
It was by complete accident, on a day so far removed from the original shopping excursion that even Robin had nearly forgotten the mystery of the unknown flower, when she was reading on the deck of the Sunny and happened to come across an illustration that sparked her memory.
The book was a collection of fairy tales they had picked up at some point in their journey- stories common to the Grand Line (though more localized in Paradise).
In one story, a young girl goes on an adventure to save her mother, who was put into a deep sleep by a witch. She travels to a series of distant lands, each one presenting a moral lesson for the reader.
An island of candy: don’t be greedy.
A small village where only children live: don’t ignore authority figures.
A city of people who can speak to the dead: don’t forget to live your life.
The last gave Robin pause- the story seemed a fairly standard children’s fable, but the direction taken here was quite mature. The girl- the one in the story- was horrified at how the people in the city never left their home, never interacted. They were so focused on the past that they didn’t live in their own times. At the end, their conversations turned out to all be a sham: another clever stratagem of the witch, the villain serving as catalyst for each section of the short story.
In the end, the girl retrieves the cure for her mother’s curse: a flower.
The illustration was small, but one could clearly see the series of tiny rounded flowers in the stiff bouquet. Robin had researched the genus of the mystery bud- she knew all about the appearance of a xerochrysum. It could be her imagination… but the blue flowers painted delicately in the children’s book certainly appeared to be such a bloom.
Xerochrysum?
Possibly.
Or, just a stylistic choice?
Also possible.
“I grew up in West Blue,” Brook explained when she brought the book to him, “but my mother was from Paradise. She had a copy of this very story, though in a different anthology collection.”
“So I’m correct in my assumption? This is your mystery flower?”
Brook nodded, sipping his tea at the small outdoor table on the lawn of the Sunny. “It is indeed. It was her favorite flower…”
“...your mother.”
“Yes.”
Ah. What a similar vein of woe that connected so many of the Straw Hats. That longing for family, and what is lost. Together they fill some of those gaps, at least.
“I expect it’s just no longer around,” he continued, the sound of china on bone following his words as he drank from his cup.
“Extinct?” Robin wondered aloud, delicate fingers cupping her chin. “It’s possible- the seascape changes over the years, the climates of islands can shift, and the popularity of a man-bred flower can wane, growers stop producing….” she trailed off, noticing the thoughtful gaze of the eyeless man. “You promised to bring her some home, didn’t you?”
“Well,” Brook began, tapping weathered-bone fingertips against the crisp white of his teacup, “that is partially correct. She died long before I became a pirate… still, it was always in the back of my mind to put some on her grave, I suppose.”
Flowers were such transient things. So were human lives.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful,” she said, flipping through the book nonchalantly, noting the flurried colors of various illustrations. Old stories. Stories that lasted much longer than the people who told them.
As much as Robin felt like an old soul, when she looked up to meet the steady stare of the haunted musician she felt something akin to the feeling of staring at some ancient text. The weight of his years and loss, the weight of all the decades left alone, were visible and as readable as any book, and Robin knew that even in all her hard-earned intelligence there was a pained wisdom there she couldn’t quite match. Close, but not quite.
They had both lost and struggled. All of the Straw Hats shared that burden. But Brook was something older and just a bit different by virtue of such.
“Thank you,” the skeleton finally said after some pause, as if he had been searching through some tome for the correct words and finally found the simplest ones were best.
The moment soon turned as Sanji brought out snacks, which brought Luffy to the table, and naturally shifted the atmosphere to a joviality that had Brook making his usual loud laughter and (at times inappropriate) jokes. The moment had passed, but Robin had the distinct feeling that she understood something in her nakama a little bit better, which was what she had intended from the beginning.
Maybe she was starting to understand relationships and people as well as she understood the dead and gone.
And maybe a bit about flowers, too.