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Crocodile moved through the rubble feeling his wounds stretch painfully. They weren't deadly, but they didn't like the dishonor of being injured down by filthy marines and slowed down.
"842." Someone said sharply next to him, kicking a stone with a thump, the only sound he made while approaching him. Crocodile appreciated the warning, it would have been embarrassing trying to hit him again because he didn't hear him coming. He didn't like the surprises. Mihawk walked more unscathed than him and although his gaze was unbothered as always, Crocodile knew perfectly well that he was satisfied with his work.
"Cute." He commented without turning around and trying to delay as much as possible the moment of admitting his defeat.
They walked a few more paces before Crocodile tired of the other's piercing gaze on him. He grunted, looking if, by some luck, he still had a cigar in one of the pockets of his jacket, but he knew in his heart that he had run out. "I took out 345." He answered through clenched teeth. "But it's hard to keep track in sandstorms." He blatantly lied, feeling the need to argue in order not to look bad. Though in truth, there was very little to be embarrassed about when on the other side was a lethal war machine like the Mihawk, that is rational. Crocodile was not always a rational man.
"Sure." The swordsman shrugged, finally satisfied. His tone didn't change, but his mouth twitched a little toward a sneer of victory. "But the number was smaller than mine."
"Yes, it was smaller." Crocodile conceded rolling his eyes. "Let's find the clown or what's left of him." He snapped, changing the subject. "And let's get out of here before they send more."
"In the end, using him as a diversion was a good strategy."
Crocodile could only nod. Who could have known that man was so resilient? It was luck, pure dumb luck, that the clown seemed to be full of it. Not only did he come out alive, but also somehow looked victorious to his pathetic crew. Crocodile hated how even his men -serious pirates, hard-working pirates - didn't seem immune to his strange charisma. He hated that everyone cheered him on, but he couldn't deny that having such an enthusiastic crew had perks. The first was not constantly finding poison in every meal, not that it was a problem, since to be safe he always let the clown eat.
"We're going after the other emperors because of him, when we could have gotten rich off these pigs' heads." Crocodile still exhaled with a deadpan, feeling compelled to remember why they were on that island forgotten by the gods, where the navy had tried, with not much success, to set a trap for them. "They're getting pathetic with these sorry excuse of ambushes."
"Shouldn't we be the ambushing ones? Being pirates?" Mihawk nodded extending his sword and cleaning it from the blood, all while he walked. "It seems they are desperate."
Crocodile silently thought they were too. He would never say it out loud, of course, but not having a solid plan and going on adventures was something he would gladly leave in his youth. He was more a man made to live in land luxury and rule, definitely not go back to looking for the One Piece, certainly not because of a stupid clown.
Mihawk was even less flexible thinking than he was and seemed to passionately hate anything except the brief interludes assassinating the Marines who hunted them and the occasional stupid pirate who had decided that because they were now working with an idiot, they were no longer the fearsome pirates they once were. He suspected that the only thing that had saved the clown's life was the occasional amusement of those massacres, which made him divert and discharge his nerves. That and Buggy's face, which was especially helpful in venting any frustration (which most of the time the clown had caused himself).
"I bet one hundred that he is alive." He grinned deciding that if they had to walk after their useless clown, at least he'd be making money.
"Since when did you become such a safe poker player?" He retorted eyeing him without blinking. He knew he was just looking for easy money.
"I've always been." He cracked his neck, detaching with his hand the fur that was getting dirty with blood coming out of a cut on his back. "But you are hard to entertain."
"I didn't ask you to do that."
"All right." He sighed rolling his eyes, ignoring his response. "A hundred that' hes stuck somewhere."
"Mh." He nodded thoughtfully. "It would explain why it's still so quiet." Mihawk decided that he didn't need that money, he had enough funds to last him three more lives. "A hundred that we got rid of him"
"You're wasting your money," Crocodile commented, desperately missing his cigar. He grinned looking ravenous. "If I win, I get a hundred, if I lose, I get the death of the clown. I like it."
"I can entertain unlike you."
Crocodile stared at him in surprise and let out an amused snort, because if there was one person who wasn't made for the stage it was the swordsman. The antithesis of artist and orator. All in a single person, capable of making run away people with a single glance. Since when did Mihawk make jokes?
Mihawk I look irritated for some reason. He sheathed his sword behind his back and adjusted his hat better in front of his eyes.
"The Clown." He explained laconically. "He is influencing me."
"Making jokes, how did you fall." He agreed mockingly, finding himself even more amused than before. It shouldn't have been so funny, yet he found himself grinning.
What idiocy.