Chapter Text
Crocodile woke up with a groan, head absolutely pounding and dizzy as all hell. This is why he stopped drinking more than a casual glass or two a night. Never again.
When did the weekly rager last night end? Who knows, but it was before the sun came up at least. Well, that's what he remembers. He finally sat up and realized something...this was not his tent. No lavish sheets below him, no artful decor, no expensive mahogany desk. Instead what stood in its place was a vanity littered with various makeup and face paints, and a clothing rack filled with obnoxiously loud shirts and duvet covers. His hook lay on the dresser in the corner, he hadn't forgotten to take that off at least.
"Shit." Even uttering a single word made his brain feel like it was violently trying to escape its skeletal prison, but that didn't change the frustration and embarrassment he felt from going to the wrong tent. And to make the exact same mistake that clown had the night before...
He tried to get out of bed as fast as he could, which granted, was not very fast due to the nausea, only to realize the severity of the situation. Not only had he gone to the wrong tent, the fucking clown’s at that, said clown and Hawk Eyes were still asleep in that very same bed. To make things worse, he had nothing more on but a pair of boxers, and he began to panic.
It was at this moment that the nausea reached its apex and he found himself stumbling over to the tiny garbage can beside the vanity, where he stayed for the next 20 minutes. Every time he thought he was finished, he was reminded of the situation at hand and went for another round, with the other 2 still somehow dead asleep through it all.
Finally when his stomach felt as though it could not be any emptier, he fumbled around the room to find his clothes. No one, and he meant no one , was to see him without at least a shirt and pants, lest they see the results of some...unsavory parts of his past he'd rather forget. How had one drunk night fucked that all up?
As he was scrambling to get his clothes on, which unfortunately took him longer than it would an average person, the downsides of being one handed, he was trying to recollect his memories from the previous night.
He remembered being livid at Buggy for passing out in his tent, that was clear. He also remembered Mihawk handing him a bottle of whisky, the rounds of shots with the 2 of them in an empty tent, and the drunken karaoke. Then things started to run fuzzy. The last thing he seemed to recall was dying of laughter at Buggy tripping over himself like an idiot.
Reminding himself of all this was making him cringe like never before, and it worried him that he now may not command the same respect from those that feared him. God the more he thought about it, the more of a mistake it was to agree to drink with Mihawk. This was his plan all along wasn't it? That ass…
As if the devil had spoken, Mihawk stirred awake, peering over to Crocodile as if he hadn't also been drinking copious amounts last night. How the hell was this man so alert all the damn time?
"I see you were the first to wake. You really outdid yourself last night if I do say so myself. Feeling less stressed now? "
Crocodile felt like he could kill him right then and there, "less? LESS?? I wake up in the clown's bed of all places with no recollection as to how this happened, and the last thing I can remember is making an utter FOOL of myself, and you expect me to be less stressed??"
"Fool? If anything I think you've made quite a few new fans last night after your stellar performance. Even I was impressed. I did not realize you had such a perfect catwalk in you, Sir Crocodile."
"Are you mocking m- wait...what the fuck do you mean 'catwalk?'" Crocodile yelled, causing Buggy to begin to wake up.
"Arghh my head...Croccy baby you're already dressed? mmm that's no fun..." Buggy said as he rubbed his eyes, much more in line with someone who had been drinking through the night, unlike that freak of a swordsman. He was using a * much* more familiar tone with Crocodile than he normally would, which only enraged him further.
Crocodile turned to sand and appeared back on the bed, hook and hand right near the other two's throats. "You two are going to explain to me what the FUCK happened last night or I'm turning this entirely island, inhabitants included, into the New World's version of Alabasta."
Mihawk still looked completely unphased by this, gently pushing the hook that was dangerously close to him aside, as if it posed nothing more than a mere annoyance. The same could not be said for Buggy.
"How much do you remember?" Mihawk asked.
"Until Buggy fell over like the idiot he is. Now, tell me why I ended up here? How much did you see?" Crocodile said through gritted teeth, about as livid as he could ever be, bringing the hook back up to Mihawk's throat.
Mihawk sat there, playing dumb. "See what, dear Crocodile, because there was a * lot* to see last night. But if you mean in this room, not very much. The lights were off the whole time."
Part of Crocodile wanted to be relieved at this, but there were still too many implications wrapped up in his response. "Give me a straight answer dammit, stop being so fucking cryptic."
Buggy, still scared shitless, tried to speak up to hopefully alleviate the situation a little, "W-we didn't do anything overly s-sexual. M-mihawk said it was a bad i-idea."
Crocodile shifted his focus onto the blue haired emperor. "Really now, then care to explain why our clothes were littered all over the floor?" He asked, sand starting to swirl around him.
Mihawk cut back in, "you really don't remember? You were certainly very...touchy last night after your winning performance on stage. You insisted we leave the party for a more private area, and brought us here. Not exactly sure why you decided on this particular tent but it was something about wanting to apologize to our dear Clown Nose. Now would you please lower that, it's starting to become an eyesore."
Crocodile reluctantly lowered his arms to his sides, still visibly distraught at the fact that he did things he couldn't remember. At least neither of them had brought up having seen anything he didn't want them to. Finally, he backed off the bed, deciding it was probably best to get something in his stomach and change out of these old wrinkled clothes which reeked of alcohol and B.O.
Unfortunately, Crocodile had so little energy that he was forced to trudge across camp like a normal person. If he wasn't so hungover and so fucking hungry, he'd turn to sand to avoid any social interactions as he crossed.
As he walked back to his side of camp, he could see some of the new members of Cross Guild cleaning up last night's party, including a pile of heels. Setting up and cleaning up after Cross Guild's parties was always up to the newbies. Normally, he paid them no mind, but today he made sure to wear an extra intimidating demeanour in case any dared glance in his direction. The newbies didn't matter much anyways, as long as he didn't run into anyone he actually knew-
"Boss! what a wonderful performance you gave last night, you should wear heels more often." Ah shit, Mr. 3. and his annoying sing songy voice, guess this day had to get worse. "What are you doing over here? Did you just wake up?"
"Not another word." Crocodile levelled him with a look that could kill a Neptunian, and he backed down. A fucking buffoon he was.
Once in his own tent, he shut the curtains and immediately jumped in the shower, trying to wash away anything that happened last night in vain. The cold running water helped jog his memory at least a little bit as he was reminded of the heels competition that had occurred last night. Much of the details were still fuzzy, but now he knew what Mihawk meant by "catwalk". Fuck, had he really competed in that? He swore he'd never wear heels or anything of the sort again after he became the man he was today. Guess that went out the window.
This was bad, what else had he done after that? He dried himself off and got dressed as fast as possible and went out in search of food. Daz was nowhere to be seen at the moment, but then again perhaps that was for the better right now.
He grabbed his food and sat down in a secluded corner of the mess hall to avoid everyone's stares and weird congratulations for something he couldn't even remember. The food was not particularly good, but to his hungover ass it was the best thing in the world, and for a little while it was the only thing on this planet. He was so absorbed that he didn't notice when someone sat directly across from him.
"I didn't take you to be one to rock a set of 5 inchers. You're a natural, you know that?"
Crocodile was broken from his trance by Alvida, who had very quickly made herself quite comfortable on the opposite side of the table. The combination of him being caught off guard mid-bite and Alvida's overflowing confidence, like she knew something he didn't, meant his usual death stare wasn't working on her. "What do you want? Get lost."
"Just wondering a few things, you know, to make sure you weren't cheating or anything. Indulge me, will you?"
"No, fuck off," he responded, getting ready to disappear into a million grains of sand if she continued.
Alvida pouted, "fine, guess I'll just sit on my assumptions then."
"You do that." He continued to pile the slop of food into his mouth like it had been weeks since his last meal.
"Aren't you curious what my assumptions are?"
"No." Admittedly, he was a bit curious, but you know what they say: curiosity killed the cat.
She resumed her pestering. "Your way of walking last night, crossing one leg over the other with such a wide stride… that's not something a first-timer would even think to do."
"What are you implying?" Crocodile raised an eyebrow, he was starting to look very visibly annoyed now.
"You used to wear heels a lot, didn't you, Sir Crocodile?" Crocodile’s eyes narrowed. She continued, "and your past is oh so mysterious before you broke out as a famous pirate about 18 years back. Could you be hiding something, were you perhaps..."
"I'd highly advise you shut the fuck up before you say something you regre-"
"—an Okama?" Alvida said, feeling as confident as ever that she hit the nail on the head.
That was not what he was expecting to hear at all,but the incorrect conclusion made him burst out laughing. "You think I was at one point an Okama? That's the funniest thing I've heard this year. No, I was not, now fuck off."
Alvida looked puzzled, "But...you were seen with Ivankov at Marineford...and your performance last night..."
"Yes, because teaming up with Emporio Ivankov was out of convenience. How else was I to easily escape the world's most impregnable prison? The Marines are pieces of shit as I'm sure you're very well aware. I hated that old man Whitebeard but I hate the Marines more. As for last night, have you ever heard of something called drunken confidence?" Crocodile succinctly explained, dismissing any possible other conclusions she might have.
She looked even more confused now, but pressed on "But the Okama last night seemed to be thinking the same thing-"
"Were they now? Did you ask them? No? Then don't assume what someone's thinking. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to finish my meal without any more nuisances." He ended his sentence by swiftly standing up and moving to another secluded table, leaving Alvida stunned.
Geez, his headache from this morning might have dulled, but another one was taking its place today. Having to deal with the aftermath of his idiotic decision to get drunk was taxing to say the least. If it got any worse, he contemplated just ending it all, just having Mihawk cut his head off for good. Then again, the bastard still knew things he did not, and that alone kept him from going over to him. God he desperately needed a cigar.
Still feeling like he was made of lead, he decided it may be best to go back to his tent instead of attempting to do anything productive. This hurt to admit to himself, but with his brain still so foggy from last night, he knew nothing good would come about. He grabbed a fresh cigar and plopped into the armchair to let the smoke clear his mind.
As he sat there inhaling the sweet nicotine, he stared at his bed, which still had the marks of red and white from the Clown’s face staining it. Suddenly memories from last night started to flood back into his head.