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It’s not until the Hero of the Marines walks in that Zeff finally realizes just who that scrawny little chore boy reminded him of. Of course, the kid looks almost nothing like the grizzled yet dangerously imposing legend who stood toe to toe with the Pirate King— and who could send any pirate these days running in fear— but he can see where the similarities exist nonetheless. The eyes, the confidence, the way the sun sinks into their skin and is carried along into the moody lighting inside the restaurant. The way these monsters in human flesh can punch through things with a power that goes beyond rational capabilities. There’s even an old scar at the side of his eye, close to the same place where the kid’s scar rests.
He never imagined what Garp the Hero might have looked like as a teenager. Now, he can’t help but scoff to himself as he tries to juxtapose the two in his mind.
Similar, sure. But the kid has that same feeling to him as that madman Gold Roger, not the greatest symbol of Marine Justice. Sure, right now, he’s a nobody with barely a beli to his name, but Zeff can recognize what the kid’s gonna become. What he’s going to achieve. It’s why he was so desperate to chase the dumb eggplant out of the Baratie, so he could finally chase after his dream. Following along with someone like Monkey D. Luffy was the only way that it’s going to happen. Zeff only hopes he’ll be able to see it happen too, someday.
The Marine Hero doesn’t even have to mention Luffy’s name for Zeff to guess at what he’s here for. Hearing the man say the name, however, sends an odd sensation through the room— one which maybe only Zeff himself can identify.
Garp says Luffy’s name with the comfortable familiarity on his tongue of a parent who’s yelled that name in exasperation, calling out for his family who he loves deeply while trying not to let it show just how much of a claim such a small person has over his soul. His family who he’s desperate to protect, in a world that could tear it apart if he looked away for a second. There’s a possessive ring to the way he says Luffy’s name, yet also a deep fear of everything that can possibly claw him away.
Even symbols of justice and hope can have someone they love, Zeff supposes.
Too bad he’s also got a bratty little blonde knucklehead that he’d do anything for. Sanji only just ran off to chase after the All Blue and like hell is Zeff going to give him up without a stubborn, long-winded fight. He might not be able to fight like he used to, but he’s got other methods.
He brings out the best T-bones he’s got. After seeing Monkey D. Luffy’s appetite, he doesn’t hesitate to cook all twelve of them, to a perfect rare, bringing all of them to the table where he’s seated Garp. Deep brown cross-hatches caramelized into each side, a heavy rub of spice across the surface, jus dripping from the meat as Garp’s knife cuts into each one. He doesn’t expect Garp to share, not if he’s anything like his grandson.
Garp has a little more class than Luffy, but only a little. He devours the steaks one after another, a grin stretching across his face and that gleam brightening in his eye. Zeff brings over the Micqueot that he’d been saving for something special, uncorking it as Garp once again attempts to bring up his grandson.
Zeff stares at the label on the bottle. It would have had to be drunk soon enough. Even wine meant to be aged doesn’t last forever.
Eventually, it all turns to vinegar. Still good for cooking, but not much good for anything else.
He pours a glass for himself and a glass for Garp, dancing around the questions that Garp keeps pressing at him.
It’s delicious. It’s dry, and Zeff knows it’s perfect for the last of Garp’s steaks that the other man is currently finishing off. Dry, full-bodied, tasting of tannins and the wooden barrels that the wine was once aged in. A dry red with a well-marbled steak, grilled more rare than medium. Zeff is proud enough of his culinary expertise that he hopes it’s better than anything Garp’s had in a long time.
Zeff pours himself another glass as he continues to evade Garp’s persistent questions about Luffy.
He opened this just in time. It’s still very good, but he’s had the bottle for nearly five years. He can just barely catch a sour hint to the wine. Another year and it’d only be good for sparse uses in marinades, or salad dressings. Zeff glances across the table.
He never thought he’d be so close to Garp the Hero. He’s handsome, and even sitting across from Zeff, enjoying his cooking and hospitality, he’s still impressively larger than life. Zeff has no illusions about ever being able to fight this man, but right now, he knows he has an upper hand. He has the information Garp wants, and he can play this game all night.
He honestly doesn’t mind the prospect of doing that, either.
He’d read all about what the man had accomplished during his life against people like Roger, Rocks, Shiki, Chinjao… Garp wasn’t so much of a boogeyman to pirates, but rather a reminder that the Marines could and would throw their very best at any pirate if they decided they were causing too much trouble.
Or if they decided to become a pirate instead of… whatever other idea Garp had for his grandson. Zeff can only imagine. He’s once again extremely glad that he was able to kick that talentless eggplant out before the kid wasted any more of his life cooking in this place. He can see the other side of the mirror sitting across the table, a man who loves his family but can’t bear to let him go. Well, it seems like his family has jumped out of his hands regardless, like a particularly slippery rubber eel.
Zeff smiles to himself at the thought.
Of course, Garp is as stubborn as that grandson of his, although he seems amused by Zeff’s attempts to distract him with stories. The ones about food— and especially meat— seem to work the best. He might be imagining it, but he might just watch Garp lick at his lips when Zeff starts to get into the more primal hunts for wild beasts. When he describes meat roasted over an open flame, the fat plopping in great clumps into the fire, causing it to spit out smoke and further flavor the exposed flesh of the carcass…
Zeff decides that he’s actually quite happy to continue on with this all night.