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The carriage shakes as it rolls down the road. The pavement underneath is riddled with pebbles and potholes, most of which Mihawk navigates around. The carriage heaves as he drives over a smaller pothole he couldn’t avoid. Despite how rickety the ride is, Mihawk does not move an inch from his spot. His back remains rigid and upright, his hands holding the horse’s reins loosely between his fingers.
Stiff as a corpse. That’s what Shanks describes Mihawk as.
People on the sidewalk stare, as they do, when he rides past. It’s not everyday a man comes through town in a horse and buggy, it seems. The drivers ride around him, some honking angrily while shouting out their windows at him, others stare in awe. One little girl yells out the window that she “likes his horsies.”
Mihawk nods at her. She giggles and rolls up her window as her parents drive by.
The entire ride south from the Berkshires, Mihawk has kept his posture and has only moved twice a day. Once, at night, moving from the driver’s bench of the carriage to the back, and again in the morning, when he moves from the back of the carriage to the driver’s bench. No words have been spoken except to his horses.
From an outsider’s perspective, it’s like Dracula has decided to visit Louisiana.
Shanks said that, too.
The weather here is hot and muggy compared to the relatively cooler Berkshires. The sun is intense. Mihawk doesn’t fan himself, nor does he make any motion to cool off. Sweat doesn’t even seep through his skin.
He rides on. He makes his way through the backroads of America, avoiding highways, following the winding way south to New Orleans. He has plenty of time to reach his destination given he left a month early, so he rides at a steady pace, one his horses find agreeable, if their pleasant snickers are anything to go by.
Mihawk only stops for meals and to feed and water the horses. People stare once more as he ties a feed bag over both horses’ heads before heading into the restaurant. When he returns, a few teenagers are looking at his horses. They scatter when they see him. Mihawk gives the horses some water before they leave.
The further south he travels, the more the roads twist and dip with the surrounding lands. He had come from the mountains of Appalachia so he is used to twisting roads, but these are flatter and cross more bridges as more and more wetlands appear.
One rock in particular jostles the front left wheel. His carriage will need to be repaired once he reaches the city. Thankfully, Mihawk came prepared for that and brought his tools with him.
It’s more efficient to rely on himself in this manner. After all, insurance doesn’t cover the wellbeing of his horses or his wagon. Understandable given most people live in the twenty-first century.
A wide toll booth marks the edge of the bridge into New Orleans. The employee who takes his money gapes at the horses. Mihawk drives off without a word.
On the bridge, cars honk at him, driving around him. Mihawk ignores them, looking forward. He doesn’t particularly care if people find him inconvenient. The solution for them is to simply drive around him. Many people do, a lot gaping at him. One man almost goes off the road.
Fools. Mihawk rolls his eyes.
The bridge is low along the water and stretches for so long that Mihawk can barely see the other side. The faintest hint of a skyline sits on the horizon. Mihawk stares ahead as he goes. Eventually, he reaches the other side where the bridge touches onto dry land, ending a couple hundred feet inland. The bridge merges with a road, with turns twinning off either side. A few parking lots are scattered through the area, one almost directly off the branching road.
Mihawk drives his carriage off the road and down the branching path to the parking lot. He pulls in, his horses snickering. They must be restless from having been walking for the last few hours. Mihawk rolls to a stop and hops off the bench. He goes into the carriage itself and pulls free two feed bags and two water bottles with spouts on the top. He also gets towels and a brush, and returns to the horses.
The horses happily feed from their bags that Mihawk hangs from their necks before he gets started on brushing and wiping down their bodies. Sweat coats their coarse fur. Mihawk wipes it gently, soothing them as he goes.
It’s not long before Mihawk discovers he is not alone. He ignores the presences lurking by the edge of the parking lot, instead looking to adjust the tires on his carriage. He bends down with a screwdriver to do just that.
The whirr of wheels against pavement comes closer. Then, feet step down and crunch on the dirt and rocks underfoot.
“Nice ride!” the speaker sounds no older than a teenager. He says this with a snort, approaching Mihawk. “Oi! Did you hear me? I said nice ride!” the boy repeats when Mihawk doesn’t look up.
Mihawk says nothing. He stands and walks to the other wheel. He tightens the screws on it as well.
“What, are you dumb, too?” another kid says with a laugh.
“Guys, he’s trying to be cool,” this kid is still on his scooter, leaning on the handlebars. “Hey, old guy! Where can you even go with a couple of horses?”
They all laugh. Mihawk stands. He’s finished with the wheels. Now to check the axles.
Mihawk crouches. He bends under the carriage to check, when a foot suddenly stomps down on the carriage step, right next to Mihawk’s face.
“I don’t like your attitude,” the first kid sneers. “Acting like you’re better than us, huh?”
Mihawk stares at the foot. He sighs, then looks up finally at the kid.
“I don’t have the time to play with fools like yourselves,” Mihawk says, tone bored.
“Oh, he speaks!” the second kid laughs. He’s chewing gum loudly, the gum snapping and popping between his teeth. “Hey, weird guy, are you a vampire or something?”
Mihawk isn’t moved much, though a tinge of annoyance strikes him. The vampire thing is rather old. He lifts himself to stand, sensing this could become a physical altercation quite easily.
The teen, and he is no older than fifteen at the most, sneers at him. “What? You wanna fight?”
Mihawk sighs again, this time rolling his eyes. “Am I meant to be impressed?”
“You better fuckin’ be!” the teen steps up into his face. Mihawk grabs him by the wrist and flips him in an instant, foot against the teen’s neck and arm in a hold.
The other teens stumble back, swearing.
“Do you wish to continue?” Mihawk asks the boy beneath him. The kid shakes his head, shaking. Mihawk lets go of his arm and steps back. The kid scrambles to his feet and rushes to join his friends.
They all turn heel and run, hopping on their bikes.
“Crazy asshole!” the teen Mihawk had pinned down yells as they zip out of the parking lot.
Mihawk watches them go. Behind him, his horse snickers.
“Yes, indeed,” Mihawk agrees. He moves to turn away, when something catches his eye from beyond where the boys had fled. Hiding behind a wall, peering out at him, is something rather pink.
Mihawk stares. The pink thing moves, revealing itself to be a head of hair on a young child. She’s poking her head out further now, big round eyes staring at him in awe. She has pale skin, pale as Mihawk, and a black dress with pink frills.
She steps out from hiding. She’s holding a stuffed bear, stitched together with blue fabric. It has a face mask over its mouth. Maybe he talked too much.
Mihawk watches the girl approach. She stops a few feet away and looks at his horses.
“Your horses are cute. Your wagon is ugly, though,” she wrinkles her nose. “It’s all black and dumb. It should be pink like a princess’s.”
“Is that so?” Mihawk crouches back next to his axle and dips his head under the carriage. Everything looks to be in order. He stands and walks over to check the other axle.
“What are you doing?” the little girl asks. She walks around his carriage to the front. “Hi horsies! Sorry your master is dull and doesn’t know how to decorate.”
Mihawk finds himself amused by the girl. As he stands and brushes off his pants, he replies:
“I am checking my vehicle after the long journey. It has traveled a long time and must rest soon,” he pats the carriage.
The girl nods. “He needs to sleep. I get it,” she lifts up her teddy bear. “Kumacy sleeps all afternoon, the lazy bum. He won’t even stay up long enough for tea!” she pouts.
“A young girl like yourself drinks tea?” Mihawk asks.
The girl looks insulted. “Of course I drink tea like any dainty girl of nobility should!” she lifts her chin, looking down her nose at him. “I am a princess, after all.”
“I had no idea I was with royalty,” Mihawk bows his head to humor the girl, then climbs onto his carriage and sits.
The little girl walks over to the passenger side. She stares at him. Mihawk stares back.
She stomps her foot.
“Aren’t you going to invite me to ride with you?” she huffs.
Mihawk laughs, which comes out as a huff of air rushing past his lips. He studies her.
“Shouldn’t nobility know better than to ride with strangers?”
The little girl frowns. She looks to be thinking, then grins. She climbs into the driver's seat and sticks out her hand.
“I’m Perona. Now I’m not a stranger.”
Mihawk stares. He blinks. Perona keeps her hand held out, holding his gaze. Finally, he lifts a hand and shakes hers.
“Dracule Mihawk,” He says.
“Such a strange name.” Perona laughs. “How outdated!”
Mihawk doesn’t say anything. He agrees that his name is rather old sounding. It’s no wonder people compare him to a vampire.
He turns forward and picks up his reins. The horses have been fed and watered, and they nicker and snort impatiently. Mihawk sets them at a trot. He rolls out of the parking lot and onto the road.
Perona hugs her teddy bear tightly. “Those hooligans like to cause trouble in my kingdom,” she says. She looks down her nose at the city as they ride by. “Such dirty inbred fools!”
Mihawk does look at her at that, just a flick of the eyes.
“Your vocabulary is quite extensive for a young girl.”
“Of course! Nobility must be well educated,” Perona studies her nails. They’re prim, trimmed and even.
Mihawk notices a dirt stain on the sleeve of her dress. He doesn’t comment.
“Nobility must also know who shares their status,” she looks at him. “I sensed you were a noble.”
“And you deigned to speak to me?” Mihawk asks. He doesn’t mean anything harsh by it, only simple curiosity pushing him to ask.
“Of course,” Perona smiles. “Then we can be friends.”
Mihawk rolls past a diner. Perona’s stomach growls.
“You’re hungry.”
Perona blushes. “Princesses need their nutrients. Of course I’m hungry,” she hugs her teddy bear tightly.
Mihawk hums. His horse and buggy draw quite a bit of attention. Perona is waving at people who go past, hand twisting the way princesses of old would do.
Mihawk pulls off the road and into a diner parking lot. He finds shade for his horses and slows to a stop. He turns to Perona.
“We shall eat, then”
Perona smiles. “Perfect.”
◇
Inside the diner, the benches are plastic and hot. It’s noisy. Perona wrinkles her nose.
“We shall have to make do,” Perona nods to herself. She chooses a booth and lays down napkins over the seat before sitting.
Mihawk sits opposite her. It’s been years since he’s been in a diner. He forgot how… charming they were.
Perona looks down her nose around them.
“Such a boorish locale,” she sighs.
A waitress comes to their table. Perona orders orange juice, waffles topped with whipped cream and sprinkles, and a fruit bowl.
Mihawk orders black coffee. The waitress leaves in a hurry.
Perona stares at Mihawk. “Why are you so weird?” she asks.
“I could ask the same of you,” Mihawk says, mouth twitching.
“I’m better than these foolish peasants, trotting along like im-bell-souls,” she huffs. “If that means I’m weird, so be it.”
“You don’t mind.”
“Why would I care?” Perona hugs her teddy bear. “Kumacy will always be my friend, so who cares?”
“Kumacy is your bear.”
Perona nods. “He’s my best friend. The boys try to take him away, but I always get him back,” she smirks.
The waitress returns with their food. Perona claps excitedly as her meal is placed before her. She takes a napkin and tucks it into her collar, then picks up a knife and fork and begins cutting into her waffle tower.
Mihawk sips his coffee.
“So, what are you here for?” Perona asks after swallowing a bite.
“Do you not believe I live here?” Mihawk asks her.
“Well, you came across the bridge. And I’ve never seen your horse and buggy in town before,” Perona takes a sip of her juice. She smiles.
“Do you often watch that bridge?”
“Well, duh. How else will I know when my dad will come home?” Perona asks. Her eyes widen a fraction and she looks hurriedly down at her meal, pushing her food around on her plate. “Not that I’m always waiting!”
She takes a bite of food. She looks away, chewing daintily.
Now that Mihawk is not driving, he can really take a look at this girl. Her dress looks prim from afar, but up close he can see stains covering the dark parts. There’s also the smell. She stinks of unwashed laundry and no showers. That combined with her dirty clothes gives Mihawk pause.
“Where does this princess of New Orleans live?” Mihawk asks, deciding to be delicate.
Perona keeps chewing. She swallows, dabs her mouth, then takes a sip of juice.
“On the hill,” she answers after a beat.
“Ah, where all royalty goes,” Mihawk says.
“You don’t believe me?” Perona huffs. She takes another bite. She chews angrily, then swallows. She’s thinking hard.
“W-well what if I show you where I live?” Perona sits up. “I can show you where my family is!”
“If you insist,” Mihawk sips his coffee.
“I do! I so do!” Perona stabs her waffle and stuffs it into her mouth, a little less dainty than what she was doing before.
She finishes everything on her plate and drinks her juice dry. Mihawk pays and they leave. The horses are watered while Perona sits in the driver’s seat.
She’s fiddling with her teddy bear when he joins her on the bench.
“I’ll guide you,” Perona says, all poise once more. She points lazily towards the driveway. “Forward. Then right.”
Mihawk follows the girl’s instructions. She leads him into the heart of the city. People honk, people stare, and Perona just laughs at them, nose turned up. For a young girl no older than seven at least, she certainly knows the city well. She points down a thin street off the main road, then to an alley.
She presents the building with both arms.
“See? I live here. In the theater,” she smiles. “Pretty fancy, right?”
Mihawk looks up at the building. He steps out of his carriage. “How convenient.” he says. “My appointment is here.”
Perona’s eyes bug out. “W-what?” she looks back at the theater. “What do you mean!?”
“I have business here,” Mihawk steps around the back of his carriage and pulls back the curtain. He pulls free a bag, then lets the curtain drop once more.
Perona watches him.
“Will you be joining?” Mihawk asks.
Perona squeezes her teddy bear. “O-of course. It’s my home.”
Mihawk leads the way into the theater. It’s the center for an international competition for swordfighting, the reason Mihawk came to New Orleans in the first place. Many other swordsmen are inside, chatting or sitting around.
Perona walks a little closer to Mihawk. She clings to his coat as they pass by.
“Dracule Mihawk!” someone shouts. It’s a young man, some ten years his junior. “My fellow master!”
Mihawk sighs. He turns to face the man.
“Bobby Slay,” he greets.
Bobby has purple buzzed hair and a thick unibrow. He’s wearing black athletic clothes, wielding his sword in its sheath.
“What is this? Your kid?” Bobby looks down at Perona.
“A guest,” Mihawk replies. “As you were,” he turns to go.
Bobby stops him with a hand on his arm. Mihawk stares down at that hand silently. Bobby slowly retracts it.
“Don’t you want to spar?” Bobby asks.
“No,” Mihawk replies, and this time manages to leave without anyone stopping him.
Perona looks up at him.
“So you have people like that, too,” she says.
“So it seems,” Mihawk replies.
He finds the sign-in table. After he fills out the proper paperwork and waivers, he’s handed a room key.
Mihawk finds his room on the second floor, in an old dressing room. While he sets up his space and begins his stretches, Perona wanders around the space. She traces some old lights and stares into the mirror.
“This sword fighting business of yours is rather brutish,” Perona says, turning to him. “But I will attend. Princesses must be dutiful.”
Mihawk doesn’t say anything. He just stretches.
♡
During Mihawk's competition, Perona finds herself sitting near the front row. She’s surrounded by men of all ages, dressed in a variety of ways. Perona isn’t sure exactly what constitutes good sword fighting, but she can still tell Mihawk is better than anyone else here. He wins every fight within seconds.
She claps as he wins yet another round.
During a match between two other fighters who aren’t Mihawk, Perona looks for the bathroom. She finds it. When she’s done, she leaves, ready to keep watching.
Instead, she’s met with a wall of flesh. She bounces back.
“You fools!” Perona stumbles. She catches herself and looks up at the boys blocking her way. She recognizes them from earlier that day as the teenagers that had been harrassing Mihawk in the parking lot.
“Oh, look, it’s the princess of New Orleans,” one boy sneers. He looks down at her with disgust.
“Hey, look at this ugly thing!” the one in the middle grabs Kumacy. Perona tries to take him back.
“Get your filthy hands off of him!” Perona jumps.
The boy holds it over his head. “You want it? You really want it back?” He laughs and pushes Perona down. “You’re never getting him back this time!”
They laugh at her where she lays on the ground. She glares up at them.
“Filthy ingrates!” she screams. “Pigs!!”
They laugh. Perona gets to her feet and stomps after them down the hall. They reach the main lobby and are through the front doors. Perona follows them.
They don’t notice her.
Perona didn’t tell Mihawk about it. It’s a secret only she and her father know about, but it’s why Perona can sneak behind the boys without being detected. Even when they look right at her… It’s like she’s not even there. Unless she wants to be.
Ghost girl. That’s what her father always called her.
Perona follows the boys down the street. They stop at an intersection. The boys choose the street with a bridge. Over the bridge, the boy holding Kumacy tosses him. The doll lands in the water below.
Perona runs over to the bridge. The boys are already walking away, laughing. Perona sticks her tongue out at them before looking over the railing. Kumacy is facedown and floating away.
Perona runs to the slope of grass leading down to the river below. She skids on rocks and dirt, sliding down to the bank of the river. Shrubs and thick vines block her way. Perona fights her way through them until she reaches the edge of the water.
Kumacy is floating out in the center of the river. Perona checks to see if the coast is clear. It is, then, she turns back to her doll and lifts her right hand.
As she does so, Kumacy in the river lifts as well, rising a couple of inches off the water's surface. Perona curls her fingers and Kumacy floats across the water’s surface towards her. When he’s close enough, she grabs the soaking wet bear, water squeezing out of his fur between her fingers. He’s cold, and covered in grime, but Perona hugs him to her chest anyway.
“No one will take you from me,” Perona promises him. “Now, you need a bath,” she sighs.
Perona crawls back through the underbrush to reach the road. She looks around with a sigh. She lost Mihawk. She could probably make it back, but Kumacy is soaked and desperately needs her help.
Perona walks down the familiar streets of home until she reaches a park. She sits under a tree and wrings out Kumacy.
She leans against the tree. So much for her new friend. At least she got a free meal out of it.
Perona closes her eyes. She drifts off, dozing for a few hours. When she comes to, the sun is setting. Perona yawns. Her stomach growls.
Maybe the soup kitchen is open. Perona stands and stretches. Kumacy is still damp but he’s not dripping like before.
“Is it common practice for princesses to sleep outdoors?” a voice asks and Perona jumps.
Mihawk is standing over her. His horse and buggy are down the hill from the park, parked off the side of the road.
“I was just napping,” Perona says.
“Perhaps you would care for supper?” Mihawk asks.
Perona gapes at him. She slams her mouth shut and struggles to find words for a moment. She’s not used to such straightforward kindness.
“Of course,” she says finally. “Only the finest for me.”
“As you wish,” Mihawk says. His mouth quirks just slightly. Perona follows him back to his buggy and climbs onto the driver's bench.
They pull off from the side and merge into traffic. Somehow, the horses remain calm. People stare. Perona waves at them.
“An interesting power, you have there,” Mihawk says suddenly, and Perona turns sharply towards him.
“Huh?” Perona demands.
“Your telekinesis,” Mihawk says plainly.
Perona frowns at the strange word. “My what?”
“Telekinesis,” Mihawk replies. “The ability to move objects and bodies with the mind.”
“Oh,” Perona fiddles with Kumacy. The wet fabric soaks into her dress. “Uh… you saw that?”
Mihawk nods once. “You lifted Kumacy from the river.”
“‘Cause those big dumb mean boys took him,” Perona huffs.
“Perhaps we should teach those boys a lesson,” Mihawk almost smiles. Perona stares. “Should a time come.”
Perona smiles. “Hah! I’d like that!” she pauses. “So… you don’t think I’m a freak? Because of my powers?”
“I drive a horse and buggy in the year 2007,” Mihawk says. “I am by many people’s definitions, something of a freak myself.”
Perona stares. She squeezes Kumacy, the bear soaking her dress and the fabric sticking to her skin.
“That’s why I spoke to you,” she admits. “‘Cause of your horsies…”
“Would you like to know their names?” Mihawk asks. Perona nods. “It’s Laurent and Claudia.”
Perona repeats the names, rolling them around in her mouth.
“Where are you from?” She asks.
“The east,” Mihawk replies.
“Like in a mansion?”
“A haunted one.”
“Cool,” Perona smiles. “I’ve always wanted to stay in a haunted castle. Such gloom and doom always raises my spirits!” she sighs dreamily.
Mihawk finds somewhere quiet for them to dine. Perona orders clams for an entree, her stomach growling.
While they wait for their food, Perona grills Mihawk.
“What’s your job?”
“Swordsman.”
“That’s a job?”
“It can be.”
“How old are you?”
“Old.”
“Do you have any friends?”
“No.”
“Me neither. Besides Kumacy,” Perona is happy about this fact. Most people are beneath her notice. She doesn’t need anyone.
“Some prefer solitude,” Mihawk looks a little sad suddenly, just a hint and it’s gone.
But Perona has always been good at picking up on people’s minute mood changes. She notices the sadness in his bright eyes, no matter how quickly it flashes.
“Well, it’s what happens when a princess consorts with the masses,” Perona tells Mihawk, the same as she tells herself.
Their food arrives. Perona stares in awe at the large portion on her plate. She hasn’t seen this much food in such a long time. Her stomach growls.
She tucks in with enthusiasm. The giant plate of pasta in a thick tomato and cheese sauce is the best thing she’s eaten since that morning when she had the waffles. She stuffs her face full, manners forgotten as her stomach feels like an empty pit. The more she eats the hungrier she feels. She hasn’t eaten like this in years.
“Enjoying your meal?” a waitress asks as she walks by. She’s smiling at Perona.
Perona blushes. She takes her napkin and dabs at the corners of her mouth, then picks up her fork and continues to eat, slower now.
Perona looks up at Mihawk. The man is sipping wine and cutting into a steak. He hasn’t said a word, not that Perona minds. She likes quiet people.
After their meal, they leave the restaurant. As they stand on the curb, Perona suddenly feels sad.
They’ll have to part here. Perona hasn’t spent quality time with another person in years. She squeezes her teddy bear. He isn’t as damp now, just a bit cold.
“Thank you for the meal,” Perona says. Her mouth wobbles slightly. “And for talking to me.”
“I did not talk much,” Mihawk sounds a little amused.
“That’s good. I don’t like people who talk too much. They are so not cute,” Perona traces the ground with her toe. She doesn’t want to leave, if she’s being honest.
She takes a breath. “Would it be okay if I came back tomorrow? To watch you fight?”
“I expect so,” Mihawk gestures for them to walk. Perona perks up, looking at him excitedly. He leads the way to his carriage. “Will you need a ride home?”
“No!” Perona bounces on her heels. “I can find my way! I’ll see you tomorrow!” She’s so happy that she skips away, swinging Kumacy along. Unknown to her, Mihawk watches, amused.
Perona sings to herself as she skips down the street. She ducks under an overpass and follows the train tracks under a building. She knows these streets well, so navigating them even at night is no problem.
Perona walks until she’s in the nicer neighborhood, where the buildings are old brownstones covered in ivy with big, fancy windows. The sidewalks here are wide and have potted trees following the street. A woman stands on her second floor balcony, smoking and watching the street below.
Perona ducks into an alley. She knows this area best, because she’s been living there for the last three years. Her home is a wooden shed, abandoned behind an old bakery. The shed had been for supplies, likely, since there are a couple large sacks of flour still inside.
Perona sits on the floor. Her belly is full for the first time in years. She leans back against the wall and enjoys the feeling.
She wonders if Mihawk will be as gracious tomorrow as he was today. She wonders if he’ll get tired of her like her parents did. She hopes not.
Mihawk seems kind. She doesn’t want to lose this one.
♡
The theater is slightly more full today than it was yesterday. Perona finds a seat near the front and plops Kumacy down in the seat next to her. All around are competitors, as well as audience members like Perona.
She spies the boys from yesterday.
Perona doesn’t slink down or hide. No princess would hide from such brutes. She turns to the front and watches the fighters.
Mihawk doesn’t get called until about an hour later. When he enters the stage, a murmur goes through the crowd.
“It’s really him!” one guy says. “I can’t believe he actually came!”
“No way. He never shows up anymore.”
“What’s the point of the other competitors? He’s obviously going to win.”
Perona watches Mihawk. He doesn’t look towards the audience as he walks, instead staring at his opponent.
The man in the striped shirt watching the two swordsman waves a hand, then drops it down between them while blowing a whistle. He jumps back as the swordsmen unsheathe and circle each other.
The swordsman who isn’t Mihawk lunges. Mihawk deflects his blade almost lazily, stepping into his space and striking with the flat of his blade against the man’s stomach.
The man wheezes but manages to collect himself long enough to try another strike. Mihawk dodges this one and lands another hit against the man’s back.
“Effortless,” someone behind Perona breathes.
Perona isn’t particularly impressed. So what if Mihawk is good with a sword? She can move things with her mind. She’s so much cooler. And cuter.
“Hey, pinkie,” someone suddenly says in Perona’s ear. Perona jumps, slapping her hand over her ear and turning to glare at the boy standing behind her. It’s the same one who took Kumacy. Perona grabs her bear and hugs it, glaring at him.
“What do you want?” she demands.
“You still have that bear?” The kid laughs. “He’s probably covered in gross shit. You’re nasty.”
“He is not!” Perona hugs her bear tighter. “He’s perfectly healthy. Now, go away!”
“Ooh, she’s spicy today,” the kid flicks her ear.
Perona flinches. “Ow!” She leans away from him. “You’re being rude! And gross! And so not cute!”
“I don’t wanna be cute,” the kid grabs her bear. He’s much stronger than her and yanks it out of her grip with ease. Perona hears something tear.
Tears spring up in her eyes. “No!” she jumps up, shouting. She draws attention doing this, the fighters on stage and Mihawk in particular. “Don’t hurt him!”
“He’s just a dumb bear,” the kid holds Kumacy up by his ear. “I threw him in the river yesterday. What do you think today, boys?” he looks back at his friends.
“Let’s burn him!” One of the boys yells. He’s tall and wears glasses. “I got a kiln back at my house. Let’s throw him in there!”
“Nice,” the boys laugh and go to walk away.
Perona stumbles out of her seat and runs after them. “Stop!! No!!” she cries, jumping to try and reach Kumacy where the kid holds him over his head. Perona follows the boys out of the theater and into the lobby, then through the main doors. “Stop!! Give him back!!” Perona sobs. When the boys just laugh, she growls, then charges, jumping and clinging to the boy’s back. “Give him to me!!” Perona claws at the boy’s face and neck, screaming.
“Ow! Ow! What the fuck, get off of me!” the teen yells, trying to shake Perona off. She bites his ear, refusing to let go.
“Not until you give me back Kumacy!!” Perona shrieks.
Suddenly, hands are on her and pulling her off. Perona thrashes in their grip, screaming as loudly as she can. People look into the alley, but no one comes close.
“Crazy fucking bitch!” the teen clings to his ear.
Perona hisses, mouth full of blood.
Suddenly, the boys stiffen. The one with the glasses gapes at something behind Perona.
Perona takes advantage of their distraction and glances behind them, where a stack of crates sits piled up. Perona moves her fingers in that direction and the crate moves. It’s heavy.
“Oh, shit, he’s coming this way!” the teen holding Kumacy stumbles back. Perona moves one hand behind her back, then aims for the crate. She flicks her wrist behind her back towards the boy.
The crate flies off the stack and smashes into the back of the teen’s head. He crumples like a doll with its strings cut, Kumacy falling too.
The other teens shriek, running. Only one stops to pick up the unconscious teen, and he drags him away.
Perona huffs.
“Idiots.” she says, standing. She walks over to Kumacy and picks him up. She dusts him off, then turns around.
Mihawk has his athletic bag with him, and a bored expression.
“Indeed,” he agrees.
Perona looks at his bag. “Are you leaving?” She asks, heart sinking.
Mihawk tilts his head, studying her. “Yes,” he says after a beat. “This competition bores me.”
“Me too. Who cares who’s best at stabbing people? I would much rather watch a cake decorating competition.”
“It is a rather brutish activity,” Mihawk’s mouth twitches upward. “Perhaps I should take up cake decorating.”
Perona stares at him. She hugs Kumacy.
“So… you’re really leaving, then?”
“I have no other business in this city,” Mihawk stares back.
“Oh,” Perona fiddles with her bear. “Well, I guess this is goodbye…”
“Perhaps not,” Mihawk says. He looks away, back towards his horse and buggy parked in the nearby parking lot. “It is a rather long journey. Company would be appreciated.”
Perona blinks at him.
Is he…?
Perona doesn’t want to get her hopes up. Many times before she’s been disappointed, hurt by people and their selfishness.
But Mihawk is simply staring at her as though he expects her to say yes.
She wants to say yes. She…
“Well, I guess I will have to grace you with my presence, then.”
Mihawk smiles. “Good.”
♡
Fifteen years later.
“Stop struggling!!” Perona huffs, dragging on the green-haired teen’s arm. “I recognize a lost soul desperate for help!”
“I’m not lost!” the teen tries to escape. Perona flicks her fingers at his shoelaces and they tie, tripping the teen. The guy squawks, flailing before falling flat on his face. Perona huffs a laugh.
She drags him to his feet. “C’mon! Just a little-” she breaks through the treeline surrounding Mihawk’s mansion. Her familiar path winds through the branchy trees and thorned shrubs up to the front door.
Perona drags the teen with her, and all the way up the steps. She opens the door with a jerk of her chin. It swings inward noiselessly.
“Mihawk!!” Perona shouts. “We need to help this poor boy!!”
Her words echo around the foyer. The green-haired teen gapes at the interior decoration. It’s rather gaudy, and very ostentatious.
He seems to remember himself. He frowns at her. “I don’t want your help!”
“You think you don’t-”
“I really don’t-”
“Roronoa,” Mihawk appears at the top of the stairs. “You’ve grown.”
Perona looks between the green haired boy and Mihawk. “You know him?”
“Hawk-Eye!?” the teen’s jaw drops.
“Oh. You’re a sword nerd,” Perona sighs. “And here I thought it would be something interesting,” she rolls her eyes. “I’ll go prepare your room.”
“I’m not staying!” the teen yells at her.
Perona floats up the stairs, pausing long enough at the top to stick her tongue out at him. “Yes, you are!”
Perona floats away, listening to the conversation continue behind her. The teen is shouting at Mihawk, then a sword is pulled.
Perona sighs.
And so, their family grew.