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Zoro’s wanted a lot of things in life.
The title of the world’s strongest swordsman, a drink strong enough to actually get him drunk, money. The usual stuff.
But right now there’s nothing Zoro wants more than getting off this damn island.
“—and that’s why white wine will always be the classier option. You need to pay more attention to these things, Mihawk! Your image is at stake here!”
If he has to hear another word about wine, the only stake Zoro is interested in is the kind he can impale himself with. It’s either that or using all three of his swords simultaneously.
Zoro groans, slamming his head onto the antique dining table hard enough to distract himself with the pain. If Perona’s shitty ghosts weren’t enough to kill the mood, her incessant and obnoxious talking would do the trick.
Eyes shut and face scrunched in pain, Zoro can’t see Perona anymore, but he hears her huff and can instantly picture the eye-rolling, lip-pursing combo she’s constantly doing when he’s in the vicinity.
Mihawk, on the other hand, seems to be surprisingly tolerant of the pink-haired pirate (currently inhabiting his house rent-free), and he hums in acknowledgement at Perona’s words.
(Zoro’s wondered for months now why Perona doesn’t seem to want to leave, and now he’s sure it’s because she has no friends. He’s only a little sad for her; the countless number of times she’s sicced her creepy apparitions on him has robbed him of his sympathy.)
Zoro hears the rustling of paper, and knows Mihawk is flipping a page in today’s edition of the World Economy News; a year of living on Kuraigana and Zoro feels like he’s learnt enough about the eccentric swordsman to predict exactly what the older man is about to say.
Is that so, Zoro mouths to himself mockingly, his face still hidden from view. Not that it would matter if they saw, of course, given the thick skin both his housemates possess.
“Is that so.”
Zoro rolls his eyes. Should the world’s strongest swordsman really be this predictable?
The response – however tepid – only seems to urge Perona on.
“Yes, you’ve spent way too much time holed up on this dinky island to know these things, but you can trust me. I’m in the third best wine club on the Grand Line, after all,” comes Perona’s snotty voice, accompanied by the tinkling of what is presumably tea being poured into a cup. Or maybe it’s wine, because it’s Perona and it’s 9 AM and anything is possible in this fucking house.
“What, couldn’t make it to the top two?” Zoro snorts, face still squashed against the table.
Perona kicks his shin in retaliation, forgetting yet again that Zoro largely no longer feels much pain below the knee. (Something about severed nerves being reattached, Chopper had said. Maybe trying to cut his own feet off hadn’t been the wisest decision at the time, but it sure is proving to be useful now.)
“Stuff it, mosshead! I’ll have you know I’m a certified wine expert, while you probably can’t even read.”
“A whine expert? Exactly,” mutters Zoro, finally lifting his head to find Perona glaring at him from across the table. He needs to finish his breakfast before Mihawk sends him off to train again, but it’s a little difficult concentrating on soggy oats when someone can’t seem to shut the hell up.
“Hah, it’s not like you’d know anything that doesn’t involve swords, you uncivilised buffoon.”
“Whatever you say, Bug Eyes.”
“My eyes are a normal size, unlike your—”
“Now, now children.” Mihawk gives them both a disapproving look over the top of his newspaper. “Your advice is noted, Perona. Perhaps I will consider expanding my collection.”
Perona smiles smugly at that, stirring the dark liquid in her cup with greater enthusiasm than before. Zoro still isn’t certain if it’s tea or wine, but at this point, would it make a difference?
Mihawk turns to stare placidly at Zoro, eyes unblinking in that creepy manner unique to the swordsman. “Zoro, I believe your breakfast is getting cold.”
Zoro rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time, turning his attention back to the bowl in front of him. At times like this he really misses that shitty blonde cook, but Zoro would rather cut his legs off (again) than admit that.
So he lets the sound of Perona stirring tea (or wine) and Mihawk serenely reading the paper wash over him like white noise, as he works his way through the oats. He’s got some monkey butt to kick today.
***
“Hm. So that’s how you use it.”
“Pretty neat, isn’t it? Now you can stop using your good knives on your precious bottles. Cooking is so hard when the blades are all blunt and awful like that.”
“You don’t cook, Perona.”
“T-that doesn’t change the fact that blunt knives are bad for cooking!”
Zoro’s just coming back from another day of getting his ass kicked by Mihawk’s goblin monkeys (he’s pretty sure they’re on steroids, but he doesn’t want to sound like a sore loser so he refrains from asking to confirm this), and stops on his way to his room when he hears voices.
Mihawk and Perona are in the kitchen, peering at a strange contraption in Mihawk’s hand. It looks like a torture device, a sharp twisty thing protruding out of a wooden piece. A new weapon, maybe? Zoro makes to enter the kitchen and find out, but now Perona’s pulling out a bottle of wine, and nope, no thank you.
Zoro backtracks immediately, hearing that annoying voice start off on another monologue on the “importance of using high quality tools” and the “preservation of vintage wine”, and it’s almost enough to send him back outside to the monkeys. He loves alcohol as much as the next emotionally constipated pirate, but isn’t this a bit much? Maybe he needs to sign her up for an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting or something.
Zoro shudders, and jogs up the stairs to the first floor, eager to be out of hearing range.
***
“What are you doing?”
Perona looks up from where she’s seated in one of the many parlours in the manor, neon pink glasses balanced on her nose. Zoro’s no fashion expert, but even he can see that they’re clashing terribly with her hair and tries not to laugh.
Stacks and stacks of papers are littered across the coffee table before Perona, a few sheets having escaped onto the floor, and they’re all marked with red ink. The older pirate has a pen dangling between her fingers, a pink pom-pom at the end of it.
Perona looks uncharacteristically studious, as if she’s suddenly taken an interest in reading something that’s not her suspiciously named ‘graphic novels’. (Zoro’s too afraid to ask why the characters on the covers are always in some state of undress.)
It makes Zoro wary, and he backs away a step in case she’s planning another shower schedule for him.
Perona looks up, immediately clicking her tongue when her gaze lands on Zoro. “Oh, it’s you. I’ll have you know I’m actually compiling all of the information I can find on starting a winery—”
“Forget I asked.”
Perona narrows her eyes, and points an accusing finger at him. The effect is undercut by the different frightening shades of pink on her person, and the urge to laugh only gets stronger.
“Could you show a little interest in the family business, twerp?”
“We’re not a family and what Mihawk does with his property is not my problem. And honestly? It’s not yours either. Find something better to do with your time, ‘Rona.”
“Excuse me, is that any way to talk to your sister?”
“You’re not my sister. Also, while we’re on the topic, stop teaching Mihawk gross shit.”
“Gross shit? What the hell does that mean?”
Zoro leans against one of the sofas in the room, swords tucked under his arms. His body hurts in three separate places from today’s training, but at least he’d managed to beat up those monkeys and walk away in one piece. A win is a win, and it’s given him more patience than usual.
“Earlier I heard him on the transponder snail talking to you-know-who and he said ‘I will rizz you up so terribly you won’t know what hit you.’ I don’t know what that means, but the way you-know-who laughed made me think it’s something gross. Which obviously means Mihawk learnt it from you, so quit it.”
Perona looks shifty, her eyes everywhere but on Zoro. Then she straightens up and tosses her curly hair, posture haughty once more.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Also, you know you can just say his name, there’s nothing wrong with Mihawk’s boyfriend—”
“I’d rather not.”
“Are you homophobic, mosshead?”
“Don’t call me that.”
Perona's beady eyes glint behind those ridiculous glasses.
”Which part?”
Zoro groans. “I don’t have time for this. Look, just stop…whatever it is you’re doing, okay? It won’t end well.”
He stalks back out towards his room, leaving Perona to her bullshit. His dislike for Mihawk’s boy toy is none of anyone’s business, least of all hers. Only ten more months and then he’s out of here, thank fuck.
(Two hours later Zoro ends up in the library on the other side of the castle, and ignores the ghost that peeps out from the wall to laugh at him.)
***
Perona – predictably – completely disregards Zoro’s warning. It’s just Zoro’s luck that he finds out the consequences of her actions in the worst way possible.
After an indefinite amount of time spent circling the expansive backyard (which somehow manages to change formation every day), Zoro finally finds his way to the kitchen, in search of an evening snack.
Walking in, he sees Mihawk standing by the sink, wine bottle in hand and a deep frown on his face. Only someone who’s spent as much time with Mihawk as Zoro has would know the minute difference between his resting face and a look of consternation – it’s not every day that Dracule Mihawk is stumped, and it makes Zoro immediately curious.
“Something wrong?”
Mihawk looks up at the sound of Zoro’s voice, and his frown deepens, teetering dangerously into ‘angry’ territory.
Zoro fights the urge to grab his swords in self-defence, and walks closer despite the look in Mihawk’s eyes. The bottle in the older man’s hand looks fine to Zoro, but maybe it’s gone bad? Does alcohol go bad? Did Zoro accidentally finish off a vintage again?
(He hopes it’s not the latter because he really doesn’t have the funds to make it up to Mihawk, not with the mountain of debt he owes a certain navigator that’s most definitely accruing a psychotic amount of interest.)
Mihawk sniffs, voice flatter than usual.
“It appears I have been cork blocked.”
Zoro can’t help when his mouth drops open in shock. He’s seen a lot in his time on the Merry, so he’s not easily stunned anymore. But maybe a giant singing whale isn’t quite as jarring as what he just heard.
Against his will, images of one red-haired pirate flash through his mind, and he shudders, stomach churning. On the one hand, Zoro is glad that Mihawk seems to have grown fond of his presence and actually talks to him, but on the other he definitely does NOT want to know anything about his mentor’s sex life.
Since when has Mihawk felt comfortable sharing this information anyway?
Damned Perona.
“Uh. What?”
“I do not intend on repeating myself. Please rectify this immediately, as I can only assume you have something to do with it.”
If it were possible, Zoro’s jaw would’ve dropped further.
“I…what? Me? I’m the reason you’re…”
“Cork blocked, yes.”
“How, what…How is that even possible?”
“Honestly Roronoa, do you plan to ask me questions all evening or will you get to fixing this?”
Zoro’s at a loss for words. What the fuck is Mihawk talking about?
He stands there staring for god knows how long until Mihawk threatens to brain him with the aforementioned bottle. So clutching his swords close to his chest, Zoro hurries out of the room, circling the house for a few minutes (hours?) until he finds the common snail transponder on the second floor.
As if in a trance, he dials a number he’s memorised for emergency purposes, feeling like his soul might be slowly leaving his body.
A click signals the call being picked up, and then a familiar voice is filtering through the receiver, cheery and irritating. It does little to shake Zoro out of the daze he’s found himself in.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Luffy’s friend?”
“Mihawk is pissed. Said something about...yeah, never mind that. Can you get over here?”
“Hawky-chan asked for me?! I’ll be right there!”
—
“What is he doing here?”
“You asked me to fix the situation so that’s what I’m doing. Perona’s not home and I’ll be over on the farthest wing of the castle for the night, so um, take your time.”
“Excuse you?” Mihawk’s face has contorted into one of genuine confusion, but Zoro is more bothered by the way the older man’s cheeks are turning increasingly pink as Red Hair Shanks waltzes into the dining hall, whistling a jaunty tune.
“Hawky-chan, it’s so rare for you to call for me! I have to say it makes me really happy, ehehe.”
Hehe? Did Red Hair Shanks, renowned Emperor of the Sea, just giggle like a teenager?
Shanks grins impishly at Mihawk, twirling his hair in what Zoro assumes is a flirtatious manner. God, he’ll never understand how this shit works, but whatever floats Mihawk’s boat…
Mihawk turns stiffly away from the new arrival, and glares at Zoro hard enough for Zoro to feel a pinch from the haki. Oh, so the big man is pissed pissed.
Is it because Shanks hasn’t been by in some time…?
Another repulsed shudder wracks Zoro’s body, and he shuts the door firmly on that thought.
Mihawk sniffs, shooting Shanks a glare. The redhead ignores him, a placid smile on his face. “I don’t require his assistance, I just need a screw, child. Where can I find one?”
Zoro feels nauseous. He’s pretty sure he’s about a minute away from throwing up.
“You, um, you…you need a...screw?”
“Yes, child, surely at your age you would know this?”
Zoro backs away slowly, hand reaching for the hilts of his swords. This is getting weird and gross and he wants nothing to do with it, thank you very much.
Maybe Mihawk’s been possessed by whatever lustful creature seems to control Shanks.
“Okay, I uh, I don’t get what’s happening here Mihawk but I really don’t want to know what you do in the bedroom!”
“Bedroom? You can use it anywhere, you dolt. Preferably in the kitchen, it’s easier to clean up the mess. I really am surprised you don’t know this already!”
“You guys do this in the KITCHEN? WE EAT THERE!”
“Yes, and that is exactly why it is the most appropriate place to take your cork out. Roronoa, have you swung your swords at your head today?”
“THAT’S SERIOUSLY DISGUSTING MIHAWK, WHAT THE FUCK!”
Shanks hasn’t said a word so far, which is suspicious, but Zoro’s too panicked to observe the pirate any closer. He does, however, see the way Shanks has started to grin, as if he’s understood something that nobody else has, but has no interest in sharing.
Fucking Yonko.
“What’s disgusting is your language, boy. I didn’t raise you to speak such filth.”
“ME? FILTH? Mihawk, have you heard yourself in the last five minutes? Also, you didn’t raise me!”
“I don’t quite understand. I have simply spoken of my co—”
Shanks interrupts smoothly, wearing a look of simpering sympathy. Alarms immediately go off in Zoro’s head. This is not good.
“Oh, I think I get it, Hawky-chan. My dear Zoro, some things are better kept between adults, hm? Why don’t you run along and leave your father to me, I’m sure I know exactly what he needs.”
“You are so fucking gross. Also, he’s not my father, what the fuck!”
Zoro has to keep himself from running out of the room, choosing to walk away in a mature and composed manner. Maybe Mihawk has the patience to be called ‘Hawky-chan’ by an uncouth philanderer, but Zoro’s met his limit as of one year ago.
Only eight more months to go till he sees the crew again.
—
“You know,” says Shanks sometime later, propping his head up on Mihawk’s pillow, red hair curling boyishly around his handsome face, “When you said you were going to ‘rizz’ me up I didn’t think you meant it.”
“Make no mistake, Red Hair. I was under the impression it involved sword fighting. It appears I misunderstood.”
“Not entirely, just a different kind of sword, eh?”
Mihawk turns his head to glare at the redhead, momentarily unable to continue buttoning up his shirt when visions of what they just engaged in race through his mind.
Shanks promptly throws his head back and laughs, completely unapologetic as per usual. His lack of clothing doesn’t exactly help the overall situation, but it’s not as if Mihawk has any complaints about it. Not when he’s the reason the Yonko is currently in his bed stark naked.
“You’re depraved.”
“Mmm, yes, but?”
Mihawk sighs, taking in the wolfish grin on his paramour’s face and finding only a fondness in his chest.
“But I do enjoy your company.”
Shanks’ naughty grin morphs into something softer, more tender, and he tilts his head to the side to look at Mihawk in that way only Mihawk ever gets to see.
“I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”
Shanks moves across the bed to plant a kiss on Mihawk’s shoulder, and Mihawk feels himself flush hotly against his will. Some day he will learn to control the flow of blood to his face, but until then he will have to bear the Yonko’s childish teasing.
Shanks runs a finger down Mihawk's chest gently, before he pauses, as if remembering something.
“Not to kill your boner dear, but I think you traumatised the kid.”
“I beg your pardon?”
—
Mihawk, fresh from a shower and burdened by the weight of knowledge, finds Zoro outside, hacking angrily away at a clump of dead shrubbery, his arms taut with tension. Mihawk flushes in embarrassment at the thought of explaining himself, but he knows he must.
“Zoro.”
The green-haired child turns to look at him over his shoulder, eyebrows drawn together in a tight frown.
“What.”
“It appears I owe you an apology.”
Zoro scoffs, his swords only picking up speed.
“You think?”
Mihawk shifts a step to the left to avoid a stray branch that comes hurtling at his face, leaves and dried wood flying like shrapnel. He’s not sure if that was accidental or not, but decides to press on.
Mihawk clears his throat awkwardly, and searches for the right words.
“You see, Roronoa, how shall I say this, hm. I believed – and mistakenly so, I know now – that a young man of your age would be familiar with such methods. It may be unconventional but Perona’s wisdom on the matter has led me to believe that on occasion it is permissible for a particularly hard cork to be handled with a quality screw—”
Zoro whips his head around, face a concerning shade of green. It’s almost a match for the hair on his head, Mihawk notes absently.
“Don’t. Say. Another. Word.”
The dismembered shrubbery is finally freed of Zoro’s murderous slicing, and the teenager is suddenly gathering up his swords and power-walking away from Mihawk before Mihawk can finish his sentence. The older swordsman increases the volume of his words to be heard across the distance.
“—a solution you could say I was, er, gagged by. Red Hair’s presence was not necessary, it is a simple matter and not at all what you think.”
Zoro doesn’t turn around, but he does stop in place, his shoulders nearly touching his ears from apparent anger. Has Mihawk said the wrong thing yet again?
“No, you’re right,” comes his protégé’s tight voice. “It’s actually a hundred fucking times worse and I’d really like for this conversation to be over immediately. What the fuck.”
“Come now, Roronoa, isn’t it better for us to clear the air?”
Shanks chooses this moment to crack open one of the French doors leading to the lawn, his red head peering out into the evening.
The movement evidently catches Zoro’s attention, and with a groan of frustration, the teenager turns around to finally look Mihawk in the eye.
Mihawk exhales, relieved. Maybe now they can work things out once and for all.
“‘Clear the air?’”
“Yes, I do think—”
Zoro has walked closer now, jabbing an accusing finger in Mihaw’s direction with enough venom it could have been a weapon of its own.
“You told me you were cock blocked,” Zoro grits out, eyes wide, “And that the best place to resolve that was the KITCHEN!”
“Well yes, as I explained just a moment ago, where else would one relieve a cork of its position? It was fixed rather snugly so I feared spillage—”
“AAAAARGH!! ENOUGH! I’VE HAD ENOUGH!”
Mihawk watches in confusion as his protege turns around abruptly and runs into the darkness of the night, cursing the whole way.
Mihawk doesn’t get a chance to warn the child that he is heading for a waterfall, and winces when he hears a damning splash.
Zoro’s yelling floats through the air, and Mihawk sighs. At least that counts as a bath.
Shanks crosses the lawn to stand beside Mihawk, the pair of them looking out into the distance as Zoro’s voice fades away.
Migawk finally lets himself deflate in resignation, and Shanks rubs his back comfortingly, shaking his head.
“He’ll come around, I’m sure of it.”
”Hm.”
”Well! Now that that’s over, I should probably tell you we’ve got another problem.”
”Is that so.”
”Y’see, there’s another hard cork that’s waiting to be screwed and it’s in my pa—”
(A moment later, the sound of a second body hitting the water rings out as Mihawk walks back into the castle, dusting his hands.)