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“You don’t have to do this…” Page muttered, staring disgustedly at the offered bouquet. Sunflowers, lashed together with a purple ribbon—a gift he was sure would have delighted some, but him…he wasn’t so sure, especially when they came from the very man who had more or less taken him captive.
“I know, but it’s the best I can do as an apology for the time being.” Drake sighed, the hopeful expression flickering like a dying flame. His words almost sounded sincere, his ocean blue eyes much softer and kinder than the hellish red Page had stared down in battle.
What a foreign concept. No one in the Beast Pirates apologized. Instead, people demanded them from their lessers, making them bow and scrape in fear of retribution for even the smallest slights. To apologize was a weakness, and weakness was to be punished, no matter what.
“...Still, I want you to have them.” Hands clad in blue leather forced green stems into Page’s unwilling ones, which balled into tight fists around them.
For a moment, Page hesitated and almost considered accepting, even if it was for show. But pivoting on his feet, he turned and launched the bundle as far as he could out into the courtyard. A small commotion followed as startled staff scrambled to find where the sudden cascade of flowers had descended from.
“Ah, well. I suppose I should try something else then.” Stupidly broad shoulders slumped a little, as an embarrassed flush reached up the sides of Drake’s face. It should have been endearing, and perhaps was to the two who had traveled with him. For Page, it only increased his irritation.
“You do that.”
Once, in an attempt to showcase her obvious wealth of femininity and ladylike charm, Ulti had taken up flower arranging. Or rather, she’d tried to learn it. When Page surpassed her knowledge simply by listening to the trembling ikebana instructor, instead of berating the woman for correcting flaws, Ulti gave up rather quickly, ending the session in a table-flipping tizzy. Now, long after his sister had moved onto pastures more easily conquered, it left Page burdened with knowledge.
The next gift was hydrangeas, bound together in a mix of vivid blue, white, purple and green blossoms. It was something Page felt certain would have made his sister swoon, but it made his nose wrinkle, teeth bared in irritation.
Realistically, whether the man had bothered to ask one of Maria’s girls what an appropriate courting gift would be, or if Drake had earned the pity of a Flower Capital florist who saw a foreigner with less clue than bravado—Page couldn’t say. Either way, even from the most ignorant point of view, the colors politely bridged between his owned preferred palette and Drake’s. No longer a simple single-flower bouquet, but a bonafide arrangement, this attempt had been crafted far more thoroughly—
Greens represented prosperity and rebirth; as a witness to the plan Drake swore by, Page assumed the man meant it through the downfall of Kaidou and whatever grew from the refuse left behind.
Whites meant grace and purity; Page couldn’t quite put his thumb on that one unless he blamed the florist for making a jab through its less-than-sweet definition: a brag. After literally being taken to the floor, Page didn’t doubt it.
Purples supposedly fostered understanding—something they both sorely lacked. It fostered the idea of Drake standing at the counter, wringing his hands over flower literacy.
The real kicker though—blues stood not only for understanding, but for apology and regret. And when not staring into the curls of azure petals, Page found himself pinned beneath Drake’s remorseful gaze, which only gave more of the same.
“Give them to your harem…” Page sighed, pushing back the flowers this time.
“They’re the ones who picked out the colors,” Drake’s words came with a tinge of pride, as if the notion of such teamwork was impressive. “Koby tried to find the meaning of things and Law—”
“I don’t care, just…” Despite his personal feelings, Page didn’t need to cause another stir, not when he no longer had a position of power. There were only so many times he could reject his ‘suitor’ without someone getting suspicious about the lack of retaliation. Reluctantly, he held out his hands. At least if someone saw him take them, all would be well and give him enough time in which to dispose of them in some place where there weren't so many lurking eyes. “Give them here.”
Drake’s expression warmed and as their fingers brushed against one another, Page felt his chest tighten. Yanking the bouquet away, he pushed the sensation down, burying it under years of practiced poise in the face of those who saw themselves as his betters.
“This doesn’t mean I accept it and it doesn’t mean I’ll join you.” Only once he’d spoken did Page realize he was looking down at the wooden flooring beneath his feet. Was he embarrassed? He couldn’t tell, but an odd warmth stirred underneath his skin. His lips pressed into a thin line before he murmured, “Try again.”
The third gift was not flowers, but safety, as Page moved into the housing Drake had been given, befitting his new ranking. It was larger than the space Page had shared with his sister, likely to allow for the three, now four, bodies that would occupy it. The decor was modest. It lacked trophies and treasure; nothing boasted that Drake had so soundly defeated him, with just as little proving any of his proclaimed deeds that led to him being welcomed into Kaidou’s ranks.
“It’s not much…” Drake began, only for Page to ignore as he looked around, finding only books and bags, still neatly organized and barely touched, despite the length of time the trio had already spent in-country.
In the back of the space, Law’s scoff mirrored Page’s internal sentiment, clearly labeling Drake’s words as an understatement.
“I lived in a dinghy with more than this,” Law kicked at one of their sleeping mats with an irritated click of his tongue, apparently unimpressed with the new addition to their group. “When the hell can we do something with the dump?”
“Hush, love. It’ll be soon enough,” Drake chided, the warning gentle as he moved to help with preparations for the night. They’d be tightly packed, but it wouldn’t be Page’s first time crammed together with others. At least here there was less of a chance of becoming someone’s prey, even if he couldn’t shake the odd feeling that kept winding itself in his guts.
“It’s just like indoor camping!” Koby responded brightly, words far too hopeful for someone who was supposed to be a captive of a tyrant. “Cheer up.”
Law muttered something under his breath as Koby fussed over him, leaving Drake to give Page his most sympathetic smile. He looked tired, but in the way of a man who’d heard the argument unfolding behind him a thousand times before. But even as the two younger men snipped at each other, their lips twisted into warm smiles and laughter. Heat crept up into Page’s face and quietly excusing himself, he ducked into the bathroom. Drake opened his mouth to say something before Law cut him off, grinning—
“You should kill him something. It worked on me.”
Page didn’t think the suggestion would be taken seriously, not when there was limited wildlife to actually hunt, and within that number, fewer still that could be consumed safely. Too many times had he seen unlucky Gifters seized by animal instinct newly born within their body. He had done the same soon after consuming his devil fruit, driven to swallow down mouthfuls of poisoned fish to stave off the pains in his belly. His gluttony had been punished by illness—a firm lesson in what hunger could do to a person when allowed to lead above reason. It had made him appreciate what being a Tobiroppo meant and much more for the deluge of privileges and freedoms that came pre-packaged with the title.
Now the old status quo stood under fire—though forced under the whim of another, that same man seemed hard-pressed to actually impress Page. With that came gifts, most unwanted, but this… Page licked his lips greedily as he eyed Drake’s prize. How the other managed to hunt down such an impressive fish would have to be answered later, when the heat of the day no longer threatened to turn the meal before it could be consumed. Once jaws and claws more suited for the work ahead replaced weaker human limbs and teeth, he plunged into the kill.
Scarlet eyes watched as Page ate. In them, long gone was the ferocity from the fight that had dethroned Page; now, instead, they held something much softer and almost anticipatory. Green scales sparkling in the sunlight, Drake's massive body lounged across the dirt as he waited his turn…if there would be anything left once Page finished. He knew how much he could put away. After so many years spent growing up with little, and now having a predatory creature sharing his mind, it had left Page with a preternatural appetite. He rumbled happily as he tossed back strips of pink flesh, his jaws snapping together with a loud popping noise.
Content, safe, full—the words drifted across his mind as he ate. The Spinosaurus at least approved, and her delight washed over him in a wave that made him shudder. It was a rarity that she expressed something other than cold indifference or irritation to those around her. Though herbivores, neither Sasaki nor Ulti were her primary prey. Both were far too large. Who’s-Who was a strange and foreign creature after her time and Black Maria was nothing more than something that could be food in desperation. And while not prey himself, after her pride had healed in the aftermath of their brawl, Drake had piqued her curiosity. Maybe it was the fact he carried something within that was like her but not—a distant creature that was as close as she would get to her own kind. It was something Page tried not to dwell on…though more immediately faced with the generous gift of both violence wrought in their names, as well as a veritable buffet of food, her freshest thoughts now laced with a far more intimate brand of excitement that proved a bit too intense for his taste.
A low bellow, quick and quiet, reached his ears and Page turned to see Drake had risen to his feet. All forty feet of length had been stretched, as if he was trying to work so kink out of his spine, until he turned like he was chasing his tail. Between the movements came short sharp grunts as he reared up, displaying the underside of his throat and chest.
Page stifled a laugh, but the sound escaped as a low snort. What a sight—a fool making a fool of himself as he always did, and yet—Page could feel the Spinosaurus pause. His head tilted, watching as the display became more intricate, but also more ridiculous. Massive claws dug up hunks of dirt in an attempt to fling them in the air. Throaty bellows tried to form into melodic songs. Arms flailed in an imitation of wings as Drake flashed his throat again. Each step seemed to be part of a mismatched dance, some strange attempt to express something that had been forgotten long before the time of man.
Page felt a guttural sound leave his throat before could stop it. It sounded mournful to the unlearned ear, but to his suitor, it meant something deeper and more enduring. Drake returned the sound, and to both Page and the Spinosaurus, it sounded more like an older version of her language.
As Drake returned, advancing on Page, carefully they touched their muzzles together. Gentle, teeth grazed across his neck, preening with a practiced precision. Page hummed, eyes half-lidded as they bunted against each other, warmth flooding his body like it had when their fingers touched weeks before.
The Spinosaurus burbled happily and Page could almost feel her joy as the words drifted across his mind—Our Mate.
Oh fuck no!