Hi Guys
Like most of you, I'm sure, I am a huge Disney fan. I was watching one scene from this fantastic movie and to me, it just needed to be written as a Sanji X Zoro Fanfiction. I'm sure there are others out there, but this is my take on an amazing story plot!
(Ramu is my own made up Character for the One Piece World becuase I couldn't think of anyone who would fit La Fou's persona. His name literally means Sheep.)
Blonde Beauty and the Marimo Beast
La Première: A Beauty, But a Strange One
Sanji
The morning brought with it a gentle Autumn breeze, wafting aromas of flowers and freshly cut hay from the crop fields along the small winding path which Sanji followed. The boy hummed to himself, adjusting the basket so that it rested in the crook of his arm as he headed along the track that led from his house, to the little town. He could see it; building roofs and beige wash walls peeking through the breaks in the trees of the birch wood forest.
Everyone was yet to wake, meaning that it was a quiet in the village, just like it was every morning that Sanji ventured here, in the early hours of the morning, just as the sun rose over the mountains in the East, behind the expanse of winter woods that lined the farmer fields, bordered by the fast flowing river that led south, towards the sea. The Blonde strolled from the edge of the gentle Birch woods, continuing to hum as he made his way across the little bridge leading over the river, just waiting.
Any moment now…
And right on cue, as if Sanji had called out to them, the Baker appeared. As did the seamstress, the fisherman, and the miller's daughter, pushing open their windows, opening their doors to let in the light. "Bonjour," they called in common, cheery greeting, returning indoors to fetch their produce, ready to set out in front of their stores or on their market stalls to sell for that day.
"Good morning, Sanji," the Baker shouted, waving to Sanji, who approached to buy some of the man's wares. "Good morning, Monsieur," the Blonde replied, tipping his head as he bent down to inspect the bread and rolls that had been already laid out, keeping mind not to get in the way of the jostling man, fetching more of his produce.
Sanji bought the two best rolls, and a loaf of bread, just slightly undercooked, for the breakfast he was planning to make. Or lunch.
It depended on when Father would allow him in the kitchen.
"Where are you off to today?" The Baker asked, being polite as Sanji handed over his silvers coins in exchange for the warm bread. But it seemed the man was only half paying attention as he brought out another tray of freshly cooked loaves, not even looking to the boy.
"Buying food like usual," Sanji answered, wondering to himself if he needed another loaf for breadcrumbs later… "I'm hoping to buy Father some specific ingredients this time for–"
"That's nice," the man said, cutting Sanji off, continuing to ignore him as he called for his wife, "Marie, the baguettes! Hurry up!"
The Blonde laughed to himself, watching the fat Baker waddle off back inside. "Orevwa," he called, not caring if the man heard him or not.
Sanji continued along the main street, watching as it slowly became busier and busier as more and more people woke up, ready to start another day of hard work. The boy sighed to himself, pulling his note book from the basket he was carrying, opening it to the page where he had jotted down the ingredients he had thought would help Father with his cooking, as well as a few ones that he wanted for some experiments.
Sanji manoeuvred through the busy street with ease, having learnt how to pass quickly through the crowds, not even having to look up from the list, even continuing to add to it, as the Blonde made his way across the town. He made a point not to react to the murmurs that followed him.
"Look, look. It's Sanji. That strange boy. I don't think he's quite right."
"I wonder if he is ill."
"There's no question!"
"It baffles me the way he is always so unfocused, always distracted. Look at the way he's focusing on that stupid little book of his, not caring about anything that goes on around him."
"It's not surprising that he doesn't fit in," Monsieur Pearl, the Tradesman was saying to the others, already wasting their morning by talking about suck trivial affairs. Sanji passed their particular market stall without so much as a glance in their direction.
It would be a lie to say Sanji wasn't upset by their words, but he had learnt to hide it. After all this time of being an outcast, he had learnt to accept the hurtful, hateful words of others, whether he was meant to hear them or not. Besides, it wasn't like getting upset over their meaningless gossip would change everyone's views on him, so why should Sanji react to it.
No. It was better to ignore it, and those that shared in such irritating pastimes.
So the Blonde continued onwards, making his way from the main street, towards the fish mongers near the river. He bought several of the morning catch, before buying fresh spices from Monsieur Pattie next door. He was one such residence of the quiet village who didn't bother hiding his distaste for the Blonde, even being so bold as to call up Sanji on his weird ways, publicly and loudly. He had even gone so far once, as to throw Sanji from his store, although Pattie promised not to do that again since Sanji had rid him of a few unsavoury guests.
Sanji would've gladly avoided the man for as much as he was worth, but the boy wouldn't deny that Pattie had a knack for spotting foods and ingredients with good quality. And Monsieur Pattie never turned away a paying customer…
So with a heavier basket and a considerably lighter purse, Sanji made his way to the bookstore, a little way away. It was down a path, not often taken by many of the other people living in the village. They seldom took the opportunity to broaden their horizons with knowledge and imagination, believing it better to stick with the old ways.
The old ways was what they knew and what they understood.
Madame Robin was already waiting for the Young Blonde, greeting him with a warm smile when the boy stepped in, through the shop door. "Ah, Monsieur Sanji. Good morning."
"Good morning, Robin. I've come to return the book I borrowed."
"Oh my, you finished reading it already?" Robin asked, the tone of her voice hinting at surprise although the smile on her lips said that this is what she was expecting. "Yes, I just simply couldn't put it down," Sanji said with a laugh, pulling the small purple book from the basket. He had wrapped it in a white napkin hoping not to dirty the pages with the food that was laid in the basket as well.
Sanji knew how Robin would be happy to see he was caring for her books. She took it quickly, already writing down in her log that Sanji had returned it and that it was in good condition.
"Have you got anything new?" the Blonde asked, turning to the bookshelves that lined the four walls of the little store. "Not since yesterday," Robin answered, smiling as she did, still writing notes down in her book.
"That's all right. Then, I think… I'll borrow… this one," Sanji announced, pulling the familiar blue leather clad book from the prize place on its shelf. The bookshelves were filled to the breaking points with novels and texts from all over. Sanji had almost read them all, slowly working his way threw them, but on occasion, the man would always return to his favourites.
"But Monsieur Sanji, you've already read it. I've lost count how many times."
"Well, it is my favourite! It's Gold. D. Rodger's hand written tales of his adventures on the Grand Line. His adventures are amazing, captivating and sometimes a little hard to believe, but it has a whole piece dedicated to the new cuisine they found, with detailed recipes that include ingredients from the far corners of the sea–"
"Well if you like it all that much, it's yours," Robin said with a smile, closing her logbook, handing Sanji back his napkin.
Sanji turned to the raven-haired woman, a little unsure if he had heard her words correctly. "Madame?"
"I insist. And I won't take no for an answer. I know you'll take good care of it, and enjoy reading it every time you do. A librarian can wish for no more than to see her books treasured by someone such as you."
Robin smiled again, folding Sanji's fingers around the spine of the old book. Even though it was an old book, the pages weren't tattered, the damp hadn't got to it. It was almost as if Rodger had finished writing it yesterday, and was now handing it over to Sanji…
"Now off you go," Robin said, her voice something stern, ushering the slightly stunned man from her shop. "Oh thank you. Thank you very much," Sanji said, embarrassed at not giving his thanks immediately. He continued to wave to the woman as he began his trip home, a spring his step from such an unexpected gift.
Before he had taken barely ten steps, Sanji had already opened the book to the first page, already reading the familiar words he had all but memorised.
Logue Town.
The last island before I venture to that mysterious sea. Our first hurdle is Reverse Mountain. I heard the rumours, and want to see for myself. The Grand Line is not for the faint hearted, I know that.
It is the younger ones in my crew that I worry for. But I have faith in them also. Like mine, their hearts are full of love for adventure, love for exploring and finding new places. The Grand Line holds all of this and more.
If it is to be my graveyard, I don't think I could've asked for anything more.
Sanji made his way home, his nose stuck in his book, impervious to the gossip that held him as key interest. It was as if he didn't even hear them talking, focusing only on the passionate words written upon the page…
Reverse Mountain, what a thrill. To be sailing, no, flying above the clouds, staring out across such a magnificent ocean! I can only hope that the Grand Line holds more wonders such as this.
I can't wait.
"There's that Sanji again."
"His head stuck in a book like always."
"That silly little boy is such a mystery."
"You can only feel sorry for his Father."
"If he wasn't as deluded as the boy."
The loud laughter simply passed over Sanji's ears, as if he was immune to their idle prattle. He kept his head down, and his feet moving, manoeuvring past the carts and bustling people, back to the long winding track that led home. It seemed so far away, blocked by the townsfolk as if they were trying to keep him from returning to his house, where he could sit quietly with his book and just relax.
But it wasn't until Sanji heard the shrieks of girls did his ears perk up.
"Oh it's Sanji!"
"Oh isn't he beautiful this morning."
"He's positively handsome!" He was about to say 'Hello' like he would sometimes do when he felt the need to spend a few more minutes in town – mostly when Zeff was in a particularly bad mood – but the girls seemed absorbed in their own little fangirl world.
Sanji left them to it, keeping his eyes focused on the words written upon the pages.
"There's no one as beautiful as him, "one girl sighed, watched as Sanji walked on. "Except maybe Mihawk," another chirped, her eyes automatically scanning the bustling morning crowd for the man. "But they're always busy. Sanji's always reading and Mihawk is always talking to someone else. We can never greet either of them," the last girl whined to the others. They agreed, sighing dejectedly.
Sanji grimaced to himself. He didn't like to be compared to anyone, especially Mihawk of all people. He wasn't a bad man, per say, but Sanji didn't like him for a few, very specific reasons….
The Blonde looked about for a second, wary that the man might appear at any given second.
And suddenly, there he was, completely with cape and feathered hat, joined by his loyal and stupid sidekick.
Sanji had seen him, and was already heading faster into the crowd of people hoping to either, be overlooked by the man, or escape before he could be noticed. The man seldom visited the blonde at his own dwelling, from an argument that he had with Zeff.
And Zeff had been very clear that the man was not welcomed back to their house.
Luckily for Sanji, Ramu, the man's ever so faithful follower, was flittering around him, keeping his attention long enough for Sanji to pass by, unseen. Or that's what he thought.
"Wow! You didn't miss a single strike, Mihawk! You're the greatest swordsman in the whole world!"
"I know," the man said with a drawl that hinted at boredom towards his follower's idle chatter. "No beast alive stands a chance against you," Ramu went on, oblivious to the man's irritated manner. "And no girl, for that matter."
"It's true. But I don't just want anyone. I've got my sights set on that one instead," the man said, raising a finger and stabbing it in the direction of the retreating Blonde's figure.
Ramu's eyes scanned the crowd, spotting Sanji hurrying home, his book now put away so that he could manoeuvre the street easier. "Him? You mean Sanji? But, that's Zeff's son!"
"He's the one. The lucky man I am going to marry. He'll be the perfect trophy."
Ramu frowned at the thought. Monsieur Dracule Mihawk was the handsomest, comeliest man in the village. He could have any girl he wanted. He had won many although the man never seemed to care about it. So why would he aim for Sanji.
A boy.
A boy no less, and one that everyone thought was just as mad as his father. And treated as such.
"But he's–"
"The most beautiful person in town."
"I know, but–"
"And that makes him the best. And don't I deserve the best?"
"Of course you do, but–"
However the short man was ignored, as Mihawk continued talking unaware of his follower's objections to the unusual desired match. "Right from the moment when I first laid eyes on that beautiful face I vowed to make him mine. And not only is his beauty unparalleled, but also his strength. With practice and training I would say he would even rival mine. One day," he said with a sly smile.
And so, the man set off, to hunt down the young Blonde that had eluded him for too long.
Sanji could tell that Zeff was still in a mood, even before he entered the house. From as far as the edge of the forest Sanji could already hear the man cursing and yelling at the top of his voice, insulting some imaginary figure that seemed to be pissing the man off, for some reason or other.
The windows were wide open and smoke was billowing from the chimney from where the man was busy cooking. It seemed he was still trying to perfect a dish for one of the entries to the cooking competition in the fair that was being held in the next town over, but it seemed he still wasn't happy with today's creation.
And the man didn't have long before he had to set off, if he had any hopes of getting to the fair on time.
Leave it to the old geezer to leave everything to the last minute.
Sanji entered quietly, not saying a word to the swearing man who was stood in the kitchen, kicking at the boiling cauldron held over the fire. It looked like the man had decided to try his hand at soup again; a dish he had little patience for. It seemed like the man was doing all he could not to lift the damn thing up and toss it out the window.
"Blasted thing!" he yelled, throwing the ladle across the room. Sanji was able to dodge just at the right time so that he wasn't splattered with the soup that had become caught in the bowl of the cooking utensil.
"Good to see you're in a pleasant mood," the Blonde said, deciding it was better not to ignore the old man, even if he was in the middle of having a temper tantrum. "Don't smart mouth me you brat!" Zeff roared, turning himself back to his cooking. "This blasted food is mocking me. I've tried and I can't quite–"
"Here," Sanji said, reaching into the basket to pull out the ingredients from Monsieur Patty's shop, approaching the red-faced man as he did. "Maybe you can put these to some use. Patty had them on sale so I thought I'd pick them up. He recommended the Pandan flower, said he tried in some of his cooking," Sanji said, prattling on a little as he handed over the ingredients he had bought. He wasn't going to tell Zeff that he was helping him. If he did, then the stubborn old fool would refuse to use them in his cooking.
Idiot geezer.
Zeff looked at the spices and condiments, spread out in Sanji's offering hands. He hummed to himself for a moment, stroking his moustache as he did; something he liked to do when he was thinking.
"Just maybe…" he said softly, picking them one at a time. He threw them into the soup with as much grace and style as a new-born calf trying to walk for the first time.
Zeff turned his attention to his cooking once more, acting as if Sanji was no longer there. The Blonde laid down the remainder of the ingredients, before moving to the cupboards to put away his own food.
Silently the two worked on their own creations; Zeff, his soup, and Sanji, a breakfast of freshly baked bread, salad and cold cuts of meat from last night's dinner. He laid the table for one, dishing up two plates of food. He left Zeff's on the side, close to where he was watching his soup, stirring it continuously.
Sanji covered his own with a cloth before slipping through the front door and around to the well. He helped himself to water, filling the basin once to wash his face, and a second for fresh water. By the time the boy returned to the kitchen, Zeff had cleaned his plate and left it in the sink, for Sanji to clean with his own, once he had eaten it.
But first Sanji made himself a cup of tea, using a new blend that he had bought from Pattie that morning. Again, he made two cups, one for himself and one for his father, handing the man the little cup before settling himself at the table, a fork in one hand and an open book in the other.
The island was just as impressive as I thought it would be, and more. A land of waterfalls and geysers.
Such a beautiful place.
We weren't quite welcome, but it made the adventure all the more fun. I admit I haven't had to run for my life in a long time, it took me by surprise when the village warriors chased us with loincloths and spears carved of wood. We could've killed them. But what was the point. We were trespassing and they hadn't harmed us. If we were to kill them so we didn't have to leave, it would've been like mindless slaughter.
So instead, we hid in our ship in the concealed bay and waited for the log pose to set and continued on.
We were all ready for our next adventure.
Sanji couldn't help but smile. The Captain of the Pirate ship seemed to be so laid-back, so care free, as if he didn't have to worry about what people thought of him or the way he acted. Or maybe, he just didn't care...
"How was town this morning," the old man grunted, trying conversation with his son, having already finished his cup of tea. It sat beside him on the fireplace, looking more like a piece of crockery decoration than a drinking cup. "Just as it always is," Sanji sighed, his eyes not leaving the page. He could still recall the gossip from the townsfolk.
"And that Hawkeye. Is he leaving you alone?"
"When I can avoid him." Zeff grunted in irritation. "As long as he keeps his distance from this house."
And the conversation was over.
Sanji returned to the words on the page, feeling his mind wander a little…
The storm took us by surprise. It was on us in minutes, but that didn't mean we couldn't handle it.
We rode the waves and caught the winds in our sails, trusting our ship to lead us to the eye of the storm where the next island was waiting.
Sanji wished that he was sailing the Grand Line too. He wished for someone to come and whisk him away to his own adventures. Then he wouldn't have to live in this old fashioned, sleepy old village…
And away from the townsfolk. The ones that didn't accept Sanji's dreams and imaginings of adventure and travelling. They had always told him, even from when he was a boy; that dreams and wishes were for simple folk that didn't appreciate what they had. Sanji had always be ridiculed for his ideas and ideals…
"Zeff," he spoke softly. "Am I really so odd?"
"Huh?" the old man grunted, raising one eyebrow as he turned back to the Blonde.
Sanji was staring at the table, his eyes not really seeing, his thoughts somewhere else, acting as if his mouth was speaking for him… "If we're going off appearance's then you're eyebrows are something that might label you a freak," the old man replied, watching the boy's face carefully.
"I didn't mean like that," Sanji murmured. "I mean my books. Dreams of adventure… Am I really so odd as to wish for something more? Or is it best that I just accept my life as it is? Should I just accept Mihawk's advances? Then I'll be sitting pretty for the rest of my life." Sanji smiled a sad smile. "I'd never have to work the fields or tend to animals. I'd sit on a silk cushion and feast on strawberries, sugar and cream."
"And is that what you want?" Zeff huffed.
"I don't know what I want," Sanji admitted, laying his book face down on the table, still open on the page he had left off at.
"Then think about it and tell me what it is you want to do with your life once you've figured it out," the old man hissed, a snap to his words as if Sanji had somehow offended him.
The two returned to their silence. Zeff continued to stir his soup methodically, whilst Sanji stared at the opposite wall. He tried to think, to focus on what he wanted to do in the future, where he wanted to be, who he wanted to be….
"I've done it! I've done it. Oh fantastic," Zeff cried, breaking Sanji's thoughts, making him jump a bit. He hadn't expected the man to cry out as he did. The man in question, was beaming from ear to ear, holding a tasting spoon in one hand. He was smiling, his face soft as he managed revelled in the face he was able to fix the dish he had been creating. "Oh fantastic," he laughed, pulling the cauldron away from the fire, turning quickly to the cupboards to claim himself a soup bowl. He filled it with the broth, handing it to Sanji, who had come to see what the fuss was about.
"Eat it, taste it," the man said, his voice filled with a sort of childish excitement.
Sanji brought the bowl to his lips, ignoring the heat, focusing only on the taste of the soup.
Autumn. Oranges and hazelnuts.
Chilli spices and tastes that all blended together to make one succulent dish that had Sanji craving more.
"It's good," Sanji breathed, taking another large mouthful, letting his tongue drown in the taste. It had just the right balance of fruit with spice. "You think this will win you first prize at the fair?"
"It bloody well should," the geezer growled. He turned from the slowly cooling pot, taking out his notebook to scribble down the ingredients he used and just how much he had added and exactly how much he had added. Sanji watched him, emptying his own soup bowl as Zeff pulled out a bowl for himself. "If it doesn't then I'm going to have to beat some sense of taste into those brainless dimwits."
The boy laughed at his father's stubbornness, taking himself quietly back to the table, dipping his uneaten bread into the soup. "You don't want to leave it too long before you set out," the man said, nodding to the clock on the wall. "It takes a good half day to travel and I'd suggest you not travel through the East Wood Road at night. Winter's coming and the nights are a lot colder now."
"Yes I guess you're right," the older man said, finishing writing the notes down in his book. He placed the diary in his chest pocket, beginning to make arrangements to pack the ingredients used in his latest creation as well as lunch for himself for the journey ahead. Sanji took himself from the kitchen, heading over the fire place. He stoked the fire and placed more logs in the hearth.
Sanji then made about emptying the soup into a large dish to be cooled. He fetched fresh water from the well, washing the cauldron out as well as everything Zeff used to cook with. The man then filled the metal pot up with water and hung it above the fire to heat. Sanji worked readily, not letting his mind wander, nor focus on anything in particular as he continued his chores. He had learnt to conceal his emotions, like when he listened to the townsfolk gossip, or when Mihawk made his disgusting approaches, or when Zeff left…
When his father left and Sanji was left alone in the house by himself. When the silence became deafening. When everything became too much and Sanji feared he would go mad…
"Well then. If that's all, I'll be off." The old man was stood at the front door, dressed in a winter cloak, his hat and scarf. He gave a brief nod to the blonde boy sat at the table.
Neither said anything, as Zeff opened the front door, stepping outside, taking with him his bag of ingredients. Sanji watched through the window as the man climbed into the seat of the cart, taking the horses reins and whipping them slightly for the horse to start walking. Sanji watched quietly as the man headed off, without so much as a glance back to the house.
Sanji watched silently, feeling a little empty as the man's figure disappeared from the horizon.
Slowly, he could feel the silence drawing in….
"I need to busy myself," the boy stated out loud, trying his hardest to stop the quietness overwhelming him. He turned away from the window, searching for something to do. And so, Sanji picked up his book once more, deciding to read it whilst finishing his soup peacefully. But the soup wasn't as good as it tasted earlier, and the words on the books page only served to confuse Sanji. The blonde needed something else to distract him.
By that time, the water that he had filled the cauldron with was beginning to boil. But instead of making tea or a warm drink like he had planned, Sanji used the warm water to clean with. He mopped the floors and wiped down the walls. He dusted the shelves, cleaned all the plates, the cutlery and the cooking equipment. He washed the downstairs windows and the upstairs windows. He swept the bedroom floors, made the beds, left the laundry to soak in the hot water, dusted all of the shelves and rearranged his books into alphabetical order, before re-ordering them based on when he got them.
He hung the clothes on the washing line in the garden, emptied the water, refilled the water, let it boil, made tea, took in the clothes, folded the clothes and put them away…
Sanji set his tea down on the table before settling himself down in the rocking chair by the fire. It was now only glowing embers, just warm enough to heat his toes. He was tired, but it was barely midday and he had found nothing else to busy himself. There was always lunch, but Sanji didn't feel like eating. He even had his favourite book in hand, but the familiar words could do nothing to cheer him up–
Sanji's silence was broken by a harsh thundering on the door. The man looked up suddenly, hoping, just hoping, that it was Zeff. Maybe the geezer had forgotten something. Or maybe he didn't want to go after all, or maybe he couldn't be bothered to go on his own and would invite Sanji…
The boy stood up quickly, his hopes quickly dashed when he spotted the dark figure standing on his doorstep. "Oh." Sanji cringed inwardly, taking a deep breath, trying to force a plain expression on his face, and not the disapproving glare he was most likely wearing currently. He made a point of delaying to open the door, instead, sidling to the table where his tea sat; slowly growing cold. He laid his book face down, laying open on the page he had been trying to read, even if his train of thought didn't seem to be allowing it.
The man seemed to grow impatient, his fist thundering upon the wooden door once more, emphasising that he didn't want to be kept waiting. Sanji knew this, but still, it didn't not hurry his feet as they shuffled across the floor, towards where the front door was.
Sanji laid his hand on the door handle, taking in a deep breath. He wished that the old-fashioned swordsman would just give up. No was a no, and no matter how many times the man seemed to pester him, Sanji wasn't going to change his mind. But still, it worried the young Blonde.
Monsieur Dracule Hawkeye Mihawk was the wealthiest, and most respected man in the village. Maybe Sanji wouldn't be a King or a Prince, but he would be someone more important than he was now if he accepted the man's offer. If he allowed Mihawk to court him, let him sway his judgement. It wasn't like Mihawk wanted anything from the man. He just wanted to conquer him. If Mihawk was the wealthiest, then Sanji was the handsomest. It seemed that Mihawk didn't need that sort of competition and decided that he had to own Sanji.
So that it was his Husband who was the handsomest man in the village.
Sanji sighed to himself, staring at the grains of the wood. On the other side of the door…
If Sanji said 'no,' everything would continue like before. But if Sanji said 'yes'…
Before the man could knock for a third time, Sanji pulled on the door handle, bowing his head slightly as he spotted the figure still standing, less than patiently, on his doorstep.
And suddenly, all his feelings of hate and disgust for the man came rushing back. Why would he ever want to be this man's trophy?
"Good day, Monsieur Mihawk," Sanji said, as warmly as he could, covering up the grimace that was trying to break his gentleman's smile. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here, after Zeff explicitly stated that you were not to come back."
"I have come to speak with you," the man said, simply ignoring Sanji's forced greeting and subtle reminder of his Father's threat.
"Is that so?" the Blonde asked, trying to be blasé, not caring with conversation with the man. He could feel his hatred continuing to grow, more to himself than he would've liked to admit, for ever thinking that he should become this man's possession. Monsieur Mihawk nodded, pushing his way past Sanji and into the small house. He looked the place over, his eyes narrowed at the 'quaintness' of the cottage house. "Well," Sanji prompted, hoping not to have Mihawk stay for long. The man irritated him somewhat and it wasn't healthy for the house if the man stayed too long – Sanji would probably end up kicking the man through a wall….
"It's smaller than I remember," the man said, distaste on his lips.
"It's my home," Sanji reminded him. "If you'd be so kind as not to insult me in, nor my home, with your narrow mindedness."
But the swordsman just continued to survey his surroundings.
Oblivious to the seething Blonde in his presence.
Sanji stood with his arms folded, his toe tapping on the hollow wood flooring. He needed to control his anger. Even if Mihawk kept proposing to him, it wasn't that the man was repelled from using his sword to cut Sanji down to size. And Sanji knew that the man was easily capable of doing just that. He just hoped Mihawk would just hurry up and leave. But the young Blonde knew that was wishful thinking. Because the swordsman had come here for a reason, and he wouldn't be leaving until he had demanded, once again, for Sanji's hand in marriage.
"Sanji. I want you to be my wife," the man declared, turning back to face the man whom he was seemingly trying to court.
"I'm afraid that's impossible," the Blonde dead-panned. "You see I am neither female nor willing to marry you so–"
"Oh come now," Mihawk continued as if Sanji's gender, nor feelings, mattered to him. This was common; for the boy to be ignored. Except not when he wanted to be, apparently.
"You would be comfortable in my home. A beautiful trophy to admire–"
"I told you, I'm not something you hunted in the woods nor defeated with your blade," Sanji growled, feeling his anger begin to grow once more. "I will not be a possession to be put on a pedestal or with no life and no dreams of my own."
"Dreams? What would you need with dreams?" Mihawk asked, somewhat confused, as if dreams was a whole new concept to him.
"Yes dreams," Sanji continued, finally able to get a word in edgeways. "Dreams. Like mine. I don't want to be trapped in a house playing 'wife' till I grow old. I want to see the world I want to travel, I want to go somewhere, be something and do something with my life. Not waste away in a glass case where all I am is another trophy to you."
Sanji didn't realise he was shouting by the time he finished.
Slowly, silence descended upon the little cottage. It was suffocating…
"If you have no more to say, then get out," Sanji said, taking a step back, keeping one eye glaring at Mihawk's own. He looked shocked, as if someone actually had the will to oppose him. Not many did, knowing it usually brought about their death…
"How dare–"
"I said get out!" Sanji said, his voice meeting the same volume as the swordsman. "You have no more business here. So leave."
Dracule Mihawk growled under his breath, his eyes narrowing to sharp slits, much like a hawk would whilst hunting its prey. He turned quickly, the swish of his cape knocking over Sanji's neglected tea cup, the contents spilling out across the table. "Watch your words," he hissed in anger. "Next time I may not be able to stay my hand from the blade."
Sanji glared after the man, flinching slightly when the front door slammed, making the house shudder at the force used.
It was only then, that Sanji looked down, horrified to see that the tea had spilled across his new book – the one that was a present from Madame Robin. The boy jumped for it, pulling the already soaked novel from the puddle of luke-warm liquid. "No, no, no," he begged, rushing to the fireplace, settling the book down on the warm stone. He grabbed a cloth from the side, dabbing gently at the pages. Hopefully the ink wouldn't smudge!
Luckily the tea hadn't soaked all the way through but there were still a considerable number of damp pages. Sanji continued to dry each page, trying to prevent the milky drink from sticking them together before the parchment dried.
"That man," Sanji growled, after drying out his beloved book, and now having begun to clean the floor and the table. "At least he's finally gone," he sighed, taking a chance to glance out the window. The swordsman was nowhere to be seen, probably taking Ramu with him, who had been undoubtedly waiting outside.
"Who could imagine? He asked me to marry him! Me, the 'wife' of that idiotic, brainless, rude and conceited…" Sanji kicked the front door open, growling to himself as he headed down his porch, round to the back of the house, grabbing the seed as he went. He threw it on the ground for the hens that he cared for, continuing to grumble under his breath. The animals showed their appreciation by making a ruckus, although they ate the food happily.
"'Madame' Mihawk," who could see it? How could I ever be his 'trophy wife'?" Sanji put the chicken feed back, pulling straw from the storehouse for the livestock, still ranting to himself. The animals watched him, aware of his anger but not quite sure what to do about it. "No way. No way in hell! No chance is that ever going to be me. I'd rather die than be betrothed, let alone married, to a freak like him!"
Sanji left the animals to their food, filling the pail with water once more, filling the troughs with fresh water. "I want so much more than what everyone has decided for me. It doesn't matter what Mihawk has planned, nor my Father. He'll understand. He had dreams like I did. He'll understand…"
Sanji sighed to himself, his anger fading out quickly like nothing had happened. He sat himself on a bale of hay, his hands unconsciously stroking the fur of the goat who had come to beg for sugar and treats.
"I want adventure. I want to have a life…"
"I want someone who can understand. Someone who doesn't think I'm crazy for dreaming. Something who had a crazy dream of their own."
Sanji sighed to himself.
Yeah right.
Like a person exists who is as crazy as I am.
Tah dah...
Thoughts please :)