Inspired, oddly enough, by an episode of Sex and the City, which was about threesomes. Namely, why do people have them? Which got me thinking about my OT3 - I tend to write about them together, not about them getting together. But because it's an OT3, not a OTP+1, it occurred to me that it was more complicated than what was discussed in the show... or maybe simpler.
Less edits than usual, but I don't want to leave it on a back-burner. And since I only seem inspired to work on this one around midnight, the editing is probably more necessary. Anyone feel like beta-ing (either just the chapter or on a more regular basis) let me know. I'm still finding mistakes in things I published months ago /blushes/
-Adali
All Their Sins
Booze
Dim lights. Murmured conversations that faded to meaningless nothings a foot from the speakers' mouths. There was music playing, but probably no one present could have identified what the song was: it, too, lost all meaning once it was released into the surreal chaos of the room. In the light of day the place would have looked faded and run-down, but in the carefully arranged lighting of the night it became enchanting and mysterious.
There were people all around, a shifting ocean of them that had a life of its own apart from the small lives of the people in it. Women in tight, smooth dresses clustered conspiratorially, their groups forming as quickly as they broke up. Men lined the walls or stood along the bar, guarding themselves against the hunger that burned in their own eyes. And throughout: couples, small groups, men and women mingling and merging until the eye couldn't separate them.
Fucking pretentious assholes. Zoro took another swig of his watery beer and wished, for the three hundredth time tonight, there was a decent shit dive somewhere in this town where the booze had alcohol in it and the bartender's rare, twisted smile was genuine. Those smiling fucks behind the bar here flashed too many teeth to be natural while watering every drink that passed through their hands. They looked like strangely painted dolls, or corpses, their teeth too white and their eyes too dark, color painted on their cheeks.
He'd been staring into his drinks all night, wishing there was somewhere else in this bloody town were a man could cop a drink. There was rum and ale back on the ship, but he didn't want to be drinking there. Luffy and Usopp and Chopper were on that ship. He wouldn't drink in front of them, not the way he wanted to tonight. Tonight was for forgetting, for erasing the helplessness and anger and horror that came from not being strong enough, not yet. One day it wouldn't be necessary but tonight, after so many weeks at sea, so many battles and victories that were just a bit too close, tonight he needed it.
His latest drink finished, he slammed the glass to the countertop, catching himself at the last instant so he didn't break it. Nami was financing his drinking tonight (although the terms of repayment threatened to beggar him again) but she wouldn't pay for a glass broken by his own stupid carelessness. He could see her at the edge of his vision, tucked in a corner booth surrounded by men who hung from her every word, their eyes hungrily following each of her delicate movements. They all looked rich. No doubt this was how she was financing tonight. A touch here, a lingering smile there, and their money would all but leap into her clever hands. She may not even have to pull the wallets from their rightful places herself. If that witch had wanted it, they'd probably beg to be allowed to give her anything she desired.
But that wasn't the game. The game was misdirection and manipulation; to steal what was closely guarded without anyone realizing it was gone. An admission of loss from the other party was worthless: she would wring their defeat from them with her own terrible power, or not at all. That was how she played, and it was as alluring as it was terrifying.
The hated bartender brought him a refill and in an obnoxious, falsely cheerful voice that was thankfully lost in the din thanked him for his patronage and encouraged him to enjoy his drink. He took a swallow, hardly allowing the liquid to even touch his tongue but simply shooting it straight down his throat. The minute taste was enough though: still watered, perhaps even more so than before. Disgusting. At least the aho cook never watered the drinks. He'd bitch about how good alcohol was wasted on a pig like Zoro, or how drinking too much stopped him properly appreciating the food, but he never watered it down. Asshole he might be, at least he understood the rules.
Yeah, and there was the bastard now, down at the far end of the bar. He was leaning against the counter, looking like a misplaced magazine glossy. Back-dropped by the false glamour of the bar, the bastard's real elegance was like a radiance. Even in the dim light, the man managed to glow. It was probably deliberate. The stupid fuck, that sort of thing would bring him trouble before long. Yeah, just like that: there were women swarming around him, and a few men too, trying to bask in that radiance and steal some of it for themselves. They'd tear the asshole apart given half a chance, wanting to destroy or possess or maybe both.
"You look lonely," a voice purred in Zoro's ear. He didn't turn to look; didn't need to. The woman was close enough that he could feel the softness of her body against his side, could smell her - the heavy musk of her perfume over the sharpness of sweat - even through the bar haze and alcohol. "Your friends left you." It wasn't a question; she must have been watching him for a while.
Zoro found himself fighting the urge to snort. The three of them had arrived at the same time, but not together: they were nakama, not friends, not the way she meant. They hadn't come out to be together: he saw enough of the bastards on the ship, and they felt the same. But this was the only place in town open right now, and they'd each needed a place to go.
"I'm fine on my own," he answered. Better off, even, although he didn't say so out loud. The woman hummed in a way that said she disagreed, her body moving even closer to his. Bloody annoying, that's what it was. Was there really nowhere in this town that a man could get a decent pint and some peace?
Oh fucking hell, now she was nibbling his ear. "Want to dance?" The question was incredibly suggestive, but wasted on Zoro. If he'd wanted a girl tonight, he would have gone looking for one, and she would have been a damn sight prettier and more interesting than this one. What he'd wanted was some booze, and not only was he not getting it, he was also getting some trash woman he didn't want. He'd have burned this town to ashes by now if he didn't think that would make grocery shopping tomorrow hard.
It would be bad enough anyway. The cook couldn't hold his liquor, which meant he'd be hung-over and pissed tomorrow when Zoro had to act like a pack mule and carry their ridiculous quantities of provisions. And the navigator would be kicking up a fuss about how much everything cost after splurging tonight, even if she ripped off more than she spent. Tomorrow was going to be hell, and he wasn't even going to be drunk enough tonight to make it worthwhile.
"I'm not paying for a hooker for you," a new voice, sharp and familiar, at once welcome and dreaded, cut through the din as easily as it did through a storm. For this voice he turned around.
Nami was watching him, her face strangely empty but her eyes narrowed just the littlest bit. She stood out from the background haze of the bar as though someone had outlined her in ink, their fastidious brush marking out each detail of her. Compared to her, the other woman was blurry, a defeated bag of mush in a too-tight dress. He grunted at her, a greeting or a denial or a dismissal.
"Oh? I didn't realize you were with someone." The annoying woman made it sound like it was his fault; as though he'd been inviting her or leading her on or something.
Nami frowned. "I'm not..."
"Shut it, babe." He grabbed the tangerine-haired woman around the waist and dragged her to him. His face went to her hair, as though he were kissing her. "Please," he whispered. He hated to ask favors, especially from her - it never boded well for his financial situation. But Zoro dealt with problems in one of two ways: he destroyed them (not an option) or he ignored them (difficult, especially with the lack of alcohol).
A less composed woman than the navigator would probably have rolled her eyes. "Get lost," she told the other woman who, thank god, did exactly that with an almost comical speed. As soon as she was lost in the shifting crowd Nami disentangled herself from him coolly. She didn't move away, though, just leaned up against the bar. "Not partying tonight?" she asked, her voice mild and disinterested. Her main attention was on the bartenders, trying to get one of them to come serve her without her having to try and signal for a drink like any normal person.
"Just wanted some booze." He turned back to the bar, but kept a wary eye on her. This woman was as unpredictable as the seas she navigated, and probably several times more dangerous. He might not have much of an eye for currents, but if there was one thing Zoro had learned in this world, it was that the wind always blew due-Nami. It terrified him, though no way in hell would he admit it to anyone.
She must have had some sort of power, because a bartender appeared and offered her a drink even though she hadn't ordered. A scotch, straight up: a fitting choice for the woman, he thought. She tossed it back as though it were water, then grimaced. "Watering it a bit much, aren't they? No wonder you're in a shitty mood."
"And you?" he returned. "Run out of people to scam?"
"The problem with pleasure towns like this is that people expect a good time to be cheap," she groused. "They don't bring much, and it's all in small denominations." She made the term sound like a curse. For a woman like her, it probably was. "Cheap bastards," she added. "Get one of those bartenders over here."
"Do it yourself." He realized that it had been a mistake even as the words left his mouth. The witch was giving him a look that said she wasn't sure if she should beggar him or rip off his balls, and might settle for doing both. "Right." He fixed one of the bastards with a glare and raised a hand. Dark, mascara-lined eyes widened comically, and the man hurried over, leaving behind an irate customer who had been interrupted in the middle of ordering.
The man arrived in front of them, his insincere smile still fixed in place even though he looked like he was about to be sick. Stupid pansy-assed fuck. "Scotch. Just bring the bottle," Nami told him, and the man looked like he was about to faint from terror. Everyone here was such chicken shit: they were being nice, and the man was still terrified. He bolted off, and returned in a matter of seconds with the bottle and a pair of clean glasses. He was still smiling, and garbling out those inane, empty well-wishes. Thankfully, he retreated to his other customers as soon as they were served, and Zoro noticed he remained fixed at the other end of the bar. It was kind of funny, but he wasn't drunk enough to be laughing about it yet.
"Drink," the witch told him. She'd poured them each a glass of the rich amber liquid. He didn't bother toasting her, or trying to savor the drink, simply threw it back. The brush of fire on his tongue told him there was finally alcohol in this, though not enough to get him drunk, especially if he was splitting the bottle with the navigator.
She'd tossed hers back at the same time he did, and with as little ceremony. "Passable," she said. It was, if only just. Despite the cook's belief that Zoro wouldn't know good alcohol if he was hit with a vat of it, Zoro did know what a good drink tasted like. But he hated going to the stuck-up places that served it; he'd rather drink in some run-down tavern where the beer was bad but at least had alcohol. Places like this one that he was stuck in tonight were the worst of all worlds.
A few glasses apiece and the bottle was empty. It was immediately replaced by a bartender, who dropped it and a pair of clean glasses off, picked up the empty, and scurried away as fast as she could. He wasn't feeling the alcohol, but his stomach had that pleasantly warm feeling that meant it had finally got some decent booze in it and would no longer have to put up with watered-down crap. Nami inspected the fresh bottle of rum critically. "Think we can drink the place dry?"
Zoro took the bottle from her and poured them each a glass. "Think we'll be drunk by the time we do?" She smirked a little at that and inclined her head to indicate it was a point well made. This time, they toasted each other before downing their drinks, each with an identical, near invisible grin on their lips. Perhaps they were sort of friends after all.