AN- A special thank you to georginoschkavincen on tumblr and Ao3 for the wonderful title artwork.
Several weeks spent in the middle of the ocean left Rocinante excited to spot dry land. He nearly yelled out the words "land ho!" when he noticed the tip of greenery through the lens of the telescope. Luckily the ship was wet with morning air, causing him to slip and smack his head against the railing, and to drop from the crow's nest and land roughly on the deck, saving him from making any surprise remarks. His fall caught the attention of his brother's crew, and after plugging up his bloody nose Rocinante learned Doflamingo would be casting anchor at the island.
"You all have twelve hours before I have us cast off," his older brother warned, resting a pointing finger a full solid second on the children. "During that time I expect everyone to represent my name in the best manner possible, understood?"
Rocinante stood behind Doflamingo, along with the rest of the scum that made up the special executive force. He pretended to listen to his brother's speech to the younger members of the crew, watching silently as Doflamingo handed the three some allowance, providing Law and Buffalo the additional weapon to wreak decent injury on anyone who dared to bother them. After giving the sick boy a light pat on the shoulder, sending the kids off to be miserable little delinquents, Doflamingo faced Rocinante and the rest of his executives.
"Gentlemen." Doflamingo clapped his hands together. "I'm going to have to ask a small favor of you." Rocinante detected a slight groan above him, from either Trebol or Diamante. "I know, I know," Doflamingo muttered, waving a hand upwards, "This is supposed to be a holiday, but here me out, will you?"
"Right," Diamante muttered.
"What is it, Doffy?" Pica squeaked.
"I had a conversation with Crocodile," Doflamingo replied, biting the edge of his bottom lip. "A few days ago. He mentioned being on an island surrounded by mountains...well, guess where we are now?" Rocinante watched as his brother lowered his shades, exposing weakened, hazed filled eyes. "I was hoping I'd get a word out of him, face-to-face."
"Gee, I don't know, Doffy," Trebol muttered. "It's been almost a year since our crews have rendezvoused. You think a meet up is a good idea?"
"The guy's a Shichibukai now, ain't he" Diamante asked. "Messed with Whitebeard a few times. You sure you wanna bother him, now that's he's got that ranking?"
Doflamingo broke into frantic laughter. Rocinante shivered, nearly dropping his cigarette at the dreadful sound. "That rank's nothing more than a fancy word," his brother said, grabbing a tuft of feathers from his coat. He stroked a few, his face turning a light shade that nearly matched his extravagant wear. "Besides, him being a Shichibukai might prove beneficial..."
All three executives chuckled. Doflamingo was referring to his grand scheme to dismantle an entire country. Despicable. Grateful to have his shades covering the dread in his eyes, Rocinante remained hunched over, only letting a drag from his cigarette perform his response.
"Corazon," Doflamingo announced. Rocinante raised a brow, taking his cigarette from his decorated lips and pinching the butt tight between his fingers while trying to appear as though this task was the most interesting thing to be bestowed upon him. "I know you've never met the man before," Doflamingo continued, smiling, looking almost like a child as he went on in his talk about the pirate lord, "Let me give you an idea of whom you'll be looking for."
Rocinante lifted his head up, feigning to listen to his brother. Of course he already knew who Crocodile was. Although he never met the pirate, Sengoku had assigned a team to keep track of his crew, including their transgressions against the Yonko. And being a marine commander, Rocinante was close to the team's recordings. He was aware of the damage the younger pirate retained after this battle with Whitebeard. Although he was undercover, Sengoku took the time to alert Rocinante of the government's decision to advance Crocodile's candidacy to Shichibukai weeks ago.
"If you spot him, I would advise you have everything written out before approaching him." Doflamingo rested a hand on Rocinante's shoulder, effectively bringing him out of his train of thought. "Crocodile is not a man who'd appreciate your...style of communication. If you catch his attention through physical contact, be prepared to get your message out right away, understood?"
Rocinante smiled at his brother, until the he felt the burning sting of his cigarette, now used up, singe his fingers. He dropped the butt and began to wipe his fingers against his feather cape, then brought his blistered index up to his mouth, hoping the saliva would soothe the pain.
Doflamingo sighed, while the rest of the executives broke into laughter.
"Right," his brother muttered. "Well, keep an eye out for Crocodile. If any of you catch him on this island, let him know I'll be at my quarters around five in the afternoon."
"And if he refuses your invitation?" Diamante asked.
"Fufufu." Doflamingo looked over in the direction of the town. "He can't say no to any of my requests." There was no guarantee that Crocodile would be around, yet Rocinante could tell by the way his brother stared out that the very idea of Crocodile being on this island provided Doflamingo a means of distraction from everything else that tarnished his views of the world.
Rocinante kept his brother's stare in mind when he made his way out of the port, left the dock area and entered the town, managing only to make a fool of himself by slipping, bumping, or stepping into something four times.
It was a nice, peaceful little autumn town, situated close to a few mountains. Yellowing leaves were falling, the weather was cool, and the sky cloudy. The air carried a heavy, damp taste that left the blond feeling warm and relaxed. He caught site of several members of his brother's crew running around, not acting too disorderly. Rocinante traveled further into the town, waiting until he was sure no one he recognized was around to bother him.
He found himself a small alleyway, and pulled out his small den den mushi, ready to inform Sengoku of what little progress he made since their last call.
It took only a few seconds of waiting before Sengoku picked up. "Are you safe?"
Rocinante smirked at the worried look produced by the tiny snail resting in his hands. "Afraid I got caught?"
"It's been a while since you reported back to me."
"Forgive me," Rocinante replied. "I've been stuck on board for the last several weeks, and privacy is difficult to maintain when you're an executive. I'll send you my current coordinates, and perhaps Tsuru's team might be able to catch up."
"Have you anything to report?"
"Not much." Rocinante looked around the alleyway, the upwards at the cloudy sky. "My brother is trying to come into contact with Sir Crocodile, the recently appointed Shichibukai. He thinks Crocodile might be on this island...No idea what he could want though."
"Hmmm," the tiny snail murmured. Rocinante watched it anxiously shake its head. "There was a meeting he was required to attend to. It wouldn't be beyond reason to think he might be close by. Both Crocodile and your brother have caused enough problems. Should the man be on the island, see to it that no contact is to be made, do you hear?"
"Loud and clear," he answered.
A drop of water smacked the tip of Rocinante's nose, causing him to break away from the conversation. He stared upwards at the sky, lifting his shades to analyze the changing weather, only to have both eyes pelted with raindrops. The blond dropped the den den mushi, covering and rubbing his eyes.
"What is it?" Sengoku asked.
Rocinante picked up the wet snail. "Rain," he answered. "I'll get back to you later. I don't want to risk getting drenched. I'll send you my location once I get back–"
"Never mind that," he heard the snail reply. "You just get inside and keep warm. Make sure your brother stays out of trouble, and keep an eye out for Crocodile, should he be around."
"But Tsuru..."
"That's an order," the snail demanded before clicking off. Rocinante's shoulder sank as he stared at the resting snail, but felt a slight smile grow and spread across his moist face as he stowed it away into his black coat. With the snap of his fingers, the invisible barrier around him vanished, and the sound of rain could be heard all over.
Rocinante tripped his way into the pub, slipping the moment his heel made contact with the wooden floor. He landed flat on his face, earning a room full of laughter from citizens and travelers. If there was any anxiety arisen from his entrance, his clumsy show had completely dissipated it.
The young man took his seat and waited for the jeering to die down before ordering himself something to drink. While waiting, Rocinante fixed his beanie back into place, and reclined in his seat, listening to the sounds of gossip taking place around him. With his powers, he was able to concentrate on each particular conversation, jumping from one to the next, muting whatever didn't sound beneficial, and focus on anything that arose the slightest bit of suspicion.
"There's another group of pirates here..."
A waitress placed a drink in front of him. Rocinante passed her a few coins, along with a cheery smile, before returning to his careful eavesdropping.
"Bad enough we got that other ship on the south, now this flamingo ship's blocking the north side..."
Rocinante took a swig of his drink. What sort of pirates was his brother's crew sharing space with? Another sip. He wondered if this was something worth alerting to his brother? The Donquixote pirates knew better than to cause trouble when their captain didn't want it, but it mattered little if they were dealing with another group of pirates, especially if that crew was competitive and willing to start a fight.
Rocinante licked his lips, longing for the taste of tobacco, desiring the fulfillment of nicotine. He brought out his packet of cigarettes, smacking the end of the small container out of habit before opening it and plucking one. He brought it to his mouth and began searching through his pockets for a lighter.
The door swung open. Rocinante lowered his shades and spotted a dark figure making their way into the pub. The marine nearly dropped the cigarette resting between his lips when the man standing at the entrance lifted his head up, bringing his only hand to wipe away a few soaked strands of hair from his scarred face. Rocinante recognized the man right away,
"Shit," he silently mouthed. His cigarette fell from his lips, and Rocinante fumbled in his seat, grabbing it before it hit the ground. His devil fruit power faltered, and was welcomed with the sounds of just about everyone in the pub whispering to one another.
"Is that..."
"A pirate if I've ever seen one..."
Rocinante huddled up as he picked up his glass, trying to appear as though the presence of the newly appointed Shichibukai didn't bother him, hoping that his falsified demeanor would be contagious enough to stop people from staring at the irritated looking man.
"Look at that scar."
He brought the glass to his lips. No, wait, he still needed to light his cigarette.
"Sir Crocodile..."
"He fought Whitebeard..."
Rocinante needed to light his cigarette, look natural, keep warm, and somehow make sure that Crocodile didn't get anywhere near his brother...
"Oi, you!" A man stood up from his seat and pointed a finger at Crocodile.
Rocinante froze in his seat as he watched the Shichibukai very slowly turn his head and stare very tiredly at the civilian. He bit down on his cigarette when the man showed no signs of backing down, growing more fierce looking once he caught sight of Crocodile's disinterested response.
"You're not welcome here," the man started. "You, and yer damn crew!"
"No, no," Rocinante mouthed, shaking his head. He stared at Crocodile, who continued to eye the man dismissively, not quite inspired to lift his giant hook and use it against the villager.
"You think you can pillage sovereign Whitebeard territory, and then use your special pirate privileges to do whatever the fuck you want, eh?"
Rocinante pushed his chair back when he saw Crocodile smirk at the man. He nearly fell out of it when Crocodile took a step over to the man's table.
"Y-you need to leave," said man stuttered, lowering his finger when the pirate took another step. "We've heard of the trouble you caused...and...and we don't want any of–"
The marine side took over the moment he witnessed Crocodile lifting his hand up. Rocinante jumped out of his seat and rushed over to the table where the man and his companion stood, about to be...well, he didn't know what the pirate was capable of, but Rocinante didn't want to give Crocodile the opportunity to let him find out. His hand reached out, ready to stop the dangerous pirate, when suddenly he slipped forward. He hit the table, sending all the contents: silverware, drinks and food, flying. Rocinante crashed into the ground, expecting it all to land on him, but after moving the tassels of his beanie from his face, saw that everything spilled over the man and his friend, covering them in a mess of half eaten meals.
Rocinante cringed, already prepared to back away from the scene. He grabbed his shades and his fallen cigarette, hastily placing them back in their proper place (though by now the cigarette was worn and chewed up at the butt), before looking back up at the two furious men, and attempting an innocent, overly cheerful smile.
Neither took it well.
"You little shit," the man groaned, wiping mash off his shoulders. "You fucking retarded or something?"
He and his companion began to maneuver around the broken table and mess, their anger now directed at Rocinante. The blond scuffled back, not sure what to do without causing an even bigger scene, when his vision caught a quick blur of gold. He flinched, closing his eyes, while catching the sounds of gasps and yelps.
"Please, Sir Crocodile!"
Rocinante reopened his eyes. The two men were now on the ground, one of them grabbing on to his stomach, the other groaning and staring up at the cloaked Shichibukai standing before him. The blond blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the scene before him. He then caught the heavy scent of iron, and noticed a deep red gathering around one of the fallen men's stomach. He raised his view up to the tip of Crocodile's hook dripping with some blood.
"Please," a woman said, "let them be! They've learned their lesson."
"This fool had no problem being the center of attention before," Crocodile growled out. He turned to the gathering crowd of frightened villagers, a bloodthirsty grin spreading across his face.
Rocinante looked back to the man holding himself, and at the deep red stain that was beginning to engulf his top. With the arms covering the wound the marine couldn't assess the damage.
"Please," someone in the crowd begged. "Let them go."
Crocodile shrugged. "Why should I?" he asked. "This fool had no problem spouting nonsense…he's lucky I decided to expend my frustrations on him and his friend, rather than the entire town."
"Sir Crocodile?" A woman at the counter called out. Rocinante turned, watching in silence as she approached the angered pirate. "If you let these men live, I'll assure you the best service I can offer. And it'll all be on the house, of course."
The pirate fixed his coat back into place. "I never intended on paying in the first place."
"We'll offer you free supplies for your journey," she hastily added.
By now the entire pub gathered around the crowded scene. Rocinante considered offering up a suggestion of his own, but remembered that he carried little power compared to a government-hired pirate.
Crocodile sighed through his nose. "What a bother," he muttered. He faced the two men lying on the ground, letting out another disappointed sigh before continuing; "you're incredibly lucky I've better things to do than waste my efforts killing you two." He lifted his hook up and stared at the few droplets of blood that remained at the edge. "I'm in need of a washcloth," he muttered.
"Right away, Sir Crocodile," a frightened waitress replied, hurrying off to the back of the pub.
The pirate let his only hand run through his hair, his severe expression ceasing, replaced with a look of exhaustion. With a third and final sigh, he took a step away from the two wailing men, allowing villagers to run up and collect them.
Rocinante nervously watched the two men being escorted out of the pub when Crocodile walked in front of his view. The blond looked up, pulling in his bottom lip while listening to a few people make guesses and bets over what the pirate might do to him.
"Boy," the pirate murmured, eyes lighting up when Rocinante fidgeted. Did Crocodile intend to make an example out of him? Did he get food or something on the clothes? The cloak looked nice. Nothing wet or sticky there.
Rocinante sniffed, managing only a weak nod.
"Ah?" Crocodile muttered. "Is that all?" He took another step closer to Rocinante, earning several gasps from the crowd. The blond remained situated on the floor; lips shut tight, eyes not breaking away from Crocodile's, not even when the man knelt down in front of him.
He couldn't possibly look away. He'd been told to never break eye contact with a pirate, should the worse happen. Rocinante was a mess, covered in rainwater, his feathery coat looking wilted and wrinkled, clothes damp and tight. His beanie was probably on crooked, and since he was sucking on his bottom lip, odds were his makeup was smeared. But he refused to turn his head or close his eyes. He watched Crocodile's hand disappear into his coat. Rocinante swallowed, wondering if he might use a gun on him.
"What's your name?" the pirate asked him.
Rocinante wondered if he might have accidentally used his powers, because the entire pub went silent. But he sniffed, and heard it so, and realized this wasn't the case, and that he might as well answer and get this over with.
"Rocinante," he answered, voiced filled with confidence.
He watched a grin spread across the pirate's face. "Rocinante, eh?" the man remarked, cackling at the end.
Crocodile's hand reappeared, and Rocinante caught the glimpse of something gold in his grasp. Fingers spread, and the blond saw that it was a lighter. The pirate lord brought his lighter up to blond's lips, to the near ruined cigarette barely hanging on, and lifted the top off with his thumb. The marine remained silently poised, eyes opening wide as he watched Crocodile ignite a small flame from the device, lighting up the end of Rocinante's cigarette with it.
"Interesting name," he heard the pirate remark.
Rocinante looked down at the burning end of his cigarette, not believing what he just heard. But he inhaled a quick breath through the filter and tasted the warm smoke filling his mouth and running down his throat.
Crocodile stood up, stowing his lighter back into his coat before lifting his left arm up, letting his hook get caught into a wet cloth, to be cleaned by one of the waiting staff. Rocinante blinked, not moving from his spot, continuing to make small inhalations, just in case the last one he made was not real, but a result of him going mad. But each and every time he tasted the strong tobacco fumes rest against his tongue, and with the following exhale he could feel his face tickle with warmth: a combination of confusion, fear, shame, and perhaps even some flattery.
When the waitress finished cleaning up the tip of his hook, Crocodile lowered his arm, and then bared another intense grin at the quiet marine. "It suits you just fine," the man continued, walking past Rocinante. The blond listened to the continued sounds of people moving aside, sighs of relief, and a few comments regarding how this was all his fault to begin with.
"Yes," he heard Crocodile say loud enough for everyone to hear, his announcement enough to silence everyone in the pub once more. "I suppose a man of your style would possess such a name. It's incredibly fitting, and combined with your sense of dress, I'd go as far as to call it …Quixotic."
Rocinante's jaw dropped at the sound of the word. He listened as Crocodile let out a slow laugh, making his way further into the pub, finding himself a seat, while the poor blond remained dumfounded, almost flustered at the comment he received. He tried to think of something to say, a sort of comeback, but he caught a whiff of something burning, and when he looked down he realized he'd dropped his lit cigarette, and now his black feather coat was lighting up in flames.