A/N: Yes, I know Doubloon and Dogshank have official names and designs but screw that, said I, I want to design and name them. So I did.
She told me her name, and I told her mine. We knew each other, and I stood, perplexed, after she removed her sunglasses.
He stood, transfixed by my eyes, and then questioned how I only came second in the beauty pageant, therefore embarrassing me.
"So, Beatrix," He mutters, looking up into her honey yellow eyes, unable to understand how she only came second, with her tan skin and dark ebony hair that was wavy and reached her stomach. "Do you remember anything about what happened before we got turned back?"
"I remember feeling sick and feeling like I was dying. I then died and woke up with my tan skin and black hair and I knew from my height I was not the person Nadakhan had made me. A look in the mirror confirmed it." She looks to at him, near equal, since he was slightly short and she was tall. "How about you?"
"Same thing. Except dying, I... I was swimming in the ocean and I sunk to the bottom and then... I was me."
She frowns at him. "Do you have a fear of water?"
"Yeah... ironic, eh? You have a fear of death?"
"Mm hm."
He looks at his hands in silence, sherry red hair falling over his eyes and shoulders, a hairband on his wrist and his burgundy beret nearly falling off. She offers a smile, one he does not see or accept, and then takes one of his hands, which are so silky, into her own. He looks up at her, fear in his eyes.
"Why are you afraid?"
"It's a new world, Beatrix... A world very different than what we're used to. The girl who won is most likely dead and my family..." He gives a small chuckle. "Probably burning in Hell."
She frowns.
"Anyway, it's going to be weird for us and we're going to ask for help." He shifts his beret slightly, biting his lip.
"Is that a problem?"
"It would be a problem if I weren't so damn shy."
Dogshank, or Beatrix, suppresses her laughter. "You, shy?"
"Yeah... Whenever I talk to strangers, I stutter and one time nearly had a panic attack."
"No way."
"Way."
"How did Nadakhan get a word out of you?"
"I dunno, desperation to be free?"
"Strange, aren't you?"
He shrugs, taking off his beret. "I guess I am." He brushes off his scalp and positions his beret in the perfect place. "So, why are we here?"
"That's a good question, Zek-"
"My name is Ezekiel-"
"Whatever, and I heard there's Ninja in town."
"So?"
"So, I'm saying we meet these Ninja and see if they know us."
"Why would they know us?"
She shrugs.
"Exactly. Stupid plan, includes strangers, famous strangers, never, ever carry out."
Beatrix chuckles. "Fine. We go to a little café and I, not you, tell people we're not from around here and ask for guidance. You sit there and look pretty in your beret.
If they ask you anything, I'll say you're French."
"I'd prefer it if you said mute."
"Okay, you're a mute French." He rolls his eyes. "Come on Ezekiel, people aren't bad."
"Yes they are."
She leads him down the city, both transfixed at the technology, and eventually finds a café, Beatrix ordering something as Doubloon, or Ezekiel, sits in a seat outside, hiding from public view. She smiles at him, lifting his beret off his head and dropping it on the table, and then takes the chance to ruffle his neat hair. He glares at her, keeping mute as planned (not that it's hard, after years of silence and sign language), neatening his hair and positioning his beret on his head once more, shooting her a warning glance. They receive their order and eat, Beatrix drinking a coffee and Ezekiel drinking Tango Apple.
During their meal, a young woman, probably early twenties, approaches Ezekiel. "I adore your beret, where did you get it?"
"I'm sorry, my French friend here is mute. It was a family gift."
"Oh, I see! It really is absolutely sublime, I must say!"
He nods a thanks, gripping tightly onto his fork and continued eating.
"I'd best go, better not keep the boyfriend waiting!"
Beatrix waves her goodbye, smiling. "Ezekiel, you need to be polite, at least smile."
The red haired male huffs and turns away. Beatrix sighs and strokes his hand. "Come on, I've paid already. You gonna leave a tip? No? You suck."
Ezekiel smiles and stands up, rolling his eyes that little bit. She stands up too and grabs his hand, leading him away, ignoring his blush and struggles. Besides the odd squirm or glare, they look like a normal, happy...
Ugh.
He doesn't even want to think about it.
Still, if he has to spend the rest of his days, with her, playing the mute French guy, it would be better than...
Anything.