Demons speak another language
Theme: #4 Lost scene (for 64damn-prompts) – Sanji at Okama Island.
He spent two years in hell. Running until the soles of his feet were on fire, gasping for knife-sharp breaths with the vengeful hordes howling behind him. They were endless, if one shrieking bunch grew tired, another twenty easily took their place.
There were fights. Bitter moments when he was flung into the sand and came up, eyes full of stinging grit, to find himself buried in lace, drowned in powder and perfume. There were the times when their laughter ended: when his kick crushed a overly large, but oh-so-carefully made up nose or his desperate struggle caused a fancy heel to snap off. Then, their true claws came out; all the dirty tricks that men who had spent years being ridiculed and targeted have learned in desperation.
He will complain long and loud about those times, to anyone in his crew willing to listen. He'll screech it at the algae-headed swordsman whenever the bastard uses his little scar to score points with Nami-swan (and he does, don't you dare claim otherwise!). He'll grumble it toward the captain whenever the topic of his stay on the Island of Women comes up the lucky, unappreciative bastard.
What Sanji won't mention are the other times. When he had won. When then harpies, for a few short days, turned into something beyond men or women – when they were simply cooks together.
It's not that he's ashamed to have stood next to a cross-dresser and fileted fish. Nor does it bother him that his new secret recipe for dearest Robin's morning cappuccino is a modification of one he learned from a lumbering oaf who refused to wear anything but leather corsets. For cooking, his most cherished art, he will suffer almost any indignity.
No, the problem is that neither the Kamabakka inhabitants, nor Sanji, ever actually stopped sniping at each other. Or grumbling, yelling, insulting and raging for that matter. The words remained the same.
Their meaning, though... over the tempting scents of the cooking pot, to the sound of knives on a cutting board? Then those words are language of chefs and their true meaning only becomes clear when the customer tastes the finished dish and their eyes close in silent appreciation.