JAYA TIMES - NO LIES, JUST FACTS.
GODDESS OF LOVE HEARTBROKEN AFTER BITTER DIVORCE
All is not so fair in Love and War as resident deities and media sensations Sora and Judge Vinsmoke call their marriage quits for the first time in several millennia, leaving the mortal world in a tizzy over what's to come. The world watched for weeks over the outcome of the highly publicized divorce trial, speculating, debating, and even memeing about the results.
Following the Celestial Dragons' court ruling, sources say Judge, well-known as the God of War, has made an enraged retreat to the desert state of Alabasta, where his sulking has led to dangerous riots and political uprising against the long-standing governor. Meanwhile, an additional source reports his ex-wife, the Goddess of Love, is making her way to the family's island residence in Jaya to rest and recuperate with her adult children, sparking excitement and relief amongst the city's people as they eagerly await their beloved Cupids' return.
The immortal Vinsmokes were spotted leaving the High Court in Marineford wearing the season's hottest new trends, third Cupid, Sanji—theorized by some to be the very cause of his parents' split—looking particularly chic in a pair of trendy patterned slacks by designer label Criminal. Hearts will definitely be fluttering in Jaya when Sora and her brood make their long-awaited arrival.
It's been three years since the Vinsmokes last paid a visit to—
"Fuck this shit…" Zoro mutters, scrubbing a hand back through his hair as he angrily flicks his thumb up his phone screen.
The article scrolls down quickly, coming to a stop on an embedded video of the marina uptown where a far too big, far too lavish yacht looms over the docks. The audio nearly breaks his phone's speakers, nothing but hundreds of screaming fans barely kept off the docks by area police.
Dozens of cameras flash and the commotion only increases when the first figure emerges onto the yacht's gangplank, a slender woman stepping onto the golden carpet that stretches down the ramp. An equally golden headband of twisting leaves holds back rosy pink hair that falls over half her face, the cut-outs in her sundress showing just enough skin to make the crowd go even more rabid.
She descends regally, ridiculously huge sunglasses hiding her eyes, though she pays the onlookers no mind as she floats past, a trio of similar-looking men striding out confidently behind her. Each of them sport rather punk-ish hairdos in various saturated colors, clearly loving the praise and adoration as they wave and pose their way down the dock.
Last, a blond duo step off the yacht, the young man with an arm wrapped tightly around the shorter woman's shoulders, her face hidden behind yet another pair of buggish sunglasses and a floppy sun hat. She leans heavily into the man's side, no doubt in a ploy to look as weak and frail as she can, despite her modelesque looks and perfectly styled hair.
The man too looks runway-ready, in a pair of pastel pink shorts and a collared shirt, its loud pattern of roses and hearts far too on the nose considering who he is. He leans in close to the woman—his mother, everyone knows—murmuring something in her ear as he ushers her quickly away from the paparazzi flashes and the shouts of reporters to a waiting limo at the end of the dock.
"Sora, how are you feeling?"
"Sora, you look gorgeous! Who are you wearing?"
"Make a statement about the divorce!"
"Are the abuse allegations against Judge really true?"
The shaggy-haired blond ignores it all, rushing his mother into the limo ahead of his siblings, but not before raising a pointed middle finger to the crowd as he disappears from sight.
The video turns shaky and cuts off soon after.
Of course they'd come in their human forms, Zoro thinks. They could have cloaked themselves, arrived totally invisible to humans, to no fanfare, but no. Have to look vulnerable, don't they? Have to look relatable. Who are they kidding? They're anything but. They're gods, for fuck's sake. They feed off the attention, treat the lives of mortals like trivial playthings, and the world is too stupid to realize. People fall for their meddling, think it's actually good that—
Just then, the door to Zoro's room slides open, interrupting his bitter thoughts to reveal a man dressed in black scrubs, tattooed arms on full display under the fluorescent lights.
His tired eyes make contact with his patient's, still seated on the examination bed, hunched irritably over his phone.
"You won your match, Roronoa. Why are you sulking?" the doctor asks dryly.
Zoro doesn't answer, merely growls and shoves his phone in his pocket, only then noticing the blood he's been dripping onto the floor the entire time from the open wound in his side. Oops. But he's brought worse upon Dr. Trafalgar before.
The doctor quirks a brow at the mess, taking his clipboard off the nearby counter.
"Use your words," the doctor mutters absently, flipping through the pages to look at the nurse's notes. Multiple stab wounds. Possible concussion. A light day for a gladiator of Zoro's caliber.
Zoro shakes his head, looking away to sulk some more.
"They're back," is all he says.
"The last summer they were here, those bastard Cupids shot that Charlotte chick so many times she proposed to almost everyone in the damn city!" Zoro laments as a needle tugs annoyingly through his skin. Cabaji had nicked him pretty roughly in the arena that day, but he'd missed any vital organs. His aim is useless on top of that dumb unicycle.
"And don't even get me started on the number of weirdos that fell in love with Luffy!"
Dr. Trafalgar pauses his work, closing eyes briefly, and mutters a few motivational words to himself before starting his stitching again.
"Some of us are now immune to their advances, if you recall. Worry about yourself—hold still," the doctor grumbles, shoving the gladiator back down onto his side.
At his words, Zoro's gaze immediately shifts to the black tattoos that peek out from the doctor's shirt collar, all of which he knows were designed around a lead bullet scar directly over the man's heart. It's perhaps why he and the doctor formed a somewhat unstable allyship in the first place. One man "cursed" by the Cupids with an aversion to romance. Another, well…perhaps born with it? Zoro has always figured so about himself, but there's more to it than that…
"I'll kill them if they come after me again," Zoro mutters, glaring hard at the opposite wall.
"Because that went so well the first time," Dr. Trafalgar replies, reaching a latex-gloved hand up to poke Zoro hard over his eyebrow, where skin transitions into solid gold which stretches over the left side of his face, covering his closed eye and ear, leaving a surface cold and frozen as a statue's.
He'd sensed it coming, the golden bullet aimed straight for his heart, even if he hadn't seen his attacker, and his reputation now precedes him in the Colosseum as perhaps the only person who's ever escaped a Cupid's bullet. At least for the most part.
"Yeah, well, some of us can see immortals now!" Zoro insists in his best imitation of the doctor's sarcasm.
It sure helps his odds in the arena at the very least, ups his pay, a reliable competitor for Jaya's incessant betters. Yes, being able to see through a god's cloaking with that eye has its perks, even if he remains blind to everything else. He'll never be caught off-guard again. He supposes it was the only good outcome of the attack, even if it was sheer luck.
"You're the hero our city needs," Dr. Trafalgar shoots back, deadpan, as he dabs antiseptic over Zoro's skin.
Zoro rolls his good eye and shoves up on his elbow to glare at the doctor.
"They're toying with us! They've always been toying with us! How are you not pissed about this?"
"Roronoa, I am twelve hours into a fifteen hour shift," the doctor responds. "I simply do not have the energy—hold still!—You are not the only man-child I'm saddled with constantly."
"Who the hell else am I supposed to talk to—?"
"—Rant to. This is ranting, not talking—"
"Well, no one else gets it! And that's the Cupids' fault too!"
It's true. He doesn't know anyone that understands, truly understands what it is, to look around at the world falling in love and not understand why he doesn't want that. Why the thought of being tied down by someone else, the thought of having another person want him, is so off-putting. Even before he'd lost his eye, he'd known he was different. He'd known he was alone.
Sure there are those who've had unfortunate encounters with the Cupids' lead bullets, Dr. Trafalgar among them, and there's Luffy, the captain of Zoro's gladiator team who's never shown any interest or aversion to romance either way.
But how can Zoro talk to those two about where he comes from, a product of forced love himself….or about the image of his best friend, gold blooming from the bullet wound over her heart, the strongest person he's ever known sobbing in the face of his rejection…. Her ambitions…her dreams…all shattered…because of them…
She was never supposed to love him. No one was.
"Forget it," he eventually mumbles when the doctor merely shoots him a look, frustrated at the man's apathy, but not willing to let himself spiral into memories he doesn't want to revisit.
His frustration merely grows though, as Dr. Trafalgar finishes his stitches and secures a bandage to the wound to protect it.
"No matches tomorrow," the doctor warns, meeting Zoro's instant glower with a thunderous one of his own. "If you rip your stitches again, I will hand deliver your heart directly to the Cupids' doorstep."
Zoro rips them almost the instant he sets foot in the arena the next day, doctor's orders be damned.
The Corrida Colosseum takes up several blocks of the historic Dressrosa district, the massive structure looming high above the neighboring rooftops. Each covers various tourist shops and businesses, considering the residents prefer to live in quieter areas where battle cries and shouts of pain alike aren't the usual background soundtrack. Still, it's rather inescapable, the stadium open to the elements as it is. Hundreds of stone arches spiral up and around the stadium's levels, providing a glimpse of the roaring thousands who gather to watch the city's top martial artists duel each other. The tournaments all cater to the hopeful and foolish, that they might have the chance to challenge a mythical beast, or even a god, and earn immortality themselves.
But that isn't why Zoro and his trio of iconic blades adorn countless advertisements and LED screens throughout the place. That isn't why he and his team are the most skilled and unbeatable of the gladiators who regularly compete there. None of them are there for glory. Certainly not to join the godly ranks on Mt. Skypiea.
No, the goal is to topple as many of those bastards as they can until it's mortals that stand on top. Until the gods no longer have any power over their lives, and that includes their love lives.
So it's the Vinsmokes' faces Zoro pictures beneath the helmets and sweaty brows of his opponents that day, the swordswoman opposite him currently looking much like the Cupid princess herself with her long braid of pink hair and skimpy armor that barely protects any of her most vulnerable areas. Zoro usually fights armorless and shirtless himself, as he is now, but it's because he doesn't need armor, not for fanservice or some shit.
That isn't to say he doesn't have his fair share of fans, much to his dismay, evident by the shrieks and cheers that always accompany his entrance into the arena. He knows he shouldn't have taken that brand sponsorship two years ago, but he'd been nineteen and dumb. He'd let their team's manager, Nami, talk him into it, saying the money would be worth it.
It had been, in a way.
Now he's twenty-one, a little less dumb, and a lot less poor. Loaded enough to buy all the booze he wants, though he isn't the type to flaunt it. He now has immortals flocking to his matches, eager to catch a glimpse of the famous swordsman in action.
Only problem is, they want to watch him, not challenge him.
The bastards are lazy on top of vain.
He imagines stabbing straight through the Vinsmoke daughter's own nonexistent heart when his feet launch him forward on the arena ground, and he rushes the swordswoman at the sound of the buzzer.
He flies over the sand, drawing one, two, then three katana, clamping onto the third's white hilt with his teeth. The stitches in his side are already leaking blood, he can feel, and Dr. Trafalgar is probably off making a voodoo doll of him at that very moment, but he doesn't care.
A glimpse of ferocity behind the woman's golden helmet, where her own eyes have locked onto him with just as much intensity.
He conjures blue irises instead of brown, pictures a curtain of hair covering half her face. Had she been the one to blind him? The angry thought fills his mind as their blades make first contact to the roar of the audience, the swordsman not giving his opponent a moment to defend before he pushes forward, slicing his blades across to ruin her balance.
Had it been her sick idea to attack a pair of just barely legal teenagers in the name of true love?
His left blade sings as it makes contact with her shoulder plate, though his right makes contact with skin, leaving a deep laceration across the woman's bicep.
She cries out in pain, and he enjoys it because maybe she'd gone after his parents, he thinks as he dodges her counter easily and clashes blades with her again. The crowd is a dull buzz in his ear, as is the announcer's voice blaring through the stadium.
Maybe she'd been the one to force a dangerous criminal to obsessively lust after a non-consenting dancer.
Maybe she was the reason he'd been born unwanted as a result, why so many are born unwanted, why love isn't real, just destruction, destroying dreams and futures in its wake.
She deserves the blood now flowing down her leg as he makes contact with her bare thigh.
He swings again and again, twisting and moving his body with all the ease his years of practice have afforded him. With the drive that belongs not only to him, but to everyone who's ever been forced to lose theirs at the impact of a golden bullet.
By the time he crosses swords at her neck, knocks her to her back in the sand, he's panting heavily, even though he's hardly exerted himself. It had been an easy match, his opponent too young and inexperienced, he realizes as he slowly comes back to his senses and sees, not a goddess, but an ordinary human, the girl looking up at him with a bit of fear in her eyes. It isn't unheard of for gladiators to die at the hands of their opponents.
The announcer is declaring him the winner, the tidal wave of spectators around them screaming some barely intelligible chant of his name, his thundering heart waging its own battle against the sound.
He steps over the swordswoman's torso, sheathes his swords, then reaches a hand down for her to take, helping her to her feet where she balances a little unsteadily on her uninjured leg.
The momentary fear has left her expression, now replaced with a bit of curiosity as she returns her own blade to its sheath and removes her helmet to convey her proper surrender.
A fist she presses to her chest and she bows low for a moment before righting herself, the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes but a smile on her face.
"My parents were demigods," she says quietly with a shrug when he narrows eyes at her strange expression. "But stupid me for thinking I'd have a chance against you."
She lets out a soft laugh that is laced with more pain than she's letting on, yet she sticks a gloved hand out towards him in a show of sportsmanship.
He stares at it warily for a long moment, but eventually shakes it.
"Rebecca," she introduces, and quickly stops him when he begins to reply with his own name. "I know who you are. You're almost as famous as the gods around here."
He wishes she hadn't said that.
As if on cue, his left eye snaps open suddenly of its own accord, still solid gold and blind but now both his eyes have focused over her shoulder, where he notices, for the first time, a glimmer of light in the stands over Rebecca's shoulder.
Light is the only way he can think to describe it, but it isn't light really, it's more a glimmer, a reflective rippling in the air that passes over the empty Gods' Box situated high above them. He knows it's empty because he'd entered the arena more than thrilled to find there were no Very Immortal Persons sipping ambrosia from the balcony above, no private party taking place behind the windows.
And yet, where the box had stood empty, that shimmer suddenly passes through to reveal, as if from behind a thin veil, a familiar group of gods, in fact the very same ones who'd arrived in Jaya to much pomp and circumstance the day before.
The Vinsmoke siblings. The Cupids. And the blue-haired one has a sadistic grin on his face as he aims a golden revolver directly at Rebecca's back.
She can't see it, proof in the odd look she passes over her shoulder back to him when his attention drifts. No one can see. No one even notices their presence. No one even notices that the gods stand amidst them in their full splendor, an other-worldly glow hovering above their skin, huge white wings folded at their backs, the robes they wear billowing as fluidly as liquid.
No one sees, save for Zoro.
And that is why, in the split second before the Cupid bastard pulls the trigger, Zoro alone is able to react, shove Rebecca to the side, and lash out with a sword to send the bullet ricocheting off his blade.
It rockets into the crowd, and he hears a shocked gasp, followed by a number of excited squeals, the Kiss Cam on the huge screens overhead searching frantically before it lands on a young man already heavily making out with the woman beside him, whether she likes it or not.
Rebecca is gaping at him in his peripheral, tangled in her dusty cape, her mouth a confused and somewhat offended oval.
Zoro doesn't let his attention waver, his expression dark and disgusted as he glares at the five figures looming above him in the stands.
There they are, in the flesh, or whatever the hell unearthly substances gods are made of. It's no longer his imagination, his targets materialized right before him. And his three swords belted conveniently to his hip.
The blue-haired one (hell if he knows their names) has tilted his head with a frown, looking rather inconvenienced before the green-haired brother leans in to murmur something in his ear, wicked eyes flicking to Zoro.
The gun is raised again, this time pointing at Zoro's own heart.
The god pulls the trigger.
There's a flash of blond hair as golden as the bullet.
But Zoro is already bolting towards the stands with a vengeance, the shot whizzing past his ear into the dirt behind him. Has he dodged again? He isn't sure, his vision tunneled on the blue-haired Vinsmoke, now thrown against the seats, baring an enraged grimace at his blond brother, who'd knocked him aside.
Zoro's eyes catch the blond's for a split second before the god runs after his other siblings, who've unfurled their grand wings and begun to soar into the stands with varying expressions of amusement.
Gunshots begin to echo throughout the stadium as Zoro leaps the barrier into the first row of seats. He thinks he hears Nami's voice shout his name from somewhere, but he ignores it, merely pushes past bewildered spectators to the stairs. He sprints up them two at a time, his boots pounding on the concrete, eyes trained on the upper level where the Vinsmokes are.
How the fuck is he supposed to get up there? He hadn't thought that through, so he cuts through rows of people again, brushing through a sea of invasive hands that reach out to touch his well-known and well-photographed muscles as he runs by.
Again, damn that sponsorship.
The siblings are scattered now, the goddess and her red-haired brother circling overhead like vultures silhouetted against the sun while the green-haired one perches himself on the railing of a higher level, crouched there precariously as he eagerly aims shots into the crowd at random.
Zoro bursts out onto another staircase, scanning above him rapidly for the blue-haired bastard who'd dared to aim his way but seeing no sign of him, the area where the siblings had stood now empty.
But then, a gunshot rings out behind him, and he whips around just in time to see a blonde woman stumbling out of the stands below him, her dress soaked through with a thick black substance oozing from the middle of her chest.
A man chases after her, his eyes wide and panicked as he reaches for her arm, though she hurries away before he can touch her.
"Moody! Babe, where are you going?" he calls as she begins to run, passing Zoro with tears streaming down her face.
The man pounds up the stairs after her.
"Babe, come back! Don't do this! You can't—!"
"Stay the hell away from me! I never wanted this! Why would I ever love you, Fullbody?" she cries over her shoulder before shoving through the doors out of sight.
The man stumbles on the landing, staring after her for a long, disbelieving moment, then shakes his head and presses on after her, leaving Zoro alone on the stairs, the crowd hushed around him.
His head turns slowly the second he hears a footfall below him to see the blue-haired Vinsmoke standing at the foot of the stairs, casually twirling a black revolver around in his hand.
His grin broadens when Zoro makes eye contact with his angular sunglasses.
"So you really can see me," the god says, his voice laced with a strange ringing tone that seems to tickle Zoro's eardrums. The crowd stands oblivious as they try to predict where the next gunshot will come from, heads swiveling left and right blindly.
Three more shots in quick succession across the arena.
"That makes this interesting," the Vinsmoke notes darkly.
Another from a section over, the LED screen above the arena exploding with animated hearts as the camera frantically zooms in on two women embracing, both bleeding a stream of disturbing gold liquid from their chests.
The Vinsmoke raises his lead gun at Zoro with a challenging tilt of his head.
"Try it," Zoro growls.
And then he leaps as the shot echoes and pings off the railing where he'd just stood. Sword drawn, Zoro twists himself in the air, redirecting another bullet just before he lands hard in front of the god.
He rolls forward in the narrow aisle, the impact of the jump singing through his ankles, but he rights himself in time to deflect a third shot, a fourth—parrying quickly and then switching to offense in the second it takes the god to spread wings and hop onto the ledge for a higher vantage point.
Zoro draws a second blade and crosses arms over his chest, extending them both in a practiced move aimed at the god. And though his katana clip through feathers, the tips of which frustratingly regenerate a second later, he misses making contact with the god's body when he lifts off to hover in the air out of reach.
"Hey! He's attacking them, isn't he! He's going after the Cupids!" a woman's voice shouts from the stands nearby, followed by yet more angry protests from the onlookers, no doubt finally putting together what's happening, despite being blind to their attackers.
The god doesn't look their way, keeps eyes on Zoro even as he fires another shot absently into the crowd, resulting in a cry that sounds far too young, a shocked mother soon struggling to comfort her screaming child, the Colosseum illustration on the boy's T-shirt now soaked black.
The crowd is effectively silenced, save for the wails of the boy…sobs which morph in Zoro's ear to another's…to that unsuspecting night in the field, that warm night when they'd sparred until they'd collapsed, sat there in the grass talking about their dreams, laying souls more bare than they ever had…
He lunges again, ready to fly himself if that's what it takes—
"Niji!"
A thunderous voice suddenly, and Zoro turns, squinting in the sunlight to see the blond Vinsmoke cutting through the air towards them, seemingly made of sunlight himself, his wings outstretched to twice the length of his body.
Zoro shifts his stance, ready to dodge two attackers if need be, but it seems the blond has no interest as he shoves his brother in the air, the two of them tumbling ten feet or so before catching themselves.
Instantly, Niji fights back, swinging a punch at the blond which just barely misses his jaw as he ducks away, the tense air between them shimmering like a mirage. The blond flips backwards mid-air and sends a kick straight for his brother's chest, which lands with a dull crack.
Zoro stares, his body trembling with pent-up aggression but unable to join the fight as the two fly back through open air across the arena.
"You fucking bastards!" he curses, and takes off instead, running the perimeter of the stands to try and reach the green-haired brother instead.
He can see him, hovering above the crowd now, switching between his two weapons at random, a crazed laugh escaping him as he rains gunfire onto the spectators.
A man with that familiar gold bubbling over his chest nearly bowls Zoro over in pursuit of a woman who looks terrified as he traps her against the railing, hands reaching out to grope her. The man has just moved in to assault her lips when the hilt of Zoro's sword meets the back of his head bluntly, sending him collapsing to the ground.
Zoro pushes himself to run faster, cries both elated and horrified sounding in all directions.
Just one more section to cross and then he can tear the bastard to shreds.
But he stops dead in his tracks suddenly, when a blast of warmth tears through the air like a shockwave, then another and another, until he realizes it follows a pulsing rhythm.
Oddly, the crowd seems to calm around him, the frenzied energy quieting to gentle voices and strangely oblivious smiles.
He feels the desire to fight draining from him unnaturally, enough that he scrambles to hold onto it, struggling to keep his grip tight on his swords and his anger boiling at the Cupid ahead of him.
That Cupid, however, has stopped his attack, arms limp at his sides and his gaze looking a little guilty as he directs it at something over Zoro's shoulder.
The swordsman turns, and his heart stutters in his chest as it never has before.
Materializing over the arena is a massive figure, easily three times the size of a normal human, with skin glowing so brightly Zoro finds it difficult to look at. It's a woman, no…an angel? No, nothing that pure.
She's just a god, but she is radiant, admittedly, her wings spanning nearly the entire length of the arena, the color of the feathers shimmering and pearlescent. Her robe is a white cloud around her, golden hair thick and full. She looks far more powerful than she had on the docks, her son shepherding her small human frame into the back of a car.
This is her true form, the Goddess of Love, and yet the look in her eyes is sorrowful, tired, and perhaps just as vulnerable as before, her wings beating that slow rhythm which continues to send waves of warmth and comfort across the arena.
She says nothing, at least not out loud, merely tilts her head, but her son seems to understand, the green-haired god slumping shoulders and reluctantly returning his guns to their holsters.
A pump of his wings and he flies off to join her, his form quickly dwarfed by his mother's. One by one, his siblings join him, the last of which is the blond who hovers close to her side, fussing vainly with his hair.
Zoro feels the goddess' eyes land on him, soft, but piercing, rooting him to the spot for a long moment, his heart pounding.
But then, the spell breaks, the goddess giving a final beat of her giant wings before the air ripples and she fades into nothing, her children following suit.
The blond Cupid is last, his gaze too fixing on Zoro before he is gone.
Zoro's left eye snaps shut, once more blind and immovable.
Around him, voices begin murmuring again from the crowd, the spectators blinking and confused, as if woken from a daze. Zoro's anger slowly but surely returns, wrenching at his chest with a spiteful rage. But with nowhere to direct it now, he can only glare at the empty arena where the gods had been seconds ago.
He hears congratulations behind him, various people fawning excitedly over the lucky couples who've fallen in love thanks to the Cupids' golden bullets. But there are others fleeing the scene, dark lead spilling from their chests, others pursued by crazed individuals bleeding gold for the wrong person. As with the gods, no one notices them.
The child who'd been shot still wails, his mother finally carrying him off towards an exit, her eyes red-rimmed as she holds him mournfully close. Her son will never find love, never find a partner, and to most people, that is something to mourn in this backwards society.
Because life is meaningless otherwise, clearly, sad and pitiable.
…
"Screw dreams, Zoro! Look at me; I was never going to get there! All I want is you! Please, you can't do this to me!"
…
The bitter memory of his best friend's broken voice plays in his head, words she never would have said if a bullet of gold hadn't struck her chest. Their dreams had been their lives, and he'd known she couldn't be tethered to him. Neither of them had wanted that. Their dreams relied on their independence. But hers had been stolen from her.
So he'd taken her dream and added it to his.
But what is it worth if only he believes in it now?
What would she tell him if she were still here? The real her?
A younger version of himself would never have let his determination waver.
But as Zoro leaves the crowds and retreats to the underbelly of the Colosseum, he hates how lonely it now feels to fight for it on his own.
"What the hell were you thinking, Zoro? You could have seriously hurt someone!"
Nami's heels click back and forth across the stone floor as she paces a circle around her office, her shrill voice rising and then falling in volume when she storms past him into the merciful deafness of his left side.
"Oi, I could've?" the swordsman shoots back from his position against the doorframe, unwilling to set foot in the office that tends to look dungeon-like on Nami's bad days, which is to say, today. The ancient Colosseum's cold, drab interior wasn't exactly much to work with, but just because the room used to house prisoners doesn't mean he's looking to keep up that tradition.
"The Cupids were fucking shooting up the entire arena!" he continues. "What the hell was I supposed to do!"
"Uh, leave them be?" Nami counters, her long ponytail an angry orange flame behind her head when she whips around to glare at him. "They're gods! Their decisions are—!"
"Completely random!" he interrupts. "You didn't see their faces, Nami! They were sadistic, not even fucking thinking! Just shooting into the crowd wherever the hell they felt like!"
She rolls her eyes, shaking her head in annoyance.
"Zoro, even if they were, who the hell are we to stop them? You go in there attacking immortals unprovoked, we lose their backing, their bets, you lose your job, everything!"
"Do you think I care about this job?"
"Don't you?" Nami scoffs, her gaze discomforting as she looks him up and down. "I thought you wanted to be the greatest swordsman in the world, or was that just a lie to convince Luffy to let you join his team?"
He bristles instantly, irritation turning to full-blown fury for a moment before he forces it down. Instead, he channels his emotion into a mighty glare that he wishes could cleave her right in two, the flash of midriff beneath her team crop top a good guideline for his mental blade.
But if she feels his intensity, she doesn't let on, her expression softening a few seconds later to a look of exasperation.
"They could punish you, Zoro," she adds more gently, followed by a heavy sigh when he merely looks away.
He hears her shift, scooting aside some magazines and her computer keyboard to hoist herself up onto her desk, her bare legs pale against the dark mahogany. He spares her a glance to see her leaning an elbow on her crossed legs, watching him.
"I'm not an idiot," she eventually says. "I can see you've got some history with them."
He stays quiet, unsure when he ever let on that much about his past. He knows Nami is smart, too smart for her own good. Sometimes he thinks she's the real driving force behind their team's success. But even she couldn't possibly discern the things he's unwilling to talk about.
"And if you talk to us, maybe we'll be more inclined to understand why you're such an impulsive dumbass!"
And yet, she seems to read his mind anyway…
"I mean," she continues, to the uncomfortable clenching of his chest. "It's been two years, and the most any of us knows about you is that you can drink only slightly less than me!"
Untrue. One loss to her at a tournament after-party and she won't let him live it down. He knows she's teasing him, but he can't muster any amusement, not when his mind can do nothing but remember nights of liquor cabinet raids, multiple tap-outs and someone who really could beat him more than once.
Dammit, why can't he get his mind off her… It's not always like this, but today…
Nami sighs again, reaching up unconsciously to rub over her left bicep. Zoro's gaze follows the trail of her manicured nails over bumpy scar tissue, shiny under the glow of the desk lamp.
He's not an idiot either, despite what most people would claim. He knows Nami and his teammates have been through their own fair share of shit too, but it hasn't made it easier to open up. If anything, it's been harder. He ran away from home with the intention of locking away his grief…and his guilt. But he wasn't expecting to run right into people who seemed determined to pry it out of him.
Evident when Nami drops her hand and leans forward, making sure to look him in the eye.
"You don't have to be alone, Zoro," she says, and had he been a little younger, had the wounds been a little fresher, he might have agreed.
But her earlier argument still stood. If she wouldn't support his attack on the Cupids, then there was no way she could understand his motives.
He just wishes part of him really didn't care about all that.
"M'gonna go," he eventually mumbles, and turns on his heel before he can unwillingly yield to her pressure. "Take some of my cut to pay for damages or whatever…"
Nami's disappointment shows for a split second, a slow blink of likely fake lashes and the slow uncrossing of her legs.
But she shakes it off quickly, hopping to her feet once more and folding arms over her chest.
"Oh, way ahead of you," she replies. "Though I'm not sure any amount will be enough to pay off the press for this story."
Another long-suffering sigh that could easily be described as annoyance yet again, but her auburn eyes are too worried, genuine concern buried not so deep within.
He pushes off the doorframe to avoid the weight of her stare.
"Sorry for the trouble," he says and heads out into the hallway before she can get in another word.
The warm sun dips low on the horizon by the time Zoro leaves the Colosseum, back in old street clothes, feeling drained and eager to be alone after the insanity of the day's events. His apartment is a half hour walk ideally, over by South Grave Park, though it always seems to take longer. The city's always slowing him down in one way or another, but he doesn't really mind. He likes the growing calm as he nears the park, even if the area's prone to huge bugs and loud-ass birds. Not much he can do about that.
He's lugging his heavy sword case, and his side has begun to ache where his stitches came undone. But he has to hope the bandage he slapped over the leaking wound will be enough to save the streets' cobblestones from a soaking of blood. At the very least, his black T-shirt will hide the stains.
There was a time, when fame first began to find him in the arena, that he worked to hide the solid gold splashing over his face, as the defining feature seemed an invitation for fans with little concept of boundaries to approach him on the street. He'd tried to head home at later hours, training in the Colosseum's gym for longer than necessary until he was sure everyone lingering had given up and gone home themselves.
But it didn't matter when and where he went; he was a magnet for attention. Though nowadays, he's much better at repelling than he is at attracting, at least in person.
Doesn't stop the group of girls posing for pictures with an ad poster of his plastered near the stadium's entrance gates. He's practically scowling at the camera, face as sullen and serious as he could muster to show his annoyance, but they're eating it up. He ducks his head and skirts around the building to cut through a shaded side street.
And it doesn't deter another random guy, dressed in a Straw Hat team jersey, from spotting him and shouting his name from down the block, gesturing for his similarly-clad buddies to come and gawk at the swordsman as well.
Zoro quickly crosses the street before they can accost him.
He just needs to escape this side of town, away from the sports bars and pubs that line these streets, lights spilling a glowing sunset of their own onto the sidewalks as laughter and chatter from the dinner crowds begin to fall out of open windows and doors. The post-tournament buzz is always palpable in the air after a particularly exciting day.
Unfortunately, Zoro can't seem to shake the events quite so easily, not when stolen glances through bar windows show replays of his last fight on the TVs, followed by a montage of Kiss Cam footage from the ensuing chaos.
He walks faster, treading over discarded newspapers sporting the Vinsmokes' faces, past bookstores displaying tabloids loudly advertising Sora and Judge's divorce spectacle. And when he accidentally turns a corner to find himself smack dab in the middle of the shopping district, immortals are inescapable, plastered on every billboard and storefront in sight.
Love Hurricane by BOA. Great, the Goddess of Pleasure or whatever the fuck has yet another new perfume coming out. As if he needs a spritz of that in his face when he passes a department store.
Taxis inch by in the evening traffic, adorned with ads for that new museum exhibit on lost history, conveniently endorsed by the Goddess of Wisdom herself. Her icy blue eyes pierce his as the cars pass.
And he's pretty sure that dumb supermodel Cavendish is just advertising himself as he rides a white horse in slow motion across a skyscraper face.
They're everywhere and that's how it's always been, but for some reason, it has Zoro particularly disturbed, thinking about just how much worship truly permeates the landscape, even more so than the fools who fawn over their idea of him.
He knows the gods have supernatural abilities. He knows they control every aspect of life, but why should he bow down to them? Who says mortals aren't powerful enough to make their own fate? Forge their own path?
Or so he'd believed…
The cemetery is dark and silent compared to the chaotic sounds and lights downtown when Zoro finds himself standing outside the gates.
He isn't entirely sure what willed his feet in this direction. (It certainly wasn't the gods.) But he decides to enter anyway, following the lanterns down the entrance walkway and bearing right, retracing the path he'd first taken three years earlier. The air that day had been punctuated with the trickle of rain and tears.
The headstones peppering the grass begin to change to monuments, small clusters of obelisks and towers, incense burning on the ledge of each, trails of smoke wisping into the night.
He stops in front of hers, noting the white flowers her father must have left in a small vase that sits beneath the vertically carved characters of his best friend's name.
Kuina Shimotsuki.
He hasn't come here in a while, and he supposes he owes her an apology for that, among so much else, but it's hard. He usually wants to push all thoughts of this reality from his head.
Zoro sighs heavily and sets his sword case down, lowering himself to the ground beside it where he crosses legs and bows his head, running a shaky hand back through his hair.
"I dunno if you saw what happened today, but…they were so damn close…" he murmurs quietly, and it's stupid. Of course she didn't see. She's gone. She's in the Underworld, not even here anymore, but he has to talk to someone. And if he can't open up to any of the new people in his life, maybe he can still talk to Kuina.
"I could've had them… I could've made them pay…"
The words sound strange coming from Zoro's mouth. He doesn't fight for revenge; he never has. That's not who he is, but he's not sure he's been himself for quite some time. The fog is too overwhelming.
Fuck… He wonders if she'd even want this. Would she even want him going after the Vinsmokes, making that his new goal when he knows damn well it's just an excuse at this point? An excuse to blame someone else for losing her and not himself…
The thought runs through his mind far too often and—
Suddenly, a knowing bristling up his spine, just before his golden eye snaps open, his Sight activating a second before he catches a familiar glimmering in the air to his left, just as he did in the arena.
The air ripples, a silhouette appearing to reveal a man standing beside him, lantern light flickering through his form as he slowly materializes and his features take shape.
He's come in human form, wearing a normal button-down and slacks, no wings in sight, but Zoro would recognize that floppy hair and lanky stature anywhere. He's even got a damn cigarette in his hand.
The blond looks right at him and lifts that hand calmly with a short, "Hey."
Rage twists in Zoro's chest as he growls out one word in response.
"You."
Author's Note: Hi, hello. Please bear with me as I figure out how to write again.