umbra - "shadow" or "ghost
Once, Mother told him in secret that they'd wanted a second child for his sake.
"Why?" he asked and she had shook her head, an old little smile on her lips. She never did answer him, but Rosi arrived all the same.
He was a peculiar little thing. Very shy and meek, not one for confrontation. Did weird things like thanking and interacting with the slaves. Also cried. A lot.
They had nearly nothing in common, but he worshiped Doflamingo anyway. Followed him around everywhere and tried desperately to impress him. It gave Doflamingo all sorts of strange feelings inside he didn't know how to account for. He supposed the slaves deferred to him as well, but Rosi was different. An equal. He didn't have to constantly totter after him or call for him or really have anything to do with him at all.
But he seemed to want to. And he always did.
"I love you, brother," Rosi would proclaim sometimes, as if he thought it needed to be said.
Doflamingo supposed he understood what Rosi meant. He appreciated Rosi's love like he would a pretty sunrise—something he recognized at a distance and was always pleased by but could never quite fathom the idea of touching.
Not to say he didn't try. Not to say he didn't love him back in the only way he knew how.
"You are mine."
xxx
It took a year for the Donquixote Family to make its name. They ran drug rings and slave trade, smuggling weapons to the hands of tyrants. Entire towns burned to the ground and grown men begged for their lives before expiring. There was blood enough for days.
Trebol and Diamante praised Doflamingo endlessly for their successes, attributing him to their growing power and the spreading horror of their flag. It was rather funny how impressed they were already. How satisfied.
Because he sure as fuck wasn't.
The enterprise required expansion and when he turned seventeen, he declared they'd be taking their business to the seas. Pica and Diamante laughed uproariously, dreaming of plunder and women and luxury. Trebol's thoughts were of prestige and fame, rambling from then on about emperors and warlords.
Perhaps people like them could not understand. There was only one objective Doflamingo gave a rat's ass about and that had nothing to do with treasure or the absurd system of the Shichibukai.
Only Vergo seemed to have half a clue.
"It'll be very poetic, Doffy," he said once, leaning against the rail of their most recently…commandeered ship, "The view from here I'm sure."
Doflamingo rested his chin on a palm. Offhandedly, he pulled the log pose off Vergo's face. "Whatever do you mean?"
"When the Dragons fall." The noon rays glinted beneath Vergo's shades, reflecting the crisp waters. "Buried at sea, as they say. I can understand why you chose piracy."
Doflamingo chuckled.
"I did hope it wasn't too on the nose."
A small smile crossed Vergo's lips as he lit another cigarette. The wind was blowing out to the waves, heady tobacco blending together with the salt spray. He inhaled, focusing upon it.
And didn't bother acknowledging the shadow of eight-year old Rosinante sitting on the rail between them.
xxx
The hallucinations had begun out of nowhere. One moment, Doflamingo was having the time of his life, pounding into some moaning tart in the backroom of a local pub and the next Rosi was standing at the edge of the bed, peering into his face.
Doflamingo swore, nearly crushing the girl in his rush to scramble off of her. His recent growth spurt had made him long and heavy, and the dresser tipped over when he thudded against it.
The girl didn't react to the thundering crash it made. She didn't even seem to notice he was gone at all, as she lay sprawled on the bed still, gasping, a blush of pleasure across her snowy cheeks.
Doflamingo's mouth went dry. Rosi straightened, hands behind his back, as if he were about to start rocking on his heels. He looked exactly the same as when Doflamingo had last seen him. Sweat and dirt-stained, clothes worn, that thumbprint of their father's blood at the corner of his chin from where Doflamingo had touched him.
Rationally, it couldn't have been real. He still surveyed the islands across the North Blue and kept a tap on the local news, but had long stopped expecting anything. It had been seven years after all. At this point, Rosi was either dead or didn't want to be found.
"No," Doflamingo growled, "No, no, you don't get to do this to me."
"What was that, hon?" the girl murmured, eyes clearing, "Hey, what are you doing over there? Fun's back this way, big boy."
She sat up, slinking right past Rosi. Her long hair was still dark and wet with rainwater. She smelled of her muddy traipse through the storm when Diamante had demanded whores for company. A cool bird-like hand took him by the wrist, guiding it to her lily-white breast.
"Come on now," she said softly, fingers resting over his knuckles, "Don't be shy."
Doflamingo yanked his hand back and made her jump. He pointed toward the side of the bed, right at Rosi's blank face.
"Do you see anything there? Just nod or shake your head."
The girl looked startled, hesitating a beat that made Doflamingo want to smack her in his impatience. But then she turned, glancing at his brother without comprehension and shook her head.
Doflamingo refused to let the icy grip of panic take him.
"Get out," he snarled to the girl and wrenched his pants off the floor, far from aroused anymore.
"W-What? But you still have an hour—"
"Did you not hear me?" Doflamingo grinned and the girl paled. For an incredible second, it almost seemed she wanted to keep protesting, before self-preservation kicked in and she nodded, scooping up the crumpled pile of her dress.
It wasn't until her footsteps had faded down the hall that he managed to turn himself around again. Rosi was still there, sitting on the upturned dresser and idly kicking his feet.
"What do you want?" Doflamingo asked quietly.
He was stared at. The expression was mostly blank, save for a faint shadow of reproach, of child-like disapproval with him that Doflamingo remembered so well his stomach curled. Fuck, he was too young to be going crazy.
"I looked for you," he said, "I really did. But you were gone. I think you're probably dead actually. You're not here to blame me, are you?"
Rosi's face softened. He hopped to his feet, touching the floorboards without a sound, and for a second, Doflamingo thought he was walking towards him and couldn't stop himself from flinching.
But Rosi halted at the end of the bed, crouching near the post. He stared at Doflamingo, before looking down.
A dropped photograph lay half-wedged between linen and wood. It was yellowed and creased with too many folds. A young raven-haired girl hugging a woman in a wheelchair.
Doflamingo recognized the hair first. It had just been fanned out over the pillow only minutes ago after all and ah, that's right, he'd chatted with her pimp, hadn't he? And learned the whole tragic tale. A dying mother. A life of poverty. She sold herself for a handful of pills.
Diamante had laughed quite hard. (God, the sentiment in people, am I right Doffy?)
Doflamingo hadn't laughed. Fraying hair and brittle wrists had crowded his memory then. And coughing. Endless coughing.
Rosi studied him, nearly bent backwards just to meet his gaze. The torn hem of a lilac dress was clutched between his fingers.
Doflamingo slid on his glasses.
In the end, he fucked no one and left over twice the entitled payment for the stunned woman, storming out of the pub and into the wet cloud-ridden dark. Diamante didn't protest much, cowed beneath the seething blackness of Doflamingo's glare.
The photograph was still in his hand, growing increasingly wet and ruined. His trembling grip crumpled it further. With a burst of crimson petulance, he thought about setting fire to the entire pub and tossing it into the flames.
Instead, it slipped through his fingers to lie in the rain.
Rosi was gone.
xxx
He kept coming back.
Every time Doflamingo tried to do anything even remotely interesting. Or further the many meticulous plans he's laid out, Rosi would be there.
Sometimes, in the pristine satin robe of a Celestial Dragon. Sometimes, in the rags their father had reduced them to.
Always watching.
Over the next few years, Doflamingo grew used to seeing him in doorways and windows, seated at the table while Vergo made reports, or spattered with the guts of whomever Pica had slaughtered for laughing at his voice.
Ignoring him to do what he pleased resulted in nightmares. And a left eye that seared with such agony he once nearly gouged it out.
By that juncture, Doflamingo was sincerely contemplating if he'd gone insane. He'd done a vast amount of reading in his spare time, determined to educate himself, and concluded that at some point he'd suffered a psychotic break.
Doflamingo could not fathom why or when. He hardly thought he was broken.
But what else could this be? He wondered, standing in the rubble of another nameless town, Trebol giggling and Rosi huddled among the corpses, cradling Father's head like a toy.
xxx
"You really should leave me alone."
Doflamingo was twenty-three and Gold Roger had been dead for six years.
The Grand Line festered with impossible dreams. A torrent of skull sails poured in, each with their own silly little design and captain, here to pursue their silly little goals.
A new era was rumbling on the horizon. Unwritten history with the quill poised on the page. How Doflamingo fantasized about making his mark, about leaving his name in such vibrantly dark ink that it bled through to every page thereafter. Countless ideas rambled in his head these days, a hundred horrible and hilarious things to achieve.
The crew had grown like a rising swell. It was sufficiently sized now to organize into individual teams and supervising officers. They were all misfits, orphans and freaks to some degree, ostracized and barely existing on the fringes of society. No one wanted them, which was a waste and a shame, because there was such talent to be found.
Lao G from death row and Jora from the streets. The latest recruit, Senor Pink, had been plucked out of the jaws of a loan shark and was blinking at him with puzzlement.
"Young Master?" He spoke, all caution, and Doflamingo's gaze trailed down from the bookcase, where his still eight-year old brother swung his feet.
"It's nothing," he reassured, shoving aside his own surprise that he'd spoken out loud, "So a little lady's smitten with you, is she?"
Senor Pink blushed as deep as his namesake. "Well it's nothing serious. Just a few dates really. But since we're going to be docked here until the log pose updates, I just thought…uh…"
Doflamingo pretended to listen as he prattled on. He kept tabs on every interesting development among his crew and was well-aware of Senor Pink's pretty, doe-eyed Russian. They were discussing marriage at this point, far beyond a "few dates," and Doflamingo was not pleased at all that his subordinate thought to hide things from him. Trebol had already urged that the relationship needed ending by force, worried about a division in Pink's loyalties. Having yet to see any evidence of this, Doflamingo hadn't bothered. He liked Pink and didn't like suspecting family.
Even if things changed all the time.
"My Senor," Doflamingo said, abruptly interrupting the other man, "Let's just cut to the chase, shall we? You are lying and I'm frankly quite offended you presume me so easy to evade."
What a shade of white Senor Pink could turn. Even better than those petrified bird impressions of Jora's. A corner of Doflamingo, which was forever a ten year old boy burning in the flames, was alight with vicious glee. Fear was not nearly so practical as devotion, but it was satisfying to see all the same.
"...I'm sorry, sir. I was going to tell you sooner, but there was just never…She thinks I'm a banker, she doesn't know that I'm…well, I-I was a little worried she might—"
"Report you?" Doflamingo tilted his head. "Send the Marines after me?" He spun a letter opener along his knuckle, the ruby handle flashing against the lanterns. "Those are big worries, wouldn't you say?"
Pink was quiet. Sweat shined off his perfectly coiffed hair.
"Young Master," he said after a moment, "She knows nothing. She'll never know anything. You don't have to waste your time."
"Never a waste of time where my family's concerned," Doflamingo chided, and set the letter opener down, "I've been abundantly clear. Mistakes can be excused. But betrayal…"
"I would never betray you," Senor Pink said, fists squeezing and voice thick, "Never. Not for anyone. Please, Young Master, leave her be. I'll…I'll break things off with her today if you want me to. Give me any punishment you see fit for lying."
His head was bowed and oh god, the anguish on display, was it really so serious a thing, eheh. Doflamingo fiddled with his options. Something from the frozen depths of him mused on killing her anyway and making Senor Pink dispose of the body. He'd never been partial to the notion of sharing…
Fingertips brushed his elbow. Doflamingo blinked and Rosi was sitting on the desk with blood coming out of his eyes.
xxx
(Senor Pink cringed when the Young Master suddenly cursed, nails screeching against polished wood.
"You've picked the wrong time," he said and terror wrung Pink's stomach a little harder. He could not stand against his Young Master, who burned so ungodly bright with power. Who made his expectations clear and had been good to him in a hundred ways no one had ever bothered to be.
No, everything had simply been his own fault. He'd fucked up for real and now he'd never see or hear or touch her again.
"Get lost."
Senor Pink stiffened.
"I said get lost, Rosi."
Senor Pink raised his head).
xxx
"…Sir?"
Doflamingo's jaw creaked as he glared into Rosi's stained and dirty face, ignoring the shudder that echoed through his soul.
"Young Master?" a voice warbled through his senses, "Who are you…?"
Doflamingo turned back to Senor Pink, who flinched at his gaze. He made a single alarmed glance at the empty space Doflamingo had been snapping at and did not attempt to move or speak again.
Eyes narrowed, Doflamingo considered the man impatiently. He had an inkling then of what would send Rosi away. It wasn't the statement he'd prefer to make and he would probably never hear the end of it from Trebol, but he wanted Pink gone now.
"…If you watch her well," he said slowly, "And never forget where your loyalties lie…then I could care less what you do."
Senor Pink gaped, hope crushing the weight of his previous unease.
"Captain, do you mean…and it's okay if we…"
Doflamingo sighed, resisting the urge to rub his temples. Oh well, he was bored of this whole situation anyway.
"Don't lie to me again. Now get out."
Senor Pink bowed so low his forehead leveled with the desk. He didn't dare to ask what had changed his mind.
"Thank you, Young Master," he said, "For your forgiveness."
Doflamingo snorted as the door clicked shut after him. Forgiveness, huh?
"What the hell do you think you're playing at?"
But he was already in the room alone.