vergo: obscuro - "shadowy" or "blind"
"What are you still doing here?"
Rosinante scrunched tighter against the shack doorway, wiping at his tear-streaked face with grubby hands. "I'm waiting for my brother," he whispered.
"Oh yeah?" Vergo stopped in front of him. His shadow swathed over the pale young face. "Even after all of that?"
Silence.
"You're pathetic."
A tiny flinch. Vergo folded his arms. "You're so damn afraid, I can hear you quake. And yet you keep sitting here, pretending to yourself that you want your brother to come back—"
"I'm not leaving." Rosinante's brows furrowed, his eyes garnering a flint of heat. "I can't leave him. He's my brother. I can't leave."
Vergo stared. A sharp twitch ran through his cheek.
"Think you're family just because of some shared blood in between? You and him are nothing."
xxx
He did not manage to make it to the base until nightfall. Triaged by some thrice-damned request to help stand guard during a particularly busy day. Standard protocol in Vale, they had said, for all visiting officers to contribute to watch duty if necessary. Vergo, already reputed as one of the more accommodating officers, had chosen to accept without fuss. Doffy had wanted subtlety after all.
It'd been a most unfortunate mistake.
"Vice Admiral?"
He turned, loosening his hands from the Haki-infused fists they had formed. Faint splits lined the knuckles of his black leather gloves. The ensign was staring at them.
Vergo smiled.
"Ah, apologies, got lost in my head a moment."
The man looked concerned. "Your sister, sir? She doing better?"
"Much better actually, thank you." He folded his hands behind his back. "I do hope to return to her soon however, if you could..."
"Yes, of course," the ensign laughed, scratching his head, "We appreciate you helpin' out with the guard watch. It's not usually so chaotic, but market day got overlapped with a wedding and we were short on hands. Hope it didn't take too much of your time."
Vergo continued smiling. On the contrary, it had taken all his time. Nearly the entire day. He couldn't even be sure Rosinante was still in the kingdom at this rate.
A violent spike of frustration pulsed through him. "It's a bit curious," Vergo said, as they walked through the base's sparkling clean hallway, "I was under the impression Vale has been funneled more resources since Roger's demise."
The man paused, hesitating. Vergo's glasses flashed.
"We have, but…"
A group of petty officers passed by before he could finish, each looking more bedraggled than the next. Band-aids were taped all over their faces and Vergo noticed gauze wrapped over some of their fingers when they saluted breathlessly.
"The boats have been sent off, sir. Both of 'em were biting so the clinic might be a bit full now, but—"
"Thank you, lads," the ensign said, a note of sternness in his tone that quieted them. Their eyes darted to Vergo, who smiled very thinly at them, before they nodded, saluted again and trudged off.
"Something happened?" Vergo asked, before they were even out of sight. The ensign released a tired breath. "It's a bit complicated."
"Oh? How so? Perhaps I can assist."
The man shook his head, carding a hand through his graying hair. "Reckon the only thing that'll help those tykes now would be a shrink or thre—"
He broke off, gaze flying to the gloved hand which had grabbed his shoulder.
"What?" asked Vergo.
The man sucked in a yelp when the hand clamped down, hard enough to reach bone. Only the fraction of a second however, before the pressure vanished. Vergo folded his hands behind his back again. The ensign clutched his arm, staring at Vergo with startled eyes.
"…Sir?"
Vergo resumed walking. His pace was brisk.
"Seems your day was far more eventful than mine, lieutenant," he said, "Let's sit down and chat."
xxx
Marines began circling the island a week following Doffy's return. Coming ashore. Searching for something. They packed up at dusk, slipping through shadows to the beach-side. Vergo was glad. He hated this place.
Doffy though, hesitated on the shore.
"My brother," he said, seawater soaking his tattered shoes, "He could come back. He'll be looking for me. I can't just leave. What about my brother?"
Trebol had plied him with lies, saying that they'd already searched the entire island through, that Rosinante couldn't possibly be here anymore and we'll search again at the next island, Doffy, of course, of course, whatever you wish.
"You entertain him," Trebol had stressed once Doffy was out of earshot, "and keep his mind from wandering back to places it shouldn't."
Vergo gave a blank nod. They watched Pica pull Doffy into the boat, Diamante hoist him onto the top of their motley heap of supplies and food and machetes. "Why is he talking about him again? You said he was finished with his brother. You were wrong."
The end of Trebol's cane impaled into the sand. The man grinned, yellowed mouth on display.
"Is that how you speak to your boss?"
"You're not my boss anymore."
"Behe, true, true." Air whistled through the holes in Trebol's teeth. "Fine, maybe I was wrong. Just a little. Either way, it's your turn now."
Vergo watched the cane rise, gesturing with a sharp arc towards the boat. Towards Doffy, who sat hugging his legs, not paying attention at all to whatever jest Diamante was cracking.
"Look carefully," Trebol said, "because that creature right there will be our sole purpose in life. Your lord-to-be. Your king. Oh, the things he's meant to do, can't you see it, boy?"
Vergo looked. And he could.
They'd all witnessed Doffy that day after all, under those dusty warehouse rafters—the stained rags of his clothes, the old blood beneath his nails. That laugh—he'd never heard the other boy laugh at all until then. Its echo had been more thunder than thunder, like the scorched-up trail of something plunging out of the sky. A promise in the dark.
Doffy was here to destroy the world.
All that mattered was his will.
"Just one pebble on the road," Trebol spat, "One snag in our way. Only one."
Loathing bubbled in his voice.
"Something soft and something weak."
Vergo turned to the boat. Doffy was staring up the sandy trail which returned to that miserable town. He'd keep staring that direction as well, even when their boat cast off into the waves, dodging the naval ships like a rat from the daytime. Even when the island slipped into the veil of twilight, shrank into a speck and was gone.
Doffy looked back. That's what Vergo would notice about him most in those first few years. He was always looking back. Always. Half of him stuck the way he came.
Vergo's jaw tightened. Trebol's fingers dug in.
"Show your king," he hissed, "what it means to be free."
xxx
(Something dead was in the water. Doflamingo observed the vulture, its silhouette sloping up and down with the wind, gliding in languid circles. The feathers were a deep jet black. The size of its body behemoth and fragmented beneath the muffled starlight.
How odd. He didn't recall birds so large being native to the West Blue. Must have migrated then, from some open region of the New World.
Where Zunesha walks for eternity. Rosi stood on the bench behind him.
Doflamingo didn't move.
One of my favorite stories, wasn't it? His terrible crime, the punishment which followed. How he carved a place in the sea for every living thing. You even said we'd go find him for ourselves one day.
Rosi craned his head, staring up at him.
But you didn't want to see Zunesha, did you? You didn't care about the greater, wider world. You didn't care about the world, let alone what was in it.
And you were bored to death of the tale actually. It made you tired and annoyed, telling it and re-telling it.
I know what occupied your thoughts then. I know. So why'd you keep saying such things to me? Offering all those words you didn't mean.
You lied to me, Doffy.
You promised and you lied.
"For you," Doflamingo said, knuckles bleached of blood, "It was for you. Always. I don't fucking understand what you want from me—"
"Young Master?"
He paused. Doflamingo glanced behind him slowly. Beneath the mast pole stood Jora and Senor Pink, the latter expression-less, the former ghost-white and eyes darting every which way.
"Are you speaking with someone? I-I thought I heard…"
Doflamingo turned fully. His hands, with twisting strings still attached, were stuffed into his pockets.
"What is it?" he said, already half a snap, his patience a sliver, "Did you find more of that shit after all?"
Jora stared. She seemed reluctant for the subject to be changed. Senor Pink intercepted.
"Not a drop. Ship's completely out."
His eye twitched. "I see."
In that case, he didn't much care what they were here for.
Senor Pink continued though, before he could banish them. "We were just thinking it might be a good idea to get more. Wherever Vergo was shipping it from. If it's a thing you need, Young Master."
Need? Doflamingo almost started laughing. There was only one thing in this entire world he needed right now.
"No. It's fine."
A sigh escaped Senor Pink. He sent a dull shrug at Jora's look of alarm and turned for the stairs without another word.
Jora didn't follow. She wrung her hands. Something of realization dawned upon her face.
"Young Master," she whispered, "I think we should go. I-If you really do need it, if there's—"
"It's fine," Doflamingo said again, just as softly, and returned to the sea. On some remote level inside him, he recognized they were worried. Knew they were afraid.
But he didn't care. He couldn't even see straight. He was plummeting again. Burning, burning, burning alive.
And they were gone to him by the time Jora could find the courage to protest again. Senor Pink grabbed her arm and guided her away.
The vulture's beak opened. A low, nasally whine.)
xxx
The Marines seemed to be visiting all the islands in the North Blue. Not with the typical, unobtrusive vessels of routine circuits either. These ships bore crisp blue sails-the ones signaling only the most decorated of officers. Vice admirals at the least.
Whatever it was they sought, they were still looking. Doggedly. With vehement purpose.
It was unnerving.
They moved islands then every four to five days. Rosinante was not on any of them. Vergo wondered if Doffy had honestly expected otherwise.
"Didn't you hear me?" he was sneering now, small arms wrapped around himself. "I said I don't want it. Just leave me alone."
Vergo didn't move. The bowl of broth and rice steamed in his hands. "You haven't eaten in two days."
"Not hungry."
"That can't be true."
"Shut up!" Doffy snarled out of nowhere, knuckles cracking, "What do you know about what's true."
His head snapped to the greasy window again right after, without any evident care for a response. Vergo sighed, placing the food on a nearby crate. He hoped the smell would help tempt Doffy, but it didn't seem very probable. He was in that sullen mood again. Silent for more hours of the day than not. Practicing the Ito Ito powers obsessively, while curled against that dirty sill and glaring into the sea.
Like his brother was going to materialize in the waves, if only he wanted it long enough.
"Doffy, isn't there something I can do for you?"
"Go away."
Vergo's shoulders fell. His nod dutiful.
"Okay."
Doffy made not a sound as he turned to exit. In fact, Vergo was nearly at the door by the time he suddenly spoke again, quiet enough that a hard breath could've drowned him out.
"…was it me?"
Vergo stopped.
"When I cut off Father's head," Doffy noted, in the way one would a passing cloud, "Rosi wouldn't stop crying. Wouldn't listen to anything I said. I was trying to get us home. I took the sole option we had. And he wouldn't even look at me. Wouldn't even…"
Vergo walked back into the room.
"Doffy," he said, three steps from the sill, "Your brother ran, because he didn't understand you. Because he couldn't see past himself or what you were trying to do for him. He was ungrateful, Doffy, and blind. That's all. You didn't do anything wrong."
A heavy pause reigned. Doffy rested a cheek on his knee, the grayed sunlight washing down half his face. It made no reflection in his scarred eye.
"Blind?" he muttered.
Vergo nodded, arms folding tight. He was not Trebol, a stinking well-spring of deceit. He told Doffy only what he sincerely believed. Honestly believed.
Immutably. Irrevocably.
"Yes, Doffy," Vergo said, "He was blind."
xxx
Children had been at the base. Violent, dangerous ones. So much that they'd had to be separately escorted from the quay.
Vergo bore his gaze into the wall, trying to parse out his thoughts.
The conclusion seemed obvious, but he wouldn't assume just yet. Doffy was not in the mindset for reckless deductions. What he needed was to confirm it true with his own eyes, but the skiffs had already departed. He'd missed them, while standing for that idiotic guard duty.
A mistake.
He'd definitely made a mistake.
"Vice Admiral Tsuru will be taking them to headquarters. She's about ten miles off in that fog out there," the ensign was saying, anxiously shuffling papers at his desk, "I've been keeping it quiet to avoid panic, but…the Donquixote Family's here. No reason clear yet. Vale's not equipped for that kind of pirate crew though. 's why the vice admiral couldn't come ashore herself."
"Perhaps they're here for those children?" Vergo said, stiff and straight in his chair, "Wasn't there any indication of where they came from? Who was it again, that brought them in?"
The ensign's eyes shifted. Flicking to the upper right corner. Down again in a diagonal line.
Lying.
"Just one of my men."
The papers sifted again, stacked and re-stacked. Vergo stared, until the ensign looked away. His foot tapped on the office carpet. Ebony. Shipped from Paradise, the ensign had boasted just an hour ago during their more amicable beginnings.
"Your men. Of course. Which one, might I ask?
"O-Oh, he's not here anymore. Got transferred this morning. We do a lot of rotation with other bases, haha. Standard protocol in Vale."
Vergo smiled. "I see. Then perhaps I could take a glance at the status report he filed instead. You do file status reports in Vale, don't you? No matter how trivial or confidential the case may be."
The ensign's eyes widened.
"Ah…we do, sir, but…" he hesitated, hands fidgeting, "…It is standard protocol in Vale that all standard protocols in Vale are—"
A Den Den Mushi started to ring. The ensign jolted in his seat. Vergo's gaze fell to his pocket.
"Excuse me," he said and stood. A hurried nod was sent at him, the relief of it almost palpable.
Vergo supposed it was due.
He'd been about to shatter the man's face after all.
Fate was a fickle thing, as Doffy use to say.
xxx
They took longer refuge in pirate towns. Some of the inhabitants steered clear of Doffy right away. Conniving bandits, quicksilver thieves, any man who survived by the skin of teeth and intuition. Doffy's eyes were hidden, but there was something of him—an air, a vibe—which said it all.
Here there be monsters.
And they were not ashamed to run from a boy. Vergo wished Doffy would enjoy it a bit more. The idea of full-grown men fleeing in their wake was beyond amusing.
But Doffy didn't care. He didn't enjoy really anything. He sat on the sills, the rooftops, the decrepit railings of filthy harbors where he could've fell and drowned instantly and watched the sea.
He searched for Rosinante.
It had to end. At this point, none of them had any idea where the younger Donquixote could be. He could've been dead actually, for all they knew. Vergo did hope so (secretly, very secretly).
Rosinante was gone, whatever the case. And Doffy, in any practical sense, was free. It was just the realization he was lacking.
"What happened?" Vergo asked, as Doffy stalked past, spitting out a bloody wad of saliva as he went, "Who did that to you?"
"Fucker living in the church."
"That old groundskeeper again?" Diamante shook his head. "He does have it out for you, doesn't he?"
Doffy stared at the ground. "I like the belfry. It's high up and quiet. I was only sitting up there and…" He was still a moment, face exceptionally blank, before smashing his fist into a barrel.
"Wish he'd die," Doffy hissed, chewing on an already busted lip, "He should die."
Diamante and Pica didn't speak, staring at his split knuckles. Trebol cackled like always and the sound scrabbled through the dead winter leaves. "Behehe…"
Vergo looked Doffy in the eye.
"Then it shall be done."
He would march the groundskeeper up all eighteen flights of the steeple stairs later, prodding him forward at gun-point in the crimson evening. Would kick him off, screaming and sobbing, from the very edge of the belfry to a brilliant and splattering death. Left a maroon stain in the pavement that no rain ever quite washed clean.
Doffy gazed at it from the same spot the next morning. And the many mornings which followed suit too.
He watched them brutalize any person who so much as disrespected his name and massacre those that dared to strike.
What things he must have thought then—they would probably never be sure. But Doffy's mind had certainly begun to turn, every cog now awake.
A crack in those chains that Vergo alone could see.
xxx
The call was from Jora.
It was such an exceedingly rare occurrence that Vergo did little for most of it but stand there and listen. She was worried, he'd gathered, and thought she'd seen Doffy talking to nobody.
"There isn't any left either," she said, "Of…that wine you would send him. It must've been special, right? Helped him somehow. We tried to bring up the idea of getting more, but the Young Master…he isn't listening. He doesn't want to go anywhere. Could you get him more, Vergo? Ship it to us like you use to? Where are you right now anyway?"
Vergo hung up without answering a single question.
Then he stood in the gleaming, wax-polished hallway and mulled things over for several beats.
It was unquestionable that he'd be getting Doffy more wine. He was frankly surprised the supply hadn't run out sooner, lasting over three and a half years. For a while even, it almost seemed Doffy hadn't needed it at all.
Something must have changed. What exactly of course, Vergo didn't waste time pondering.
The main problem, he knew, was that Doffy would never let him depart for Punk Hazard if he told him what he'd uncovered today. Even with that percentage of uncertainty.
Not a single chance in Hell.
He would demand more proof, demand Rosinante in the flesh and be more convinced than ever his brother was in Vale. He'd not care who saw him in that state, or how much he was hallucinating.
A muscle in Vergo's cheek spasmed sharply.
He wasn't going to let Doffy walk back into his chains. Into his cage.
He re-dialed the Den Den Mushi.
xxx
(Vergo called at last.
Doflamingo leaned against the mast pole, ear piece held up to his paling face. In that same spot, the vulture was still circling. There was an inexplicable itch in him to shoot it out of the sky. It swelled the longer Vergo spoke.
Rosi…wasn't in Vale. There'd been no signs, not even remotely, that he'd ever stepped foot in the kingdom at all. Not of him or the kids. Nothing.
How could that be?
What did you expect? the ghost said, leaning on the pole beside him, the top of his head against Doflamingo's knee, You didn't ever know me.
Doflamingo's jaw went white.
Vergo was apologizing. "I've got another lead though, so we can meet up again later. Maybe another three months from now depending on how long it takes. But you should get out of these waters first. I heard Tsuru confronted the ship at some point. There's a risk she might chase you so…"
Rosi wasn't in Vale. He wasn't here. He'd never been. Even though Doflamingo had been so sure, so certain.
"…what would you like me to do? How should we proceed?"
He'd been wrong. Stood here waiting like a fool, wasting all his time on this goddamn city when Rosi was probably thousands of miles away. He'd misread completely and such implications filled him up with ice inside. Had he misread about everything else too?
Rosi had...he wouldn't...he...
"Doffy?"
Doflamingo blinked. The ghost was sitting directly across from him now, nose-to-nose and legs crossed, hovering mid-air like a puppet on strings.
You should remember, brother, what I came back for.
"Doffy." The Den Den Mushi looked grave. "What do you want to do?")
xxx
"We'll run," Doffy said finally, voice dry and rasping. He sounded distant, like he was about to float out of his body.
Vergo's frame relaxed in relief anyway.
"Okay."
"You'll have to…create a distraction for us. Force her back to Vale somehow."
"Understood. Anything particular in mind?"
Again, Doffy was quiet. His breathing was strained.
"No," he said, right before hanging up, "just make it quick."
xxx
The marines gave up their strange hunt after one year, lifting their boot off the North Blue's throat. By then, Doffy had stopped looking out to sea. He still mentioned Rosinante, still thought about him, but the frequency grew less by the day.
The final time would be in the summer, three months before his fifteenth birthday.
And it began with a skinned knee, reaped from an unevenly paved road. Trebol and Diamante loomed and sneered at the shredded flesh, tutting that this would not do. They could not have anyone disrespecting their young master. Pica was already plodding out the door, a rusted mace slung over one shoulder.
"It was just the road," Doffy said blankly, "What are you going to do?"
Vergo tucked a lead pipe into his pocket and folded his hands behind his back. A matchbook hung on his jawbone, swaying back and forth in a lazy arc. "It'll be a surprise." His smile was cold and rare—identical to the one he'd wear afterwards, disinfecting Doffy's knee.
"You burned the whole town."
"Yes, Doffy."
"Why? I told you it was the road."
"Road's part of the town. Guilt by association," Vergo lifted his head. "They deserved what they got."
Doffy stared at the soot on his fingertips, smudges gathered from Vergo's shirt and hair. Unbeknownst to Vergo, he was recalling the Mariejois slaves then—those spontaneous beatings which had occurred in the broad daylight and made the glittering streets burn of bile and metal.
Saint Blackwood had always provided explanations, very pertinent reasons you see, that spanned the scope of gender and race and bloodline. Guilt by association. Doffy was figuring it made sense enough. Deep down, it wasn't what he cared about anyway.
"What if he'd been there?"
Vergo's smile disappeared, resuming its flat, insipid line. "He wasn't."
"How do you know that? He could've been trying to find me."
Vergo placed one hand on Doffy's shoulders, held his chin with the other one.
"Doffy, he wasn't there," ash-rimmed nails touched the golden locks of hair, parted the soft lengthening fringe of bangs, "He never will be. He left. He didn't understand. He's not going to find you and you don't belong with him anyway."
Only with us.
Only with me.
"We shall never disappoint you," Vergo breathed, "Never leave you."
Doffy sat still. He didn't reply and he didn't pull away. And when Vergo took him to the ruins of the town that night, beneath the star-spilled sky, Doffy yanked him backwards and kissed him. He tasted the same way he smelled. Fire and honey. Molten gold.
"My Vergo," Doffy said, softly.
That was the end of Rosinante for a long, long time.
xxx
The ensign wasn't fond of smoking. Quite rare for a marine. He'd been confiscating lighters from the subordinates for a considerable time. Vergo found forty-eight of them piled up in the first drawer, clearly intended for disposal. Metal casings and plastics, neons and translucents where the fluid could be seen bubbling.
Vergo selected an onyx one, heavy as lead, that produced a fat and merry flame.
"You're the interfering type, aren't you?" he said, watching it dance, "Trying to change people that don't need to be changed."
Vergo stepped over the ensign's twitching body with due care, avoiding any smear of gore on his shoes. It had spilled from the man's skull like pink rotted fruit. Doffy would be displeased if he were caught for something as incompetent as a stain. He flipped through the stack of reports quickly. Nothing unusual. He slipped them all into an envelope anyway for later review.
As he circled to the other side of the desk, Vergo also caught sight of a white folder sitting in a tray. It was stamped with postage from Saobody Archives. Vergo eyed it for a contemplative moment, before grabbing it as well, tucking it beneath his elbow. Vale was an important outpost for the marines. It would be interesting to know what types of correspondence traveled through the office.
At the doorway, Vergo turned one final time. "Should've made this your standard protocol instead," he said, "Better always to let things lie."
The lighter was tossed behind him.
xxx
(Although Doflamingo was the one who'd been standing on deck, he didn't see the fires (or really even anything) until the Family had burst up the stairs and crowded at the prow.
"Over there, Young Master!" Gladius said, jabbing a finger into the foggy distance. The flames were like hazy orbs of light, sprouting higher with each slice of a second, eating a path into the steel blue landscape. Fire was always full of energy, for a thing so insatiable.
Doflamingo just looked at it. Any other time, he would've cursed Vergo out. What a stupidly reckless idea. Now though, it barely even registered. They waited only minutes before Tsuru's ship promptly turned, heading for the kingdom with blazing speed.
Doflamingo snatched whoever was closest. Jora, who jumped a mile.
"Set a course for the Grand Line.")
xxx
The vulture glided through the fog of Vale's waterfront. The kingdom behind it was burning. Sirens wailing, marines and citizens scrambling to evacuate. It chittered obliviously. Barked with triumph. Its prize, its prize.
A drowned paradise bird hung in its beak.
xxx
(They made for shore at a deserted beach. Rosinante dragged the boat through the sand with one hand, carrying Law in the crook of his other arm. The child had been asleep for most of the ride and Rosinante nearly started when he spoke, a small, thoughtful murmur in the quiet.
"I missed one."
"Law?"
The boy tried to sit up a bit more. He peered over Rosinante's shoulder and pointed. "His wine."
Rosinante turned around too and that was when he finally noticed the bottle that had been wedged into a corner of the boat, covered previously by a loosened tarp.
"It's that stuff he always had on hand," Law said, "Jora said it smelled like gasoline. She said it couldn't be good for him and so I should throw it all overboard."
"You what?" Rosinante's blood had gone a little cold. "...Did you?"
Law shrugged. "Not all of it clearly."
The boat fell out of his hand, thunking into the slimy terrain. He grabbed it up again a second later, hurriedly pushing it towards the water, wading in to his ankles. He was coming up with some irrational idea to store the bottle in a water-proof basket, send it to the Donquixote ship who-knows-how-many miles back the way they came. Somehow.
How could you do that? He almost shouted at Law, before choking the words back down. The kid didn't know. He'd meant well.
"What?" Law said, eyes becoming more awake, reading something in the expression of his face, "It's just booze right?"
"No," Rosinante muttered, listening to his own heart pound, "it's not."
"Huh? But I—no one ever said—then what is it? Did he tell you?"
"He didn't have to tell me, Law, I just kne—"
The rest of the sentence died on his tongue. Rosinante stopped abruptly. Stopped dead.
He knew? That wasn't true. Doffy hadn't liked to discuss it, never made the attempt to and so Rosinante had drawn his own conclusions over the years. He'd never doubted the wine was medicinal though, that it was necessary for some reason or other.
But where was this certainty coming from? He'd thought a lot of things about his brother that hadn't been true in the end. Doffy lied. He'd broken the only promise Rosinante had desperately needed him to keep. He'd murdered Father, murdered him, and kept on smiling.
Rosinante didn't know him at all.
Law's eyes widened as a particularly large wave swept onto them, soaking Rosinante to the knees. "Corazón?" he said, clutching his shirt uneasily.
There was a moment where Rosinante didn't move, staring at nothing. Then he towed the boat back ashore.
"You're right, kid," he mumbled, "It's probably…booze. Like you said. Probably nothing."
Just like us, huh, Doffy? Came the tired little thought. Nothing.)
xxx
"That's not true," Rosinante's chin started to wobble. "You're lying."
"Am not." Vergo stepped closer. "It kills you to stay. And you don't actually love him anyway."
"Yes, I do."
Rosinante started when Vergo leaned in, crouching over him. His glasses were pitch black. Tar black. The leathery wings of a nightmare.
"Well, he doesn't love you," Vergo said, "and he doesn't need you either. You're scared and you're weak and you're nothing. So just run away, Rosinante."
Run away.