Chapter Summary: Things aren't as obvious as they had seemed, and a million questions fly through Shrike's head. Why didn't he kill her? Why had he blown up at just a butler? Could it be the only thing wrong here is her?
Author Notes: Still with me? Good! Reviews/comments, as always, are appreciated.
'I am nobody. Always was and always will be.'
Shrike repeats her mantra in her head, the magic words that let her slip into the unseen side of the world.
It's entirely psychological, she knows, but there's no denying the reliance she has upon the phrase. It's far easier to become invisible when she reminds herself just how truly invisible to the world she actually is. Not that it bothers her much. In fact, she tends to prefer it this way. Her job is far easier when she can make herself just another overlooked passerby on the street; a flicker at the edge of one's vision, no more pertinent than a gnat.
She repeats the phrase in her head, willing herself out of wandering eyes. A soft smile plays upon on her lips as the familiar feeling of her shroud tingles along the surface area of her body. It dances featherlight on her skin, an impossibly thin, silk-like cowl of nothingness. She never could quite explain it, this ability of hers. When she wants to hide, she simply can. Entirely through willing alone. It's almost as if it were an inverse conquerer's haki, granting her a negative presence instead of an overpowering one.
Regardless of what it is, all Shrike cares is that it works.
She slips into a crowd of people, joining a throng of civilians making their way to the port. The actual name of this town has long since slipped her memory, as utterly inconsequential as it is. This place is just yet another stop for business, run by yet another corrupt cabal of shady businessmen and selfish pirates. Meaning that, of course, it's just the right kind of place for a man like her captain-'can I still call him that?'-would want to stop at.
This is how it always goes. While he works to drum up some negotiations-make a powerplay, whatever-Shrike conducts his real 'business' behind the scenes. 'Business' just being code for something he wants and inevitably expects her to go and fetch for him. Whether that something is fodder for blackmail or something grimmer like a life, she knows better than to ask questions. All Croc cares is whether she gets the job done, and all she cares about is whether she gets her promised dinner that night.
There's really no room for questions between the two.
Unfortunately, after that little stint in Alabasta, former shichibukai Sir Crocodile's name doesn't quite carry the same weight that it used to. The climb back up to his former status will be a long crawl, one he'll have to fight tooth and nail-'hook?'-for.
Which is where someone like Shrike comes in. An unknown body like her is the perfect tool to execute his plans behind the scenes.
A tool.
Nothing more.
Shrike clearly isn't envious of the situation he's in now, and she certainly doesn't pity him for it either. The whole thing was entirely his fault, and damn if it isn't about time he learned to be responsible for his actions. Men, users, like him always think themselves untouchable; immune to consequences. To have his plans blow up in his face like they did earlier today... she almost finds a sense of glee in it. Schadenfreude.
...Even if it had been almost entirely her fault...
A frown tugs at her lips as something begins to constrict about her gut. Something...
'No!' Her expression quickly turns to a sour grimace, her pace increasing as the self-directed anger drives her forward. 'I do not feel guilty about this!'
But try as she might to ignore the weight settling into her stomach, there's simply no denying it. She'd been so excited to work with him-together-when he first pulled her into his this morning for the mission briefing. It was the first time he'd ever asked for her direct presence during one of his 'business' meetings, and she'd been more than thrilled to accompany him. He'd practically handed her a one-way ticket to getting into his good graces!
She had to go and fuck it all up then, of course.
'What the hell, me. Since when did you go from hating him to dogging after his approval?'
The cold heat of hypocrisy simmers in Shrike's chest. She used to hunt people like him for sport. Sneaked into their homes, slit their throats before they even realized what was going on. Everyone from corrupt marines to slaves to raiding pirates lords, so long as they were blackhearted and cruel they were all fair game in her hunt. Hell, that was how the two of them had even met!
And now she's so desperately trying to make him like her?
Loathe as she is to acknowledge it, there is a none too small part of her that admires the man. Greatly, admires him.
She sighs, shoulders easing as some of the anger escapes on her breath. For all her captain gets on her nerves, fills her with indignation, makes her feel so very insignificant... Shrike really does like him.
His combat strength and prowess are matched by but only a few, and the sheer destructive power granted to him by his logia is to be both feared and awed in equal measure. Yet, he wields it with such a refined grace-such absolute control-that she can't help but regard him with a sense of reverence.
But what she respects of him the most is his cunning.
He hasn't made it as far as he has in this world on power alone. No, most of his success has been due to his frighteningly sharp intellect. Crocodile poses the kind of intelligence so lethal and intense it can be seen in the light behind his eyes. He's somehow always five steps ahead, and clever enough to let his prey think it's only one or two. They're already dead by the time they find out. As an accomplished killer herself, how can she not respect that?
And honestly? As a person, he really isn't that bad.
Despite having the reputation of being a ruthless monster-and barring that childish display earlier-he really isn't one. Not entirely, at least. Crocodile rarely kills in spite or in number, preferring to let his victims live as a reminder of what happens when they dare cross him. The ones he does kill at because they're either too stubborn or too stupid to learn, simply just too dangerous. Hell, the only reason she'd been able to join his crew in the first place is because he chose to spare her at the time.
Even when it comes to utilizing her talents as an assassin, Croc tends to err on the side of caution. He sends her on hits more selectively chosen than not, and with orders to minimize casualties as much as possible. Given that the targets he directs her to kill or rob are never good people to begin with, Shrike likes to think that-in a twisted kind of way-the words is a little bit of a better place with each successful mission.
Yes, Crocodile is powerful. Yes, he's definitely ruthless. But it's not like he's wantonly slaughtering innocents or razing cities to the ground. Still, Shrike has more than heard of his crimes in Alabasta and knows just what he's capable of on a more... grand... scale, but from what she's experienced of him personally, he's honestly quite charming.
Shrike hums wistfully as she continues her leisurely stroll back to the ship. She's in no rush, especially if what might be waiting for her is a grisly demise. Her thoughts keep wandering back to this damnable infatuation she has with her captain, instead.
Charming... When not in a foul mood, he's almost friendly towards her. Well, as close to 'friendly' a man like him can be described as, anyway. He'll slip into an easier tone, one that no longer rakes down her spine but rather lightly brushes up it. His casual aura leaves her feeling almost at ease, more willing to let her guard down.
And his smile, oh heavens his smile. Such a rare sight to see, but damn does it make her heart flutter. It'd been nothing like she'd expected-a disturbing, menacing sneer-but instead something devilishly handsome. The way his eyes and scar crinkle upwards gives her pause every time it happens, and she's been chasing after that expression ever since the first time she'd seen it. She exceeds every once in a while, her scathing quips and the sardonic humor he'd initially refused to acknowledge occasionally eliciting a suppressed grin, or even the quietest puff of a laugh.
Her favorite moments are where Croc invites her into his office, not for an impersonal briefing, but to discuss her assimilation into his crew or even her growth in combat. He always seems to be in a good mood for those, pouring her a cup of coffee and asking if she has everything needed to do her work properly.
He routinely makes sure she has everything needed to perform her duties, providing her with any weapons, armor, devices, poisons, or any other random tool she could ever possibly need. Anything for any situation she may find herself in, no matter how improbable. Many times it's even unsolicited, what with her finding a new toy and note in her quarters.
Sometimes, he hands her the bundle himself-'...try this'-giving her tips on how to best use whatever the hell he happened to be pushing on her. His intuition is right most of the time, in an uncanny sort of way. More often than not, Shrike starts the day with yet another piece of equipment that fits perfectly into her arsenal.
On his own beri, too. Even though Shrike's employment guarantees quite a handsome paycheck, he insists on covering any 'work' related expenses separately. What she does with her hard-earned money is up to her discretion, not to mention he often throws in bonuses for exceeding his expectations.
That, she likes the most. Not the bonus. The exceeding his expectations part.
Hell, he was even the one who'd recognized her innate talent for swordplay and given her the saber that now hangs at her side. His right hand, Daz Bones, had then personally taken up her training, much to the captain's approval.
It's almost like he cares, in a way.
About her.
But then she had to go and mess it all up.
Made him so fuming mad he'd just about killed her.
...Except... he hadn't.
Maybe... maybe she really did mean more to him after all.
In the heat of the moment, Shrike had been all but sure her life was about to end right then and there.
But it hadn't.
In the end, she's now walking down this street, lost in her head. Alive.
There has to be a way to rationalize this.
Even in this act of defiance, she had to be useful to him still. He loathes discarding a perfectly good pawn. She's just been too much of an investment for him to toss away over her first major act of rebellion, as big as it was. That's all.
She'll return to the ship and he'll either finish the job and actually kill her this time, or she'll be severely punished and killed the next time she does something like this.
It's as simple as that... No ulterior motives or meaning. Nothing pointing to him feeling anything for her... That's just insane.
Still, Shrike feels on edge. Her fingers pick at the hilt of her saber, dancing restlessly along the leather wrappings about the hilt. There are still far too many questions left in this puzzle for her to relax. That outburst of his with the butler had been entirely uncalled for... and also completely unexpected.
The more she mulls it over, the more she realizes just how out of character it had been for him. To lose his composure like that?
Crocodile is a man that always maintains an air of implacability, one that runs cool rather than hot. Being around him makes you feel as if your very presence is an inconvenience, but not like he'll explode at any second from a misplaced word or any other slight. No, Shrike's boss is a predator of impeccable patience, always waiting for the opportune moment to strike. What happened earlier... that... wasn't him.
Either he had hit some sort of breaking point or something more is going on. Judging by the sinking feeling in her stomach, Shrike's betting it's the latter more than the former. She'd definitely missed something. The only question is what.
The entirety of her day begins to play in her mind, a steady stream of images and scenes stretching back all the way to early this morning.
Woke up.
Rolled out of bed.
Breakfast.
Called into his office: "...you will be attending to me in place of Daz today. I assume you will be on your best behavior..."
Though she'd thought it a bit weird at the time-Daz cut such an intimidating figure that he's the perfect choice for playing the 'accompanying muscle' role-that hadn't stopped Shrike from being almost giddy with excitement.
And also exceedingly proud.
This was the first time he'd ever asked for something like this from her. As soon as the request had processed in her mind, she'd gone slackjawed, mouth just about thudding to the floor. Such a request meant that he was finally trusting her, giving her far more responsibility than normal. And, not only that, he wanted her at this side. Her presence, specifically.
Despite it being against her very nature, Shrike had resolved to be as respectful and obedient as possible to ensure everything went smoothly; so desperate to prove that his trust in her hadn't been misplaced.
Then she cocked it all up.
'Stupid. How could you ever had expected yourself to play the part of the subservient 'muscle'?! You can't even control yourself!'
It really had been foolish to believe she could have lived up to his expectations. She's so unrefined, so rough around the edges compared to his classy composure, that it really had been a fool's errand. He's the master chess player while she's just the pigeon kicking over the pieces and shitting all over the board. Shrike has street smarts and a whole bunch of knives, not high-brow rubbish like business etiquette or social customs. Staying out of sight and killing people are about the only two things she excels at.
Yet, despite the disastrous altercation with the butler and the close of the meeting itself, everything had been pretty okay up until that point. He'd prepped her on his plans what he expected from her, which was to stand there and look as impassive as possible. Should he order it, she was to stealth away and ransack the manor for whatever he needed.
He really should've just asked her for that in the first place, then this whole mess would've have happened.
It was an 'easy' job, he'd said. Laughable now.
Shrike grumbles and kicks at a can on the ground. Only now does she realize that she's been stomping along.
'Am I being too hard on myself?'
'Yes...? Maybe.'
Honestly, he should have known better than to expect anything else from her.
But that didn't make the guilt sting any less.
The job really was supposed to have been an easy one. Crocodile had arranged to meet with the aging head of the D'Lore family at their estate in the center of town. The D'Lore's-as he had informed her-are a well-established and respected family in the black market trade for at least several islands out. D'Lore senior has been steering the family on the path of consistent success, even snagging illicit trade deals with some of the more... morally grey... marine captains.
Unfortunately for the family's legacy, the young heir set to succeed is anything but the man his father is. Known for both his cocky arrogance and unwarranted savagery, Hawken D'Lore is not the kind of person the other players in the game want among their ranks. He needs to be quickly leashed and tamed if the D'Lores want any chance to maintain their respected status and amicable relationships.
Crocodile had seen the opportunity to swoop in and rein the little shit in, hopefully winning over both the D'Lores and their allies alike. That business meeting today had been the first step of his plan.
A preliminary meeting with D'Lore senior on his sadistic asshole of a son...
"Wow." The word pushes dryly through Shrike's lips before she has time to catch it. It's just that bad.
The mansion is sprawling, stretching out in too many directions at once like some cancerous growth. It's tacky and garish, such an obvious show of affluence, wasteful for the sake of being wasteful simply because they can. This is the exact kind of wanton wealth that sets her teeth on edge, making her just a little more aware of the sharpness of her canines.
The white walls of the manor glow radiantly in the sun, almost blinding. It's all the tackier given the surrounding manors-much more reasonable in size, too-are all tasteful brownstones. The front courtyard itself is the size of the neighboring buildings, and is accentuated with a long pool of water. The bottom of which shines in shimmering gold and turquoise from elaborate tile mosaics. It boasts marble fountains, each spewing pristine water, spaced every few meters. All are topped with gilded statuettes more garish than the last.
The D'Lore's must have wanted the attention, clearly.
Each dormer and gable and trellis and arcade and whatever the hell other useless architecture this house apparently needed all catch her eye. Each and every one of them such an obvious point of infiltration. Stupid rich people always make her job so much easier, not realizing that the more elaborate the house, the more parts that needed watching.
Tiny farmhouses with but a single floor and two windows are the real challenges to break into. With mansions like these, it's practically like walking straight into a department store. Not to mention just looking like the family's Help generally makes the guards let you strut right in.
This is the exact kind of place that used to be her hunting grounds.
"Your assessment, Agent?" Crocodile's smooth voice startles her from the hyper-focus she'd slipped into. She turns her chin to look up at him where he stands to her right. While the look on her captain's face is rather impassive, the way his eyes bore into her is anything but. He seems... rather invested in what she might have to say.
She tries to ignore how that makes her feel.
Which is pretty warm, by the way.
"What? On how much of an eyesore this place is, or the laughable security? I have choice words on both." She internally curses at herself as soon as the words leave her mouth. 'Act professional, idiot. You're not going to impress him with stupid jokes.'
Nonetheless, the briefest hint of an amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Security, Agent. The choice taste in this villa has hardly escaped my attention."
Shrike blinks, staring at him a little wide-eyed before she realizes what she's doing. 'Did he actually find that funny? Wait. Focus! He asked you a question.'
She clears her throat a few times before slipping back into the steely composure she'd been practicing all morning. "Apologies, Sir. Ah, security-wise... we haven't even stepped past the front gate and I've spotted no less than six infiltration points. It's rather trite, really. I can be in place before you even sit down at the negotiation table."
His eyes slip closed, and he makes a low, rumbling sound of acknowledgment. "An apt assessment..." She tries not to jump as his hand falls to her shoulder, just as hard as she tries not to flush from the unexpected physical contact. "...But you will be attending with me in person today, Agent."
Her mouth really does go slack-jawed this time, not even bothering to disguise the surprise painted clear on her face. "R-Really? You're asking me to be in there with you?" She swallows, trying her best not to stammer. "Not to be disrespectful, Sir, but you really should reconsider."
This plan has 'bad outcome' written all over it. The only things subtle about Shrike are her blades, and her mouth is as far from that as possible. Being thrust into a social situation? Where she's expected to remain stoic and polite? This'll be nothing short of disastrous. What if this turns into a fine dining thing and she had to know the difference between inane drivel like a big fork versus a little fork? They both do the same thing!
But his dark eyes meet hers, glinting with an expression she can't quite describe. He breaks into that charming grin of his that tells her he knows more to this than he's letting on. "I am quite sure, Miss Shrike."
Her name on his tongue always manages to convince her. He could be lying straight to her face, obvious as can be, but when he drops her name as sweetly as this? How could she not reconsider?
'You're hopeless. Spend years totally alone and now just hearing your own name makes you come running.'
But the words out her mouth are far more polite.
"...As you wish, Sir." Though she questions his judgment, the promise Shrike made to herself earlier prevents her from sounding any further objections. He has expectations, and she so desperately wants to meet them.
He gives her one last look from the corner of his eye before continuing towards the manor's gates.
As garish and unnecessarily extra as the rest of the place, the gates are needlessly high and formed of wrought iron bars. The tips of which-sharpened spades-have been gilded with some sort of metallic enamel that makes them shine golden in the sunlight. It's probably real gold, too, just going by the fact that the gatehouse appears to have been carved from marble.
It's such a disgusting misappropriation of wealth that Shrike can't help but grumble. It really could have all gone to much better use.
'Who the hell needs a marble guardhouse?' The D'Lores, apparently.
All of it puts a foul taste in her mouth.
This is the exact type of rich she hates the most: wasteful, arrogant, classless. It's the exact of opposite of her captain. Crocodile is 'wealthy', not a wasteful rich bastard like this lovely family. He uses his wealth wisely, rather than shoving it into useless gilded doorknobs. Liquid assets are always worth more than gold leaf and tasteless gems inlaid into gaudy balustrades. A fundamental tenant of basic economics that Crocodile practices with expert care.
Yet, Shrike can't help the feeling of nostalgia settling into the back of her mind. This place is remarkably similar to where the two of them first met; when he'd tried to poach one of her kills. 'I wonder if he's thinking the same... Probably not.'
She doesn't have much time to reminisce as a contingent of guards rushes to meet them at the gates. They're all adorably dolled up in tacky uniforms emulating the typical Marine attire. Though rather than the typical white and blue, these dolts look almost offensively ostentatious in scarlet hemmed with gold trimmings.
Shrike silently clicks her tongue behind closed lips as she notices they're all clearly armed. A standard rifle lies slung across each their backs, with the matching pistol holstered at their sides. 'Small fry.'
A man she can only assume to be the guard captain-given the silly cap on his head-steps forward holding a neatly unfolded letter. He clears his throat before standing at attention, and she struggles not to roll her eyes.
"You must be Sir Crocodile. We've been informed of your scheduled visit today, but received no such notice of a plus one..." The man's eyes shift over to settle on Shrike, and it takes every bit of willpower for her to not stick her tongue out at him. Instead, she politely tilts her head forward and waits for her captain to respond.
This is already just so exhausting.
Crocodile makes a low noise-almost like a hum-clearly in amusement. "Please, do not mind my attendant. This is Miss Shrike. She will be assisting in my affairs this afternoon."
At that, she bends forward in a slow, respectful bow, making sure to keep her eyes lowered and coy. "Pleased to meet your acquaintance. I assure you I am quite harmless."
She makes sure to flutter her eyes directly at the guard captain's face, giving him a warm and demure smile. Shrike has played this game many times before, acting the role of the innocent servant girl to sneak inside her prey's home. Only this time, she's not sneaking in at all. They'll be letting her waltz right through the front door.
The man fidgets, a hint of red sneaking into his facial features. "Um, well. Ma'am, you are armed." He gestures at the saber hanging at her side.
'Good thing he can't see the knives in my sleeves or boots...' Her expression remains warm as she scrambles to think of a response. Luckily, her captain already has one prepared.
"One can never be too careful, what with a reputation like mine." That charming grin splits across his lips, tilting the edges of his scar upwards in the way she's come to find so very handsome. Somehow both charming and predatory at the same time, it's a grin that shows just how trite he finds the skittering of the pitiful mouse before him. "Miss Shrike is simply a pretty face. The blade is just for show. She's more like to trip over it than fell an opponent."
'Pretty?!' Shrike's face begins to grow just as red as the guard captain's. She quickly stamps those thoughts down, knowing full well Croc is only putting on a show just as she is. As if someone like him thought of her that way.
He suddenly raises his hand, and she bites down a giggle as the man before him instinctively reaches for his gun. The terror is written clear on his face.
"Even so, I need no weapon. I very much am one myself." His hand suddenly shifts into a stream of sand. He flicks it in a circle around him, and Shrike watches in amused wonder as it strips the gold enamel off one of the gate's tips. 'Show off.'
Silence descends upon the scene. The guards all squirm and look at each other as their captain remains frozen in fear.
Shrike is this close to bursting into laughter when a new voice rings out across the courtyard.
"Captain Reynald, are you inconveniencing my guest?"
Her gaze shifts past the gaggle of flustered guards. A rather dour looking man stands at top of the wide steps leading to the manor's utterly massive front door. His grey hair carries hints of auburn, especially in his well-groomed and angular beard. He's quite a large man; burly, yet still trim despite his apparent age. The excess grey has her putting him at being older than her captain. Even from this distance, she can make out the piercing blue of his eyes, almost like ice.
This can only be D'Lore senior, Torin.
The guard captain-'Reynald?'-quickly snaps into a salute, struggling to stifle the fearful trembling wracking his limbs. "Apologies, Sir!" Though Shrike's not quite sure which "Sir" he's currently addressing. He swiftly stands aside, to which the other guards follow in suit, allowing the duo passage.
Crocodile begins his casual saunter to the manor, but not before flashing Reynald a blink and you miss it look conveying nothing but pure contempt. She tries not to laugh as she follows.
The fountain stretches along to their left as he chooses to take the right side. Shrike quickly steps alongside him, her pace having to be one slightly more than what she found comfortable to keep up with his long strides.
"Truly, the perfect picture of innocence, Agent." His voice sounds low in her ear as he speaks under his breath, careful to keep his gaze focused forward.
She follows his lead despite the effort it takes to not break into a wide grin. One not too dissimilar from his before. "I aim to please, Sir."
He hums a low note in what she can only hope is amusement.
The pair reach the stairs with no further incident, where D'Lore gruffs out an apology at the misunderstanding from his security.
"I understand, D'Lore. Good help is difficult to find." Crocodile puffs a short laugh, dark gaze meeting Shrike's from the corner of his eye.
Her lip twitches before she can contain it. 'You ass.'
D'Lore merely laughs, stepping forward to take her hand. She offers it to him with a dainty bat of her lashes.
"Now, now. This lady certainly appears to be quite capable." He brings her hand to his lips, and she struggles not to hurl as the beast inside her throws itself against its shackles. It slavers with a thirst only this man's blood could satiate. She would've happily killed him back in the day. Back before she became professional.
Instead, Shrike just laughs. A delicate little sound that makes her want to slap herself. "I do try, Sir."
He releases her hand, but she freezes as she catches sight of her captain over his shoulder. Crocodile's eyes have narrowed, sour scowl clear on his face. It disappears right as D'Lore turns around, quickly replaced by that charming grin.
'Shit, did I mess up? Too friendly with the enemy? I knew this was a bad idea!' She flashes him an exaggerated shrug from behind D'Lore's back. 'What do you want from me?!'
He doesn't address it, continuing to chat with the D'Lore head of house. Though from the way his eyes meet hers for but a split second, it's clear he saw.
"Come, come. We have much to discuss." D'Lore beckons the two into the manor.
The interior is just as obscenely opulent as the exterior. He takes them down the foyer which seems to stretch on for what looks like half a mile. As they pass room after pointless room, the urge to knock over the occasional decorative urn rises in her. Everything is just so frustratingly wasteful. The amount of money that went into the gold leaf pressed into the wainscoting alone could probably feed the entirety of this city for weeks on end.
Yeah, this place definitely reminds her of where she first met Croc.
"Stand down Daz... this one is interesting..." The scarred man orders, eyes flicking between the blood running down his wrist and the bladed claw pressed to her throat...
Shrike is snapped out of her daydream as D'Lore ushers them into a parlor room of sorts.
Crocodile and D'Lore sit opposite of each other at the table, while she chooses to settle herself against the wall close to the door, instead. It's a position right behind her captain, one that allows her to keep an eye on the dealings at the table. She leans back, automatically crossing her arms about her chest as her heel rests against the wall.
She's already drifting back into her head as soon as she sees the bundle of papers Crocodile draws from his coat.
'Ugh, nap time. Boring.'
...
Shrike is only dreaming for but a few minutes before her captain's voice drifts through the fog. His terse tone interferes with her dreams of what dinner tonight might be.
"Will D'Lore junior not be joining us this afternoon?"
D'Lore senior clears his throat, drawing his fist to his mouth to suppress an uncomfortable laugh. "My son, yes. I'm afraid he won't be present. Pray, forgive me for relaying the message he left." He reaches into his own coat, drawing forth an equally large stack of papers that nearly makes her sigh in exasperation. The topmost one is a small note, about the size of a postcard.
He inhales a deep breath before reading aloud: "A waste of my time! Meeting with some washed up old hack like that reptile bastard. If he doesn't like these conditions, tell him to piss off."
It takes everything from her to not burst out laughing. The corner of Shrike's lips twitch aggressively, and she closes her eyes to try and detach herself from the rampant giggling building her throat. Mocking her captain is one of her favorite sports, one she's more than happy to let others play. Any chance to see her captain squirm is not one she wants to miss.
She straightens up, eager to see the 'reptile's' reaction. This mission suddenly got a lot more interesting. Too bad she can't see his face from this position.
Surprisingly, he chuckles. The sound of it is like claws sinking into her chest. It's one of the most menacing sounds she's ever heard, dripping with honeyed aggression. "That arrogant attitude is exactly why I'm here, Torin. Do you really feel comfortable entrusting the family into his hands?"
From there, everything goes to shit.
Hawken had left with his father a list of demands that were downright outrageous.
Shrike stands there, watching in rapt attention as her captain attempts to suavely orchestrate a financial alliance with the D'Lore head of house. He's stonewalled at nearly every suggestion by the son who isn't even present. Every single concession made in the original offer is rejected to the point she can tell Crocodile isn't just frustrated, but insulted.
And an insulted Crocodile is a dangerous one.
"I'm afraid my hands are tied, Croc'." Her captain bristles at that, radiating waves of hostility at the clear disrespect. "My son is taking over and if this is how he wants to see the family ran, I will not interfere."
"So you're saying you don't care if your idiot of a son runs your family legacy into the ground?"
She straightens up, eyes widening. Her teeth begin to worry into her lower lip, desperate to contain any noises that may slip out. Every single one of her senses flip into high alert as her fingers begin to fidget at the hilt of her saber.
For her captain to begin dealing open-handed insults means that this situation is quickly going from bad to worst.
"Once he takes over? No." This time, Shrike focuses on D'Lore, trying to get a feel for his disposition. She watches the way his jaw tenses, how his nose twitches every so often. There's a rustling as his hands worry at a sheet of paper-'the demands list?'-beneath the table.
And then she notices his eyes-with their occasional twitch-looking not at her captain, but past him.
At the door.
As if he's worried someone is listening.
Shrike then realizes immediately: D'Lore senior is speaking under duress.
She takes a deep breath, letting her eyes slip closed as she curses herself for not having a better hold over her perception haki yet. Being able to sense if someone truly is on the other side of the door would be immeasurably helpful right about now.
But the fact of the matter is, she doesn't. Right now, the best she can do is try and get her captain's attention.
Shrike tunes back in just in time to hear Crocodile really getting into it, his tone utterly dripping with venom.
"It's not the responsibility of your better to explain to you what you're too stupid to realize." His deep voice purrs with undisguised contempt.
Interrupting him while he's like this, possibly redirecting that ire back her way... 'Shit shit shit. Please don't bite my head off.'
Shrike swallows, and then clears her throat.
"Sir."
He doesn't hear her. Neither of them do.
"Resorting to trite insults? Arrogance doesn't secure the holdings of my family." A bead of sweat rolls down D'Lore's forehead. Whether it's from fear of Crocodile or fear of his son strong-arming him, it's impossible to say.
"Sir." Shrike speaks up a little louder, nervous herself.
"And yet you seem so confident in this shithead son of yours. Or have you mistaken his arrogance for actual talent?"
"SIR!"
They both whirl to face her, D'Lore with a furious glare, Crocodile with a heated glower. Her captain hardly ever lets the true intensity of his emotions show on his face, so the fact that Shrike can feel the anger roiling beneath those predatory eyes is a bad sign.
She can't help but flatten herself against the wall under the intensity of that look, fear spiking cold down her spine. This is... this is bad.
But something strange happens. As she freezes beneath that predatory scowl, his brow twitches ever so slightly. A light of something she can't quite place flashes in those dark eyes as his scowl begins to relax. The initial anger melts off his face as he begins to address he-
"Your wench speaks out of turn, Crocodile."
And then it's back, burning with even more hostility than before.
But so is Shrike.
"Says the piss-scared craven talking like there's a gun to his head." She's snapping at him before she even realizes it. That cool composure has long since slipped away, leaving behind nothing but blazing indignation. This man will not speak to her this way. She's killed bigger men for less.
D'Lore rockets to a standing position, slapping his hands down on the table. His face has turned a bright crimson from the rage swelling within. "Gun to my head-You dare threaten me in my own home?!" He sputters the words like he's spitting out seeds, but all the while she notices his eyes flitting between her face and the door. "Me, Torin D'Lore?! I run this city. You're nothing more than an unimportant harlot!"
She bristles furiously at that, barely keeping herself from snarling at the man."I'm not threatening you, you pompous fuck. But clearly, someone else is!"
"Shri-Agent. Stand. Down." Her captain's terse voice rolls from her side, hovering just on the edge of being a growl. Despite his tone, the fact he slipped her name without its usual title wavers her resolve.
She quickly shakes her head and turns to look at him-standing now too-trying to gauge his current emotion. His expression has hardened into a bitter scowl, somehow aimed at both of her and D'lore. He's still furious at D'Lore's disrespect, and he's now definitely furious at her's.
"Captain, Sir, D'Lore has been speaking under duress this entire time. His eyes keep flitting towards the door."
Crocodile's mouth begins to open, only to be cut off by a knock at the door.
Shrike notices D'Lore stiffen out of the corner of her eye, his face turning a full shade paler. He swallows around a lump in his throat before addressing the knock. "Y-Yes. Come in."
As the door begins to swing open, she immediately drops into a defensive stance. Her hands fly to her saber's hilt and sheath as she prepares for the worst. From her periphery, she can tell her captain is also on edge, though not as outwardly tense as she is.
Her heart hammers in her chest. At this point she's fully expecting a gunman or, worse, a fruit user. What if D'Lore's nervous because he's been waiting for another hitman to come and try to take out the captain? What if it's someone coming to take D'Lore out hims-
And, of course, it's just a fucking butler behind the door.
"Sir. Are things okay in here?"
D'Lore sighs behind her, and she hears the rustling of paper being shuffled. The timbre of his voice remains just as nervous as before, but it's now tinged with relief. "No, these two are no longer welcome. Escort them from the premises."
Shrike's face goes red hot in utter humiliation. She's fucked up. Big time.
D'Lore had only been nervous because Croc was scaring the piss out of him, probably as intended. And he was only looking at the door so often because he'd been hoping to call for security to get them the hell out. There never were any assassins or threats. She'd been so eager to impress her captain and do a good job that her mind had fabricated the whole situation.
All it did was make her look utterly incompetent.
She turns to look at Crocodile's face, already dreading the expression she might find there.
But... it's not what she expected. Not at all. Rather than anger, he's intensely focused. His narrowed eyes actively scrutinize the butler's face, and from the tightening of his jaw, Shrike can tell he's not quite trusting what he sees.
She's never seen him like this before. This... predatory. He's watching the butler like a beast does its prey, just waiting to pounce.
Is there something she's missed? Does he truly think this sniveling boy an enemy?
Shrike traces his line of vision back to the young butler's face, hoping to find any answers. Definitely a young man, early to mid-twenties. Aside from his unruly blond hair and pretty eyes, he's rather unassuming. His outfit is a little tight on him, and he looks a bit nervous, but no alarm bells go off as she looks him over.
"Master D'Lore has requested you leave at once. Come with me."
His tone is not quite right for a docile servant, nor is his choice in words, but she merely chalks it up to being nervous. It's hard not to be with a man as intimidating as Crocodile looking at you like his next kill.
"Of course." Croc practically growls the words. He shoots one last look over his shoulder at D'Lore, but it's too quick for Shrike to catch his expression.
And then he turns to face her, looking just as sour as he did before. "Come, Agent. Before you make a mess of things any further."
Her heart sinks to her gut like a stone. His disapproval somehow cuts deeper than any knife. He'd handed Shrike her first real assignment-a chance to really prove herself-and she went and blew it. A fact he's more than open to express.
Rather than making more of a scene, she merely nods, casting her eyes to the floor. "Of course, Sir. My sincere apologies."
The quietness of her voice makes Shrike want to slap herself. She can't help but think how she sounds like a dejected child, as if she isn't embarrassed enough already.
Crocodile turns and follows the butler out without another word.
She gives one last look to D'Lore, burning anger at him snuffed by her captain's disappointment. D'Lore looks back with an uneasy light in his eyes. He's definitely still quite flustered himself, having been insulted and threatened in his own home. Shrike gives him a deep, remorseful bow, keeping her eyes downcast. "I have insulted you greatly, Mr. D'Lore. I apologize."
He huffs, sinking back into his chair. His head falls into his hands as he sinks, and she notes just how very tired he looks. "Just... Just follow your captain's lead... and leave. Please."
A frown tugs at her lips. His choice of words strikes Shrike as... odd. 'Follow my captain's lead...?'
"Agent!" Crocodile's impatient tone echoes from out in the hall. Hearing it makes the dread sink back into her gut all over again, and the words flee from her mind. She gives one last apologetic bow to D'Lore before joining her captain and the butler in the hall.
She's careful to avert her gaze, still too mortified to meet his directly. He stares at her-she can feel those dark eyes boring into her-but otherwise remains silent as she takes her place a step behind him at his side.
"This way, then." The butler pipes up, beckoning the two down the hall back to the front door...
Crocodile had pounced on the man as soon as he was down the front steps.
So unprepared for his outburst, that Shrike had rashly thrown herself between him and the unsuspecting butler without thinking.
Without. Thinking.
She definitely had missed something.
The end of the meeting had been terse. D'Lore's parting words had been not just odd, but cryptic.
He'd been trying to tell her something, but all of it had gone out the window when faced with her captain's hostility. Hostility at a seemingly innocent man. Seemingly.
Shrike continues making her way down the road, careful not to brush into any of the civilians in the throng about her. Her shroud is still active, but it can easily be dispelled by mistakenly drawing attention to herself.
'Was that outburst really misdirected?' Her teeth worry into her lower lip, brain working overtime to process her memories of the day. "The butler... Think!'
A photo-perfect image of the butler solidifies in the forefront of her mind: He's a younger man, mid-twenties at most, with a thick, tousled mop of blonde hair. Bright blue eyes, closer to ice than sea water, that are undeniably gorgeous. He'd been wearing an outfit appropriate for his job, but not for his body. It'd been several sizes too small, clinging to rippling muscles she only just now realizes he had. It hadn't struck her as anything interesting in the moment, but now it's a feature quite noticeable as she pores over her mental image of him. Having such a physique is... odd... for a manservant.
'What about his face?'
His face had been above average, though not overly handsome. He'd sported a rather squarish nose, adorned with a jutting bridge. His jaw had been average, neither weak nor strong. Those pretty eyes. Immaculate teeth. No scars.
Wait.
One scar.
A short, clean line cutting through the right side of his lips arching down to this chi-
"AW FUCK!" Several people around her start and scream as Shrike curses aloud. She's seemingly materialized out of nowhere.
The heel of her hand meets her forehead with a resounding smack. The combination of her humiliation induced self-doubt and the adrenaline of the moment had made her completely overlook what she now realizes to be Hawken D'Lore's laughably weak disguise. The hair had obviously been a wig, disguising his natural auburn locks. His clothing had very clearly been borrowed from one of the family's actual servants. And the makeup attempting to cover the scar across his lips had been sloppily applied.
It had all been so obvious that only an idiot could have fallen for it.
That idiot being Shrike.
'I fucked up. I really fucked up. Oohhhhhh no. No no no no no.' Her mind races a thousand miles a second as she pieces together what happened.
D'Lore had been speaking under duress, terrified of slipping up and angering Hawken-disguised as a family servant-on the other side of the door. The father really is being held hostage in his own home, and Crocodile had realized it as soon as Shrike tried to tip him off. Only, that disguise and her captain's show of disapproval had rattled her conviction. She'd been so embarrassed and already self-conscious about meeting his expectations that she so readily accepted that she'd made a mistake.
Except, she hadn't.
The only mistake she'd made was not recognizing Hawken.
From the beginning, she had been right.
Crocodile had quickly put on an act in order to not tip off Hawken, pretending to be infuriated at Shrike's 'mistake'. She'd been too hurt to pick up on that, acting on emotion instead of reason. The look Croc had shared with D'Lore senior-the one she hadn't been able to see-must've been a show of recognition. D'Lore's parting words? 'Follow your captain's lead...' He practically told her what was about to go down.
Before, Shrike had felt a sense of pride in her strong morality, having protected a seemingly helpless man from the vindictive rage of her captain. Now? Now all she feels is a burning sense of shame. 'Some assassin I am! Not able to pick apart a disguise that looked like a child made it!'
A deep unease suddenly settles over her shoulders. That shout of hers had dispelled her shroud, leaving Shrike completely exposed.
This feeling... she's being watched.
Seeing as how she and her captain have just infuriated an undeniably dangerous man-young as he is-the realization that she's being watched has her quite unsettled. Her shroud doesn't work on people already focused on her, so she needs to get hidden again fast. Shrike quickly dips into an alleyway, making sure to break the line of sight of whoever's watching her.
The brick is cool against her back as she leans against the side of a building. Her breathing slows, and she lets the calming sensation wash down her spine as she repeats her mantra in her head. 'I am nobody... a foolish, stupid nobody.' Not quite the same, but it works nonetheless, rendering her all but invisible in the traditional sense.
The sense of being watched vanishes, quickly replaced by the telltale tingling on her skin as she slips unseen.
With one last calming exhale, Shrike peeks her head out of the alleyway. Sure enough, a well-dressed pair of men sit hunched over in the cafe across the street. Their eyes frantically scan the crowd, and from their growing agitation, she can tell they're looking for her. They're undoubtedly two of Hawken's hired thugs, on the watch for either Shrike, her captain, or most likely both. So far they only seem to be keeping watch, but she doesn't want to stick around and press it.
She quickly slips back into the crowd, making a beeline for the ship.
'I need to fix this. I... I...' But the thought doesn't finish. Won't finish. How can she even start to fix this?! Prostrate herself before her captain and beg for his forgiveness?
No. Shrike will apologize. She'll make this right. But she will not grovel. As much as she loathes begging, Shrike equally loathes people who don't take responsibility for their actions. She fucked up, there's no denying that, so she'll apologize and do everything to make this right.
But she will not beg.
She swallows as the ship comes into view, its masts flying his winged jolly roger high and proud. This has been her home for the past year, but now... now it feels like a trap.
All she can do is hope he's cooled down enough to not kill her as soon as she steps foot on deck. If he does... well, then at least it's not her problem anymore.