Chapter Summary: Shrike wakes from her nightmare to find that, miraculously, she's still alive. The implications of this outcome being... a little too much for her to unpack. Lucky for her, a friend shows up that helps her through it.
Author Notes: Glad to see you're still with me! This was a really fun chapter to write, and I hope you'll be able to tell why. As always, reviews and messages are very much appreciated! I'd really like to hear what y'all think.
4 a.m.
It's far too late for Shrike to readily fall back asleep. Nor is she exactly eager to jump right back into another nightmare.
Her entire body pops and creaks as she stretches, the bruises Daz inflicted on her crying out for attention all at once. It's a wonder she fell asleep in the first place what with how sore she is, or that she slept as long as she did...
Shrike stops mid-stretch as the realization hits her.
She did sleep for a while. Meaning... no one had come to fetch her.
No one came to kill her.
Shrike is still alive.
Did... Did Crocodile really not... Does he not hate her? Does he not want to kill her?
Daz's words fly into her mind with a reckoning: 'He sees a lot in you... I'd rather you not disappoint him.'
Confused doesn't even begin to describe how she's feeling right now. The implications of his statements are far too complicated to unpack, and her thoughts run wild trying to process them.
What if... What if Crocodile really does like her? Not like like her, that's absurd. She's not even sure if she wants feelings like that from him in the first place. A ruthless, scheming pirate captain fancying her? One whose infamy is known all around the world? Just because he's dashing and charismatic does NOT mean she wants him that way... even with that rogueish, handsome grin of his... or his charmingly questionable fashion sense... or his toned b-
Oh no.
Shrike's heart races, thumping wildly in her chest like some out of control beast.
'No! No no no no no! What is wrong with you!? Crocodile is a monster! And you used to hate him, remember?!'
Used to hate him.
Used to.
When Shrike had woken in the medbay a few days after they'd brought her back, she'd been practically rabid. She'd fought against her restraints despite the sickness still ravaging her body, utterly enraged at being saved by scum like him. To not only have the gall to spare, but treat the beast that would've torn his throat out had it the strength to do so? Shrike despised him for it, and plotted his murder from the very minute she woke up.
But like any man who fancied pets as dangerous as bananawani, Croc' knew to offer the beast what it actually wanted. The promise of regular meals, a roof over her head, and more gold a month than she'd ever seen in her life had quickly tamed the Gilded Butcher. Well, tamed everything save for her foul mouth and sour attitude; those remained just as wild and disobedient as the evening he dragged her sickly half-corpse back to the ship.
Still, the hypocrisy of the situation was not lost on her. It initially had her sick with guilt as she acclimated to her new life. After the first few months, though, as her body grew stronger and healthier, the last shreds of lingering doubt finally fled her conscious.
She rationalized that, in a way, she's still bringing justice to the world; anyone that Croc' sends her after is undoubtedly wicked and probably deserves what's coming to them. Maybe it's not for the right reasons, but at least she's not doing it starved and sickly anymore.
And those doubts weren't the only thing that left her, either. At some point-she's not exactly sure when-she'd stopped hating him.
The disgust she'd felt for Crocodile had steadily fallen away over the past year. Living and working with him had shown her more of his surprisingly charming personality, and that's just what he willingly displayed. Being able to lurk in the shadows when no one thought she was there, she'd witnessed the pieces of him that he works so hard to hide away; the hints of a hidden warmth that lurks beneath that public-facing persona of a cold and ruthless pirate captain.
Apparently, she'd liked what she'd seen more than she first thought.
'Don't even go there! He's an ass and falling for him will only get you killed!' She furiously shakes the thoughts from her head as the pressure in her chest builds. An uncomfortable unease descends upon her, anxiety balling in her gut.
Confusing feelings flood her conscious as she blushes furiously at herself, her face burning hotter the more she thinks about it all. This infatuation needs to be killed and buried before it's too late; these silly, girlish hopes that someone like Crocodile could ever feel anything more for her than just contempt. She's much too old to entertain such idylls.
'Stupid, stupid Shrike! You don't like him, you've just latched on to him because he's the first person to show you any real attention! Cut this shit out!'
She smacks her palms to her cheeks, hoping the sting will chase out these annoying thoughts. There's no room for such feelings in this life; all they'll do is get her killed. Crocodile would sooner turn her into dust on the wind than tolerate such ideas.
There's only one thing certain that's come out of all this: that Croc' apparently does harbor a certain level of favoritism towards her. Whether that carries anything else with it...
She groans aloud, spinning in a dramatic circle before flopping down onto her bed. "Stop stop stop! You're being stu-"
*Scritch scritch*
A slight scratching noise suddenly gets Shrike's attention, stopping the words dead in her throat.
*Scritch scritch*
Her face splits into a warm grin, and the anxiety drains from her as if a plug's been pulled in her gut. This might be just what she needs right now.
*Scritch scritch*
"I'm coming, I'm coming. Hold on." She mutters past her smile as she pushes herself from the bed and hurriedly pad over to the door. She hopes she hasn't kept her guest waiting too long, the thought making her feel more than a little guilty. Shrike never did like disappointing them; the crew would be disappointed in her no matter what she did. Her guest though? That's different.
The door sounds a slight groan as she pulls it inward, as if it were complaining about being used at this hour. To anyone else, the hallway appears empty, though that'd be because they were looking at people-height. Shrike's eyes trail downwards to the floor, crinkling at the edges as she bends to usher her friend inside.
"Good evening, Phoebe. I hope you haven't been sitting out here too long. Sorry for not letting you in before bed."
A rather tiny crocodilian blinks up at her, its coral-colored scales glinting in the low light of the hallway. An impatient grumble hisses from her maw as she fixes Shrike with lovely red eyes, like little rubies.
She doesn't make a move to enter, waiting for the royal treatment she's come to expect from her newfound human friend.
"Alright, alright." Shrike huffs playfully before crouching down, doing her best to ignore the pain in her knees as she does so. "Urh, come here baby."
The little reptile hisses as she's scooped beneath her front legs. Shrike's spent enough time with Crocodile's pets to understand their moods from the noises they make, and this is, undoubtedly, a delighted hiss.
Phoebe-sorry, Phobos, but like hell is Shrike going to call this sweet little thing that-is the smaller of Croc's two current pets. Tiny and pink, to say Shrike was surprised to see such a cute little thing owned by a serious man like him is an understatement. Deimos, on the other hand, is the exact kind of creature she'd expected. More than living up to his name, the sizable bananawani poses quite the intimidation factor.
That doesn't change the fact that he loves snuggles just as much as little Phoebe does. Both of them regularly seek Shrike out for some loving, apparently not getting enough from Crocodile himself despite how much he spoils them. The crew certainly don't contribute much. They're all terrified of the poor things, save for Daz.
Hell, Shrike still remembers how Croc' had paled upon finding her giving Deimos belly rubs the first time. He'd been so absolutely sure she was about to be eaten, but the big gator had merely danced and wiggled beneath her fingers, absolutely reveling in the physical attention.
She makes a point to spend much of her free time with them, either letting Phoebe snuggle up with her in bed or on the couch, or even joining Deimos topside for a nice soak in the sun. The big boy is much too large to fit in the narrow hallways below deck, unlike tiny Phoebe. The only space he fits in is in the cargo hold, where he has a special gator-door that lets him swim up from underneath. He's pretty down in the hold right now, even. Getting a good night's sleep, unlike her.
Her affection for the creatures is one of the reasons she has such a tense relationship with the crew. Besides Croc', of course, they hesitate to approach anytime the beasts are near, knowing how territorial they can be. Not that Shrike minds. She much prefers animals to people, anyway.
Animals don't lie.
"You're getting heavy, he needs to stop giving you so many treats." Phoebe hisses again as Shrike lets her crawl onto her shoulders, draping herself about the back of her neck. The pressure has Shrike groaning, especially as Phoebe's little feet dig into the bruises Daz put there earlier.
She's only about the size of a house cat, but Phoebe's a dense little thing; at around twenty-five pounds now and only getting heavier by the day. Croc' said she won't grow nearly as large as Deimos, but the thought of her getting any bigger leaves Shrike a little disappointed. She'll also turn a deeper scarlet color as she matures… and that just makes Shrike sad, too.
If it were up to her, she wouldn't change a damn thing about the little beast. Phoebe's perfect just the way she is right now: tiny and pink and one-hundred percent adorable.
"Are you here to give me company for the rest of the evening?" Shrike coos at her, reaching a hand up to scratch at the little crocodilian's chin. "Or am I to be the one giving you company?" Another delighted hiss sounds from her maw, and she tilts her snout upwards to be scratched exactly where she wants it.
"I see then." She muses at her little friend. "Will you tolerate me getting cleaned up at least?"
Phoebe hisses an affirmative noise, clever enough to understand Shrike's words. Crocodile's gushed enough about his pets for Shrike to know that Phoebe belongs to a frighteningly intelligent species, one known for often rivaling human intelligence. If the man talks passionately about anything, it's his precious babies. Though he'd probably kill Shrike just for referring to them as such.
'But he didn't kill you earlier.' The voice in her head chips in.
No. No, he didn't. Not to mention what Daz said: 'Never you...'
Phoebe nibbles impatiently at Shrike's ear, wondering why the hand that'd been scratching her has stopped moving.
"Sorry, sorry." She promptly apologizes and resumes petting the spoiled beast, eager to forget all about what happened today... and all about her frustrating feelings. "The only fluffy feelings I need are the ones for you, isn't that right?" Shrike coos at her affectionately as she walks over to the private bathroom adjoining her quarters.
It's time to get these wounds cleaned up; the cuts on her knees are at risk of infection at this rate.
She flicks the light on without thinking, not giving them ample time to brace for its intensity. It's annoying bright compared to the relative dimness of her bedroom, and it has both her and her scaley little hitchhiker hissing in annoyance.
"Apologies, my lady." Her fingers rush to scritch beneath Phoebe's chin again. A peace offering.
A crackling noise lets her know she's forgiven.
Shrike turns her attention towards the mirror, and the way Phoebe's reflection blinks asynchronously in the light-first one eye and then the other-soon has her giggling. She watches as the pink menace leans affectionately into her fingers with each scratch, but the more Shrike's gaze lingers, the more her attention is drawn to skin rather than scale.
The woman in the reflection is so very different than the one she'd seen in her nightmare, yet somehow the very same. This healthy, toned body definitely belongs to Shrike, but as it always is when she sees her reflection, she can scarce believe it. This is not the image she'd become accustomed to seeing up until a year ago.
It's not the hunger.
Shrike's fingers move from Phoebe's chin to touch her face. She half expects the healthy skin there to peel off as she traces her cheekbones, as if it were but a mask hiding the gaunt face she's more familiar with underneath. The skin that'd once clung so tightly to her jaw, tracing out each and every divot, has been filled with much-needed padding. She still has rather strong features, namely her squarish jaw and cheekbones, but at least they now look healthy.
Her skin especially has healed quite nicely. The once pale, sallow flesh-almost translucent beneath the sun-has tanned to a warm ivory that's honey-toned in some places. Her cheeks have even regained their natural rosy complexion, the color pairing with her lips now that they've filled out. No longer so badly chapped as to bleed from just the ghost of a smile, her lips look almost plush now, and have settled on a pale pinkish hue.
Aside from the mottled purple bruise marring her chin, she looks far healthier than the woman in her nightmare. The person she used to be. Maybe not exactly beautiful, but she definitely looks better than she used to.
Her hair looks much better, too. As she reaches back to tie it up into a lazy bun, she remarks at how doing so back then would've cracked the strands to dust. It's so long now, a veritable mane of untamed ashy waves. When had she ever let it get this length? No, it's more like when had it ever been healthy enough to survive to this length. A proper diet has restored a bit of its original luster even, the occasional strand glinting silver in the light. It's not nearly as glossy as when she was a child, but she much prefers it muted like it is now.
In fact, the only part of her face that's remained unchanged is her eyes. The kind of pallid yellow that's beautiful in flowers, their color is much more unnerving when set into the irisis of a human being. They've always been deep-set, the life she's lived not having been kind to the tender flesh beneath them. Those bruised-black bags are only a small indication of just how exhausted the past decade has left her, not to mention just how little restful sleep she gets. The overall look gives her an eerie, unsettling appearance; more ghostly than human.
A pink tail suddenly covers those eyes, hiding Shrike's reflection from her. Whether it's because the little croc finds them as unnerving as Shrike does or she's just trying to get her attention, it's difficult to say.
"Yeah, yeah, spooky eyes. I know, they creep me out to-" The tail smacks her cheek as Phoebe growls, somehow conveying an annoyed tone.
"Okay! I'm setting you down now." Shrike tells her more than asks for permission, but she still feels a bit guilty as Phoebe's little claws dig into her shoulders. "C'mon Pheebs', I need to get cleaned up."
She eventually acquiesces, but not without a few minutes of Shrike hilariously trying to pry each clawed foot off only for them to immediately latch right back on. Shrike's finally able to appease the beast by reaching for the faucet, to which Phoebe hurriedly climbs off her with an excited crackle. The complaints stop as soon as the warm water seeps into her scales.
"The most spoiled baby in the world, that's you." Shrike's tone is positively saccharine, though. As if she could ever be truly mad at the little creature.
But that playful mood soon sours as she leans forward to better examine her bruises in the mirror. Wearing nothing but a pair of sleep shorts and a bralette, there's no hiding just how badly she'd had her ass handed to her. Bruises mottle her fair flesh from shoulder to hip, some of them already turning a sickly green as her body fights to heal itself. The ones on her forearms are the worst; they're bruised near black from blocking so many of Daz's blows.
The state of her knees is just as bad, if not worse. Even though the counter obscures their reflection, she knows from how fiercely they sting that the cleanup is going to suck.
"Let's get it over with then."
She pats Phoebe's head before climbing onto the counter alongside the sink, biting back groans as her body aches in protest. The bruises somehow look even worse now that they're closer to the harsh light above the mirror, but the condition of her knees puts them all to shame. All the recent movement has cracked the scabs and congealed blood on them wide open, and they've begun to bleed freely once more.
The sight of the red rivulets running down her shins brings a grimace to Shrike's face.
Her fingers begin to investigate the area, and she hisses from the sting as she moves the skin about to better examine the cuts. As painful as they are right now, though, they're not what's hurting her the most. Out of all the things Daz had left swollen and bruised, the worst of it is her ego.
She'd given it her all, even tapped into her haki-the one thing he doesn't have over her-only for him to flip it all in his favor with but a single, effortless clap. Even then, her own attacks had barely fazed him save for the hook she'd landed to his jaw. The whole ordeal had been nothing short of humiliating, and her face burns red hot with shame just remembering it.
Shrike knows she shouldn't be so hard on herself, given she's just barely a year out from almost starving to death. That doesn't change the fact that she has so much to prove. Much more than anyone else does, anyway. The crew had been more than vocal in voicing their doubts about her joining them. A half-starved, diseased waif being hired on as an assassin? Worse, the Gilded Butcher dutifully working for the type of person she'd been regularly hunting? It was preposterous, madness even, and the crew was perfectly valid in thinking their captain had a death wish.
So after the events of today, she knows she has to work twice as hard to rebuild what little rapport she'd had with them. From the disastrous mission to Daz's humiliating beatdown, her reputation among the others must be all but ruined... but she'll keep fighting. She'll dust herself off and keep trying, just as she always has.
But first, she needs to take care of the now. One step at a time.
Phoebe watches curiously as Shrike reaches into the medicine cabinet framing the mirror, soon setting down some rubbing alcohol, cotton swabs, and an assortment of bandages onto the counter around the sink. Shrike stretches her legs out along the tile, being careful not to bump into little Pheebs' as she gets to work.
Though the ship's doctor heavily discourages self-caring for any wounds among the crew, it'd just be plain rude to wake her at this hour. Luckily, the scrapes prove to be far less nasty than expected upon closer inspection. She does spy a few splinters that need removing, but that asides, this'll be an easy job.
She gets to work, allowing her mind to drift off to other thoughts to better dissociate herself from the pain. Of course, being the glutton for punishment she is, it happens to settle right back onto the contents of her nightmare... and her frustratingly unwanted feelings.
'He doesn't like you. Stop. You're just infatuated, it'll fade.'
That's right. There's no way he could possibly like her.
Her personality is crass, rough around the edges in a way that makes his coarse sand look soft. She's uneducated and only just barely literate too, not having gone through any proper schooling. Hell, she doesn't even know exactly how old she is! Somewhere in her early thirties apparently. Not to mention, her looks are only slightly above average, and they're really the only thing half-way appealing about her.
Sure, she's worked hard to get to the physical state she's in now; so much so that every time she sees her reflection she has to fight the urge to pinch at herself to make sure it's real. Toned muscle now lines her limbs where only ghostly-pale skin had clung tightly to bone, and as much as they don't feel like a part of her, they definitely are.
The one thing she's vain about is her lower half, where she's quite literally worked her old ass off to sculpt a well-toned ass and pair of thick thighs. All of the squats, the running, the climbing, and a little bit of genetic magic... all of the everything she's done to make sure she has the best physique possible to carry out her work has led to her being blessed with a great lower body. It's the one thing she allows herself to be proud over, a product of nothing but hard work and physical exertion, just as capable as chasing down a fleeing target as kick their skull in.
But even then, it only makes what she lacks all the more apparent.
To say that her chest is a B-cup would be rather generous. She tries not to think about it too much, choosing to focus on the positives of her now healthy body instead. It's pointless to fret over, and it's not like she can do much about it anyway.
So sure, she's fit and healthy now, but that's about it. Her face gets red too easily, and blotchy, too. Not to mention the state and color of her eyes more than unnerve most people. Her hair is always a mess as the waves fight with each other over who can make the biggest tangle. Though it'd be hypocritical of someone like Croc' to care, gnarly scars mar her body from head to toe; namely the claw marks on her back and burns on her shoulder.
So with all that... yeah, there's no way Crocodile could ever be interested in a mangy stray like her. Not when he used to be with something like Nico Robin.
Shrike's fingers pause in the middle of wiping at a shredded portion of her knee. The pain is all but nonexistent as her insecurities begin to tear her apart.
Nico. Robin.
Especially compared to her, there's not a doubt in Shrike's mind that Croc' feels anything for her. He and that woman have a long, long history together that, while it ended poorly, was undoubtedly filled with trysts through the years.
What with her gorgeous raven locks and the most stunning blue eyes on the sea, the gentlest of laughs and a calm demeanor tempered by an iron wit, a body carved by the gods from purest marble that moves with indelible grace... Robin truly has Shrike outclassed in every single way. She even has a respectable bounty, and is plenty admired for her battle prowess and intelligence both. Her devil fruit can caress and break an opponent's spine at the same time; somehow both a delicate breeze and a biting gale, Robin is... perfect.
Shrike, meanwhile, is all raging storms and explosive lightning. She's about as gentle and refined as a punch to the nose, and has a graceless, unfeminine appearance to match. Compared to Robin, she's just a feral stray against a prized show-cat.
The tweezers clatter on the counter as they slip from her fingers, suddenly too overwhelmed by her own frustrations to keep hold of them. 'Why do I even care about this? I don't like him like that, remember!?'
"STOP! Stop this, you're being-ARGH!"
Phoebe jumps and hisses as Shrike slams her fist onto the tile, and the little croc's fright immediately shatters the haze of anger clouding her mind.
"Fuck, fuck." Shrike grabs for the now annoyed reptile, quickly pulling her into her lap as she works to soothe its ire. "Sorry, Pheebs'. Just... Just being a little crazy tonight."
Phoebe's tail lazily stretches forward and whaps Shrike on the nose as an angry hiss crackles from her maw. Her displeasure is obvious.
"I know. I'm being stupid." Shrike lifts the beast aloft, holding her above her head with both hands shoved beneath her little arms. Those little red ruby eyes bore into Shrike's with a surprising amount of intelligence, more than from some people she's had the displeasure of interacting with.
"Say. You've known Croc' longer than I have." Shrike reclines back onto the counter, shivering a bit as her back touches the cool tile. Phoebe remains aloft in her arms all the while, a little pink moon obscuring the lightbulb sun. "He definitely doesn't like me, yeah? Totally not his type. I'm just losing my mind for no damn reaso-"
Phoebe starts to hiss impatiently, now trying to struggle out of Shrike's grip. The human rushes to set her back down, not exactly eager to have a twenty-five pound bag of scales falling on her already bruised face. The pink menace's claws clack as she's set down onto the counter, and she turns to give Shrike a pointedly expressive look for a reptile: abject disapproval.
"What? What did I do?!" Shrike tosses her hands in the air, feeling more exasperated by the second. "Is it because I scared you? I'm sorry!"
She reaches forward, beginning to scratch along the top of the pink croc's snout as another peace offering. Phoebe's eyes narrow, and she whips her nose out from beneath Shrike's fingers to turn up her snout.
"Are you... oh my god are you pouting at me?!" Shrike's more amazed than angry. Even after a year of interacting with the little devil, her antics never cease to amaze her. She's quick to remind her newfound human friend just how clever she can be... and just how much attitude her tiny body can carry.
Shrike sighs, threading a palm up through her hairline in disbelief. "You're being ridiculous, you know that?"
Phoebe merely hisses, her tone somehow indignant. As if to make an even firmer point about her disapproval, the little croc marches about in a half-circle, now facing away from the human who'd dare mock her.
So utterly amused by Phoebe's temper, Shrike can't help but laugh. The beast doesn't take kindly to that. Her tail begins to swish and thrash about the table angrily, knocking over the medical supplies Shrike had set down.
"You really are something else... but I know what'll change your mind." Shrike leans forward to trail her fingers down Phoebe's spine, letting them dance over the scaley ridges leading down her tail. The ferocious little beast begins to open her maw, the most infuriated growl she can muster just starting to escape when-
"Would a treat make you feel better?"
Phoebe's entire body goes rigid, and then she's whirling around all at once. Her eyes have lit up like there's little stars behind them, the ruby color shining as perfect as gemstones. She rushes forward in a scamper, and her claws struggle to find purchase on Shrike's chest as she tries to hiss excitedly into the human's face.
"Okay, okay!" Shrike struggles to pull the treat-frenzied creature off her as Phoebe's claws start hooking into her bralette... and to mention her skin. "Hey now, careful with those." She chides the pink menace with a stern tone, to which it responds immediately. It's a voice she only uses with her when being serious, usually during training or, in this case, discipline.
Phoebe relaxes to let her claws come loose, and she subsequently slides down Shrike's front until she comes to rest in her lap. Those rubies meet her just as eagerly as before, though a bit calmer now.
"Thank you, Pheebs'. For being a good girl, now you'll get extra treats."
She practically screeches with excitement, her feet doing little tippy-tappies as she balances on top of Shrike's thighs.
"But first, girl, I really gotta' get these scapes cleaned up. Alright?"
It takes no more than a few more minutes for Shrike to wrap up, to which Phoebe watches patiently all the while. Once her knees are cleaned up and bandaged, Shrike gently slides herself off the counter, wary about her new wrappings staying in place. Luckily, they do, due in no small part to Shrike having plenty of experience playing doctor on herself back in her old life.
Except, now she has actual medical supplies, and not discarded bottles of cheap booze and scraps of soiled fabric.
"Alright, cutie, ready to get some nibbles?" She settles Phoebe onto her shoulders once more, biting back groans as the little reptile's body mass aggravates the bruises there. The delighted hiss that crackles out from that pink maw makes it all worthwhile, though.
Shrike clicks off the light and slinks out from the bathroom. Even after a full year, making any real noise during the a.m. makes her cringe, triggering that anxious fight or flight instinct of hers. Back then, making too much noise would've tipped off her prey and almost certainly would've led to her death.
It's been a hard habit to shake, in any case. Even within the safe confines of her room.
Well, while this cabin is "her room", it's also technically supposed to be the "women's quarters". Seeing as how the doctor has her own private room attached to the medbay, Shrike is the only one actively room here. Though she does enjoy having her own space, she also blames the segregated quarters as being another reason why she's struggled to build good relationships among the crew.
The others, all being men, have the pleasure and, or, the misfortune of rooming together; save for Crocodile who has his own private captain's quarters, of course. That left Shrike all on her lonesome in a room intended for multiple people... emphasis on alone.
She won't say she's lonely, exactly; ship life means constantly being surrounded by other people. Still, there's something missing in her life that Shrike can't really describe. Not living directly with the others means that she's missed out on the bonding time that's pulled them fast together. She doesn't get their inside jokes, their life stories, their camaraderie... It's just another one of the many things that's kept her apart from them, made them think of her as an "other".
That, and her attitude...
There are times where she truly wishes she wasn't this way: so sharp and fiery and aggressive, almost compulsive in the way she pushes others away. Times where she wants to greet people with a soft smile and kind words rather than defensive hostility, but her prior years of solitude have hardened her exterior to such a point that she doesn't know if it'll ever be undone.
She could try to play nice, but given the circumstances of her recruitment and her ornery reputation, Shrike has a feeling it wouldn't go over so well. Sure, it's been a year, but she's done little to give them any reason to actively like her. She's dug this hole and left the shovel up top, no one to blame but herself. Now she's too afraid to ask someone to throw it down, lest they abuse her weakness and toss her a snake instead.
No way to dig herself out now. They've all made their opinions of her already, and she has more important things to worry about than what others think.
'But not when that other is the captain, huh? Hypocrite.'
Shrike grumbles at herself in frustration. Phoebe shifts at her muttering, stretching over to nibble at Shrike's cheek.
"Nothing, nothing." The human strokes along her scaley brow ridge. "Let's get some snacks."
As if on cue, a loud rumble sounds from Shrike's stomach, and a gutwrenching twinge of anxiety immediately constricts about her midsection. Nothing puts her on edge faster than being hungry, and her 'hangry' episodes have become legendary on the ship. While the crew mocks her for them, they know better than to come between her and her food.
After all, it's not exactly secret that she used to kill people just to steal a few loaves of bread.
"Looks like I'll be grabbing myself a treat, too. Eh?" She more hums to herself than to Phoebe, but a pink snout brushes against her nose at her words nonetheless.
Shrike walks over to her bed and turns around, bending backward such that her hitchhiker slides off and makes a soft landing on the mattress. She then drops to her haunches, careful not to upset the new bandages on her knees, and begins rooted around beneath the bed. Phoebe watches curiously all the while. Her claws cling to the edge of the frame so she can peek over.
There's a certain board Shrike's looking for, a loosened one that's against the wall beneath the headboard. Even in the dim light of the bedroom-the only light coming from the hallway as it creeps in from beneath the door-Shrike's done this enough that her fingers quickly brush against the twisted nail indicating her target.
"Aha~! Here we are!" She hooks her fingers beneath the lip of the board and gives it a familiar twist to the side. It comes free with a slight creak, revealing the prize within.
Shrike knows it makes a certain logical sense given her past, but that doesn't stop her from finding her food hoarding tendencies more than a little embarrassing. It's just in case, she tells herself. Just in case...
Like feeding a spoiled rotten pet crocodile.
She grabs a handful of her hoard, drawing them out from her secret cache to get a better look at what she has. Bags of chips, a few cookies, sleeves of crackers... nothing really jumps out at her as especially appetizing right now. Not even the jar of peanut butter grabs her attention, and that's her favorite.
Given the disinterested look on Phoebe's face from where she's sitting at the edge of the mattress, it's clear the little gator feels the same. As much as she doesn't feel like leaving the relative safety of her room, this calls for an emergency trip to the galley.
At the very least, Shrike knows a portion of her dinner should be tucked away in the fridge for her. Given the nature of her assignments, the chef-a rather boisterous man named Axen-knows that she's like to occasionally be absent from meals. Hopefully, he figured that's what's happened this time too, and not that she'd completely slept through dinner while trying to avoid everyone...
Phoebe suddenly hisses at Shrike questionably as the human rises back to her feet empty-handed, an interrogative look in those clever little eyes.
Not eager to disappoint the little croc, Shrike extends her an invitation. "Care to join me on a trip to the kitchen?"
She dips her snout as if in a nod, the action drawing from a Shrike a bubbling laugh.
"You're smarter than Ezra, I swear." Shrike gives the baby a quick pat on the head. "I gotta get dressed first, then we can go. I'll be quick."
True to her word, she throws on a hoodie in a rush, not bothering to take her time lest she risk the pink menace's ire once more. No need to put on a shirt when she's just making a quick trip to the kitchen, especially at this hour when no one else should be up. Her sleep shorts at least cover all the important bits, good enough for this little excursion, and at least she has underwear on underneath. If anyone does see her... well, it's late and she's seen the men in worse, to be honest.
Once dressed a bit more modestly, she returns to the bed and relocates the hangry Phoebe to her shoulders once more.
"Ready?"
An impatiently excited hiss is all the answer she needs.
Shrike opens the door warily, worried about being spotted. Still embarrassed about everything that's happened today and still too exhausted from it to activate her Shroud, the last thing she wants right now is to run into anyone else. It's extremely late, and she doubts whether anyone is up prowling the decks like she is, but she's cautious all the same. She begins to head for the stairs down the hall at a tiptoe, seeing as how the kitchen is one deck up.
Given how gently the ship's listing, she can only assume the ship's still docked at port. The thought is more reassuring than she wants to admit. If Crocodile does want to kill her, at least she knows that she still has an exit besides throwing herself overboard and taking her chances swimming back to shore. Or, if she's feeling practically dramatic, she could always just let herself down; give herself to the apathetic waters and let all her confused feelings and pointless infatuations be lost forever to the deep.
'You're just as melodramatic as he is, god damn.'
She shakes her head as a world-weary sigh pushes through her lips. Phoebe's tail tickles in her ear, as if she can sense the turmoil wreaking havoc in her human friend from the inside out.
"S'ok Pheebs'." She brushes the tail away with a warm smile, turning to the side to look meet those glimmering red eyes. "Just being a little dumb."
Shrike makes it to the foot of the stairs without incident, already dreading the creaking it'll make as she ascends. There's no other way topside though, and just sitting here filled with dread doesn't get her's or Phoebe's tummies fed.
Luckily, just as how when she arrived at them, she climbs them with no issue. Though she's a little ashamed to admit how the anxiety has her heart thudding almost painfully in her chest. It seems that panic attack from earlier has undone much of the work she's put in over the year to seal those anxious tendencies away. Great.
She begins to creep down the hall, the similarities to her nightmare making her even more uneasy.
It's made all the worst as she's suddenly accosted by the faint sound of voices.
'Who the hell is up at this hour?!'
Despite the anxiety making her almost nauseous, her curiosity gets the better of her. Shrike silently pads down the hall as she does her best to ignore the coiling in her gut. The trail of the voices takes her right past the galley, where she'd expected them to eventually settle. No, it takes her further. To somewhere she's been to many, many times.
A room she's quite enjoyed finding herself in when invited. Now, the sight of it only fills her with dread.
The door to his office.
Crocodile is back.
And from the tone of his voice, he sounds angry.