Crocodile's mansion was every bit as magnificent as he remembered. When it came to luxury and comfort, it was clear that the former Shichibukai had spared no expense.
The mansion was done in variants of orange and green, which seemed to be the Croc's favorite colors. A marble, spiral staircase commanded the center of the living area, trimmed with green velvet carpet. The rail was inlaid with gold, which glittered in the soft light of the candelabra. It was nothing short of an artistic masterpiece…
That was just like Crocodile, putting more value in material objects than in his actual relationships. If he were to stumble upon Merci's bedroom, it was likely that her room would be lavishly decorated with expensive imports from the four oceans – all the words that the Croc could never say represented in the presents his angel had accumulated over the years.
Slowly, he ascended the stairs, casting one last glance down at Merci. The violet-haired beauty was sharpening knives in the kitchen… "Oh, and Doflamingo? If you're still alive come dinner, we're having okonomiyaki."
Doflamingo grinned, "Fufufu… I look forward to it, Junior Croc."
He took the stairs two at a time, ascending higher until the first floor was swallowed in darkness. The savory scent of dinner was swallowed in a thick plume of pinkish smoke. The door to Croc's study was cracked open – there was a classical jazz record playing softly in the background, Crocodile's smooth baritone gliding over the music.
Doflamingo pushed the door open, catching the tail end of Crocodile's sentence, "…will be able to make it next Thursday, at the earliest. I have to -," he paused, catching sight of Doflamingo for the first time, "I'll have to call you back."
Doflamingo smirked, his long, pink tongue flitting out to wet his chapped lips, "Am I interrupting something?"
"Yes, you are." Crocodile said curtly. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you even get up here?"
"I'll admit, you've got one hell of a security system there, Croc." Doflamingo shivered at the memory of the beautiful young woman sharpening knives downstairs… "You're daughter has developed into quite the little hellcat, lover."
Crocodile frowned, "Hellcat?" He pursed his lips, clearly displeased with Doflamingo's choice of words. "Clearly not hellacious enough if she couldn't keep you from venturing up here…"
"It certainly wasn't for lack of trying." Doflamingo said, "If it's any consolation, she threatened to kill me. Twice."
"It's a shame that she didn't follow through." Crocodile lamented softly.
Doflamingo's smile faltered, "Is that any way to talk to the person you love?"
"I wasn't aware that that is what I was doing."
Crocodile sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his leather-clad feet propped up on the corner. The desk was strewn with paperwork, a black lamp with a garish orange shade casting a warm glow on the scene. He bit on the filter of his cigar as he thumbed through the pages of his newspaper, much preferring to read it than make eye contact with Doflamingo.
Doflamingo was surprised to find pictures on Crocodile's walls… pictures of Merci growing up, of her and Robin cuddling together, of Merci holding a trophy from her first kill as an official member of Crocodile's newly reestablished crew. The man cared about his daughter, even if he rarely said it. Crocodile was painfully silent as he watched him from the corner of his eye.
Steeling himself, Doflamingo approached Crocodile's desk and threw all of the paperwork off onto the floor. Crocodile growled as the room was swallowed in a flurry of white, pushing off and away from the desk as Doflamingo sprawled himself out on top of it. The desk was obscenely large, but it was still swallowed beneath Doflamingo's hulking frame.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Crocodile grumbled, allowing Doflamingo to attach one of his strings to his arm and pull him back toward the desk.
"I know why you're upset with me." He said, slowly retracting his string. Crocodile twitched, a tickling sensation shooting down his side.
"Do you now?" He asked, clearly unimpressed.
He watched as Crocodile knocked the ashes off the butt of his cigar, "I never should've gotten… carried away like that. But you have to admit, you're a fascinating specimen. It's no wonder I was… distracted."
Crocodile sighed, "I suppose I should've suspected a dumb bird like you to be easily distracted…"
"You wound me, Croco."
The man grinned crudely, slowly uncapping his poison hook and thrusting it into Doflamingo's personal bubble, "Wound you? Why, I haven't even done anything to you, you filthy bird… not yet, at least."
Doflamingo stared at the hook for a moment, purple fumes rising from the holes in the metal and mingling with the pink smoke of his cigar. His face was an unreadable mask as he murmured, "Do it. Kill me."
That was enough to give Crocodile pause, "What?"
He began to unbutton his shirt, before placing a hand directly over his heart, "Do it. Stab me right here. The poison will act quickest if applied closest to the heart, right?"
Dark eyes flickered from the man's exposed chest to his trembling hook – when had he started shaking? Did he really want to kill Doflamingo, to impale him on the poisonous hook and watch as the light slowly faded from his eyes? Something twisted painfully in his chest at the idea of Doflamingo laying cold and immobile on the floor to his study.
He clenched his right hand, fingers swelling beneath the tightness of his rings. When had he become so soft, that he cared whether that damned bird lived or died? That he preferred, when he met his inevitable end, it wasn't by his own hand? The sheer volume of sentimentality disgusted him. There was no room for mawkishness in the life of a pirate.
"Don't test me, you stupid bird." He covered the poison hook, before knocking the ashes off his cigar. "Close up your shirt and get the hell off my desk."
"Crocodile…" Doflamingo trailed, uncertain of how he was supposed to respond to that.
"Do you have a bloody death wish?" Crocodile asked.
"Why else would I be here, with you?" He teased, trying for a smile… Crocodile narrowed his eyes at him, and his face fell.
In lieu of answering, Crocodile rose from his seat – an elegant masterpiece of woodworking, twice the size of an average chair to accommodate his massive legs. He grabbed his forest green trench coat, which was draped over the back, "It's time for dinner."
If he thought that the Croc's study was magnificent, he clearly had never seen his dining room.
The room was the size of a small auditorium – there was a long, mahogany table set for twelve in the center of the room, a china cabinet filled with orange checkered dishes. To the left, there was an archway that led into a highly modernized kitchen, and to the right, the entrance to the living area. A huge, glass chandelier, fitted with light green candles, glistened over the table.
Merci had already set the table and was bringing dinner out when Crocodile and Doflamingo arrived. She gave Doflamingo a reassuring smile – clearly, she hadn't anticipated that he'd live this long, and was rather impressed that he'd managed to survive this long without her father managing to dehydrate him. But the night was still young.
"Hello, Daddy." Merci said softly, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to her father's cheek. Crocodile gave her a firm pat on the shoulder, perhaps a wee bit harder than necessary, and took a seat at the head of the table.
"The bird will be joining us for dinner. Be sure to spit in his food." He said, casting the bird a sour glance as he claimed the seat next to him… the spot typically reserved for Merci.
Merci pouted, "Daddy, play nice."
Crocodile shrugged, "I could've told you to poison him. He said he had a death wish, after all."
"Would you like your prosthetic hand?" She asked nonchalantly, pulling the prosthetic from a cabinet below the bar – it housed various prosthetics, like claws of differing sizes, knives, even a flamethrower…
At Crocodile's affirmation, Merci brought the hand over and carefully began to detach Crocodile's hook. Her lithe, meticulous fingers loosened the leather strap and undid the buckle, before sliding the poison hook and its golden casing off and set them aside. Croc's dark eyes followed her every movement, uncertainty clear in their murky depths.
So it isn't my hands specifically that put Croco off… Doflamingo mused silently, watching as Merci strapped the fake hand into place. "I don't believe I've seen that one before."
Crocodile didn't even look at him, "Its poor manners to keep the hook on at the dinner table."
"And you're nothing if not the perfect gentleman." Doflamingo bit back, only a tad sarcastically.
"One of us has to be civilized." He hadn't realized he'd put out his cigar until he lit up again at the table, Merci offering him a light. The lighter – a dark green slab of metal – had a bananawani engraved onto the side of it.
Doflamingo raised one blonde brow, though the action was mostly hidden behind his flamboyant glasses. "I would think it would be poor manners to smoke at the dinner table."
"You must really think I'm above having my daughter poison your food and feeding you to my bananawani."
Merci gave him a placating smile, "Trust me when I say that you don't want to see Daddy without his nicotine."
"You mean he can be worse?" And there was that annoying laugh of his that had Crocodile gritting his teeth… his cigar snapped in two, the lit half falling uselessly onto the table.
"An idiot with a death wish." She mumbled under her breath, before excusing herself into the kitchen to retrieve the dinner. The tension in the air was so thick she thought she might choke on it.