Author's Note: Okay so my mom recently bought new steak knives cause she claims ours are shit and I was like, "I wonder if Sanji has steak knives that look this scary?". I know nothing about knives and stuff so just about everything stated in here is based off an amateur. I do not own One Piece. Also, this is where stuff gets a little ... bad. Okay, lie, they get REALLY bad. I've never written a scene like this before, so bear with me here. I know everyone's out of character, but this is an AU! Also, answers to your reviews are welcome! I really hope I didn't screw this chapter up, please review, no flames!
Beautiful Disaster
By: Setkia
Full Summary
Sanji is the assistant cook of the world-renowned restaurant, the Baratie, the only restaurant like it in the world. He's a successful chef and flirts with the customers every chance he can get but there's a problem. It's all a facade. The cooks give a new meaning to the word "abusive", both mental and physical. The only thing keeping Sanji alive is his love for cooking and a good ol' pack of cigarettes.
Zoro Roronoa is a swordsman who suddenly has more change in his pocket than he expected and enters the Baratie by recommendation. His waiter happens to be a curly browed man with an adoration for cigarettes. An attempt speak to the head chef goes horribly wrong and he gets sucked into the crumbling world of the chef's, wondering how he can possibly save him and better yet, why does he want to save him in the first place?
WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: (Yes, we've gotten to the point where we need warnings)
The following things are present in the latest chapter of Beautiful Disaster:
Self-harm
Rape
Suicidal thoughts
Chapter 4: Would Anyone Care?
SMACK!
Sanji tried not to flinch as the spatula came down on him forcefully. He had learnt better than to try and dodge the attacks. That was a pointless goal and besides, in the end it did him nothing but earn more strikes from the merciless cooks. Patty had already counted to eight. He had two more to go before they let him be. No, that was wrong. He was never allowed to just be. He was allowed breaks in between beatings and nothing more. At least, that's how Sanji had come to see his life.
"Count them!" demanded Patty once more.
Sanji also learnt that the worst thing he could do was become emotionless. Though he remembered vaguely being told that bullies enjoy getting rises out of others and that if you left them alone and didn't react, surely they would get bored and move onto their next target, at the Baratie, this was not the case. In fact, if he pretended nothing happened Patty and Carne would hit him worse and act even harsher because everyone has a breaking point and they didn't plan on stopping until they reached Sanji's.
SMACK!
"Nine," Sanji said through gritted teeth, refusing to let out a whimper. Whimpering was weak. His dignity may have left him quite a few years ago and maybe his ego was bruised, but his pride would never waver, not even for Patty.
SMACK!
"Ten."
"Good," said Patty, sounding satisfied. Pushing Sanji forward, he threw the spatula down next to him and let out a long laugh. "Clean up the kitchen, shit cook." Kicking flour in Sanji's direction, he spat on the floor. "We'll be back tomorrow."
Of course you will.
Sanji listened as the door to the restaurant closed and was locked. Closing his eyes tightly, Sanji refused to cry and got up, slightly unsteady on his feet, looking around himself to figure out how long it would take him before he could get some sleep.
There was broken glass on the floor, the remains of another broken dish, wasted food had been spilt and the dishes still weren't done. The room had to be spotless for when they opened tomorrow morning.
With shaking hands, Sanji got the broom and began to sweep the floor, making sure not to step in any glass as he swept it away. The kitchen wasn't all that big, at least, to him it wasn't, but the mess the others left was daunting and as usual, he found himself wondering if he'd ever be able to clean it.
After an hour of sweeping, the flour had been swept away and thrown into the trash (such a waste) and Sanji could clean the tables. The cooks enjoyed leaving their used pots and pans everywhere and clearing the tables of everything was hard. Placing all the used dishware into the already flooding sink, Sanji went to work at cleaning the tables.
For a reason he wouldn't dare admit, cleaning the tables had to be his least favourite thing to do.
They were stainless steel and he was able to see his reflection in them perfectly as he wiped them down, getting rid of left over pieces of lettuce and the like. When it was done, he had no choice but to look at his own reflection, no matter how much it pained him.
When Sanji looked into the mirror-like table, he saw a skinny man with arms and legs too long for his body. He saw blond hair that looked so plain, it was like having straw for hair. He saw a dull blue eye and wished for the thousandth time his hair would allow him to cover both, but of course, fate was cruel in such a way that it was impossible. He saw lips that were too cracked to possibly look attractive and he saw eyebrows that … did he even have to think about them?
Biting his bottom lip (horribly cracked, horribly swollen from the punishment involving the rolling pin), he closed his eyes and turned away, instead focusing his attention on the large pile of things that needed to be washed.
The Baratie closed at eleven every night and opened itself once more at ten in the morning. The cooks often left the Baratie at eleven forty-five, after giving Sanji his nightly punishment for being out waitering again. Zoro had kept to his promise and his constant visits were making Sanji suffer. He knew if anyone else were to cater to the swordsman, he would be thrown out in the blink of an eye and he wanted him to keep quiet. He wouldn't dare let himself think that he enjoyed playing mind games with him as the marimo played Twenty Questions.
At one in the morning, Sanji was putting away the last of the dishware and was beyond exhausted. He was surprised he managed to get up every morning and serve the customers as he did. Patty had come to allow it, but that meant that Sanji acknowledged that he was to be severely punished each night, at least three times harder than usual. Stupid fucking Marimo, causing him trouble even when he wasn't there.
The steak knife slipped out of his hands at the last second, slicing his finger harshly. He stared at the blood as it trickled down his finger slowly. Turning over his finger, he stared at it, as though entranced by the colour, watching it as it stained his pale skin. It had been a while since he had bled exteriorly.
Staring at the knife on the countertop, he saw the small blotch on the counter of his blood.
Rolling up his sleeves, Sanji stared at his wrists. They healed each and every time, but the small white scars were a reminder of what he had done. Now that he thought about it, since Zoro had started coming by, he hadn't been thinking about it nearly as much.
Maybe that Marimo was good for something.
Sanji let out a bitter smile, one that didn't reach his eyes, and put the knife away after cleaning it once more. He wiped the counter clean and with that, shut the lights in the kitchen.
He made it a few steps into the dinning hall before he fell asleep on the floor.
When Sanji woke up, it was dark.
Of course it was dark. The cooks hated sunlight and acted like vampires. They shut the curtains and with the lights off in the dinning hall during the night and Sanji's exhaustion the night before, it was no wonder it was pitch black.
Sanji felt around blindly for something to grab onto. His hands found a chair and using it, he pushed himself up onto his unsteady feet. The room spun around him, probably from lack of sleep, and he forced himself into the kitchen. Turning back on the lights, he prepared the soup for the day, trying his hardest not to fall asleep into the pot.
When the other cooks came in, it didn't take them long to wreck the hard work Sanji had put into the cleaning the night before. They were careless and enjoyed throwing things around, using unnecessary dishes just to make more work for him at night.
Like every day, he felt as though the rough start to his day was an omen from above of how horrible the rest of his day would be.
One thing he could count on Zoro Roronoa being, bedsides annoying, was punctual. It was a surprise to learn that the green-haired Marimo wasn't as scatter-brained as Sanji thought, despite the fact that he couldn't tell the difference between a shrimp fork and a salad fork (honestly, who didn't know the difference?). Zoro never failed to walk into the Baratie at eight thirty every night, sit down at his table, order water and then spice things up with a different appetizer and main course every time.
Sanji still remembered what Zoro had told him the night before his nightly visits.
"I don't really make that much and besides, I have to keep bailing my friends out of jail so with those fees and all—"
Sanji chuckled to himself at the memory. So Zoro was friends with troublemakers, was he? Well, it made sense that a reckless man had reckless friends. He wouldn't be surprised if he found out Zoro had a bounty on his head.
A few days after Zoro had begun to come to the restaurant nightly, Sanji had decided it was important to know all he could about his customers, especially the customer that was practically blackmailing him. He had searched Zoro up on the internet and the results had been interesting.
He was a three time Kendo champion and placed second worldwide, only to be outdone by some man named Mihawk. He was said to have a love for sake and enjoyed meditation. He was a kenjutsu prodigy and martial arts were said to be a hobby of his. That was about all the Internet knew about the great Zoro Roronoa. He didn't speak much during interviews and liked to keep to himself. He stayed out of the tabloids and the press seemed to think fondly of him (not that Sanji did much more than skim through the articles, after all, they could be nothing but lies, couldn't they?), so Sanji had come to the conclusion that having Zoro as a client at the Baratie wasn't a crime against humanity and no horrible gossip or rumours should spread from his nightly visits.
For some reason that he couldn't understand, Sanji found himself looking forward to Zoro's visits. He was certainly a different kind of customer than the usual clientele. He would make a ruckus, some way or another, making the entire restaurant fall silent, before he sent the others a death glare and continued on eating. It was entertaining to say the least.
Sanji sucked up the whole day, from Mr. Motzel asking him about their wine to Fullbody bringing in Moodie and mistreating her. He handled it all with grace, as far as he was concerned, until Zoro came.
If another waiter were to pay attention to Sanji, they would notice a change when eight thirty came around.
Sanji stood tall and straight with a firm grip on his tray at all times. He flashed phoney smiles and kept a straight face, always being polite and never missing a beat.
When Zoro walked through the doors, looking confused as he always did (something to do with his horrible sense of direction, as far as Sanji was concerned), Sanji would drop whoever he was serving at the moment and rush to Zoro. Of course, he wasn't careless. He didn't just leave his tray behind as he pranced over to the reception desk; no, he gently told the clients that he had elsewhere to be for a few moments and then he went prancing over to the reception desk. He would deny the prance, but one of the waiters had seen him at it once.
Once, but once was enough when you worked at the Baratie. And that one time that they saw him happened to be the reason why Sanji's life just got harder.
"Mr. Roronoa, your usual table, I assume?" asked Sanji, leading the way to the Marimo's usual seat. It wasn't as though he would suddenly change it; after all, he had asked for the table in the first place.
Zoro gave him a nod and as usual, the under-dressed swordsman took his seat. Tonight he wore a plain white shirt with a pair of black pants and sneakers. Only Zoro would walk into a fancy, high-class restaurant and decide that sneakers were appropriate footwear.
"Thank you, cook," he told Sanji.
Sanji would never admit it, but the fact that Zoro always remembered his position in the kitchen pleased him immensely.
"Water?"
"Am I getting that predictable?"
Sanji would also never admit that he felt the strongest urge to smile genuinely around the swordsman. If he ever did confess to it, it would surely inflate the idiot's already big ego. No doubt the trophies and medals were already enough to feed it.
"You? Predictable? Never."
Sanji handed him the menu and Zoro frowned, flipping through it. "I don't know why you bother now a days," said Zoro. "I'm pretty sure I've memorized this thing."
Sanji smirked. "Well, it's customary for me to give it to you. Remember, you're no different from the average client."
But he was. And Sanji would never say it to his face.
"I think I'll have … Kaiseki Ryori. It was good the last time," Zoro noted, his eyes glazing over as he remembered it.
Even if Zoro didn't know it, he was doing wonders for Sanji's self-esteem, the way he practically had an orgasm every time he ate one of Sanji's meals had the blond running in circles, wondering what spices to use next to tantalize the swordsman's tastebuds. Of course, soon after he thought of such things he would remind himself that Zoro was not the only customer at the Baratie and should not receive with any special treatment. Still, Sanji felt as though his dishes kept getting better the more Zoro ate them.
"Of course. And for your appetizer?"
"Tamago egg," Zoro decided, closing the menu with a grin on his face. "You gonna cook it well, I hope, cook?"
Sanji gave him a smile, one that was probably the closest to sincere he had ever given. "Don't I always?"
Zoro laughed and shooed him away, telling him to prepare his meal and hurry; he had a tournament tomorrow.
When the Baratie was cleared and they were close to closing time, Sanji entered the kitchen with a few empty glasses. He was humming as he did so to no particular song, when he bumped into Patty.
Instantly, his good mood was gone. The glasses crashed to the floor, breaking into thousands of pieces and he knew instantly he'd have to clean them up. Today hadn't been as bad as he had thought it would be, but trust Patty to ruin a perfectly decent day in the blink of an eye.
"Sorry," Sanji said, bending over to pick up the broken glass.
SMACK!
Instantly, Sanji lurched forward when the spatula made contact with his ass.
He was pulled up by the back of his collar to come face to face with Carne, who was grinning with a far too evil gleam in his eye. "Did you like that?" he asked, snarling.
Sanji couldn't find words so he opened his mouth and closed it like a gaping fish. What was going on?
"Does Roronoa do this to you?" demanded Patty, smacking him once more, harder this time.
"Roronoa?" Sanji repeated. Zoro? What were they talking about Zoro for? What did Zoro have to do with this?
"Strip him."
It was the only warning Sanji got before the other cooks began to grab at his clothes, pulling at his shirt and his pants, yanking at his tie and his blazer. He felt his knees give in and he fell to the floor, hearing the fabric tear. It didn't take him long to figure out what was going on.
"Fucking bastards," Sanji said through gritted teeth when Carne grabbed the spatula from Patty and smacked him again, this time across the face. Sanji's cheek stung horribly but he bit his lip and refused to cry. Of course, the cooks were bastards, that he already knew, but were they really going to—?
"Open his mouth."
Rough hands grabbed at Sanji's jaw, forcing it open. He watched as Patty dropped his pants and took his cock in his hand. He walked over to Sanji slowly, rubbing his cock harshly with his big, meaty hand. His hands weren't the only big thing about him. He had to be … eight inches? Sanji didn't think now was the time for good math.
Without warning, Patty shoved his cock into Sanji's mouth.
"Suck, bitch," he commanded.
Sanji shook his head, feeling like choking. Nothing had ever tasted as bad as having Patty in his mouth.
SMACK!
The spatula hit him harshly in the rear and he was forced forward, his mouth widening more and taking in more of Patty. "I said suck, slut!" repeated Patty. "Suck me like you do that Roronoa bastard."
Sanji tried to pull away, to get off of him, but Patty gripped his head harshly and forced him to take him. "Suck my cock, whore!"
Sanji took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He didn't want to, he really didn't want to, but Patty was choking him and as much as he knew he was going to regret it later, he knew he had to comply. He didn't know what would happen if he defied Patty and with Sanji nude and defenceless, Patty had the upper-hand.
Closing his eyes tightly, Sanji slowly began to suck Patty, fisting his hands and trying to stop himself from choking. Patty still had a firm grip on his hair and was forcing more of himself into Sanji's mouth each time Sanji tried to breathe. Carne was sitting on his legs, preventing him from moving them and he had his spatula in hand, ready to hit him should he have to.
Sanji's stomach felt sick and he was ready to hurl, but he continued, feeling the tears in the back of his eyes, but he held them in. He would not cry. He was already sinking so low, he would not cry.
"Use your tongue, cocksucker," Patty commanded.
Sanji shook his head—
SMACK!
"I said use your tongue!" Patty declared. "Suck me, or is my cock not good enough when compared to Roronoa's?" The mention of Zoro's name made Sanji grit his teeth in anger. There they went again, throwing around Zoro's name. "Shit, are you a fucking moron? You don't use your fucking teeth!" Patty screamed at him. "Carne, spank him good for me!"
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
Sanji couldn't take anymore into his mouth and he was sure his ass couldn't handle another beating. He whined as he hesitantly brought his tongue around as he sucked, hating himself with each stroke of the muscle.
"There we go," Patty exclaimed. "That's a good cocksucker!"
Suddenly, Sanji felt something in his ass. Instantly, he froze. No. They couldn't do this, they couldn't! Sanji felt the tears ready to spill over, but knowing the cooks as he did, he knew it wouldn't be good. If he cried, they would only be harsher.
It was too big to be a finger, which meant—
"Fuck, he's tight!"
Sanji wanted to hit something. He could feel someone else holding his legs down while Carne pounded into him harshly, forcing Sanji's body to jerk forward with each thrust. He fell onto Patty's cock and the cook seemed to enjoy it. He was gripping Sanji's hair tightly, swearing profanities loud enough that Sanji was sure the shop across the street heard.
No. No one should hear this. This is my humiliation, it can't leave this room! I can't … they can't …
"He's sucking me in, Patty!" declared Carne. "I think I'm going to blow my load!"
NO!
It was too late. Sanji could feel the cum as it dripped out of him, soaking his thighs. He felt dirty. He felt used. He felt … he felt like a whore. Like an object. He was hurt, he was in pain and the stink of Carne's cum made him dizzy with illness.
"Have him suck you," said Patty. "Should get you right back up. I'm gonna have a turn at him," he declared with a laugh.
Patty pulled out of Sanji's mouth and switched positions with Carne. Without warning, he forced himself into Sanji.
Sanji felt like he was being split open. He nearly cried out in pain, but Carne was forcing his cock into his mouth so he couldn't utter a sound.
"What would Roronoa say if he could see his bitch now?" demanded Patty, smacking Sanji harshly. "Fuck, I'm not even homo and this is better than any woman I've ever had!" His thrusts were even harsher than Patty's, the sound of flesh against flesh resonating throughout the kitchen, echoing off the walls.
Roronoa's bitch? I'm not … THE BASTARDS!
The realization struck him and if Sanji hadn't felt murderous before, he did now. He couldn't do anything about it, left in such a vulnerable position, but God did he want to hurt them. He was in so much pain, he saw white but the worse thing was a second later when Patty pushed into him even faster and he felt nothing. He was numb. They had fucking numbed him.
"Oh shit, he's bleeding!" came a cry from somewhere.
Patty smacked him harder. "Got fucking blood all over the floor. You gonna clean that up, shit cook?" he demanded, spitting at him. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum!" Patty declared. "Right in your fucking ass! It's okay," Patty said in a voice that sounded far too mocking to ever be sincere, "You can just close your eyes and pretend it's your beloved Roronoa, eh, shit cook?"
Though he couldn't feel anything in his ass anymore, he could feel the mix of cum and blood as it trickled down his thighs.
Patty pulled out harshly and gave him another harsh smack before leading the cooks out and slamming the front door to the Baratie close.
Sanji lay in the middle of the kitchen floor, covered in cum and blood. Finally, he let the tears he denied fall down his cheeks, blurring his vision.
He didn't fucking care anymore.
They had officially taken everything. Everything he ever had, it was gone. His pride, his dignity, and his …
Sanji didn't want to think about that and instead crawled across the floor towards the array of kitchen knives.
So long … it had been so long …
Taking one, he slashed it down harshly against his wrist. The blood mixed with the blood on the floor and Sanji could practically taste it on his tongue. The line was harsh and rash, long going diagonally from his wrist. He hadn't hit a vein, but somewhere in his mind, he wished he had.
Let him bleed out to death. Let him lie here, tangled in the blood, cum and sweat. Let him die here, let him perish here and escape this hell.
The tears fell faster and he gripped the knife tightly, about to make another cut but his vision was too fuzzy and so instead, the knife missed its mark and fell out of his grip, flying across the room instead, hitting the pantry. He sobbed, curling himself into a ball against the cool floor and the cupboard. The tears mixed with the other substances on the floor and he just stayed put, wishing, praying, hoping it would all end.
The next night, Sanji was serving again.
He had cleaned up the kitchen, been sore all day and had contemplated throwing himself out the top story window. At least that way he would never have to go through such a horrible experience again. But he was still there, still serving, still faking smiles.
When eight thirty came around, he walked to Zoro with a little less of a spring in his step than usual.
An irrational part of his mind told him that it was Zoro's fault. They had kept mentioning him while they were … Sanji couldn't even think about it. Instead, he shivered and got Zoro to his seat, gave him his usual water and went to place his order.
The moment he walked into the kitchen, he was bombarded by the names.
"Slut."
"Whore."
"Bitch."
"Cunt."
"Cocksucker."
He ignored them, but he felt his rage building inside of him. He took a long drag from his cigarette before daring to enter the dinning hall once more. He kept his eyes focused on the customers entirely and didn't allow himself to look elsewhere. He kept eye contract the entire time and forced himself to smile. It was even harder this time around.
No one knew. No one fucking knew so they kept on going on with their lives like they normally would. Which then made Sanji wonder: would anyone care? If anyone knew about what had happened to him the night before, would they care about what had conspired? Would they care that he had been raped on the kitchen floor? Would they care that he had bled? Would they care that blood had been spilt, not only because of them, but because of his own self-inflicted pain? Would they care that Sanji was no longer a pure soul? Would they care—
Sanji stopped himself and gave an answer to all these questions at once.
No.
They wouldn't care.
Because no one cared about Sanji. No one gave a damn whether or not he bled, no one cared whether or not he had been forced to take it up the ass, no one cared if he couldn't hold a knife properly because it still hurt, no one cared if he had scars because all anyone ever cared about was whether or not there was food on their plate.
Everyone could pretend all they wanted, they could put on false faces and act like everything was perfect. It wasn't hard to fake a worried expression. It wasn't hard to pretend that you cared. It wasn't hard to fake a sympathetic glance. It wasn't fucking hard to pretend like someone actually mattered.
Because human beings are selfish people, Sanji thought. Human beings only care about themselves. It's all about self-preservation because when it comes down to it, no one fucking cares about anything except whether or not they're okay.
Sanji snapped.
When he approached Zoro with the check in hand, he watched as the green-haired man leafed through his wallet as usual, with a bright smile on his face.
He probably doesn't fucking care.
"You know, I won my competition today, cook."
Of course. You won. Your competition.
"I actually thought I was in serious trouble there though, this guy I was fighting, he was pretty big."
Yes. You thought. You were in trouble. The guy you were fighting. It's all about you, isn't it?
Sanji gritted his teeth. He didn't fucking know. He didn't fucking know the hell Sanji had been through, even though it was his fucking fault. The bastard cooks probably would've left him alone had Zoro not been there. Had Zoro not been a client, had Zoro not fucking existed—
CRASH!
Sanji didn't know what happened.
One moment Zoro was talking about the competition he had won (his fucking tournament, wasn't it? All about him, was it?), and then Zoro was on the ground, holding his cheek while Sanji stood over him, taking deep breaths. A strand of his hair fell into his eyes and Sanji's foot made contact with the ground.
Fuck.
Zoro stared at him with wide eyes. He seemed at a loss for words and was desperately scrambling to form a sentence, but it was too late. Sanji realized what he had done and instantly ran into the kitchen.
The cooks had seen. He left Zoro there, dumbfounded and frozen. They were sneering.
"Lover's quarrel?"
"Now shit cook, you don't bring personal matters into the restaurant."
"Roronoa's gonna tie you up tonight, isn't he? You gonna beg for forgiveness?"
He ignored all of their comments and instead went into the very back room where almost no one went, pressing his back against the door.
Sanji wasn't sure what he had with Zoro. Maybe it had been something bordering on friendship, maybe they had been nothing more than acquaintances, but whatever they had been, it was over now.
It's better this way.
Sanji tried to convince himself. This way Zoro wouldn't be disrupting the other customers. This way he didn't have to think of something witty to say in response to one of the swordsman's quips. This way the cooks couldn't give him grief about the Marimo. This way … this way …
This way no one would recognize he was a cook, not a fucking waiter. This way no one would moan in pleasure at the taste of one of his meals. This way no one would give him something to look forward to in his day. This way there'd be no one to call "Marimo".
Sanji pulled his knees towards himself and closed his eyes.
Would anyone care if he drowned in his tears?
It happened again.
They were rough, they were merciless and instead of only Carne and Patty, three others had joined in. He hadn't cried in front of them, but he had wanted to. He wondered if they'd give him mercy if he showed weakness but he knew the truth. They'd destroy him the moment they saw it.
That night, Sanji collapsed in the kitchen, a knife in hand. He didn't have the strength hold back tears. He didn't have the strength to stand. He didn't have the strength to light another cigarette. He didn't even have the strength to cut.
He wished he did though.
Because everyone cares once you're gone.
Every single fucking one cares.
Just once.
Author's Note #2: Okay, for the thank yous!
lilcutieprincess: So the thing was, when I was writing the last chapter, it wasn't that everything was rushed, it was that the writing of it had been rushed, so it makes sense that I had some accidental spelling slip ups and I will definitely look into those strange sentences and such when I do revision. All of my stories go through revision once I'm comfortable with the speed my chapters are coming out and such. Thank you for your opinion on where Sanji learnt his skills, I think your way makes more sense than my way, actually.
fanfiction lover 228: Thank you! I was worried about the last chapter since it felt rushed and all to me, and besides, I want Sanji and Zoro to develop a natural relationship (given their personalities and the situation they're in) because I always like things to be somewhat realistic on some level.
a1wonder50: See, the thing about this story, is that Zeff isn't really there at the restaurant a lot. There's a reason for it, but he hasn't been at the Baratie in like, 6 months. Plus, Sanji thinks if he tells Zeff about what the others are doing, that'll only lead to the cooks hating him more. Zeff tends to go away a lot in this story and isn't often present at the Baratie.
1st Edit: August 5th 2015
