"Yeah, yeah, you're a real critic," Maui grunts with a roll of his eyes as he sets the canoe onto the sea, oar in hand. It's a small little thing that feels more like a twig in his hand. The hardships of a demigod. "Keep it up and I'll scratch you off with a clam shell."
His tattoo seethes on his chest, stomping its feet across his skin that causes an itch against it. He swats at it before it huffs, turning its back on him with a dramatic flourish that has him snorting.
The canoe bobs under him as he shoves it deeper into the shallows, the water cool against his calves. The sun glints off the waves, sharp and golden, and for a moment, he can almosttasteit—freedom, the open sea, a millennium of sand and boredom finally behind him.
He leaps aboard, the boat rocking under his weight, and digs the oar in with a grin that splits his face wide.
"See ya, you miserable rock!" he bellows, voice booming over the beach as he rows hard, muscles flexing like they've been itching for this—
The water shifts, sudden and sly, curling around the canoe like a hand closing tight. It doesn't just resist—it pushes back, a stubborn shove that sends the boat lurching toward the shore.
Maui stumbles, nearly pitching over the side, and the oar slips from his hand.
(It goes unnoticed with how the Ocean shoots the oar out from its shallow depths and into a curly-haired girl's open hand.)
"What the—?!" he growls, glaring down at the waves like they've personally insulted him.
They swirl around the hull, playful but unyielding, nudging him back toward the sand with every stroke he tries to take. He digs in harder, biceps bulging, teeth gritted—nothing. The sea's a wall, a tease, a downright pain in his godly backside.
"Comeon!" he roars, a second away from hauling the ship back up and slamming it into the Ocean's surface. Mini-Maui perks up, pointing and snickering like it's enjoying the show, and Maui shoots it a look that could melt stone. "You think this is funny? Keep laughing, I'll dunk you in the deep end!"
(His tattoo knowsexactlywhere he's talking about and haszerointentions of landing itself there. Again.)
The ocean ripples in response, almost smug, and he can't shake the feeling it's toying with him—like it's got some secret it's not spilling. He hauls the canoe back onto the sand, chest heaving, ready to give the sea a piece of his mind, when—
A shadow cuts across the boat, small but fierce, and he freezes mid-rant.
Butgeezshe's a tiny little thing, barely coming up to his chest—he canbarelytake her seriously with that expression on her face; looking at him as if he'd just trampled all over her favourite garden.
Which...
His eyes flick to the boat he'd fixed up (wasn't pretty, but it was functional) before shooting back to the girl.
Yeah, okay, maybe he did in a sense.
She's shoving the tip of her oar in his face now, the wood just an inch away from smacking into his nose. "Who are—no, actually,why are you taking my boat?!"
He tries to nudge the oar aside with a lazy flick of his hand, but she's not having it—snaps it back into place with a snarl, this time jabbing it hard enough to graze his cheek. The sting's more surprise than pain, but it's enough to make Mini-Maui clap a hand over its mouth, stifling a giggle.
"Oh, you'relovingthis, huh?" he mutters under his breath, shooting the tattoo a glare. It just winks back, smug as the ocean itself.
Stupid thing.
He straightens up, towering over her with all the godly swagger he can muster, and crosses his arms over his chest. Mini-Maui mimics him, puffing out its tiny chest, though it's still smirking like it knows something he doesn't.
"Yourboat?" he drawls, voice low and lazy, like he's got all the time in the world to humor her. "Last I checked, it was a wreck washed up onmyisland. Fixed it up myself, too—you're welcome, by the way. Finder's keepers, kid."
The girl's jaw tightens, and the oar in her hands twitches like she's tempted to whack him proper this time. The ocean swirls again, nudging the boat ever so slightly back toward the sand, and Maui catches it from the corner of his eye. His grin falters for half a second—long enough for Mini-Maui to notice and snicker again.
"Look," he says, leaning down just enough to meet her glare head-on, "I've been stuck here longer than you've been breathing, probably. This boat's my way out. You wanna fight me for it? Go ahead—give it your best shot." He spreads his arms wide, daring her, though the sting on his cheek's still smarting, and the ocean's smug little ripples aren't helping his confidence.
She's staring at him with narrowed eyes, but they're wandering over him like she's sizing him up. Pretty hard thing, he'd like to think. He was a big guy. But then her brow twitches before she's lowering her oar the slightest bit.
"Than I've been...?" She breathes out in a quiet murmur before shaking her head, giving him a bit more of a softened expression as she asks him, "Whoareyou?"
It's not a demand this time. It's a question, raw and unguarded like she's actually wondering, not just barking at him.
Maui blinks, caught off-kilter for half a heartbeat. He straightens up again, puffing out his chest a little more—gotta make an impression, right?—and flashes a grin that's all teeth and charm.
"Who am I?" he echoes, voice booming over the beach like he's announcing it to the sky itself. He ignores the way her face immediately deflates into something similar to disappointment. "I'mMaui—demigod of the wind and sea, hero to all, the guy who pulledislandsfrom the deep and gave youmortals—" he's not saying that like it's defamatory, ofcoursenot! "—fire to play with. You'rewelcome,by the way."
He jabs a thumb at himself, and Mini-Maui strikes a pose, flexing its tiny arms like it's the star of the show. The girl's oar stays steady, butcher eyes flicker—maybe surprise, maybe doubt, or— hear him out;
Complete and utteramazementof his absoluteawesomeness.
Of course, it isn't his first time, but—
"You're not Maui," she snorts with a giggle that has his grin wiped off his face instantly, replaced with a nonplussed look that his tattoo imitates at the same time.
What?
What'd she just say?
Not Maui—?
She's lowered her oar nearly completely now, holding a hand to her lips like she's holding back laughter. Like what he'd just told her was utterly absurd and unbelievable and—that's just insulting!
"Not—" he sputters before he leans forward, looming over her, one hand planting itself on his hip while the other gestures wildly at—well,allof him. "Not Maui? Kid, IamMaui! Look at me—big,strong,tattoos that move—" He jabs a finger at Mini-Maui, who's now stomping around on his chest, waving its arms like it's personally offended too.
That seemed to catch her attention, her giggles dying into silence as her eyes stayed glued to the tattoo closely.
(Mini-Maui latches onto this—attention on him is a rare phenomenon!—and tilts his head up smugly, as if sayingyes, look at me!)
"You think just anybody's got a magical sidekick etched into their skin?" Mini-Maui giveshima glare that he ignores outright. "Who else slowed the sun so you puny humans could have longer days? That'sme!"
The girl's looking him up and down again, almost as if she's rechecking him—as if she couldtellwhether he was real or not.
"Where's your hook?" She asks, voice steady and sharp, cutting through his bluster like a blade through a ripe mango.
Maui freezes.
Mini-Maui freezes too, its smug grin dropping into a wide-eyedoh nothat mirrors the sudden lurch in his gut. The hook. His hook. That giant, gleaming, magic-wielding chunk of him that's been missing for—well,too long.
His arms drop, just a little, and he blinks at her, mouth opening then closing like a fish snagged on a line. He sees the small frown on her face and the hesitant piece of what he thinks might bepitygrowing on her expression and—no,he doesn't want somekidfeeling bad forhim.
He's great.
Still greatwithouthis hook.
He knows this.
...
But...
"My hook?" he says, voice pitching up before he catches himself, forcing it back down to something gruff and casual. "Oh, that old thing? It's, uh..." He scratches the back of his neck, glancing at his tattoo for backup, but the tattoo just shrugs, palms up likeyou're on your own."It's around. Somewhere. Probably shining up some—"
"You lost your hook."
It's not a question, it's a statement; flat and matter-of-fact, like she's stating the tide's gone out or the sun's too bright. Four little words, sharp as a coral shard, pinning him where he stands.
His mouth snaps shut, and for a second, he's got nothing.