It's a little disheartening, she supposes.
But... he's got the tattoos—one of themmoves,too, which she knows for a fact isn't normal.
Just... doesn't have his hook, which, from what she remembers from the stories Moni and Gramma Tala had told her, lines up with his last fight against Te Ka.
But still.
This... is Maui?
Heisbig—bigger than her father for sure, bigger than anyone else she knows on Motunui. She's not saying he's fat—he looks more like a solid mass of muscle. But it's... she supposes she was expecting somethingmore.
Though she doesn't knowwhatexactly.
He's just so...normal?Not normal, but it's difficult for her to put her finger on it.
When she glances at the Ocean, it's formed a crest that indicates its presence, giving her a small nodding gesture that only further cements the man's—Maui'sclaims. When she looks over her shoulder to look at the island, or at least what she can see, it reallyissmall.
Too small for anyone to live on, let alone a demigod with an ego bigger than the Ocean itself.
(Which reminds her; she'll be having words with the Ocean itself for throwing her into that storm...)
And thosemarkson the stone. Nearly every stone she can see, in fact—tally marks. As if counting the days. Months.
Years.
All to accumulate into the symbol of a hook.
"YouareMaui," she says slowly, the words feeling odd on her tongue as she points her oar at him absently, lost in a way like she's still processing it.
Demigod, legend, loudmouth—she's still piecing it together and doesn't catch the way Maui latches onto her admission like it's a lifeline tossed into choppy waters. His grin snaps back into place, smooth and wide, like the sun breaking through clouds.
"Obviously I am," he scoffs, shaking his head fast, as if her doubt was the real absurdity here.
Before she can blink, he snatches the oar from her loose grip, snagging a jagged rock from the sand with his other hand. With a flourish, he starts carving into the wood—a quick, rough sketch of a hook beside a heart, scratched deep like a signature stamped in stone.
"I get it," he says, tossing her a wink as he presents her oar back to her, "not everyday you get to meet your heroes."
For a moment, she's speechless; brows furrowed deeply as she stares at the engraving on her oar.
Heart.
And a hook.
Something clicks, and it's not admiration.
—
Before he can blink, she snarls—a sound that's all teeth and fury—andyanksthe oar back with a force that catches even a demigod off guard. The next thing he knows, the end of it's swinging toward him, cracking hard against his shoulder with athwackthat echoes over the beach.
"Ow—hey!" he yelps, stepping back a step, more startled than hurt. Mini-Maui flails on his chest, clutching its tiny shoulder like it felt the hit too, eyes wide with shock.
"You," she hisses, voice low and venomous, and then she's lunging forward, one hand shooting up to grab his ear. Her fingers clamp down, fierce and unrelenting, and she yanks him down—hard—until he's hunched over, eye-level with her blazing glare. "Arenotmy hero."
She twists his ear for good measure, like she's scolding a kid caught stealing taro.
Gods help him.
Maui winces, one hand swatting uselessly toward his ear while the other braces against the sand to keep from toppling over. "Okay,okay—easywith the ear, you little..."
"I'mhere,because youstoletheHeart of Te Fiti!" She flashes him with averyfamiliar stone inside her necklace, making his own heart fall a little at her intentions and barely managing to hold back a groan.
This again? Oh, come—
—
He flicks his hair back with a dramatic toss, saltwater spraying off the ends, and adjusts the sail with a grunt.
Freedom. Finally.
No more counting stars, no more scratching tallies into stone—just him, the sea, and this patched-up boat that's his ticket to anywhere but there.
"You know I had to," he mutters, shooting a sideways glance at his tattoo. He's been at it nonstop since he left the girl behind—punching at his chest with its tiny fists, though it feels more like a pesky pinch than anything worth whining about. He's got his arms crossed now, glaring up at him with a scowl that's all righteous indignation, like it's the moral compass he never asked for.
(That he kept buried deep down in that small part of him.)
"Don't give me that look," he snaps, swatting at it. "What was I supposed to do? Drag her along? She's a mortal—a loud, oar-swinging, ear-twistingmortal.I'm a demigod, not ababysitter."
Mini-Maui stomps its foot, jabbing a finger back toward the island, its little face scrunched up like it's personally offended by his logic. Maui rolls his eyes, leaning back as the canoe bobs over a swell.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it—you're all soft for the kid."
(Weirder still that his tattoo was basically a mimic of his true feelings. Even if hedeniedit with every fiber of his being. Knew it was wrong. Doesn't mean he has to admit to it out loud.)
"Look, she's the one who came atmewith the Heart of Te Fiti talk—flashing that stone like I'm supposed to grovel and fix everything—"not to mention that it's practically cursed!"—but she's got the Heart now, okay? Not my problem anymore."
The Ocean hums beneath him, steady but agitated, and he can't shake the feeling it's judging him too.
He'd shoved her into that cave—nothing fancy, just a little nook in the rocks with a big stone rolled in front—and taken off with her boat and oar before she could whack him again.
Smart move, he'd thought.
Quick. Clean.
Except now, the waves are getting choppy, slapping against the hull like they're annoyed, and the sail flaps a little too hard in the wind.
He squints at the water, suspicious. "Don't you start," he warns, pointing a finger at the sea. "You're the one who washed her up here in the first place!"
The canoe lurches suddenly, a wave shoving it sideways, and he grabs the edge to steady himself. "Whatnow?" he growls, glaring at the ocean as it swirls around him, playful but firm, nudging the boat back toward the island he just escaped.
And then he catches it at the edge of his sight—a blur beneath the surface of the Ocean, cutting through the water like a spear thrown by a god. He squints, leaning forward, and then it hits him, a jolt that nearly deflates his initial relief of getting off that damned island.
He barely holds back a groan, his head tipping back in exasperation. "Oh, you'vegotto be kidding me," he mutters, shooting another scowl at the water. "What is this, your personal delivery service now?"
The Ocean doesn't answer, just hums along like a faint chuckle as it carries her closer. Mini-Maui perks up, peering over his shoulder with wide eyes, then claps its hands like it's thrilled to see her again, bouncing on its heels like it's welcoming her aboard already.
Traitor.
She's almost on him now, a streak of curls and fury, and then the water surges—a quick, playful crest that lifts her up and flings her onto the canoe. She lands hard, feet slamming against the wood, wobbling for a second like evenshedidn't expect the Ocean to rush her that fast.
Her hands flail, grabbing the sail to steady herself, and the boat rocks wildly under the sudden weight. Maui barely stumbles, but holds himself against the hull, and for a beat, they just stare at each other—him with a mix of annoyance and disbelief, her with a look that's half-surprise, half-righteous anger, like she's still figuring out how she got here but already knows who to blame.
Mini-Maui gives her a little wave, grinning like she's an old friend, and Maui groans loud enough to rattle the waves. "Great," he says, throwing his hands up. "Just great. What's next, huh? You gonna go on another rant about that—" he makes a gesture to... her entire self vaguely, like even mentioning the Heart of Te Fiti would make his mouth sour. "—thatagain? Because I'm telling you right now, kid, I'mnotin the mood for round two."
She straightens up, brushing wet hair from her face, and the way her eyes narrow tells him she's not here to chat about the weather.
"Youareso—!" she snaps, storming up to him, close enough that he can feel the heat of her glare. She jabs a finger up at his face, nearly grazing his nose, her expression twisting into a snarl of pure, righteous fury.
With a quick, fierce yank, she snatches the oar from his hands, clutching it like it's her lifeline. She glances at it—hook and heart scratched into the wood—then whips her glare back at him, fiercer than before. "I,am Moana of Motun—" she starts, voice ringing with pride, steady and serious, like she's about to lay down some grand declaration.
But, well.
He's done.
Before she can finish, he scoops her up—one big hand under her arm—and hauls her overboard with a careless flick of his wrist. She yelps mid-sentence, a sharp, startled sound, and then she's airborne, tumbling into the Ocean with a splash that sends water spraying across the canoe.