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[ there’s an image attached to this message, that was definitely not meant for this recipient. ]

is this how this is supposed to work?
i see the appeal of course but don’t understand how this picture thing is any better than real life
i could just as easily come to your room

Edited 2024-07-29 17:30 (UTC)

You could, but you might be surprised by who you'd find.

( he will politely not say anything about that picture. not that he can't appreciate its ... aesthetic qualities, but he's very much aware it wasn't meant for him. )

[ whoops. ]

You make a surprise sound like a bad thing.

Only if you were already expecting someone else. Whoever they are is missing out on your... Good form.

( """good form""" )

well all the better then to be enjoyed by you
i like surprises

but the form? it comes to me honest

can we talk?

Of course.

( just give him a minute to Type, okay, he doesn't have a qwerty keyboard like everyone else. #accessabilitywin )

I'm a little surprised you haven't barged into my room by now.

( teasing, a fond reminder of the boy who never knew what personal space was. but he isn't going to force luffy to talk in person if he doesn't want to, or even suggest a different method of communication, even if it would be easier for shanks to speak on the phone. it's about what luffy is comfortable with and shanks will always respect that more than personal convenience. )

What's on your mind?

i'm in the library.

( That was the sound of hell freezing over. Luffy is in the library rifling through some books. Normally such things wouldn't happen but he's determined to find something important. )

i can be there in minutes?

( well, if luffy is in the library it must be important — and that has shanks' curiosity piqued, so... )

No, I'll come to you. Sit tight.

( and not long after, shanks finds luffy in the library with his books, an amused grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. )

I don't think they typically hide treasure in books.

( Luffy isn't sure if what he needs is in a book, but it's worth a shot. And if he finds a treasure map of any sort in there then that's just a bonus!

Shanks gets a fond smile. It will never get old to Luffy that the redhead pirate is here and the book he's been peering at is closed with a snap as he leans back in his chair. This is not his scene, but being stuck in the manor is helping with being stuck in one place somehow. )

You never know, maybe someone will for that reason. ( Luffy pauses, obviously mulling something over for a good few, long seconds. ) If I ask for captain advice will it count against our promise?

( shanks huffs a laugh, settling into a chair near luffy. )

You might be onto something there, Luffy. ( but shanks isn't here to talk about treasure hidden in books, and he can tell there's something much more pressing nagging at luffy. his expression turns thoughtful as luffy considers what he wants to say, the question he clearly wants to ask.

it doesn't necessarily take shanks off guard, but he does have to wonder what prompted the need for advice. luffy's always been resourceful, confident, fearless. and during the time shanks has spent with luffy's crew, he's found them to be almost blindingly loyal. what sort of captain advice could luffy possibly need from shanks? )

I'd say this place is beyond the scope of our promise. ( a gentle smile, reassuring. ) Advice is the least I can give, captain to captain.

(Luffy wishes he could challenge this one head on, grab it and rattle the problem until it vanished or gave up the resolution. Things would be much easier and simpler, but this time it's something even he hasn't come across, and Luffy doubts that just blindly carrying on will help. He can't be doing with a repeat of the Mihawk incident either.

It is a relief to hear that for now, the promise still holds unscathed and there's a small smile at that one as Luffy leans back in his chair.)

Great. Hypothetically. If you found your crew had gone somewhere without you, and went through some really bad stuff, how would you make sure they were okay? (Another pause and then.) What if you never noticed they were gone?

( ah. there it is. shanks had sort of hoped, perhaps selfishly, that that would have worked itself out. he looks a bit guilty for it, his face falling slightly. )

You mean the Village. ( he's assuming, of course, that whoever told luffy about it also mentioned that shanks was there with them. it would be an odd detail to leave out. his brow knits for a moment as he considers how to approach this, what to say next. how would he feel were he in luffy's position? he reaches out to set his hand on luffy's shoulder briefly, a familiar weight. ) You couldn't have known, Luffy. Places like these ... they operate differently. I once heard a legend of a demon who could trap the living in another dimension through song. If I had to wager a guess, this is one such dimension. But what's happening here, even the things that happened in the Village, and what's happening back home — I'm not entirely certain the two are in sync, or even connected.

( but this is all speculation, really. shanks has no way to prove any of what he's saying, other than the fact that he can't find beck's aura, or anyone else on his crew, for that matter. but there might be other elements at play that shanks isn't aware of, things that may be interfering with his haki's reach. he doesn't know how to explain any of that quickly, though, so he takes a breath and changes course. )

Have you all spent much time together here, as a crew? ( they'd been separated during the fire, which he knows wasn't easy for luffy, even if luffy won't admit it out loud. )

Edited 2024-08-24 20:59 (UTC)

(Luffy watches Shanks' reaction carefully, noting how the other pirate captain seems to feel a little guilty over it all. He's well aware Shanks had been in the village too; according to others it had been everyone but Luffy. The feeling that threatens to take hold when he tries to think it through is unusual enough it gives the young man pause; an uncertainty that he hates the sensation of. Not being in the village isn't an issue — that he can't change — but it's something the crew still remember. Something that caused pain to all of them that they could still be thinking about.)

Through song? Doesn't sound fun. (Luffy pauses, scratching his chin as he tries to wrap his head around it. He wants to just run to the others, wrap his arms around them and promise that the awful things won't happen again, that he'll be there to make sure of it. But two days being stuck in a room just waiting something out, weeks of being unable to get much further than the gate, a place with no escape route or ocean in sight .... The pirate captain gives himself a shake. No way is he letting that thought take root too hard; he'll find a way out if he has to dig it with his bare hands.)

Sort of. Doesn't feel like much without a ship here. (Though Luffy wonders if it's the lack of a ship causing that, and not just time apart that needs to be looked into. He takes a breath, trying to put his thoughts into actual words.) Something terrible happened to my crew and I can't make it go away or find the one responsible for it.

[He shouldn't. He really, truly, shouldn't -- that night in Otherworld had been (so much, a kaleidoscope of emotions and sensations and magic and red, red, red in his memory) nice, but what can Koby build on it? He has no claim, not over Shanks, even with their shared history, even with that night, even though Koby can still remember how he tastes when he focuses.

But -- a late night at the library, that hazy place between sleep and waking, halfway into a dream, the same dream, the one Koby always has when he's this tired, blood on the deck, bruised knuckles and sore ribs and a bonedeep exhaustion warring constantly with fear, the latter always winning. He jerks awake before it gets worse, this time, but he can feel those ghosts haunting the edges of his mind, ready to creep in, sink their teeth into him for another sleepless nights, blood and gunpowder and mine, always be mine --

And the message is written, sent, before he can think, because Koby can remember Shanks's body against his, his hand, his mouth, the way his touch drowns, consumes, blots out everything else. He can remember forgetting who he is, where he is, everything except the way he felt, the closeness, the protection that seemed immovable as a compass needle:] Are you awake?

( it's rare that shanks ever sleeps well these days, unless someone else is sharing his bed, the warm press of another body anchoring him to this plane of existence where he might otherwise be lost in the wine-dark sea of past regrets and the blood of battle and the very real dangers of the sea. how many times has his subconscious conjured up some horrible way to watch his friends die, where he was powerless to stop it? how many times has he replayed that night of roger's execution, knowing there's nothing he could do to change it? how many times has he felt the sting on his face, the warmth of blood on his cheek, felt that chilling laugh carve deep into his bones?

he's only just collapsed into bed when the message notification blips, lighting up his phone's screen in the dark, and shanks instinctively reaches over the buggy pillow the library gave him to grab his phone from the nightstand, accidentally knocking over an empty bottle of rum in the process. he can't be bothered to pick it up right now. the staff, he knows, will tidy all the bottles away come morning, anyway. he's still pleasantly buzzed from his nightcap (or two, or five), but it hadn't been quite enough to stave off the restlessness that always persists when he hasn't drunk himself into complete oblivion.

it's later than he'd expect to hear from koby, which sets shanks' mind on guard, ready to act if needed. he takes some comfort in the fact that koby texted him, though, rather than called. surely whatever it is isn't life-threatening or urgent if koby is taking the time to write — and waiting for shanks to write back. maybe he should ask koby to bring him another bottle, while they're both still up, but he keeps the thought to himself for now. )

I'm awake. Everything alright?

Do you have a name, then? Or do they really call you Q? Appreciating ( read: ogling ) a stranger's good form would be disrespectful of me.

( shanks' gaze is steady as luffy voices his concerns. it's strange to see him so ... uncertain about this, so used to the brash confidence of the boy he met all those years ago. but shanks remembers the first years of his own captaincy, how difficult it had been to balance what he thought he knew with the reality of command. )

The ship doesn't make the crew, Luffy. ( and as much as the ship itself often feels like part of the crew, too, a crew doesn't only exist because it has a ship to sail. it might even feel like missing an arm — shanks, of course, would know best of all — but the ship is as much a physical object as it is a metaphor. they don't stop being a crew without a ship; likewise, the ship doesn't necessarily have to be a boat. this house may as well be their ship, for now, until a real seafaring vessel presents itself. ) I know it's hard when things are out of your control. You can't fix or erase what happened, but you can help them move forward. It never hurts to remind them your door is open, so to speak.

( though a literal open door policy in this situation would probably do them all good. )

You never know what rooms you might find in this house, either. Exploring together could be an adventure.

[Normally Koby doesn't sleep alone -- he's in his room, most of the time, sleeping safely curled up with Tim or Quentin, keeping the nightmares at bay. It's rare that he drops off at the library anymore, trying (and usually succeeding) at balancing his need to find out more, to gather information with his basic human necessities. But sometimes he finds a thread of something he needs to follow to completion, chasing down references from book to book to book, scribbling frantic notes in one of his notebooks to type up later, trying to put together the pieces of something bigger, something important.

And sometimes he does that for so long he loses track of time, of his own body's weariness, and his head starts to ache and he squeezes his eyes shut for longer and longer every time and then: the dreams are there. Thus: tonight, standing in the hall with his bag of notes and books, feeling the flare of Shanks's presence down a couple halls like the break of dawn. It's been enough, in the past, to just know he's there, to feel the crimson aura in his orbit and smile and move on, but.

But it's late, and Koby's not fully awake yet, and it feels like he's going to inhale and suddenly smell salt spray and blood and suddenly feel a boot in his ribs or a ring-studded hand across his face and he should be past this. He shouldn't still be so deeply effected that he starts scrunching his shoulders up to his ears and curling forward, making himself small, less of a target, less of a problem. And his own room is so far away and the knife's edge of panic is right there closing like an iron band around Koby's chest, squeezing and squeezing.]

fell asleep in the library can I come over

[No punctuation, no capitalization, rattled off quick and hasty, one handed, because the other is clutching over the too-quick, too-hard pulse of Koby's heart in his chest.]

( shanks sits up a little straighter at koby's next messages, obviously typed so frantically he hasn't bothered with his usual formalities — and without thinking, shanks reaches out to find that shade of pink, the shape of it so much smaller than it usually is, tightly wound and nearly imploding in on itself. a sharp twinge of panic seizes shanks' pulse for a moment — from koby or himself he can hardly tell — before he shoots off his response, careful not to let any of his own anxiety bleed into his messages, deliberately resisting the urge to rush to koby instead. whatever happened, they'll deal with it here, in the safety of shanks' harbor. )

Always. The door's unlocked.

( koby knows this, but it still bears repeating. a gentle reminder that shanks meant it when he said his door was always open, any day, any time, no questions asked. (it's as much for koby as it is for shanks, a roundabout, indirect way of saying company is always welcome.) shanks may not make his life story or his emotions readily available, but this is something that's always been important to him: being physically available for those he cares about, in whatever capacity that might be. )

[It's probably something Shanks has been doing since they met, reaching out to feel where Koby is, what he's doing. But now he feels it, now that he knows it's there to feel, a spark of red in the back of his mind, splintering the panicky memory spirals into shards. Koby wants to grab onto that flicker, wants to wrap it around himself, have it ward off the ghosts, have it remind him he's strong enough, good enough, worthy of breathing and living and existing in this world (in any world).

His knees are locked, and it takes a concentrated effort for Koby to make himself lift one foot, then the other, down the hall, towards Shank's room. It helps to pull back, to slip into that place where he doesn't feel his own body, to slam shut every dark corridor that keeps threatening to open in his mind by shutting down everything. Compartmentalize, put things in boxes, break apart every part of you and hide it so nothing can hurt. Don't think about it, don't think about anything.

The only real thing -- that flare of red, the steady warmth of it. Koby's at the door before he realizes it, not bothering to text back, just shoving his phone in his pocket and fumbling at the knob, stumbling inside and scarcely aware that he's breathing ragged, stilted. Everything feels off, feels disjointed, his chest hitching on every inhale. He freezes by the door like it had taken all his courage just to get to the room, get inside, and it's suddenly abandoned him all at once. For a moment there's just Koby's uneven breath, then, the perhaps-expected first thing out of his mouth, in a hollow rasp of a voice:] S-Sorry.

quentin. but if you want to call me q then by all means.
who am i to stop you?
but i will gladly accept your appreciation, stranger.

your name? so i can thank the stranger for their admiration.

( moonlight filters in from the bay window, illuminating the sheer curtains and sails above shanks' bed with an eerie glow that almost looks like rippling water. some nights, it almost feels as if he's back at sea, even without the gentle sway of the waves beneath him — but most nights it's still too foreign: the bed too soft, the sheets too smooth. he imagines the upscale hotel rooms in sabaody must be like this (not that he's ever been able to afford one, nor has he ever been particularly interested in such finery; he'd rather leave all that nonsense to the world nobles to makes fools of themselves over). perhaps it's meant to make them feel safe, putting them up in rooms like these, but shanks is more inclined to believe the balfours simply have too much money like so many of the world nobles do and don't know what else to do with it. (a familiar inequality that seems to be prevalent throughout many different worlds.)

he can feel koby shutting down, shuttering off something shanks can't make sense of yet; by the time koby steps through the threshold into shanks' room, shanks is already halfway to meet him, a shell of the curious, defiant person shanks has become used to seeing. there's something much deeper, much more traumatic bubbling up from the surface than all of koby's usual anxieties, but shanks can only feel the edges of it, like trying to decipher the carvings of a poneglyph blind. )

Koby... ( softly, as gentle as a passing cloud — though there is a hint of trepidation in his voice, a swelling concern for what caused all of this. he reels koby into his chest, palm at the back of koby's head tucking him under his chin, stroking koby's hair with a soothing hand. more firmly, he adds: ) You've nothing to be sorry for. ( which is as much a reassurance as it is a silent command: no more apologies, not with me. he leans down to press a feather-light kiss to the top of koby's head, his voice nearly a whisper now, a promise for only koby to hear. ) It's alright, I've got you.

( Luffy hates the uncertainty more than anything, wishes he could turn on it and deal with it in the same way he dealt with all the adversaries in his life so far. Setting out to the Grand Line had been the most exhilarating thing, a confident and all-knowing adventure that couldn't shake Luffy off if it tried. There had been no room for uncertainty, until Mihawk had taken a stab, and even then it had eventually resolved itself and continued forwards.

And then the manor happened and Luffy still feels as if the rug has been pulled from under his feet. Here there's no villain he can punch or building to bring down, nothing to focus that ire on and for the first time Luffy finds that blind optimism and confident bluster is getting him nowhere. And that's before the village is thrown in to the mix, an awful event that hit the crew so hard without Luffy even being aware of it.

He chews the inside of his cheek in thought, letting Shanks' words sink in as he thinks them over. It's easy enough to feel that the crew could talk to him about anything, as captain they would know his door is always open. But if time has passed, like Koby said, then perhaps that has faded somewhat.

Exploring together could be an adventure. Luffy blinks as those words finally settle, his expression slowly but surely brightening. An adventure. Just because they were stuck in some stupid house didn't mean they couldn't explore and find things. There had to be some treasure Nami hadn't found yet, or ingredients and recipes Sanji had never seen. Perhaps even a sword or three for Zoro to claim. Luffy feels the understanding click in his mind; he's been so busy trying to find a way out he's paid little attention to what else is around to utilise in the first place!

It's....perfect and Luffy smacks his hand with his fist. )

Shanks you're a genius!

[By the time Shanks reaches him, reaches out, everything's shuttered away, stuffed into chests and triple-quadruple padlocked in the corners of Koby's mind, secure and unbothersome. The parts of him that are terrified and fragile and vulnerable have been forced into silence, and Koby is actually opening his mouth to apologize again, to say he was just being stupid, he didn't mean to intrude, he's find now and he can go back to his room and they can pretend none of this ever happened.

And then there's Shanks's hand over his hair, Shanks's voice rumbling through him and the padlocks shatter and the chests bursts open and there's nothing Koby can do to stop it. He draws in a horrible, shuddering, sobbing breath, arms coming up around Shanks, clutching to him like an anchor as the mindless, senseless fear at the root of who he is swells up like a crashing wave. There are thoughts, memories, splinters of sensation -- cold and hungry and terrified and alone, in the orphanage in the woods in the river on a ship in this house, all of them blurring together, Koby at nineteen, sixteen, thirteen, nine, innocent and timid and vulnerable and a walking, talking target and what happens when someone cruel and greedy and hungry for power spots that target and digs her teeth in, unmakes something fundamental at his very core and breaks it so thoroughly he doesn't think it'll ever, ever heal, he'll always be that terrified, starving, desperately lonely kid locked in the hold and sobbing into his hands every night for two long, long, endless years.

He's not crying now, not doing anything but shivering and trembling against the onslaught of old hurt that only wakes up this late at night, when Koby's too tired and too distracted to shore up his defenses, when he hasn't taken good enough care of himself to banish them with the warmth of someone else, another body pressed to his, reminding him it's over, it's gone, he's safe. Shanks's touch now is a rope thrown in the midst of a monsoon, holding for the moment, but likely to snap, to slip through numb fingers and leave Koby lost again. He presses closer, breath raspy, fingers curling into Shanks's shirt, and he thinks -- Otherworld, the smear of pink and glitter and liquor across his mouth, the pulsing ache of need down his spine, pooling hot and slick between his legs, everything that had come after, every way Shanks had satisfied that need, had banished every thought that wasn't him, wasn't his voice, his touch, his body.]

I need -- [Koby's mouth clicks shut, too embarrassed even now, even caught between sheer panic and senseless dissociation, to verbalize it. He pulls back enough to look up at Shanks, eyes hollow and haunted and agonized, hoping he understands, hoping he realizes what Koby's asking, why, why it's the only thing that'll help. That he's sorry, he's so so sorry he's like this, that he can't keep those chests locked away, keep them from spilling over every time he's too tired or scared or in control.]

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