It wasn't long before Nami's furious voice echoed through the remnants of Whiskey Peak, sharp as broken glass. Usopp and Sanji, still sprawled in a drunken heap inside the ruined tavern, were shaken into consciousness by the sound—though "shaken" wasn't quite right. Nami beat them awake with the kind of merciless efficiency that left no room for protest.
Usopp yelped, flailing like a hooked fish, clutching his head as if that could shield him from her wrath. Sanji fared no better; a swift heel to the ribs left him coughing and scrambling upright, his chivalry momentarily forgotten under the weight of her temper.
Varin leaned back against a broken post, watching the scene unfold with a faint, crooked grin. He could tell she was furious—her eyes blazing, her movements sharp, every word coming out like a whip crack. Maybe Loki's intrusion had spoiled her carefully laid negotiations with Vivi. Maybe it was the chaos of the night finally crashing down. Or maybe, just maybe, it was all of it bundled together, a storm wrapped tight inside the woman who hated being denied control.
Whatever it was, Varin wasn't about to interrupt. He only crossed his arms, let the shadows of the mist cling to him, and thought to himself with no small amount of amusement: Better them than him.
"Princess," he drawled again, testing it like a blade across his tongue, rolling the formality with just enough disdain to make his point clear. "Vivi, was it? What convinced you to crawl your way into a half-hidden syndicate? Pampered life too sweet for you? Not enough silk and servants, so you thought you'd play dress-up with assassins?"
Vivi stiffened at the words before they even fully left Varin's lips, her shoulders squaring, chin lifting with a flicker of defiance. Karoo let out a nervous wark beside her, webbed feet shuffling against the broken stones as though even the duck could feel the edge in Varin's tone.
But she didn't flinch. Not the way Varin had half-expected, anyway. Her blue eyes locked onto his, steady, carrying a depth that wasn't soft or spoiled—it was weary. Hardened in a way he hadn't seen in many of her kind. For just a moment, the mask of the bumbling "Miss Wednesday" slipped completely, leaving behind only the weight of a girl who had seen far more than most her age.
"The pampered life," she said quietly, but firmly, "is worth nothing if your people are suffering under it."
Her words didn't snap back at him with venom—they pressed forward, calm, resolute, a blade laid on the table instead of swung at his throat. And for a moment, even Varin could tell she wasn't speaking out of pride. She was speaking out of duty.
He tilted his head, sharp grin fading into something unreadable, arms still crossed as he studied her. The test had been laid, and she hadn't cracked.
"…Hnh," he exhaled at last, low and almost amused. "Not bad, Princess."
Varin leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees, the faintest shadow of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His words cut with a lazy sharpness, deliberate in how they pressed.
"So then," he said, voice low enough to draw attention without needing force, "you've got plans to deal with the one bleeding your people dry?"
Vivi's lips parted, but no answer came at first. Her gaze faltered, just for a fraction of a second, flickering toward the ground as though the stones there held the truth she couldn't quite say aloud. Karoo gave a quiet shuffle at her side, head tilting, sensing her hesitation.
At last, the words broke free—fragile but unshaken. "...I did," she admitted, each syllable heavy, pulled from someplace deeper than pride. A pause, a breath, her hands tightening in the fabric of her cloak. "…Till I was found out."
Varin's gaze lingered on her, unblinking, the glint in his silver eyes narrowing into something harder to read. Not pity, not contempt—something sharper, like the edge of curiosity wrapped in the coil of a hunter circling his prey. "Found out, huh?" he murmured, the words slipping out more like a thought than a question, as though he were turning them over in his own head. His gaze lingered on Vivi, sharp and unyielding, measuring her not by her silk dress or her royal title, but by the way her shoulders tightened when the weight of her own failure pressed too heavily.
Then he tilted his head, letting the silence stretch just long enough for the crew to feel it, before speaking louder, clearer. "That's the price of playing dangerous games, Princess. You step onto the board before you've sharpened your claws, and sooner or later, the sharks catch the scent. Blood in the water always brings them fast."
Vivi flinched—not visibly enough to be called weakness, but enough that Varin saw it. The faint shift in her eyes, the bite of her lip, the shadow of what she carried. She knew he was right, but she had no intention of bowing to it.
Before she could form a retort, Varin leaned back, a ghost of a smirk curling across his mouth. "Hm," he drawled, dragging the sound out like he was savoring it, "lucky for you, I've got a sneaking suspicion my captain and the rest of us are about to handle it anyway. That's just the way it goes with him. Trouble lands in his lap, he grins like it's a feast, and the rest of us sharpen our blades whether we like it or not. So I wouldn't lose too much sleep, Princess—your problem's about to become ours."
He shifted his weight slightly, one claw tracing idle patterns against the wood, eyes cutting toward Nami, who had just returned with that calculating glint still smoldering behind her narrowed gaze. His smirk deepened, wolfish this time. "Speaking of which," Varin added, tone pitched louder, "how much did our ever-so-discrete navigator manage to bleed you for, just for the privilege of our oh-so-heroic assistance?"
The air seemed to freeze for a heartbeat, every eye flicking toward Vivi as if the number itself might crack the ground beneath them. She hesitated, then sighed—a sound caught somewhere between resignation and disbelief—before she spoke.
"…One billion berries."
The words left Vivi's lips just as the rest of the crew drifted closer, drawn in by equal parts curiosity and the sharp, heavy edge in Varin's tone. Luffy came striding up first, still chewing on something he'd stolen, grin wide and careless, though his eyes flicked between Vivi and Varin with a rare, assessing glint. Zoro followed at his usual lazy gait, blades slung at his hip, but the faint narrowing of his eyes said he'd caught the tension. Usopp and Sanji trailed behind, half-grumbling at being dragged from their half-sleeping haze, until the number hit them.
Usopp's jaw dropped so fast it nearly clattered against the cobblestones, his hands flailing as if to physically grasp the enormity of the sum. Sanji inhaled at the wrong moment, coughing violently on his cigarette until the smoldering stick slipped from his lips entirely. Even Zoro, who'd perfected the art of stoic detachment, betrayed himself with the slightest twitch at the corner of his eye, a ripple in the calm that spoke louder than words.
And through it all, Varin didn't move—didn't even blink. Instead, his smirk spread slow and deliberate, the kind of grin that thrived on the absurdity around him. He drank in the crew's stunned silence, the chaos of their reactions, letting the moment linger like a blade poised at someone's throat. He'd suspected the navigator's price would be steep, but this? This was a number so high it shifted the very ground they were standing on.
His gaze slid back to Vivi, studying the way she held herself despite the weight of their stares—the tightness in her shoulders, the steel pressed beneath her calm. And behind his sharp grin, Varin felt the faintest flicker of admiration. This princess had walked into the wolves' den with pockets bled dry and a kingdom on her back, and still she stood. That alone made the chaos of the crew's reaction worth savoring.
"Do you even have that much money?" Varin asked, his tone dipped more in amusement than curiosity, like a cat pawing lazily at a mouse it had no intention of killing just yet.
The question cut clean through the crew's stunned silence, overshadowing Usopp's frantic sputtering as he tried—and failed—to assemble a coherent sentence. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, fingers waving as though he could pluck the right words from the air, but nothing came out beyond a strangled squeak.
Varin didn't spare him a glance. His eyes stayed locked on Vivi, the edge of his smirk sharpening, daring her to answer.
"…I can get it?" Vivi answered at last, the words tumbling out more like a question than a statement. Her voice wavered under the weight of it, and her wide eyes darted almost instinctively toward the bar's doorway—where Nami had vanished not long ago. There was fear in that look, the sort that came from instinct rather than reason, as though even speaking doubt of her promise within earshot of the navigator might summon her wrath.
Usopp, ever eager to latch onto weakness, pounced. "C-can get it? Can get it? That's not the same as having it!" His arms flailed dramatically, his voice pitching high as if each syllable might draw more doom down on them. "We're talking about one billion berries! That's— that's—" He cut himself off, eyes bulging as he counted frantically on his fingers, muttering about kingdoms and ships and how many lifetimes it would take for him to earn even a fraction.
Zoro leaned back, crossing his arms, his expression unreadable save for the faint shadow of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Better hope you can 'get it' fast, then. She's not the type to let a debt slide—even from royalty."
Varin's smirk widened just enough to show teeth, his voice cutting clean through their rising chorus of doubt and dread. "So. You can get it…" He let the words drag, deliberate, like a blade being unsheathed. "Or you're just hoping Nami's greed isn't sharper than her temper? Trust me—"
THUMP.
The sound cracked through the plaza like a cannon shot, a blunt, ugly reverberation that sent a jolt rattling through Varin's skull. His head pitched forward slightly under the blow, and for half a heartbeat the world around him buzzed—not disorienting, not enough to floor him, but enough to send a dull vibration crawling down his spine.
The rod itself hadn't fared so well. What had once been a perfectly straight length of metal now bowed grotesquely across the back of his shoulders, bent nearly into a shallow crescent. The steel groaned as it gave way, protesting with a sharp squeal before snapping to its new shape. Tiny flakes of rust and grit shook loose, raining down onto the cobblestones.
Nami stood there, knuckles white around what remained of the weapon, her chest rising and falling with the sharp pull of her breath. Her eyes blazed—not with the usual measured calculation she wielded during deals, but with a visceral, protective anger that burned like a storm about to break. "Stop harassing my client, you overgrown mutt!" she snapped, each syllable spat like it was meant to draw blood on its own.
The crew's reactions rippled in quick succession. Usopp yelped, both hands flying up as if the impact had landed on his own skull. "Ohhh, that's gonna leave a dent!" he cried, half-horror, half-awestruck.
Zoro's eyes narrowed, not in concern but in an appraising sort of way. "Takes a lot to bend steel like that…" His gaze flicked from the twisted weapon to Varin's unmoved frame, and though his mouth didn't move, the faint curve of interest in his expression said enough: he was impressed.
And Varin? He didn't stumble, didn't even lift a hand to the fresh ache blossoming across his skull. Instead, he let the silence stretch for a moment, then straightened—slowly, deliberately—until his full height loomed again, the ruined rod still hanging awkwardly against the line of his shoulders. When he finally tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, his eyes burned with something that wasn't quite anger, wasn't quite amusement, but a razor-thin blend of both.
"I'm negotiating on your behalf, ya evil orange thing," Varin grumbled, his voice low but sharp enough for Nami to hear as he planted himself in front of Vivi. He didn't back away, didn't give the girl an inch, instead crouching down so that his eyes leveled with hers. She'd stumbled back onto a half-rotten bale of hay that had been displaced by the ruckus, the strands scratching against her silk clothes. His shadow stretched across her like a cloak, a looming specter with too-sharp teeth that flashed when he spoke again.
"So. Let's pretend for a second you could pay," he continued, voice calm, conversational even—but his tone had the kind of weight that pressed on her chest like a hand. "Who exactly would we be fighting? 'Cause they sure went through a decent bit of trouble to shut you up. So what's the secret, Princess?"
Vivi's throat bobbed, her eyes wide, a sheen of panic flashing through the blue like a trapped animal's. "I—I—I can't pay, okay?" Her words tumbled out, desperate, tripping over themselves. "I can't promise that much. We're in the middle of a civil war—and a drought, a terrible one. When I left, we barely had enough to keep the palace standing, let alone—let alone pay your navigator's price." Her breathing hitched as her fingers gripped the hay bale below her, knuckles whitening. "And besides…" her voice cracked, soft but heavy with terror, "you couldn't beat their leader."
Varin's gaze didn't waver. He stayed crouched, steady, his lips twisting into a grin that wasn't amusement so much as challenge. He leaned in, just enough for her to see the sharp glint in his eyes. "Couldn't, you say?" he murmured, his voice a growl wrapped in silk.
The hay creaked under her as she shrank back further, and yet he didn't press, didn't touch—he didn't need to. The weight of his presence, the sharp bite of his words, did more than hands ever could.
Varin's shadow seemed to stretch as he leaned in further, close enough that Vivi could see the faint gleam of his sharpened teeth when he spoke. His words dripped low and deliberate, curling like smoke around her.
"What's the name of your kingdom, Princess?"
Karoo let out a loud, indignant quack!—the duck's feathers puffed, his body shifting forward, the sound almost like a growl in its intensity. It was protective, territorial, but Varin didn't so much as glance at him. His focus was locked on Vivi, eyes burning holes straight through her.
"...Alabasta," Vivi whispered at last, her voice trembling. Her gaze flickered to the predator's mouth, to those unnatural fangs that caught the lamplight. The sound of her own kingdom's name seemed to anchor her—yet it only made her pulse louder in her ears.
Varin's grin widened suddenly, sharp and wolfish. "I thought you looked familiar!" His voice boomed across the small space, shattering the thick silence. In one swift, unexpected motion, he straightened, grabbing Vivi's hand and yanking her up from the hay bale like she weighed nothing.
The princess stumbled, Karoo quacking louder in alarm, but Varin steadied her with that iron grip, holding her upright before releasing her just as abruptly.
"Princess Nefertari Vivi of Alabasta," he declared, his tone somewhere between triumphant recognition and mocking theatrics. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with a glint of amusement—or something more dangerous. "We've met once before. Though I doubt you'd remember that."
Nami's head snapped around so fast it was a wonder she didn't sprain something.
"You know her?!" she blurted, voice rising an octave with raw disbelief. Her eyes flicked from Varin to Vivi and back again, as if the very idea refused to settle in her mind.
The navigator's hands went to her hips, her expression a mix of shock and exasperation. "You've been sitting here, acting like this is all news, and you've known her all along?!"
Her voice cracked at the edges, more astonished than angry, like she couldn't decide if she wanted to demand answers or just gape at him for keeping such a revelation buried until now.
"Hey, I only just remembered," Varin said with a shrug, the motion loose, unbothered—as if recalling that he'd once crossed paths with royalty was the same as remembering what he had for breakfast.
"Uhm… how did we meet? No offense, but I think I would recognize someone of your… uniqueness," Vivi asked carefully, her voice hesitant, like she feared her words might spark his temper.
Varin tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he reached back into memory. "Like I said, I doubt you remembered. Your hair was unique enough for me, though. It was… oh, eleven years ago? Give or take. We were at one of those world nobles' meetings. We were both—"
"WORLD NOBLE MEETING?!" Nami, Usopp, Zoro, and Sanji shouted in unison, their voices crashing together like a cannon blast.
"You never told us you were a world noble, my lord!" Usopp cried dramatically, dropping into a bow so deep his nose nearly scraped the dirt. His arms swept wide like a courtier, his voice ringing with fearful reverence.
Zoro gave him a flat look, blade of grass twitching at the corner of his mouth, while Sanji's cigarette almost fell from his lips as he gawked. Nami, meanwhile, had both hands buried in her hair, staring at Varin like he'd just admitted he casually moonlighted as a Yonko.
"Just wee little things back then," Varin finished with a dismissive wave of his hand, tone almost light—until Vivi's voice cut through.
"Wait…I think I remember…. those eyes, the hair… you're A—"
"Don't." The word came out low, a growl rolling under it, sharp enough to still the air. Varin's gaze locked on hers, no smirk, no trace of levity—only iron. "That's for later. Let's focus on you, and your issues, not mine."
The sudden edge in his voice silenced the crew, even Usopp's half-formed gasp caught in his throat. The shift was enough to make Vivi swallow hard, her earlier question abandoned as the weight of his warning pressed down.
"So why don't you just tell me—us—the name of this boss that's ruining your country, okay?" Varin said at last, his voice easing from that dangerous growl into something lighter. But beneath the ease, there was still steel, the kind that left no doubt he was demanding an answer rather than simply requesting one.
Vivi's hands twisted together, knuckles white against the folds of her skirt. Her eyes darted between Varin and the others, the silence pressing down on her as heavily as the desert sun itself. "I… I can't," she whispered, shaking her head, voice trembling but firm. "No matter how strong you all think you are, you're not any match for him. Not for one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea. Not for… Crocodile."
The name slipped from her lips before she realized the weight of it, and the instant it hung in the air, her expression turned to horror. She covered her mouth with both hands, eyes wide, as if she could claw the word back before it reached their ears. But it was far too late.
Usopp screamed. Incoherent words streaming from his mouth in terror.
Sanji's cigarette nearly fell from his lips, though he caught it at the last second, jaw clenched tight enough to crack his teeth. "Damn it, princess… that's the kind of thing you warn people about before they're already waist-deep in your country's war."
Zoro said nothing at first, but his hand drifted almost unconsciously to the hilt of one sword, the faintest twitch of unease tightening the corner of his jaw. Even he, with all his bravado, knew that a Warlord was not an opponent to take lightly.
Nami looked as though Vivi had personally struck her across the face. "A warlord?!" Her voice pitched into an incredulous shriek. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?! You can't just—just say something like that! Now we have to—" She cut herself off, burying her hands in her hair with a groan that was equal parts despair and rage.
And Varin—Varin only laughed. Not a bark, not the dry chuckle he sometimes offered when amused, but a deep, full laugh that echoed across the Merry's deck, sharp and humorless yet utterly delighted. He leaned back against the railing, clutching his side as if Vivi had just gifted him the finest entertainment. "Oh, this is rich," he said between breaths, the grin on his face edged like a blade. "You weren't supposed to tell us, were you? Poor little princess, spilling her secrets at the wrong time. And now—" He gestured broadly at the crew's pale faces. "Now it's too late. The word's out, the name's ours, and whether you like it or not, that little slip just shoved us straight into your war."
Vivi looked stricken, hands clutched to her chest, shaking her head. "I didn't mean to—I wasn't supposed to say—"
"Relax," Varin said with a almost mockingly casual shrug, though his eyes still burned with sharp intent. "Think of it as fate, or divine comedy, whichever you prefer. You've just bound us to your fight, Princess, and I'll admit—" his smirk widened, the promise of blood and battle behind it—"I find the irony downright hilarious."
The others didn't share his mirth. The deck buzzed with tension, the crew reeling as though Vivi's words had transformed the air into a stormcloud hanging over them. Only Luffy, blissfully quiet through the exchange, wore an unreadable grin—one that hinted he was more than ready to take on whatever name was dropped in front of him.
And Varin saw it all—the panic, the horror, the unspoken knowledge that there was no walking back from this—and relished the accident for what it was: manipulation without even trying. The kind he could sit back and enjoy while the world shifted into place around him.
"Oi, Captain," Varin said, his voice cutting through the din of Usopp's shrieking and Nami's furious pacing. He turned toward Luffy, who hadn't flinched at the word Warlord—if anything, he just looked more confused at the crew's reaction than concerned about the actual news.
Varin leaned one shoulder against the mast, arms folded, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. "If ya want a good fight, then listen up. A Warlord ain't just some pirate with a bounty and an ego—they're one of seven. Seven monsters strong enough that the Navy, in all their shiny arrogance, decided it was smarter to make them allies than to try and kill them. Recognized, sanctioned, and supported for a reason. They get to do whatever they want, wherever they want, and the Navy turns a blind eye because of the deal."
He let that sink in, his gaze sweeping the rest of the crew. Usopp was still trembling like a leaf, Sanji's jaw was clenched tight around his cigarette, Zoro looked grim but steady, and Nami's face was etched with fury and worry all at once. Vivi herself was ashen, eyes flicking nervously between Luffy and Varin, like she was praying her slip hadn't doomed them all.
Then Varin's eyes cut back to Luffy, sharp, testing. "That means Crocodile's not just strong—he's strong and untouchable. The kind of fight where you don't just risk losing, you risk the world deciding you're better off dead. So, Captain…" He tilted his head, a grin flashing his fangs. "You up for something like that? Or are we packing up and letting this little desert kingdom rot?"
The challenge hung there, heavy and electric. The rest of the crew held their breath, waiting for Luffy's answer—because they knew, once he gave it, there'd be no turning back.
Luffy blinked at Varin's words, his head tilting just slightly like he was trying to fit the explanation into his own version of the world. Then, in that way only he could, his face broke into a wide, careless grin, teeth flashing under the desert sun.
"Shishishishi!" His laugh burst out, loud and unbothered, cutting through the tension like it was paper. He jabbed a thumb at his chest, eyes burning with the same fire he always had when someone told him something was impossible. "That just makes it sound more fun! A Warlord, huh? Doesn't matter."
He spun on his heel, pointing straight at Vivi with all the certainty of a sunrise. "I've decided I like her and duck. She's my friend. Our friend. And if she's got someone hurting her country, then we're gonna beat him up! Crocodile or crocodile-handbag or whatever his name was—I don't care. I'm gonna punch him till he's not a problem anymore!"
Usopp practically fell over, flailing his arms. "Y–Y–YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THAT! THAT'S A WARLORD! A WARLORD!"
Nami clutched her head, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and exasperation. "You absolute idiot—you can't just declare war on one of the Seven like you're ordering lunch!"
Sanji blew out smoke in a sharp puff, though his eyes flicked to Vivi with a softer light. "Still…if the lady's in trouble, it's only right we step in. That's what gentlemen do."
Zoro smirked, hand resting casually on a sword hilt. "Heh. Doesn't matter if he's a Warlord or a god. If he's in our way, we cut him down."
And through it all, Vivi's eyes welled with tears she tried to blink away. Luffy's grin, simple and unshakable, held her there like an anchor in a storm. He didn't know the weight of Crocodile's power, not really. But he didn't need to. He had decided—she was their friend, and that was all there was to it.
"Don't worry, Vivi," Luffy said, grin widening as if he could see her doubts and crush them in his fist. "We'll take your country back. No matter what."
"See?" Varin barked out a laugh, the sound sharp and rough as he brought a heavy hand down on Vivi's shoulder—hard enough to make her knees dip beneath the weight, though not enough to topple her outright. "Captain already called you a friend. That's it. Sealed. Done. Not even Hel herself would be able to drag you out of our hands now, let alone some desert lizard with a god complex."
Vivi blinked up at him, startled, the impact of his hand and words leaving her stunned.
Varin leaned in a fraction, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes burned hotter, sharper. "And besides, you heard our uninvited guest earlier, didn't you? Said I'd have to turn some lizard into a handbag. I'd say it's no coincidence your little 'Crocodile' happens to fit that bill perfectly."
The crew stiffened at the way he said it—so casual, so certain, like the title of Warlord meant nothing more than a target painted bright across the man's chest. Zoro's grin widened just a touch, like he agreed. Nami pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering curses under her breath about idiots attracting disasters. Usopp's teeth chattered audibly. Sanji's lighter clicked shut, smoke curling out as he gave a half-shrug, as if acknowledging the inevitability of it all.
And Vivi, poor Vivi, stared between them, her throat tight, the enormity of what she'd unleashed by speaking Crocodile's name pressing down on her. They didn't understand—no, maybe they did, and they simply didn't care.
Varin's hand squeezed her shoulder once more, less harsh this time, almost grounding. "So, Princess," he said, voice low but steady. "Looks like fate's already made your problem ours. Lucky you."
It wasn't long before the crew gathered their bearings and pressed on, the conversation tying itself into an agreement and the dust of Whiskey Peak settling behind them. Before long, the Merry cut through the waters again, her sails filled and her timbers creaking with the rhythm of the sea.
The only interruption of note along the way was the strange, desperate ploy of the man who had once called himself Mister 8—Varin could not for the life of him recall the man's true name. What he did remember, vividly, was the ridiculous distraction the man had attempted: wigs and dolls arranged like stage props, a frantic performance that would have been laughable if not for its earnestness. A mockery of subtlety, a parody of deception.
And then—fire. A thunderclap of an explosion that rolled across the deck and echoed in the crew's ears long after. Mister 8 had been reduced to little more than fragments, his body scattered to the sea. For all the absurdity of his act, for all the laughable theatrics, Varin couldn't help but respect the end. The man had died for something he believed in, shielding his princess in the only way he knew how. A fool's death, perhaps, but not a dishonorable one. Still, the memory of that clownish disguise lingered like an unwanted guest in Varin's head, haunting the edges of his thoughts with grotesque comedy.
And so the Merry sailed on. With the air finally calm and the chaos behind them, Varin lay against the aft railing of the ship, his gaze stretched across the endless horizon. He let his shoulders ease into the worn wood, one hand trailing idly across the salt-stained surface. The sea's breath was sharp and briny, tugging at his coat, the waves lapping against the hull in steady rhythm. But beneath the clean bite of salt and the lingering smoke of memory, something new drifted to him.
A scent—faint, fragile, but distinct. Something floral.
It curled into his senses with the persistence of memory, something that did not belong to the sea. It was not harsh like brine or heavy like smoke; it was soft, fragrant, carrying a sweetness that seemed impossible in the middle of open water. Varin's brow furrowed slightly, his nose twitching as he drew it in again, the subtle perfume clinging stubbornly to the air.
He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing it in deeper. It wasn't the scent of a passing bloom or a field lost to the distance. No—it clung to the deck itself, to the sails, to the very air around them. A reminder, perhaps, that though the sea was endless and wild, not all things aboard the ship belonged to it.
"So, you a friend, or do I finally get to fight someone worth the effort tonight?" Varin asked, his eyes still shut, arms folded lazily against his chest. He didn't need to look—he could feel her. The weight of presence, calm and deliberate, not loud like Luffy's or sharp like Zoro's, but poised. Controlled. A woman's presence. Tall, balanced, sitting on the railing just above his head as though the ship itself had invited her there.
"Quite lax of you," came the answer. Her voice was low, warm, confident—a note of amusement in every syllable, the kind that invited curiosity and hid daggers just as easily. "To ask rather than attack. You must be very sure of your strength."
Varin's smirk ticked upward, but his eyes remained closed. "Or very sure of yours," he countered.
Then the touch came.
Fingers—delicate, feminine, but firm—slid across his cheek. The movement made no sense; she was above him, yet the hand came from the left, palm dragging slowly down along his jaw to his neck, where it lingered. A feather-light hold, neither threatening nor entirely tender, as if testing the line between the two. The skin at his throat prickled where her palm rested, and Varin's jaw flexed at the familiarity of such a bold gesture from a stranger.
The air seemed to shift with her presence, the floral scent clinging closer now, as if she carried it. She wasn't frantic or desperate like Vivi, nor loud or brash like the rest of the crew—she was something else entirely. Calculated. Comfortable in mystery.
"Well then, mysterious lady," Varin drawled, tilting his head just enough that her hand shifted slightly against his neck, "don't let me stop you from whatever it is you want to do. Confuse and scare my crew, I imagine."
His tone was flippant, but the weight in it was undeniable, the kind of measured carelessness that carried teeth behind it. His smirk curled lazily, but his eyes cracked open just a fraction now, dark slivers cutting toward the shape above him.
The woman chuckled—a low, velvety sound that didn't quite belong on a ship rocking gently against the waves. "Oh? Is that what you think I came here for?" she asked, her voice lilting like a secret never fully shared.
Her hand didn't move. It lingered still at his throat, her touch so deliberate it felt less like a caress and more like a reminder—I'm here because I choose to be. The strange angle of it, the impossibility of the reach, spoke volumes without explanation.
Varin's smirk widened a hair, sharp canines flashing briefly as he exhaled through his nose. "I don't pretend to know what you came for. But anyone who shows up uninvited on our deck, well, confusing and scaring tends to follow, doesn't it?"
A faint curl of a smirk tugged at Varin's mouth, though his eyes stayed shut, savoring the strange tension. "So which one are you?" he asked, voice steady but laced with mockery. His head tilted, as if aiming his words just past her. "Miss Chocolate Fudge, or something like that?"
It wasn't a careless jab—it was bait. A taunt dressed as nonchalance, a test to see how easily her composure cracked when prodded, how deep her patience ran when someone refused to treat her presence like a holy revelation.
"All Sunday, actually." The correction came with a lilting giggle, light and almost musical, but sharp underneath—as if she enjoyed rolling the alias over her tongue. She straightened her back with a grace that carried no effort, the kind of movement that said she was utterly comfortable even here, surrounded by enemies who didn't yet know how dangerous she was.
"It'll be easier if I explain it all," she went on, her tone deceptively soft, sweetened at the edges, like honey poured over steel. "Do you mind?" The hand that had lingered on his neck withdrew, slow and deliberate, before she stepped lightly off the railing, coming to stand with the poise of someone who knew eyes belonged on her the moment she entered a room.
Varin let the quiet hang for a moment, savoring it, then tilted his head just enough that the moonlight caught the faint, sharp glint of his fangs as he finally cracked open his eyes. The world bled into focus—her tall frame, clothed in a fitted purple vest and skirt, the matching hat tipped at a careless angle that made her look half elegant, half untouchable. Midnight-black hair spilled down her back, a flowing curtain that framed a face too calm, too knowing. But it was the eyes—bright, ocean-deep blue—that anchored her, the kind of gaze that promised she saw more than she should.
"Suppose so," Varin muttered at last, voice low, edged with warning. "Try anything and there won't be enough of you left to feed the fishes."
He didn't rise, didn't shift from where he leaned, but the way his gaze held her carried weight—steady, dangerous, like a hunter recognizing another predator in borrowed skin.
"Of course, a lady like me wouldn't stand a chance against a big, strong man like you," Allsunday purred, her lips curving into a smile that was equal parts playful and poisonous.
The words dangled in the air, silk-thin and barbed at the same time, their sweetness undermined by the calm certainty that she wasn't afraid—not of him, not of anyone on this ship. She was mocking him, testing him, wrapping herself in the role of harmlessness even as her eyes betrayed the truth: she was never harmless.
Varin's smirk deepened, not because he believed her, but because he didn't. His gaze lingered on her, sharp and steady, letting the tension coil like a drawn bowstring between them.
The Merry creaked against the waves, the night air thick with salt and secrets. The crew below still slept, unaware of the dance already beginning above their heads.
And in that silence, in that thin line where danger masqueraded as charm, the game had only just begun.