[ Mark, single-minded and simple as he is, continues to forget that Reiju is there entirely. He moves with Sanji as the latter snaps upright, eyes widening for a second at the sudden movement, the obvious pain. But Sanji's still very much alive, and that's the only thing he cares about right now.
Only to recoil when Sanji rips himself away from him. Mark unceremoniously falls back on his ass, staring at him, confused and deeply, deeply concerned. There's a lot wrong here; that Sanji is so injured should be at the top of the list, but his rejection feels worse. Is worse. ]
... Okay. [ Mark hesitates for a moment before shifting into a squat, staying down on Sanji's level, but ready to get up at any time. He doesn't reach out to him, though, and his voice is small before taking on a pleading tone. ] Okay, but let's get you out of here, alright? I know you don't want to be here. I've got you.
[Mark knows. That makes this a hundred times more difficult than it needs to be, because the guy is a stubborn bleeding heart who can't let things go. To make matters worse, he's not even a native of this world, which means he's stuck here over something that doesn't concern him. He's already dealing with enough back home. Why does he have to be here?
Sanji's hands clench into fists as he sucks in a deep breath. He angles his head down and halfway toward Mark, eyeing the floor between them.]
How did you get here?
["I brought him," says Reiju, to which Sanji whips around and calls her name in disbelief. "We can talk about it in your room. This place isn't secure, and you need treatment."]
. . . Fine.
[He climbs onto his feet, swaying exactly once before righting himself and looking over his shoulder at Mark. At this angle, his hair obscures most of his profile to keep the worst of his visible injuries from the latter's line of sight.]
Let's go. [His swollen eye sweeps over the test tubes all around them. He hunches in on himself, dropping his voice to a murmur:] This place is making me sick.
[And he needed Mark out of here yesterday, far away from his family troubles.]
[ He's trying to swallow his heart back down, the way it leaps into his throat at the sight of what's happened to Sanji. Maybe it's worse because he can't see the full extent of his injuries and it lets his mind run wild with the possibilities. He doesn't think Sanji can take damage to the extent that he can, so maybe that makes it all worse? Or maybe he can, and it really is just that bad— Mark doesn't know.
His throat bobs either way, trepidation churning in his gut. In search of something to do he chooses to follow what's visible of Sanji's gaze, looking over at the test tubes, the bodies in them. Now he can see that they're almost identical, which is unnerving for a whole other set of multiverse reasons, but that's his own shit. He doesn't need to drag that up here.
Focus on Sanji instead. He likes that Sanji listening to reason, and he probably should thank Reiju for saying something, for bringing him here, for... a lot of things? But like she said, this place isn't secure (this was not something he thought to be concerned about), so it'll have to wait.
He also liked that Sanji was talking, but casual conversation is a little impossible at the moment, so Mark has to go with the next best (shitty) option. He has enough sense to pull his mask back on at least, but his demeanour is much more uncertain now, to the point that it might even be somewhat familiar to Reiju too. ]
Yeah, me too. [ This place is making him feel sick, too. He shouldn't ask, he shouldn't ask, he shouldn't ask but he wants to keep the conversation going, he's going to ask. ] What is this place, anyway?
[Sanji freezes mid step at the question. Germa's secrets mean nothing to him, but the same can't be said for Mark's well-being. Although the concern isn't lost on him, divulging too much will only serve to trap Mark even more. Sanji can't have that.
In the end, he mutters:] Nowhere important.
[Mercifully, Reiju doesn't interject as she leads the march back to the residential wing. Rather than his usual two-piece suit, Sanji's in a white ruffled shirt with a pair of dark pants, both cut from the highest quality of fabric only the elite can afford. The raiment feels wrong on him, but he shoves both hands in the trouser pockets, his shoulders hiked up into a hunch, and follows after his sister to get things moving so that Mark can leave.
[ Mark frowns, outright stopping for a moment at Sanji's words — at least until he recognizes that the two of them are going to keep going, and he shifts to a glide to catch up, feet touching the ground again when he's right beside Sanji, staring at him through those black goggles of his.
At the very least he knows enough to keep his voice quiet, but there's more of an edge to it when he speaks. ]
You know I didn't believe you the first time you tried to tell me that, right.
[ Not even the pretense of a question this time. Just scrutiny — come on, man. Even if he recognizes they should only be really having this conversation in his room, he's not going to let Sanji think he can get away with just sweeping everything under the rug. ]
One of his hands twitches in a pocket. This is the thing about Mark. No guy on the crew is so willing to explore feelings and personal details with one another while the girls are content to let sleeping dogs lie in peace. Mark isn't built like that: He sees a vulnerability, and he has to treat it like something precious, because it's the good, fair thing to do—except this isn't fair. Sanji has no intention of sharing in that.
He keeps his limited vision on Reiju's back. Knowing her, she's listening in on every whispered word between them. Mark's getup is a little different from what he remembers, but that just reinforces the thought that the guy doesn't belong here.]
It has nothing to do with me.
[Nor does he want to have anything to do with it. It's sickening, and his stomach roils at the mere thought of that place they've just left behind. He wants to put it out of his mind altogether.]
Mark's too focused on watching Sanji watch Reiju to notice that twitch, or the quality of his clothes, or much of anything beyond what's directly in front of him. All of his brainpower is going into trying to discern his expression, but that's pretty difficult on its own considering the state he's in. His eyes narrow, not that anyone can see that, and he's silent for a little too long, like he knows trying to get something out of Sanji is going to be a losing battle but he wants to fight it anyway.
After a moment, ] Okay.
[ He'll drop it. Just like that.
Except no he won't. ]
But once you're safe, I can come back and handle it.
[ Handle what, he doesn't know, but when he's basically a walking nuke Mark's pretty sure he can take care of anything in this castle one way or another. ]
[It's not that he doubts Mark's abilities. The guy is stupidly strong and durable. He's Invincible. If anyone can tear through the castle in one shot, it's him.
Sanji chews discreetly on his swollen lower lip.
Despite that, he can't shake off the dread swirling in his gut at the thought of Mark's handling anything. They've left that disgusting laboratory, yet he feels even sicker the closer they get to his assigned chamber. It's not the room he had as a kid with a bookshelf full of books he'd read to enrich his developing mind, but a standard bedroom with expensive furnishing and a tacky portrait of Judge, looming over the decapitated heads of four kings, that takes up almost the entire length of a wall. It's an eyesore; however, it's a step up from the real thing, so he drags his feet inside once they make it to the doors.
Reiju passes the forgotten phone to him on his way inside. She lingers in the doorway, and then turns away once Mark passes her. "I'm going to fetch some supplies. Make yourselves comfortable in the meantime." With that, she takes her leave while Sanji stands in the middle of the spacious room in silence, his back to her departing figure with the phone clutched tightly in one hand at his side.
Just what is she up to? He takes in a shallow, quiet breath and holds it before exhaling silently. He's already lost it once the other night, clawing at his scalp and bellowing at the top of his lungs, and he's not about to do that in front of Mark. It's his fault the guy is here.]
[ He'd love to take Sanji's silence as an acceptance — "Okay, Mark, you do everything you need to do" — but even he knows better than to think that's what Sanji actually means.
It makes him feel helpless, which is not a good feeling, which in turn makes him angry. He's keeping that to himself for now though, even if the sight of that portrait as he walks into the room ignites in him the need to tear something to shreds. Something about the fact that someone would feel it's necessary to put up art like that. Whoever that is, they can't be a good person, so they don't deserve their weird art.
But this isn't about him, and as agitated as Mark is, he knows unleashing his temper is a recipe for disaster more than anything else. At least until Sanji gives him a green light already, which isn't happening when he's just standing there, beating himself up internally if Mark had to guess.
In, out, he breathes, until finally he shrugs his backpack from his shoulders, depositing it unceremoniously on the floor. Takes his mask off now that they're somewhere secluded, dropping it on top of his bag. Thinks, because there are a million questions he could ask, but maybe he should start with the most pertinent one.
Tilting his head back towards the closed door, whether Sanji can actually see what he's doing or not, ] Can we trust her?
[ So far everything about his sister has been weird, but not actually offensive. Just... weird. ]
There's no "we" here, but that's the question. In spite of everything she's done for him, their relationship right now is strained at best. Reiju is Judge's subordinate, and she's already tried to sell the marriage to Sanji. Of course, anyone would be crazy to turn down someone like Pudding on a normal day, but nothing about this is normal. This isn't the life he wants.
It's the life he's getting, though, he thinks as he slides his unoccupied hand in a pocket again. Mark needs to understand that before he starts getting too many ideas in his head.]
[ Too late, there are already too many ideas rattling around in his head. He just needs to pick the one that not only makes the most sense, but is also the one he wants.
Which, judging by Sanji's words, he's starting to suspect they're going to be at odds on this. And while there's a part of Mark that will always remain meek and ready to people-please, the more he starts to come into himself, the more he's going to decide that he's right, actually. That everyone else should just deal with that fact, actually.
He crosses his arms over his chest, defiant, ready to lock horns. ]
I know you don't want to be here, so I'm not leaving until we get you where you actually want to be.
[Mark is too stubborn to accept otherwise, not when physical evidence exists to refute it. Sanji, who casually turns around to face him in spite of his own unsightliness, will give him that much, sounding wholly unimpressed in a flat tone.
Lock horns? Fine. He can be a ram.]
Where I want to be is the Whole Cake Chateau. My fiancée is waiting for me there.
[ It probably doesn't help Mark's credibility that his first instinct, when seeing just how bad of a shape Sanji is in, is to flinch, flat expression shifting into concern — jaw slackening, brows knit together. He uncrosses his arms, reaching out with a hand before remembering they're kind of supposed to be fighting right now, so he lets it fall limply to his side instead.
Great stuff, Mark Grayson. Made worse by the fact that he knows he's only effective as a force of destruction, which is not what Sanji, the person, needs right now. Regardless of whatever their relationship status is at this point because I truly don't know, he wishes Josuke was the one here instead.
[Sanji's heart clenches at the mention of her name, betrayed by the faint twitch of his brow. Asa and Yoru . . . For their collective sake, he's going to have to send a message or place a call sooner than later. It'll hurt them and he'll never forgive himself for it, but he can't afford to drag them into his mess.]
She isn't.
[He tosses the phone onto the nearest circular seat and pockets his freed hand.]
My bride is the beautiful daughter of another pirate.
Well. A lot of somethings aren't right, Mark already knows; that much is obvious. But even when Sanji is being defiant and standoffish and, well, a dick if he's being honest, that twitch of his brow is saying something, more than the actual words coming out of his mouth.
Mark turns to stare at the phone instead. His own is staying secured in a pocket on his suit — he absolutely cannot afford to lose it here — but stares at Sanji's on the chair, not turning from it. ]
When did you guys break up, [ except he doesn't exactly ask it like it's a question, voice flattening. I don't think I believe you. ]
It doesn't matter if Mark disbelieves him. All he has to do is lose the guy's respect, and then Mark will go away. To that end, Sanji gives the phone a halfhearted glance.]
Ah, that's right. [His tone is flippant, as if Asa is even less than an afterthought when she's anything but. It feels wrong and dreadful. She is—was everything.] I'd forgotten all about it. I'll have to tell that girl I've found someone better later.
[ Sanji is very, very close to losing Mark's respect at present time. He can't help the curl of his lip at that flippant tone, the flaring of his nostrils. It matters less right now that Mark doesn't think he believes Sanji and more that he's pissing him off; such is the life of a guy who runs off of emotions.
His phone, though. Mark narrows his eyes at it before looking up to face Sanji, staring right past his injuries. In light of what he's saying, they don't feel as relevant. ]
Tell her now. Nobody else is here so it's not like it's a problem, right? What's stopping you?
[ Either he's calling Sanji's bluff or his friend really is an asshole now. Mark's not sure which, but he'd rather force Sanji into doing something so then he can do something, whatever that something ends up being. ]
[Mark is right. Agonizingly so. At this point, there's no good reason for Sanji to hang onto the miracle he was gifted two years ago. He needs to let it go—all of it.
He takes a casual step toward the chair, biting down on the pain that shoots up his spine, and picks up the phone. It switches on to life; a part of him is wretchedly relieved that nobody has contacted him in recent days. With deceptive calm, he swipes over to Asa's contact.
Neither she nor Yoru gets the dignity of a breakup in person or even over a call. Sanji swallows down the bile and focuses on the movement of his thumb to tap out a message, then sends it before he can hesitate. Purposefully leaving the display on, he tosses the phone over his shoulder at Mark. Unlike his preceding messages littered with hearts and sweet nothings, the latest text is terse and to the point: It's over between us. I found another girl.]
It's all Mark can do but stare, dumbfounded, as Sanji actually types. Hits send before he can even do anything. It's autopilot that has him moving to catch the phone, fumbling for a second before he gets a proper hold on it. Stares at that last message. Stares at the contrast between it and the preceding ones, the ones he'd come to expect someone like Sanji to send.
Looks up to stare at Sanji, brows furrowed.
Drops the phone unceremoniously on the floor and moves, fast, to try to use his forearm to pin him up against the nearest wall. Whether he gets to him or not Mark's visibly pissed off now, voice harsh as he snaps out at him. ]
[The color of observation pings against Mark's aggressive intent; however, Sanji's vision is compromised and his body, sluggish. He finds himself pinned in the blink of an eye, immobilized by the arm against his neck. The golden bracelets plink from the impact, and he lifts his hands from the wall before they can sound in warning.
A lot's wrong with him. There's an easy way to answer that question, though.
Sanji rears a leg up and snaps a foot at Mark's gut with enough force to topple a ton. Whether or not anything happens, he then straightens to the best of his ability and lifts his chin in a sneer, ridiculous though he might appear with his face being the way it is.]
My name is Vinsmoke Sanji. Thanks for keeping our secret all this time . . . but, now that I've been recognized as a prince of Germa again, I've grown tired of pretending to be on your level.
[ Later, Mark might appreciate that Sanji went for his gut and not elsewhere. Now, though, he finds himself thrown back from the force of the kick before he catches himself in mid-air, curling in on himself like that'll push the pain away.
The physical pain, because even if he's the one who attacked first, Mark can't believe what he's seeing right now. He's torn between an increased sense of bewilderment and the anger that wants to fight it, be his dominant emotion here. He doesn't know anything about Germa, but he is a Viltrumite, knows that rage will run hot in his blood. Maybe it's better to just lean in to what comes naturally to him. ]
My level. [ He's incredulous, both because the Sanji he knows would never say that, and because it was only a matter of weeks ago that his face was used to kill dozens if not hundreds of people, again. ] You have no idea—
[ He cuts himself off with a shake of his head, righting himself in mid-air. He still smarts from the force of that kick; he'll get over it. This isn't about his ego; this isn't the point he wants to be making. ]
I know you don't like this place. Say the word and I'll reduce it to rubble.
Why would I do that? I have all the wealth and power I could wish for here.
[Mark doesn't need to lift so much as a finger. Sanji does hate this place with every fiber of his being; however, he has no appetite for its destruction. That's not even touching on what he's just done, attacking and treating a (former) friend like the enemy. Although his chest twists at the sight of Mark, who must be rightfully enraged and hurt, he carries on with indifference.]
More importantly, Germa is a mobile nation. Pull a stunt like that, and everyone here will drown.
[It's the truth. Germa is a people without soil, buoyed across the seas by the giant snails that carry the kingdom in parts atop their backs. Presently, a handful of them are lined up to complete the castle, wings and all.
In any case, Mark is correct. The depths of his pain and guilt, killing and feeling responsible for the deaths around him due to reasons beyond his control—Sanji has no idea how deep they go. And there'll be a special place carved out in hell for him, because of it.]
Well, that sounds about right . . . for your level.
[ Maybe a couple of months ago Mark would have recoiled at the barb. Maybe a couple of months ago it would have been enough to end this. He would have regarded Sanji silently before turning around and flying out of here, probably straight through the roof just to be petty, and biding his time elsewhere in this world before he'd be able to go back home. He probably wouldn't have even gone to the Baratie; would have just left this new Sanji to live the life he wanted to, and maybe never tried to speak to him again.
But it is now, not long after he saw eighteen others who share his face lay waste to his planet, with even less time having passed since he gave in to his baser instincts, accepted his true nature, all because someone he deeply cares for got hurt. It's a little different, because he doesn't think Sanji is near death like Eve was, but at the root of it: someone he deeply cares for(?) got hurt, and it is acceptable to cross any line to ensure it doesn't happen again.
Sanji aims the dagger at his heart, and Mark brings his hand up to let it pierce it instead. It still cuts, he still bleeds, but he can brush it aside so much easier. His father's people are genocidal, and he can play the role as if he were one of them, because in some ways he is. ]
How many people here are worth saving? [ Mark stays up in the air, angling himself horizontal as he moves towards Sanji (in part so there's less of him to kick at this time). He tilts his head like it's an innocuous question, voice coldly curious. ] Be honest.
[ Does Sanji consider himself worth saving being the real question here, because, god — he just wants to see some semblance of the friend he knows again. ]
[Sanji's frown deepens, belying his horror at the question and the aggravated tenderness of his injuries. Fleetingly, he wonders what's led Mark to even go there . . . but no, their businesses are no longer each other's. Whatever it is, Mark has loved ones who can help him; until then, Sanji won't allow him to take any lives here.
To that end, he taps a foot on the floor. He raises the ipsilateral knee, preparing to ignite his leg if need be.]
I don't need to answer to the likes of you.
[Just then, Reiju enters with an armful of supplies. She shuts the door behind her, glances at the fallen phone, looks between the two of them, and drops her hand from the knob without a single break in her deadpan stare.
[ His brows raise at that promise of violence should he go further, at the snippy response he gets. Outwardly he's cool, calm, collected, and thoroughly in control as far as he's concerned; inwardly he's caught between getting increasingly pissed at Sanji and freaking out just a little bit. In a way he's grateful he doesn't have his mask on, because it forces him to keep tight control over his features — dispassionate, bored even.
But a part of him breathes a metaphorical sigh of relief when Reiju returns, because he truly does not know what he was going to do, how far he would have gone if she hadn't.
Mark cocks his head to indicate he's heard her, but doesn't move otherwise. Keeps staring right at Sanji, because his words are more for him than Reiju, even as he answers her. ]
Your brother's willing to put the lives of everyone here at risk just so he can keep being an asshole.
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not my sweet reiju being forgotten... cruel
Only to recoil when Sanji rips himself away from him. Mark unceremoniously falls back on his ass, staring at him, confused and deeply, deeply concerned. There's a lot wrong here; that Sanji is so injured should be at the top of the list, but his rejection feels worse. Is worse. ]
... Okay. [ Mark hesitates for a moment before shifting into a squat, staying down on Sanji's level, but ready to get up at any time. He doesn't reach out to him, though, and his voice is small before taking on a pleading tone. ] Okay, but let's get you out of here, alright? I know you don't want to be here. I've got you.
she'd like to peace out but alas
Sanji's hands clench into fists as he sucks in a deep breath. He angles his head down and halfway toward Mark, eyeing the floor between them.]
How did you get here?
["I brought him," says Reiju, to which Sanji whips around and calls her name in disbelief. "We can talk about it in your room. This place isn't secure, and you need treatment."]
. . . Fine.
[He climbs onto his feet, swaying exactly once before righting himself and looking over his shoulder at Mark. At this angle, his hair obscures most of his profile to keep the worst of his visible injuries from the latter's line of sight.]
Let's go. [His swollen eye sweeps over the test tubes all around them. He hunches in on himself, dropping his voice to a murmur:] This place is making me sick.
[And he needed Mark out of here yesterday, far away from his family troubles.]
:(
His throat bobs either way, trepidation churning in his gut. In search of something to do he chooses to follow what's visible of Sanji's gaze, looking over at the test tubes, the bodies in them. Now he can see that they're almost identical, which is unnerving for a whole other set of multiverse reasons, but that's his own shit. He doesn't need to drag that up here.
Focus on Sanji instead. He likes that Sanji listening to reason, and he probably should thank Reiju for saying something, for bringing him here, for... a lot of things? But like she said, this place isn't secure (this was not something he thought to be concerned about), so it'll have to wait.
He also liked that Sanji was talking, but casual conversation is a little impossible at the moment, so Mark has to go with the next best (shitty) option. He has enough sense to pull his mask back on at least, but his demeanour is much more uncertain now, to the point that it might even be somewhat familiar to Reiju too. ]
Yeah, me too. [ This place is making him feel sick, too. He shouldn't ask, he shouldn't ask, he shouldn't ask but he wants to keep the conversation going, he's going to ask. ] What is this place, anyway?
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In the end, he mutters:] Nowhere important.
[Mercifully, Reiju doesn't interject as she leads the march back to the residential wing. Rather than his usual two-piece suit, Sanji's in a white ruffled shirt with a pair of dark pants, both cut from the highest quality of fabric only the elite can afford. The raiment feels wrong on him, but he shoves both hands in the trouser pockets, his shoulders hiked up into a hunch, and follows after his sister to get things moving so that Mark can leave.
Damn. He needs a smoke.]
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At the very least he knows enough to keep his voice quiet, but there's more of an edge to it when he speaks. ]
You know I didn't believe you the first time you tried to tell me that, right.
[ Not even the pretense of a question this time. Just scrutiny — come on, man. Even if he recognizes they should only be really having this conversation in his room, he's not going to let Sanji think he can get away with just sweeping everything under the rug. ]
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One of his hands twitches in a pocket. This is the thing about Mark. No guy on the crew is so willing to explore feelings and personal details with one another while the girls are content to let sleeping dogs lie in peace. Mark isn't built like that: He sees a vulnerability, and he has to treat it like something precious, because it's the good, fair thing to do—except this isn't fair. Sanji has no intention of sharing in that.
He keeps his limited vision on Reiju's back. Knowing her, she's listening in on every whispered word between them. Mark's getup is a little different from what he remembers, but that just reinforces the thought that the guy doesn't belong here.]
It has nothing to do with me.
[Nor does he want to have anything to do with it. It's sickening, and his stomach roils at the mere thought of that place they've just left behind. He wants to put it out of his mind altogether.]
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Mark's too focused on watching Sanji watch Reiju to notice that twitch, or the quality of his clothes, or much of anything beyond what's directly in front of him. All of his brainpower is going into trying to discern his expression, but that's pretty difficult on its own considering the state he's in. His eyes narrow, not that anyone can see that, and he's silent for a little too long, like he knows trying to get something out of Sanji is going to be a losing battle but he wants to fight it anyway.
After a moment, ] Okay.
[ He'll drop it. Just like that.
Except no he won't. ]
But once you're safe, I can come back and handle it.
[ Handle what, he doesn't know, but when he's basically a walking nuke Mark's pretty sure he can take care of anything in this castle one way or another. ]
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Sanji chews discreetly on his swollen lower lip.
Despite that, he can't shake off the dread swirling in his gut at the thought of Mark's handling anything. They've left that disgusting laboratory, yet he feels even sicker the closer they get to his assigned chamber. It's not the room he had as a kid with a bookshelf full of books he'd read to enrich his developing mind, but a standard bedroom with expensive furnishing and a tacky portrait of Judge, looming over the decapitated heads of four kings, that takes up almost the entire length of a wall. It's an eyesore; however, it's a step up from the real thing, so he drags his feet inside once they make it to the doors.
Reiju passes the forgotten phone to him on his way inside. She lingers in the doorway, and then turns away once Mark passes her. "I'm going to fetch some supplies. Make yourselves comfortable in the meantime." With that, she takes her leave while Sanji stands in the middle of the spacious room in silence, his back to her departing figure with the phone clutched tightly in one hand at his side.
Just what is she up to? He takes in a shallow, quiet breath and holds it before exhaling silently. He's already lost it once the other night, clawing at his scalp and bellowing at the top of his lungs, and he's not about to do that in front of Mark. It's his fault the guy is here.]
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It makes him feel helpless, which is not a good feeling, which in turn makes him angry. He's keeping that to himself for now though, even if the sight of that portrait as he walks into the room ignites in him the need to tear something to shreds. Something about the fact that someone would feel it's necessary to put up art like that. Whoever that is, they can't be a good person, so they don't deserve their weird art.
But this isn't about him, and as agitated as Mark is, he knows unleashing his temper is a recipe for disaster more than anything else. At least until Sanji gives him a green light already, which isn't happening when he's just standing there, beating himself up internally if Mark had to guess.
In, out, he breathes, until finally he shrugs his backpack from his shoulders, depositing it unceremoniously on the floor. Takes his mask off now that they're somewhere secluded, dropping it on top of his bag. Thinks, because there are a million questions he could ask, but maybe he should start with the most pertinent one.
Tilting his head back towards the closed door, whether Sanji can actually see what he's doing or not, ] Can we trust her?
[ So far everything about his sister has been weird, but not actually offensive. Just... weird. ]
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There's no "we" here, but that's the question. In spite of everything she's done for him, their relationship right now is strained at best. Reiju is Judge's subordinate, and she's already tried to sell the marriage to Sanji. Of course, anyone would be crazy to turn down someone like Pudding on a normal day, but nothing about this is normal. This isn't the life he wants.
It's the life he's getting, though, he thinks as he slides his unoccupied hand in a pocket again. Mark needs to understand that before he starts getting too many ideas in his head.]
You need to go. I'm not going back.
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Which, judging by Sanji's words, he's starting to suspect they're going to be at odds on this. And while there's a part of Mark that will always remain meek and ready to people-please, the more he starts to come into himself, the more he's going to decide that he's right, actually. That everyone else should just deal with that fact, actually.
He crosses his arms over his chest, defiant, ready to lock horns. ]
I know you don't want to be here, so I'm not leaving until we get you where you actually want to be.
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[Mark is too stubborn to accept otherwise, not when physical evidence exists to refute it. Sanji, who casually turns around to face him in spite of his own unsightliness, will give him that much, sounding wholly unimpressed in a flat tone.
Lock horns? Fine. He can be a ram.]
Where I want to be is the Whole Cake Chateau. My fiancée is waiting for me there.
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Great stuff, Mark Grayson. Made worse by the fact that he knows he's only effective as a force of destruction, which is not what Sanji, the person, needs right now. Regardless of whatever their relationship status is at this point because I truly don't know, he wishes Josuke was the one here instead.
Voice softening, ] I didn't know Asa was here.
[ He just. Assumes. ]
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She isn't.
[He tosses the phone onto the nearest circular seat and pockets his freed hand.]
My bride is the beautiful daughter of another pirate.
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Well. A lot of somethings aren't right, Mark already knows; that much is obvious. But even when Sanji is being defiant and standoffish and, well, a dick if he's being honest, that twitch of his brow is saying something, more than the actual words coming out of his mouth.
Mark turns to stare at the phone instead. His own is staying secured in a pocket on his suit — he absolutely cannot afford to lose it here — but stares at Sanji's on the chair, not turning from it. ]
When did you guys break up, [ except he doesn't exactly ask it like it's a question, voice flattening. I don't think I believe you. ]
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It doesn't matter if Mark disbelieves him. All he has to do is lose the guy's respect, and then Mark will go away. To that end, Sanji gives the phone a halfhearted glance.]
Ah, that's right. [His tone is flippant, as if Asa is even less than an afterthought when she's anything but. It feels wrong and dreadful. She is—was everything.] I'd forgotten all about it. I'll have to tell that girl I've found someone better later.
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His phone, though. Mark narrows his eyes at it before looking up to face Sanji, staring right past his injuries. In light of what he's saying, they don't feel as relevant. ]
Tell her now. Nobody else is here so it's not like it's a problem, right? What's stopping you?
[ Either he's calling Sanji's bluff or his friend really is an asshole now. Mark's not sure which, but he'd rather force Sanji into doing something so then he can do something, whatever that something ends up being. ]
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[Mark is right. Agonizingly so. At this point, there's no good reason for Sanji to hang onto the miracle he was gifted two years ago. He needs to let it go—all of it.
He takes a casual step toward the chair, biting down on the pain that shoots up his spine, and picks up the phone. It switches on to life; a part of him is wretchedly relieved that nobody has contacted him in recent days. With deceptive calm, he swipes over to Asa's contact.
Neither she nor Yoru gets the dignity of a breakup in person or even over a call. Sanji swallows down the bile and focuses on the movement of his thumb to tap out a message, then sends it before he can hesitate. Purposefully leaving the display on, he tosses the phone over his shoulder at Mark. Unlike his preceding messages littered with hearts and sweet nothings, the latest text is terse and to the point: It's over between us. I found another girl.]
Take it. I won't be needing it anymore.
[He's scum. Hopefully, Mark sees that now.]
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did not go the way he thought it would.
It's all Mark can do but stare, dumbfounded, as Sanji actually types. Hits send before he can even do anything. It's autopilot that has him moving to catch the phone, fumbling for a second before he gets a proper hold on it. Stares at that last message. Stares at the contrast between it and the preceding ones, the ones he'd come to expect someone like Sanji to send.
Looks up to stare at Sanji, brows furrowed.
Drops the phone unceremoniously on the floor and moves, fast, to try to use his forearm to pin him up against the nearest wall. Whether he gets to him or not Mark's visibly pissed off now, voice harsh as he snaps out at him. ]
What the fuck is wrong with you?
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A lot's wrong with him. There's an easy way to answer that question, though.
Sanji rears a leg up and snaps a foot at Mark's gut with enough force to topple a ton. Whether or not anything happens, he then straightens to the best of his ability and lifts his chin in a sneer, ridiculous though he might appear with his face being the way it is.]
My name is Vinsmoke Sanji. Thanks for keeping our secret all this time . . . but, now that I've been recognized as a prince of Germa again, I've grown tired of pretending to be on your level.
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The physical pain, because even if he's the one who attacked first, Mark can't believe what he's seeing right now. He's torn between an increased sense of bewilderment and the anger that wants to fight it, be his dominant emotion here. He doesn't know anything about Germa, but he is a Viltrumite, knows that rage will run hot in his blood. Maybe it's better to just lean in to what comes naturally to him. ]
My level. [ He's incredulous, both because the Sanji he knows would never say that, and because it was only a matter of weeks ago that his face was used to kill dozens if not hundreds of people, again. ] You have no idea—
[ He cuts himself off with a shake of his head, righting himself in mid-air. He still smarts from the force of that kick; he'll get over it. This isn't about his ego; this isn't the point he wants to be making. ]
I know you don't like this place. Say the word and I'll reduce it to rubble.
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[Mark doesn't need to lift so much as a finger. Sanji does hate this place with every fiber of his being; however, he has no appetite for its destruction. That's not even touching on what he's just done, attacking and treating a (former) friend like the enemy. Although his chest twists at the sight of Mark, who must be rightfully enraged and hurt, he carries on with indifference.]
More importantly, Germa is a mobile nation. Pull a stunt like that, and everyone here will drown.
[It's the truth. Germa is a people without soil, buoyed across the seas by the giant snails that carry the kingdom in parts atop their backs. Presently, a handful of them are lined up to complete the castle, wings and all.
In any case, Mark is correct. The depths of his pain and guilt, killing and feeling responsible for the deaths around him due to reasons beyond his control—Sanji has no idea how deep they go. And there'll be a special place carved out in hell for him, because of it.]
Well, that sounds about right . . . for your level.
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But it is now, not long after he saw eighteen others who share his face lay waste to his planet, with even less time having passed since he gave in to his baser instincts, accepted his true nature, all because someone he deeply cares for got hurt. It's a little different, because he doesn't think Sanji is near death like Eve was, but at the root of it: someone he deeply cares for(?) got hurt, and it is acceptable to cross any line to ensure it doesn't happen again.
Sanji aims the dagger at his heart, and Mark brings his hand up to let it pierce it instead. It still cuts, he still bleeds, but he can brush it aside so much easier. His father's people are genocidal, and he can play the role as if he were one of them, because in some ways he is. ]
How many people here are worth saving? [ Mark stays up in the air, angling himself horizontal as he moves towards Sanji (in part so there's less of him to kick at this time). He tilts his head like it's an innocuous question, voice coldly curious. ] Be honest.
[ Does Sanji consider himself worth saving being the real question here, because, god — he just wants to see some semblance of the friend he knows again. ]
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To that end, he taps a foot on the floor. He raises the ipsilateral knee, preparing to ignite his leg if need be.]
I don't need to answer to the likes of you.
[Just then, Reiju enters with an armful of supplies. She shuts the door behind her, glances at the fallen phone, looks between the two of them, and drops her hand from the knob without a single break in her deadpan stare.
"Am I interrupting something?"]
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But a part of him breathes a metaphorical sigh of relief when Reiju returns, because he truly does not know what he was going to do, how far he would have gone if she hadn't.
Mark cocks his head to indicate he's heard her, but doesn't move otherwise. Keeps staring right at Sanji, because his words are more for him than Reiju, even as he answers her. ]
Your brother's willing to put the lives of everyone here at risk just so he can keep being an asshole.
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/slides back in
sweet reiju
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this canon point was a mistake for brevity aaAAH
huSH you're great with it
😭 merci beaucoup
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