[ 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.
["Is that true?" When Sanji neglects to answer in favor of an ineffectual, sidelong glare at the wall, Reiju steps toward him. "Are you having second thoughts?"]
I've already made up my mind.
[Going through with the wedding. Burning what bridges insistent on following him. He has no idea what's going on with Mark, but he wants him to leave and take the phone with him. Then no one will have to deal with this. No one will have to die. Mark and everyone else can live fulfilling lives, far away from here.
"Then let's do something about your face and clothes. It won't do to meet your fiancée, looking like that."
Sanji steps around Reiju, ignoring the cold gaze directed at him, and drops onto the nearest seat, which puts his back to Mark.
Reiju gives Mark the barest glance before kneeling in front of the chair and pulling out a sheet mask. The subsequent lull is the only invitation she extends if he has anything to say, or she'll move right along. She's yet to choose a side—her sole priority is her brother's long-term safety.]
It takes effort to keep his expression cold, like he really is above all of this. It's belied by the strain at the corners of his eyes, pinched and stressed, but otherwise, look at how much Mark does not care. Look at how above these mortals he is. He watches Sanji retreat from him, unimpressed.
Lets the moment hang in the air, much like he's doing, body upright again but still hovering off of the ground, arms loosely crossed over his chest. ]
You really don't care, do you. [ Voice still cold, and it's not entirely a lie. Hope and optimism and everything he's carried himself with before has felt like childish nonsense the past little while — he just didn't expect it would extend to Sanji. ] No matter who I hurt, who I kill...
[ Mark trails off, an idea coming to him in that moment. He's past fretting over how easy it is to talk about killing someone now, which probably only helps him here. He looks down, inspecting his nails like oh, yeah, they're still in good shape, along with his fists and the rest of him. ]
... If all of this is over your fiancée though, then, who knows. Maybe I should wait around so I can kill her first.
[ It's just plausible enough of a thought that he hopes he can actually sell it to get a rise out of Sanji. Not that Mark would kill an innocent woman, but from the way things are going, it's entirely possible she isn't so innocent — and after that he doesn't know, but anything could still be on the table. ]
[Reiju's just finished wiping Sanji's face and then putting the sheet mask on when Mark's words cut through the stilted silence. Panic rises in his gut at the thought of Pudding in danger, propelling Sanji out of the chair.]
Don't . . . !
[He whirls on Mark, only to double over mid speech from the sudden onslaught of shooting pain. "Don't touch it," says Reiju when he reaches up to grasp at his face. Sanji's hands dangle uselessly in the air as he expels a strangled shout of pain through the intense shocks, which mercifully fade after several beats.
Gasping, he lifts his head to level a glower at Mark. His face, throbbing though it is, looks fresh without any trace of the beating it received mere moments ago. Sanji has no idea what just happened, but that's not important. His attention is on Mark, who's been and keeps saying some truly twisted things. This needs to end—now.]
You still don't get it, do you . . . ? I want nothing to do with you anymore. Leave!
[ He keeps his expression flat at that initial outburst, impassive at watching Sanji double over in pain. He should care. He does care. But the petty part of him also thinks Sanji kind of deserves this right now, so he'll wait it out, do absolutely nothing to help out — Reiju looks like she's got it covered, anyway.
At least he does look better. Mark lets that thought stay with him for a second longer before he finally drops to the ground, starting to stride towards Sanji. ]
You don't get it! [ The cold is gone from his voice, replaced by a furious snapping. ] I have to do all of this, say all of this shit to get a real reaction out of you? I'm here because I'm worried about you, again, and all you can give me is this shit about how you're above me now? You dumped Asa over text?!
[ His voice is rising, fists balled at his sides. He is not going to use them. He is not going to use them, he's just going to keep yelling. ]
Something is clearly not right, I'm worried about you, and I'm not going anywhere until you let me help you!
[Ah, Reiju thinks as she straightens and folds her arms, that girl was still in the picture. She's starting to see what's happening now.
It's fortunate that the servants have long been dismissed. There's nobody else around the wing to listen in on their argument and relay what was said, especially now that their voices are rising. Small mercies go a long way in Germa.
For how big the palatial space is, though, it feels impossibly tight between Reiju's quiet indifference and Mark's stubborn fury. Sanji turns away, his shoulder pointed at the latter. The superior front might have landed better on anyone else who knew less, but luck hasn't been on his side lately.]
If you really want to help, do everyone a favor and go! I intend to marry Big Mom's daughter tomorrow. Nothing you say or do will change my mind.
[ Sanji turns away from him and after a moment, Mark makes a grab at his shoulder to try to turn him back to him. He's still pissed, his voice is still raised, but now he finally lets the hurt seep into it. ]
[His bruised body protests the pull, but it's not the pain that prompts Sanji to knock Mark's arm away with his own. He doesn't look him in the eye, opting instead to bore a hole into the floor just past Mark's shoulder. His mouth opens for another rebuttal—whatever lashing comes to mind that'll make the guy go away—when Reiju pipes up from her spot by the chair.
"There's no time." She looks at Sanji, who angles his head toward her, his frown veiled by his fringe. "You need to get ready: We'll be heading out to Whole Cake Chateau soon. If you're going to have a discussion, you should do it after the banquet."
Approaching with decisive clacks from her heels, she offers him a fresh shirt hanging from her forearm. Sanji takes it, pointedly ignoring Mark. "The mask only conceals your injuries and delays healing, so try not to touch your face. It's not ideal, but better than seeing the Charlottes as you were."
"I'll be in my room." With that, she spins around to make a beeline for the door, though not before searching for Mark's gaze. "Will you come with me?"]
[ He finally risks a glance at Reiju when she speaks, hurt and desperate and confused. How is there no time, who gives a shit about some stupid banquet when this is going on—
It's all he can do but keep his hands limp at his sides, shoulders slumped as Reiju takes charge of the situation. He could still stop them from leaving, he thinks, but then what — it would probably come to blows, and Sanji's already hurt, and it's not actually his goal to hurt him further. It's just, violence is on the forefront of his mind now, every problem a nail and he's a hammer. A very, very effective hammer. It's a unique feeling of helplessness, and all he can do is watch.
But he thinks Reiju might be offering him an olive branch. Isn't sure, but... ]
I'll come with you. [ He doesn't make any move to follow her, though; not at first. He's thinking. ] Sanji... we are going to talk after. You're not getting rid of me that easily.
[ Thinking. Shifting over and ducking down to try to force Sanji to look him in the eyes, voice quiet and serious. It isn't the anger of before, nor the manufactured cold, but blunt fact. ]
And I'm not bluffing. If I find out this fiancée of yours is hurting you? I will kill her.
[ With that he moves to follow Reiju, stopping only to pick up his bag on the way. ]
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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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I've already made up my mind.
[Going through with the wedding. Burning what bridges insistent on following him. He has no idea what's going on with Mark, but he wants him to leave and take the phone with him. Then no one will have to deal with this. No one will have to die. Mark and everyone else can live fulfilling lives, far away from here.
"Then let's do something about your face and clothes. It won't do to meet your fiancée, looking like that."
Sanji steps around Reiju, ignoring the cold gaze directed at him, and drops onto the nearest seat, which puts his back to Mark.
Reiju gives Mark the barest glance before kneeling in front of the chair and pulling out a sheet mask. The subsequent lull is the only invitation she extends if he has anything to say, or she'll move right along. She's yet to choose a side—her sole priority is her brother's long-term safety.]
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It takes effort to keep his expression cold, like he really is above all of this. It's belied by the strain at the corners of his eyes, pinched and stressed, but otherwise, look at how much Mark does not care. Look at how above these mortals he is. He watches Sanji retreat from him, unimpressed.
Lets the moment hang in the air, much like he's doing, body upright again but still hovering off of the ground, arms loosely crossed over his chest. ]
You really don't care, do you. [ Voice still cold, and it's not entirely a lie. Hope and optimism and everything he's carried himself with before has felt like childish nonsense the past little while — he just didn't expect it would extend to Sanji. ] No matter who I hurt, who I kill...
[ Mark trails off, an idea coming to him in that moment. He's past fretting over how easy it is to talk about killing someone now, which probably only helps him here. He looks down, inspecting his nails like oh, yeah, they're still in good shape, along with his fists and the rest of him. ]
... If all of this is over your fiancée though, then, who knows. Maybe I should wait around so I can kill her first.
[ It's just plausible enough of a thought that he hopes he can actually sell it to get a rise out of Sanji. Not that Mark would kill an innocent woman, but from the way things are going, it's entirely possible she isn't so innocent — and after that he doesn't know, but anything could still be on the table. ]
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Don't . . . !
[He whirls on Mark, only to double over mid speech from the sudden onslaught of shooting pain. "Don't touch it," says Reiju when he reaches up to grasp at his face. Sanji's hands dangle uselessly in the air as he expels a strangled shout of pain through the intense shocks, which mercifully fade after several beats.
Gasping, he lifts his head to level a glower at Mark. His face, throbbing though it is, looks fresh without any trace of the beating it received mere moments ago. Sanji has no idea what just happened, but that's not important. His attention is on Mark, who's been and keeps saying some truly twisted things. This needs to end—now.]
You still don't get it, do you . . . ? I want nothing to do with you anymore. Leave!
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At least he does look better. Mark lets that thought stay with him for a second longer before he finally drops to the ground, starting to stride towards Sanji. ]
You don't get it! [ The cold is gone from his voice, replaced by a furious snapping. ] I have to do all of this, say all of this shit to get a real reaction out of you? I'm here because I'm worried about you, again, and all you can give me is this shit about how you're above me now? You dumped Asa over text?!
[ His voice is rising, fists balled at his sides. He is not going to use them. He is not going to use them, he's just going to keep yelling. ]
Something is clearly not right, I'm worried about you, and I'm not going anywhere until you let me help you!
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It's fortunate that the servants have long been dismissed. There's nobody else around the wing to listen in on their argument and relay what was said, especially now that their voices are rising. Small mercies go a long way in Germa.
For how big the palatial space is, though, it feels impossibly tight between Reiju's quiet indifference and Mark's stubborn fury. Sanji turns away, his shoulder pointed at the latter. The superior front might have landed better on anyone else who knew less, but luck hasn't been on his side lately.]
If you really want to help, do everyone a favor and go! I intend to marry Big Mom's daughter tomorrow. Nothing you say or do will change my mind.
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Why?
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"There's no time." She looks at Sanji, who angles his head toward her, his frown veiled by his fringe. "You need to get ready: We'll be heading out to Whole Cake Chateau soon. If you're going to have a discussion, you should do it after the banquet."
Approaching with decisive clacks from her heels, she offers him a fresh shirt hanging from her forearm. Sanji takes it, pointedly ignoring Mark. "The mask only conceals your injuries and delays healing, so try not to touch your face. It's not ideal, but better than seeing the Charlottes as you were."
"I'll be in my room." With that, she spins around to make a beeline for the door, though not before searching for Mark's gaze. "Will you come with me?"]
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It's all he can do but keep his hands limp at his sides, shoulders slumped as Reiju takes charge of the situation. He could still stop them from leaving, he thinks, but then what — it would probably come to blows, and Sanji's already hurt, and it's not actually his goal to hurt him further. It's just, violence is on the forefront of his mind now, every problem a nail and he's a hammer. A very, very effective hammer. It's a unique feeling of helplessness, and all he can do is watch.
But he thinks Reiju might be offering him an olive branch. Isn't sure, but... ]
I'll come with you. [ He doesn't make any move to follow her, though; not at first. He's thinking. ] Sanji... we are going to talk after. You're not getting rid of me that easily.
[ Thinking. Shifting over and ducking down to try to force Sanji to look him in the eyes, voice quiet and serious. It isn't the anger of before, nor the manufactured cold, but blunt fact. ]
And I'm not bluffing. If I find out this fiancée of yours is hurting you? I will kill her.
[ With that he moves to follow Reiju, stopping only to pick up his bag on the way. ]
/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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