Yeah. I know exactly what you mean. It’s like– it just invites you in and feels warm? Just what a good restaurant ought to feel like. And a good bar, too. [ The decor is different— Jin isn’t a grumpy retired ex-pirate, of course— but it feels so similar to the Baratie that sometimes, he expected the old man to be looming around the nearest corner. Much as he misses the dark paneling and warm lights of his old home, though, the reality is that even when he’s home, there won’t be any going back for a long time.
As briefly as that sense of fond familiarity settles into him, his attention focuses back on Tifa— she’s cute when she blushes— as a low chuckle rumbles in his throat. ]
Forgot how much they try to push you into earning your first few cards the moment you check-in. [ His smile is wry and the noise he makes is mildly exasperated, followed by a shake of his head. ] Nothing wrong with dressing nice when you can, yeah? But thanks. And it’s damn good to be able to put a face to your name and voice. Would’ve like to before, what with how sweet you seemed, but…
[ Well, they both know, even as he raises his shoulders in a shrug. She isn’t the only one who gets a chance, now, to observe some subtler details, to notice all of the things they couldn’t see before. She’s stunning, of course, but that’s obvious. From those soft, dark pool of her hair that’s as black and comforting as the night sky at sea to burnt crimson of her eyes, as warm and inviting as any hearth’s fire— perfect for any bartender, really— and all the soft, gentle curves that her dress effortlessly highlights, he doesn’t think there’s a damn person in the resort who wouldn’t look at her and think she was gorgeous. And it maybe explains a few things because, well, yeah, she must get complimented on her beauty all the time.
And while Sanji tries not stare— and doesn’t— there are other things he sees, too, the lean muscles along her arms, the dusting of scars and jagged skin draw over her fingers, the discomfort that settles on her the moment his question has left his mouth. It all paints a different picture— or, at least, fills in the details in a way that’s all the more intriguing.
The more she talks, though, the more his smile softens with quiet sympathy, understanding settling on him as the quiet worry that he’d asked the wrong question fades. Because yeah, he gets exactly what she’s talking about, maybe more than he’d like to admit, gets how different things are here, how it manages to scrape people raw and expose their worse insecurities without ever hesitating. The smile he gives her is rich with sympathy when she apologizes and his head twists in a quick shake. ]
Nah, I don’t mind. This place just knows how to get to you, you know? Sometimes, it feels like it doesn’t even need to try to do it. Especially when you first get here. I, uh, when I woke up here, we’d just finished doing something important? Helped a friend. Saved her, and her whole village, and we were supposed to be going out to accomplish our dreams. But I woke up here instead.
[ And while he has every intention of making her a drink himself— and will soon— he waves at the bartender on duty, just to get her attention, before glancing back down at the bar. They could both use a drink now, he thinks, while they talk about this. ]
I was here about a month before these– these doppelgangers showed up outta nowhere. They crawled out of these paintings and represented all the things you hated about yourself. It was awful and crappy and it’s just one piece of the crazy shit this place likes to pull. [ It’s not something he wants to talk about– how much that thing had hated itself, how desperate it had been to be used, to be of value– and skims over the details, before shaking his head. ] Point is, Tifa, I don’t think you’re wrong. It’s damn scary and this place likes to do it whenever it can. But you’ll get better at dealing with it. And maybe find a few things you don’t mind along the way.
[ His attention swivels back to her as he grins at her, a little more gently than before, gesturing to the surrounding bar. ] Like this place. It's maybe not nice enough to make dealing with the other crap worth it, but doesn't mean you can enjoy it.
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As briefly as that sense of fond familiarity settles into him, his attention focuses back on Tifa— she’s cute when she blushes— as a low chuckle rumbles in his throat. ]
Forgot how much they try to push you into earning your first few cards the moment you check-in. [ His smile is wry and the noise he makes is mildly exasperated, followed by a shake of his head. ] Nothing wrong with dressing nice when you can, yeah? But thanks. And it’s damn good to be able to put a face to your name and voice. Would’ve like to before, what with how sweet you seemed, but…
[ Well, they both know, even as he raises his shoulders in a shrug. She isn’t the only one who gets a chance, now, to observe some subtler details, to notice all of the things they couldn’t see before. She’s stunning, of course, but that’s obvious. From those soft, dark pool of her hair that’s as black and comforting as the night sky at sea to burnt crimson of her eyes, as warm and inviting as any hearth’s fire— perfect for any bartender, really— and all the soft, gentle curves that her dress effortlessly highlights, he doesn’t think there’s a damn person in the resort who wouldn’t look at her and think she was gorgeous. And it maybe explains a few things because, well, yeah, she must get complimented on her beauty all the time.
And while Sanji tries not stare— and doesn’t— there are other things he sees, too, the lean muscles along her arms, the dusting of scars and jagged skin draw over her fingers, the discomfort that settles on her the moment his question has left his mouth. It all paints a different picture— or, at least, fills in the details in a way that’s all the more intriguing.
The more she talks, though, the more his smile softens with quiet sympathy, understanding settling on him as the quiet worry that he’d asked the wrong question fades. Because yeah, he gets exactly what she’s talking about, maybe more than he’d like to admit, gets how different things are here, how it manages to scrape people raw and expose their worse insecurities without ever hesitating. The smile he gives her is rich with sympathy when she apologizes and his head twists in a quick shake. ]
Nah, I don’t mind. This place just knows how to get to you, you know? Sometimes, it feels like it doesn’t even need to try to do it. Especially when you first get here. I, uh, when I woke up here, we’d just finished doing something important? Helped a friend. Saved her, and her whole village, and we were supposed to be going out to accomplish our dreams. But I woke up here instead.
[ And while he has every intention of making her a drink himself— and will soon— he waves at the bartender on duty, just to get her attention, before glancing back down at the bar. They could both use a drink now, he thinks, while they talk about this. ]
I was here about a month before these– these doppelgangers showed up outta nowhere. They crawled out of these paintings and represented all the things you hated about yourself. It was awful and crappy and it’s just one piece of the crazy shit this place likes to pull. [ It’s not something he wants to talk about– how much that thing had hated itself, how desperate it had been to be used, to be of value– and skims over the details, before shaking his head. ] Point is, Tifa, I don’t think you’re wrong. It’s damn scary and this place likes to do it whenever it can. But you’ll get better at dealing with it. And maybe find a few things you don’t mind along the way.
[ His attention swivels back to her as he grins at her, a little more gently than before, gesturing to the surrounding bar. ] Like this place. It's maybe not nice enough to make dealing with the other crap worth it, but doesn't mean you can enjoy it.