[ That feeling of being lost– of forgetting just exactly where they are– is one reason Sanji so often finds himself planted behind the bar here and on the line at other restaurants. There's a kind of joy found in practicing his craft, quiet and unassuming, as his focus tightens and the world fades into that dull blur and the only thing that matters is in front of him. It makes it easier to not think so much about his often conflicting feelings about being here, just as being tangled in the arms of someone he adores or sharing a lovely evening indulging in drinks and chatting with someone as enjoyable as she is.
A part of him had been hoping they could keep talking for hours yet.
Worry swirls deep in his gut, irrationally intense as his eyes catch the way her shoulders suddenly tighten, no longer relaxed. He's no stranger to any of this– he doubts anyone's made it as long as he has without the House causing a suit flare at least once– but there is newness, here, an unfamiliarity as he realizes that he's never been in quite this position before. Circumstances have always ensured his suit mark is flaring, too, but not this time. There is nothing amiss aside from a few emotions– worry for her, anger at the house, the desire to help burning strong through his veins, and the determination to see her safe and relieved, whatever that requires– and in the wake of her question, it forces him to take a deep breath, fingers itching to dip into his pockets to pull out a cigarette. ]
Those assholes– [ It's a low growl of irritation, a flash of that furious anger burning bright blue in his eyes, but then he gives his head a small shake, recentering himself, forcing the anger down– shoving it back into that place where it stews endlessly– and focusing on exactly what he can do.
Another deep breath, and he meets her gaze, peers deep into those eyes a shade of red as vivid as the sunset while at sea, gaze and smile full of gentleness and sympathy. ] Sorry. But– yeah, it is. I wish it weren't, Tifa. [ His exhales is ragged as he considers what to say next, refusing to look away as his fingers slide down, gently brushing another inch or two of skin before they pull away from her mark completely– ] We… probably don't have time to go over it all, but– we all get these marks [ – only to lightly press against where his is hidden by layers of cloth, just between his left shoulder and heart. ] and when they turn dark, things happen. We get certain urges, we start to ache, we feel this burning need that just keeps getting worse and worse and worse– you get the idea. And it won't stop until you've, uh, had sex with someone. [ It's only natural, the way the hand covering hers gives it a gentle squeeze, eyes watching her with that same intensity. ]
So– yeah, we need to get you out of here. It's gonna come on hard and fast and you don't wanna know what happens if you let it keep happening for too long. [ Or so he's heard, he's never been foolish enough to find out. ] You got anyone you trust to, um, help you? Anyone you think we can find soon? [ There's another option– and Sanji would be lying if he didn't admit that a part of him wants her to take that course– but he refuses to push himself on anyone, not when it comes to this. ]
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A part of him had been hoping they could keep talking for hours yet.
Worry swirls deep in his gut, irrationally intense as his eyes catch the way her shoulders suddenly tighten, no longer relaxed. He's no stranger to any of this– he doubts anyone's made it as long as he has without the House causing a suit flare at least once– but there is newness, here, an unfamiliarity as he realizes that he's never been in quite this position before. Circumstances have always ensured his suit mark is flaring, too, but not this time. There is nothing amiss aside from a few emotions– worry for her, anger at the house, the desire to help burning strong through his veins, and the determination to see her safe and relieved, whatever that requires– and in the wake of her question, it forces him to take a deep breath, fingers itching to dip into his pockets to pull out a cigarette. ]
Those assholes– [ It's a low growl of irritation, a flash of that furious anger burning bright blue in his eyes, but then he gives his head a small shake, recentering himself, forcing the anger down– shoving it back into that place where it stews endlessly– and focusing on exactly what he can do.
Another deep breath, and he meets her gaze, peers deep into those eyes a shade of red as vivid as the sunset while at sea, gaze and smile full of gentleness and sympathy. ] Sorry. But– yeah, it is. I wish it weren't, Tifa. [ His exhales is ragged as he considers what to say next, refusing to look away as his fingers slide down, gently brushing another inch or two of skin before they pull away from her mark completely– ] We… probably don't have time to go over it all, but– we all get these marks [ – only to lightly press against where his is hidden by layers of cloth, just between his left shoulder and heart. ] and when they turn dark, things happen. We get certain urges, we start to ache, we feel this burning need that just keeps getting worse and worse and worse– you get the idea. And it won't stop until you've, uh, had sex with someone. [ It's only natural, the way the hand covering hers gives it a gentle squeeze, eyes watching her with that same intensity. ]
So– yeah, we need to get you out of here. It's gonna come on hard and fast and you don't wanna know what happens if you let it keep happening for too long. [ Or so he's heard, he's never been foolish enough to find out. ] You got anyone you trust to, um, help you? Anyone you think we can find soon? [ There's another option– and Sanji would be lying if he didn't admit that a part of him wants her to take that course– but he refuses to push himself on anyone, not when it comes to this. ]