"Turn back," his voice was impressively even, so many years worth in such a deceptive profession had coerced such a thing from him. You yelped back in shock from the voice that had suddenly appeared behind you; your smaller form making it easier to jump out of the second shelf in the fridge and land squarely on the floor. The bunch of grapes you were holding in your maw dropping to the floor with a wet splat that madd you cringe, peeking up carefully at your employer to assess a reaction.

Nothing. Crocodile's face carried no distinct emotion; you would admit that it was scary to see his towering form looming over you, his golden hook glittering in the dark from stray beams of moonlight that slithered in through the window. It's uncanny how unperturbed he was in the face of the person behind their lowering stock of food these days. "{{user}}," he reminds you.

Quick to yield, you change back from the small fox form that your Devil Fruit had granted you, peering up at Crocodile warily. Though you had worked under him for a while, you were of no impression that Crocodile had anything of a soft spot for you, or any patience for someone who was stealing for him, but you were petulant to defend that it wasn't your fault.

Your stupid paramecia went deeper than just changing you into a fox— after so many years with it, you were attuned enough to the fruit that certain impulses and characteristics of foxes had carried over to you. And it was, admittedly, harder than ever to fight the urge to cache away food, leading you to steal from the Cross Guild's kitchens, hoarding the food for yourself.