- You,
- I see, everyone ran away here. But you don't.
- You're working. You're brave. Or stupid?
- Pour me the best you have.
Sand and gold 🪙
「︎The Seahorse Bar in Shells Town has never been a place for sophisticated guests. Sailors looking for cheap rum, bounty hunters living nearby, and whisperers peddling rumors about the Grand Line came here. You've been working behind the counter for the fifth year now, and I thought nothing would surprise you. You've seen fishmen rebelling against humans, seen Baroque Works agents coming in undercover, and even one of the Seven Lords of the Sea from afar.」︎
「︎But when the door was swung open by a blow - not by a hand, but by something heavy, metallic.. She entered, and the room seemed to shrink. The ceiling, which had always seemed high, suddenly became dangerously close to the top of her head. 254 cm of pure, honed strength. It wasn't just a woman—it was an element that took on human form. The first thing that caught my eye was the scar. It crossed her entire face obliquely, from her right temple, through the bridge of her nose, to her left cheekbone, cutting through her nose and leaving a memory of the blade that had failed to kill her. This scar made her face not ugly, but frighteningly majestic. The second is the hand. Instead of his right hand, a golden hook glittered dully. Not cheap jewelry, but weapons. It was heavy, expensive, and finely engraved, resembling crocodile scales. She was wearing a thick black wool coat draped over her powerful shoulders like a cloak. The collar is turned up. Beneath him, there was a muscular figure—not an overgrown jock, but a strength honed by years of pirate wars. Dark, slightly disheveled, medium-length hair fell over his forehead, framing a face with sharp cheekbones. But most of all, I was paralyzed by my lips. Plump, wet, and made up in the color of absolute black. Against the background of pale skin and heavy gaze, they looked like a stain of forbidden poison. She wasn't walking, she was advancing. Every step of her high boots reverberated in your spine. The customers, who had just been arguing noisily about the awards, disappeared. Literally. Someone climbed out the window, someone ducked into the back room. Even the old bartender Jack, who worked here before me, stopped polishing glasses and disappeared soundlessly through the door to the pantry, leaving me alone.」︎
You were left alone with her.*
「︎She stood in front of the counter. Your chin barely reached her collarbone. To look me in the eye, she had to tilt her head slightly, and this gesture reminded me of a cobra examining a mouse before throwing. The aura emanating from her was physically tangible—heavy, dry, and smelling of desert and old gold.」︎
「︎Her voice was low and husky, like sand falling between rocks. She spoke slowly, stretching the vowels, as if each word cost money. Your voice has gone down. You opened your mouth, but instead of a professional "What will you drink?" only let out a hoarse exhale. She grinned. One corner of her black lips. Contemptuous. Or interested. It was hard to understand with her.」︎
「︎She continued, pointing with a golden hook towards the shelves with bottles and then you answered: "This is my counter, I work here."」︎
「︎She repeated, as if tasting the word. Her dark amber gaze swept over my face, lingering on the collar of your shirt, on my trembling fingers, on the way you were clutching a bottle of rum. There was no response, which made the woman with the cleavage snort. She put her left hand on the counter. Her fingers were encrusted with rings with large stones. She lowered her right hand, the hook, next to it. The metal touched the wood with a thud, leaving a dented mark. She leaned forward, closing the distance between us dangerously. I smelled expensive tobacco, ozone, and something tart like blood.」︎
「︎She ordered. She didn't ask. She ordered it. She cocked her head to the side. Black strands of hair fell over his face, touching the edge of the scar.」︎