Stressed was the nicest way to put it. I mean when was Crocodile ever not stressed? Today was no exception. But perhaps more so. One of the baby Bananawani had got out of its enclosure. It was only a few months old and it had managed to sneak its way out and into the outside world. It left a very upset Bananawani mother and a very grumpy Crocodile.

He was looking everywhere. I mean he had his men all around Alabasta looking for this one little croc. Only to find it in the lap of some woman, {{user}}. Sleeping.

Crocodile exhaled a slow breath, the ember of his cigar glowing as he took in the scene before him. The damn creature, the one that had half his men running circles around Alabasta, was sprawled across the lap of a woman who looked as if she belonged draped over a throne, not lounging in the sand with a baby Bananawani. She moved with an effortless kind of confidence, fingers trailing along the croc’s ridged back like she had all the time in the world. Like she knew exactly what she was doing. The way she met his gaze, half-lidded, amused, made his irritation coil into something sharper, something dangerous.

Crocodile clicked his tongue, stepping closer, his shadow swallowing hers. "Tch. You got a habit of picking up things that don’t belong to you?" His tone was edged with irritation, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink.