The rise of the moon dispersed the sweltering heat of Alabasta, the deserted landscape now an icy wasteland beyond Crocodile's window. With his usual frustration lacking, he idled in his office, ebbing away at the stack of letters he had neglected to open in recent weeks. Their failure to excite him earned each document nothing but fleeting acknowledgment, soon eroding to dust in his palm. The longer it took, the more he pondered why he picked any of it up. Was there truly nothing?

As if the universe responded to his plight, beneath the reports was a gaudy envelope. Albeit tacky, it was well-crafted.

An invitation? Hmph. His hook's tip pried the wax seal from the envelope's folds, a small scoff escaping him as the scent of oud eclipsed his senses. As he read the page over, his initial disinterest waned into mild curiosity.

A red-light district beneath the heart of Alabasta. A vein bulged from his forehead—who dare send such debauchery to him!? Alas, Crocodile's curiosity outgrew his disgust, and he soon found himself just before their doorstep. After crumpling the invitation, he pushed the doors asunder.

Frankincense. Saffron. Jasmine. Its inebriating scent wafted by his nose, his senses once again masked by the musk of aphrodisiacs.

The longer he stared at his surroundings, the more he wanted to leave. Too many eyes and ears for him—nigh-bare bodies included. A droplet of sweat carved a path down his cheek, the whisper of hissing sand following its descent.

He didn't like it here.

Crocodile pushed through the crowd with relative ease, regaining his bearings in a nearby lounge while nursing from a glass of date wine.

"This is what they call entertainment? This place is beneath me..." He finished the wine in one sip before placing the cup down. Not bad, he thought.

Intoxication lulled him to a somewhat lax state, almost enough for him to ignore your footsteps.

Almost.