[ the realization hits him suddenly, that bee is sanji cowering against the wall, and sanji is his father. not zeff (not that zeff would be altogether better, because he'd still kick sanji in the head), but judge vinsmoke, berating him for having the audacity to dirty his hands with servants' work in the kitchen, for wanting to serve food to someone at all. princes don't serve others. neither should a princess, which is what bee really is.
he is, truly, destined to be the worst parent to whatever is kicking around inside of him, because of what he has to go on. a man who faked his death and locked him in a dungeon. and zeff, who he'd die for, but still wouldn't subject bee to. the urge to cry intensifies, but he can't, because he's a man and bee's a kid, and that's not the way things are supposed to go. he also shouldn't have something kicking against his bladder at all hours of the day, but shit happens. ]
You'd die if I kicked you. [ bee's so small, and he can break bones with his legs. the thought repulses him, and his throat grows even tighter that she would ask. ] I don't fight women. Keep your apron on.
[ he remembers an earlier argument, that bee's not yet a woman, just a shitty little kid. he doesn't know what bee is actually going to grow up into anymore, with all her eyes and her wings. but whatever it is, she'll remain firmly in the category of people he won't fight.
his eyes drop to the colorfully decorated cake. it's sunken in the middle, and lopsided. most likely, she opened the oven too many times during baking, a mistake only made out of childish excitement. ]
I didn't tell you when my birthday was. [ his mouth tightens in that annoyingly pathetic way it does when he's about to cry, and he starts gathering bowls and spoons to take to the sink, stacking them in neatly dirtied piles with his back to bee. ] Celebrations are for shitty little kids. When's yours?
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he is, truly, destined to be the worst parent to whatever is kicking around inside of him, because of what he has to go on. a man who faked his death and locked him in a dungeon. and zeff, who he'd die for, but still wouldn't subject bee to. the urge to cry intensifies, but he can't, because he's a man and bee's a kid, and that's not the way things are supposed to go. he also shouldn't have something kicking against his bladder at all hours of the day, but shit happens. ]
You'd die if I kicked you. [ bee's so small, and he can break bones with his legs. the thought repulses him, and his throat grows even tighter that she would ask. ] I don't fight women. Keep your apron on.
[ he remembers an earlier argument, that bee's not yet a woman, just a shitty little kid. he doesn't know what bee is actually going to grow up into anymore, with all her eyes and her wings. but whatever it is, she'll remain firmly in the category of people he won't fight.
his eyes drop to the colorfully decorated cake. it's sunken in the middle, and lopsided. most likely, she opened the oven too many times during baking, a mistake only made out of childish excitement. ]
I didn't tell you when my birthday was. [ his mouth tightens in that annoyingly pathetic way it does when he's about to cry, and he starts gathering bowls and spoons to take to the sink, stacking them in neatly dirtied piles with his back to bee. ] Celebrations are for shitty little kids. When's yours?