[ bee's descriptions all start to run together, slipping through his fingers as he tries to piece them into a finished puzzle. a mouse. a fox. a knife. none of it makes sense, only the seed with the dew drops sends his throat tightening again, like something instinctive within him knows what that means, but he can't voice it or even think about it. there's a lot, lately, that he can't think about, all his changes rushing at him at once.
the best change, at least, is that he can taste bee's cake, zesty and sweet. it's the most he's eaten at once in days, his gratitude softening his edges. he hates skipping meals, not because of a sense of gluttony, but because he's never been able to shake the feeling of not knowing when he might have to go without again. ]
Dreams can't hurt you. [ he forces himself to say it, and to look like he believes it. ] You said it yourself — you can't even trust them. They're one step away from not being real, if you decide they aren't. They're only exactly what you want them to be.
[ he lifts a corner of bee's apron and wipes a smear of frosting from her mouth, then pushes an unruly lock of hair from her cheek. the urge to take her into his lap can be chalked up to all the havoc being wreaked inside his body. ]
What kind of secret? [ he scoops off another forkful of cake, and this time brings it to bee's lips, his other hand lifting his cigarette to his lips for a drag. ] Is it the kind that's gonna piss me off?
( she's learned to listen to sanji when he speaks, to take his word for gospel, because he doesn't like to repeat himself and bee likes the praise for a job well done. thoughtful. dreams can't hurt you, perhaps even when they're true and awful, because they only show what is destined to be, already written in the fabric of the universe. bee gets impressions sometimes, of a dream that is sure to happen versus a dream that is only likely to happen — and sometimes too, a dream so farfetched it seems as impossible as all the rest. what does it mean for a prophet to see the future? a good, potential ending. the steps unfolded to make it come true. being one step away from not being real, means they're also one step away from being the truth.
but, she does like the sentiment. they're only exactly what you want them to be. sanji is very wise, which isn't surprising. )
Mm. ( she shakes her head no, a little happy to be babied but not shameless enough to admit it. leaning forward, she bites off the offering bit of cake with a contemplative air, before shrugging her shoulders, unsure. ) Well, maybe. There is much that pisses you off.
( scooching down the bench with a few effort-ridden tugs, bee fits herself under sanji's spread arm, leaning into his side. she keeps her eyes focused on the table, where she places the pointer fingers of each hand along the rough edge. )
Most people have this many parents. I have this many. ( one of her middle fingers joins the count. wolf father painfully nips at her soul, and she figures telling sanji she has a fourth parent who is a wolf who is a ghost who lives inside her mind might be a bridge too far. the hand with only the pointer finger bends and unfurls repeatedly, to draw attention. ) My mother, Molly, the most wonderful and beautiful woman who ever lived. And my father, FitzChivalry Farseer. ( her other pointer finger scrunches, up and down. he doesn't get as lofty an introduction, because bee is usually quite angry with him and also a little guilty, for starting to think of both shanks and sanji as more parental figures for her. ) They are Buck, through and through. Dark skin and dark hair and dark eyes, tall and built. When I was born, many assumed I was a bastard, that my mother was unfaithful, because I look so very unlike my father, Fitz. I look almost nothing like him.
( mostly, her curls are their only connected feature. her middle finger catches on the edge of the table, the last in the trio. ) My second father, though. I look exactly like him, as he is a White, like me. My two fathers ... ( she stretches her fingers out, before they twist together, the motion of a lying child tucking their hand behind their back. ) Mixed, soulwise. As if my father Fitz was blue, and my father Fool was red, and they became purple together. When it came time to put a baby in my mother, there was only Fitz. In fact, I have only barely met the other man, and he never met my mother.
( she looks up to sanji, her earlike wings flicking back, as if dejected. )
I hope the point of the story is, sometimes children are born in strange circumstances beyond understanding. But they ...
( could be like bee? she's not sure it's a good thing, if sanji will think it's a good thing. forgetting to end the sentence, she tosses her head into him, puppyish and boneless, slumping against his side. glad he isn't angry with her. glad he likes the cake. glad to not feel so alone, sitting beside him, the kitchen smelling like baked cake and the scent of sanji's clove cigarettes. )
[ even if following bee's story is like meandering through the forest without a clue of the direction — which is how he assumes zoro has spent his whole life traveling — he understands the sentiment. she's a sharp child, and even if sanji hasn't spoken to her about why he's harder on her now, why her lessons have taken a faster pace, why she does more of the things he does, she knows. she knows just like he does, just like nami does, just like zoro does. just like everyone does, even if he's avoided saying it. ]
I don't even know what's gonna come out of me.
[ he takes a long drag, bee warm against his side. she isn't as bony as when they first met, not since sanji started feeding her, but her wings and plethora of eyes will always make her look strange to everyone else. sanji doesn't see anything out of the ordinary when he looks at her. just another annoying, shitty kid he has to take care of.
thinking too deeply about bee's two fathers and one mother makes something curl up in his chest, something fragile and gossamer, and then he's pulling bee into his lap, pressing his nose into the top of her hair and holding her like she's a rag doll. his breath soaks her unruly locks as he remembers only distantly the feeling of his mother's arms, the sound of her voice, the soft bell of her laugh. so much has happened in the space of her dying until now, so many bad memories to push out all the good ones of her. ]
Tell me your good memories about your dad. [ he hugs her even tighter, turning his head just slightly so smoke can escape the corner of his mouth. ] The one you know best.
( bee has half a mind to remind sanji she isn't a little baby anymore, but she bites her tongue and tucks into him instead, toeing off her shoes on the opposite side of the bench. why? well, bee has been starved of affection long enough to know there's nothing more fleeting than the presence of someone in your life. she knows what's going to come out of sanji — something small and vulnerable and innocent, waiting to be loved. she knows sanji too. that the call to love something willing and needy is too great to overlook. bee knows it's a nasty, evil thing inside her that makes her hate something that might take sanji away from her, much as she knows she can't very well insist a parent abandon their young just because hers had. the reality of it is, she has no real staked claim on sanji. she has a father — has three, even. sanji is allowed to make his own family, and he's allowed to love them more.
the cuddle is, then, a marker of inevitability. like the world works in cycles, so do people — people always leave her, and so it is probably the last time. bee will treasure it. )
Mm.
( tiny hands lay over sanji's, head thumped back on his chest. she tries to tilt her head back far enough to look at him, but the angle isn't right, so she looks down at his ringed fingers instead, twisting one of them about his knuckle. )
I was born to Withywoods Manor, the place of my youth. It is an old, old castle — much of it I had never seen, as it was closed off, without use. Anyway, once my Da showed me a secret passage in his study, like a den for a bear cub. He gave it to me, to make my own, to watch him while he worked in solitude. It was the best gift I have ever been given. ( she turns her lips up awkwardly in a smile. ) After Ma died, I do believe my father struggled with me. He did not know what he was meant to do, I think, and neglected me for awhile. But when he realized his mistake, he took it upon himself to treat me like a little princess! Ma never would have spoiled me so. We went to market in Oaksbywater for Winterfest, and he bought me all manner of things I never asked for — hot chestnuts and a new saddle for my horse, Prissy, with little bees carved on the flaps, and a leather belt and a bracelet and a cake. He even let me buy gifts for my lady's maid, Careful, and our steward, Revel. Best of all was the seashell seller, as I had never been to the sea before, nor seen something so beautiful. That was the best day I have ever had, truly.
( not because of the gifts, really, but because she was rich with her father's sometimes wayward and unfocused affection. at least — until he left her. fumbling, she reaches into the pocket of her overalls at the center of her chest, and pulls out a handkerchief (this time embroidered with a fox) tied at the crosswise corners, a bounty sitting in the pouch it made. she sets it on the table in front of them, before sinking back into sanji's hug. )
You have probably seen a lot of seashells. I did not consider that. Shanks helped me find them — I was not sure what you would like for your birthday. ( quietly, ) Are all your memories of your father awful?
[ it's hard to tell, from bee's sweetly meandering story, what exactly the deal with her father was. sanji understands being unwanted — it's not that. or not exactly that, at least not in the way sanji knows it. there's love there, and a desire to be loved, along with what he thinks might be a fundamental lack of knowledge on how to raise a child, much less a child like bee.
he might have that in common with her father. after all, his memories of his mother are fading, and everything he learned from zeff, he learned in the same way someone might suffer a traumatic brain injury. he doesn't want his child to turn out to be a shithead like him.
if whatever is inside of him is even... that. he feels more like a freak than anything else, with nothing in this world making sense except for hunger and pain on most days. but then there are the days with nami’s smile and zoro’s warmth — and this. bee, pressed so soft and tight against him that he feels like she’s been his all along. ]
Will you go to the town over with me? A day for just the two of us. [ it’s not anyone’s fault that he feels suffocated by all the careful attention to his health. he just isn’t used to it. ] We can shop for our own chestnuts and jewelry and sweets. And it’s warm enough to look for more shells. We’ll fill up a jar with our best ones.
[ he sifts through the handkerchief, fingering a shell bleached the pale color of bee’s hair. that’s two presents, the cake and the shells. it’s more than he’d ever gotten for too many lonely years of his life. ]
You can learn things even from awful people. [ so, yes — every single memory of his father is awful. the worst part is that they’re etched more starkly in his mind than the hazy ones he has left of his mother. ] I might’ve never discovered my dream if not for him. The All Blue, a place full of exotic fish and plants and spices. A chef’s paradise. I’ll cook you something grand when I get there.
[ he hopes that she’s there with him when he finds it. his cheek rests against her hair as he idly blows smoke, his mismatched eyes half-lidded. ]
You didn’t tell anyone else about my birthday, did you? [ he can’t imagine having to go through more than once today. ] I don’t want Nami or Zoro to know. I like that it’s just our secret.
( it's apparent to bee, as apparent to anyone else who spends time with bee, that the real north of her heart is placed in people who want to spend time with her. she sees the bi-lines, all the connective pieces of tissue to make her who she is — she used to sit in the tress of withywood manor, behind thick walls of stone and inside the secret tunnels of the house, to spy on the other children having fun and playing with each other. children with pink, rosy cheeks, children who didn't need to be taught to laugh — normal kids who weren't difficult to love, who instinctively hated her. the largest parts of bee's life thus far have taken place on the outside of a door, looking in through the window pane. anyone wanting her around for any amount of time is a gift, she's learned. loneliness is more her enemy than dwalia.
leaning back, she shifts in sanji's lap, fumbling around until she's sitting across him, feet tucked into his thigh, knees resting against his chest. she looks up at him for a long while, colorless, pale eyes blinking. )
I will go with you.
( she tries to say it without any inclination of emotion, which isn't hard for her. once he knows she wants it, it'll be all too easy to break her heart.
not that it's a hard thing to do — sanji already knows she loves him, privately thinking his buck name would be a very suitable prince lovely. because he wants it, he gives it, he has it. love pours out of sanji like blood pours from a slain beast. nuzzling under his chin, bee lazily fists a hand in the front of his shirt, letting her eyes fall closed. she woke up early for the cake, and is very notably very cranky first thing in the morning. )
Your dream ... ( she commits the all blue to memory, deciding she'll look for it in her coming dreams. blue is a color that she associates with sanji — blue and yellow. it makes it more of a challenge, and that makes it fun. ) Why did you decide to become a chef in the beginning of all things, Da?
( she doesn't notice her slip up, too tired to check herself. if she did, she'd probably run away, somewhere where no one could find her, where she could be loathsome, hateful daughter in peace. as it is, she just frowns, shaking her head. )
I did not say. ( it's clear from her tone of voice that she thinks his birthday is something everyone should know, that all should celebrate. ) But I always keep your secrets. You can trust Bee.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
the best change, at least, is that he can taste bee's cake, zesty and sweet. it's the most he's eaten at once in days, his gratitude softening his edges. he hates skipping meals, not because of a sense of gluttony, but because he's never been able to shake the feeling of not knowing when he might have to go without again. ]
Dreams can't hurt you. [ he forces himself to say it, and to look like he believes it. ] You said it yourself — you can't even trust them. They're one step away from not being real, if you decide they aren't. They're only exactly what you want them to be.
[ he lifts a corner of bee's apron and wipes a smear of frosting from her mouth, then pushes an unruly lock of hair from her cheek. the urge to take her into his lap can be chalked up to all the havoc being wreaked inside his body. ]
What kind of secret? [ he scoops off another forkful of cake, and this time brings it to bee's lips, his other hand lifting his cigarette to his lips for a drag. ] Is it the kind that's gonna piss me off?
no subject
but, she does like the sentiment. they're only exactly what you want them to be. sanji is very wise, which isn't surprising. )
Mm. ( she shakes her head no, a little happy to be babied but not shameless enough to admit it. leaning forward, she bites off the offering bit of cake with a contemplative air, before shrugging her shoulders, unsure. ) Well, maybe. There is much that pisses you off.
( scooching down the bench with a few effort-ridden tugs, bee fits herself under sanji's spread arm, leaning into his side. she keeps her eyes focused on the table, where she places the pointer fingers of each hand along the rough edge. )
Most people have this many parents. I have this many. ( one of her middle fingers joins the count. wolf father painfully nips at her soul, and she figures telling sanji she has a fourth parent who is a wolf who is a ghost who lives inside her mind might be a bridge too far. the hand with only the pointer finger bends and unfurls repeatedly, to draw attention. ) My mother, Molly, the most wonderful and beautiful woman who ever lived. And my father, FitzChivalry Farseer. ( her other pointer finger scrunches, up and down. he doesn't get as lofty an introduction, because bee is usually quite angry with him and also a little guilty, for starting to think of both shanks and sanji as more parental figures for her. ) They are Buck, through and through. Dark skin and dark hair and dark eyes, tall and built. When I was born, many assumed I was a bastard, that my mother was unfaithful, because I look so very unlike my father, Fitz. I look almost nothing like him.
( mostly, her curls are their only connected feature. her middle finger catches on the edge of the table, the last in the trio. ) My second father, though. I look exactly like him, as he is a White, like me. My two fathers ... ( she stretches her fingers out, before they twist together, the motion of a lying child tucking their hand behind their back. ) Mixed, soulwise. As if my father Fitz was blue, and my father Fool was red, and they became purple together. When it came time to put a baby in my mother, there was only Fitz. In fact, I have only barely met the other man, and he never met my mother.
( she looks up to sanji, her earlike wings flicking back, as if dejected. )
I hope the point of the story is, sometimes children are born in strange circumstances beyond understanding. But they ...
( could be like bee? she's not sure it's a good thing, if sanji will think it's a good thing. forgetting to end the sentence, she tosses her head into him, puppyish and boneless, slumping against his side. glad he isn't angry with her. glad he likes the cake. glad to not feel so alone, sitting beside him, the kitchen smelling like baked cake and the scent of sanji's clove cigarettes. )
no subject
I don't even know what's gonna come out of me.
[ he takes a long drag, bee warm against his side. she isn't as bony as when they first met, not since sanji started feeding her, but her wings and plethora of eyes will always make her look strange to everyone else. sanji doesn't see anything out of the ordinary when he looks at her. just another annoying, shitty kid he has to take care of.
thinking too deeply about bee's two fathers and one mother makes something curl up in his chest, something fragile and gossamer, and then he's pulling bee into his lap, pressing his nose into the top of her hair and holding her like she's a rag doll. his breath soaks her unruly locks as he remembers only distantly the feeling of his mother's arms, the sound of her voice, the soft bell of her laugh. so much has happened in the space of her dying until now, so many bad memories to push out all the good ones of her. ]
Tell me your good memories about your dad. [ he hugs her even tighter, turning his head just slightly so smoke can escape the corner of his mouth. ] The one you know best.
no subject
the cuddle is, then, a marker of inevitability. like the world works in cycles, so do people — people always leave her, and so it is probably the last time. bee will treasure it. )
Mm.
( tiny hands lay over sanji's, head thumped back on his chest. she tries to tilt her head back far enough to look at him, but the angle isn't right, so she looks down at his ringed fingers instead, twisting one of them about his knuckle. )
I was born to Withywoods Manor, the place of my youth. It is an old, old castle — much of it I had never seen, as it was closed off, without use. Anyway, once my Da showed me a secret passage in his study, like a den for a bear cub. He gave it to me, to make my own, to watch him while he worked in solitude. It was the best gift I have ever been given. ( she turns her lips up awkwardly in a smile. ) After Ma died, I do believe my father struggled with me. He did not know what he was meant to do, I think, and neglected me for awhile. But when he realized his mistake, he took it upon himself to treat me like a little princess! Ma never would have spoiled me so. We went to market in Oaksbywater for Winterfest, and he bought me all manner of things I never asked for — hot chestnuts and a new saddle for my horse, Prissy, with little bees carved on the flaps, and a leather belt and a bracelet and a cake. He even let me buy gifts for my lady's maid, Careful, and our steward, Revel. Best of all was the seashell seller, as I had never been to the sea before, nor seen something so beautiful. That was the best day I have ever had, truly.
( not because of the gifts, really, but because she was rich with her father's sometimes wayward and unfocused affection. at least — until he left her. fumbling, she reaches into the pocket of her overalls at the center of her chest, and pulls out a handkerchief (this time embroidered with a fox) tied at the crosswise corners, a bounty sitting in the pouch it made. she sets it on the table in front of them, before sinking back into sanji's hug. )
You have probably seen a lot of seashells. I did not consider that. Shanks helped me find them — I was not sure what you would like for your birthday. ( quietly, ) Are all your memories of your father awful?
no subject
he might have that in common with her father. after all, his memories of his mother are fading, and everything he learned from zeff, he learned in the same way someone might suffer a traumatic brain injury. he doesn't want his child to turn out to be a shithead like him.
if whatever is inside of him is even... that. he feels more like a freak than anything else, with nothing in this world making sense except for hunger and pain on most days. but then there are the days with nami’s smile and zoro’s warmth — and this. bee, pressed so soft and tight against him that he feels like she’s been his all along. ]
Will you go to the town over with me? A day for just the two of us. [ it’s not anyone’s fault that he feels suffocated by all the careful attention to his health. he just isn’t used to it. ] We can shop for our own chestnuts and jewelry and sweets. And it’s warm enough to look for more shells. We’ll fill up a jar with our best ones.
[ he sifts through the handkerchief, fingering a shell bleached the pale color of bee’s hair. that’s two presents, the cake and the shells. it’s more than he’d ever gotten for too many lonely years of his life. ]
You can learn things even from awful people. [ so, yes — every single memory of his father is awful. the worst part is that they’re etched more starkly in his mind than the hazy ones he has left of his mother. ] I might’ve never discovered my dream if not for him. The All Blue, a place full of exotic fish and plants and spices. A chef’s paradise. I’ll cook you something grand when I get there.
[ he hopes that she’s there with him when he finds it. his cheek rests against her hair as he idly blows smoke, his mismatched eyes half-lidded. ]
You didn’t tell anyone else about my birthday, did you? [ he can’t imagine having to go through more than once today. ] I don’t want Nami or Zoro to know. I like that it’s just our secret.
no subject
leaning back, she shifts in sanji's lap, fumbling around until she's sitting across him, feet tucked into his thigh, knees resting against his chest. she looks up at him for a long while, colorless, pale eyes blinking. )
I will go with you.
( she tries to say it without any inclination of emotion, which isn't hard for her. once he knows she wants it, it'll be all too easy to break her heart.
not that it's a hard thing to do — sanji already knows she loves him, privately thinking his buck name would be a very suitable prince lovely. because he wants it, he gives it, he has it. love pours out of sanji like blood pours from a slain beast. nuzzling under his chin, bee lazily fists a hand in the front of his shirt, letting her eyes fall closed. she woke up early for the cake, and is very notably very cranky first thing in the morning. )
Your dream ... ( she commits the all blue to memory, deciding she'll look for it in her coming dreams. blue is a color that she associates with sanji — blue and yellow. it makes it more of a challenge, and that makes it fun. ) Why did you decide to become a chef in the beginning of all things, Da?
( she doesn't notice her slip up, too tired to check herself. if she did, she'd probably run away, somewhere where no one could find her, where she could be loathsome, hateful daughter in peace. as it is, she just frowns, shaking her head. )
I did not say. ( it's clear from her tone of voice that she thinks his birthday is something everyone should know, that all should celebrate. ) But I always keep your secrets. You can trust Bee.