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It had seemed like an ordinary enough day, at first. Later, Shanks would almost be disappointed. Surely there should have been some kind of sign. An ominous weather pattern, an old crone reading fortunes by the docks deciding to gives Shanks a reading for free because there his future was that interesting. Something.
But no, there hadn’t been any warning. Not even when he looked over the other ships docked at this port. The Jolly Rogers on display didn’t draw his eye. Not a single one sent a shiver of recognition down Shanks’ spine.
It wasn’t until later that he became aware of how close he was to danger. He and Beckman were idly wandering through the mercantile quarter, Shanks on the lookout for trinkets, Beckman for actual equipment for the ship, when Shanks’ sharp ear caught wind of the phrase “Captain Buggy,” and his entire body went on alert.
Fight or flight—it wasn’t any kind of choice, when it came to Buggy. If he didn’t fly, there would be a fight, and Shanks wasn’t up for a fight with Buggy today. (He might not be up for one ever again, honestly. It had been nine years, and he still wasn’t ready.) So Shanks looked around for the source of the phrase, spotted a flash of blue hair in that direction, and ducked into a store as far from that blue as he could get in thirty seconds.
“Boss, what—?” was all Beckman got out before the door closed behind Shanks and he was safe, for the moment.
The store Shanks had picked sold hats, wigs, glasses… accessories in general. Not exactly Shanks’ kind of place—he was a one hat guy, and otherwise fairly minimalist in his style; disappointingly so for pirate, or so he’d been told—but he could fake interest to ease the shopkeeper’s nerves. He wandered around, found himself actually interested in something in the outerwear section—could he be a cape guy? an idea worth investigating—and almost didn’t notice when another customer walked in.
He did notice, though, because it was Buggy. Hair still long, though tied up in a style Shanks couldn’t begin to understand. Clothes still outlandishly patterned and colored. Wearing gloves, and makeup. That was new.
Shanks tried not to stare. He didn’t want to draw Buggy’s attention. It was good to see him, but it would be bad for Shanks to be seen. Why did he have to be in the market for a new hat today of all days?
The hats were right at the front of the store, too… with no other customers, there was no way Shanks was getting past him unnoticed. Trapped between a shelf of beanies and a display of mirrored sunglasses, Shanks made a quick wardrobe change that would (hopefully) be a good enough disguise to keep him safe from Buggy’s ire for the length of Buggy’s time in this store.
Shanks thought back to childhood shopping trips, painfully long, and prayed that Buggy’s tastes were still just as picky, and that this store’s wares would prove too unflashy to bother with.
Well, however long he took, Shanks would just wait in this back corner ten minutes longer, pretending to look at these off-season coats.
He peeked over his shoulder to see if Buggy had left. Nope. Still giving a bicorn a skeptical look.
Shanks bit back a sigh, tapping a pattern against the side of his leg to distract himself. Huh, this coat claimed to be made of real Sea King leather. Shanks gave the price a second look. Yeah, not likely.
He peeked over his shoulder to see if Buggy had left, and found Buggy standing right behind him. Shanks startled. Buggy was looking at him with an indifference Shanks had never seen Buggy direct his way before. It was… weird. As was the makeup, and the way it drew Shanks’ attention to Buggy’s eyes and lips.
“You got a problem with me?”
On one hand: Shanks had not been recognized. On the other: he might still wind up in a fight. Raising a hand between them, Shanks said, “No! No problem!”
Buggy seemed unconvinced. “I can tell when someone’s watching me.” He squinted. “If you don’t have a problem—are you a fan or something?”
“A fan?!” As if! Shanks flushed with indignation.
Which Buggy, naturally, misread. “Oh, you are?” He grinned, and it was sleazy in a way he’d never looked as a kid. It oddly suited him. “Well, I can’t say I blame you. It’s not every day you meet someone as flashy and spectacular as the Great Pirate Captain Buggy.”
“I…” Shanks gaped at him. The Great Pirate Captain Buggy? He was looking at a stranger. A stranger who was… eyeing him up and down speculatively. That was another way Buggy had never looked at Shanks before. It was also weird, but in a very different way. (Closer to the way the makeup made Shanks feel, actually.) He swallowed, mouth dry.
“Lost for words, huh?” Buggy’s grin became a self-confident smirk. “Well, my starstruck fan, why don’t I offer you a little parting gift?” And he leaned in.
Shanks was not entirely sure how things had gone so far out of his control, but here he was: twenty-four years old, a burgeoning pirate captain, being kissed by his old rival/friend/crush (by Buggy!) in the back of a hat shop in the East Blue.
When Buggy pulled back and went to leave, he winked at Shanks—well, at Buggy’s own reflection mirrored back at him. (That was probably part of the appeal for him, the narcissist.) And the hand Shanks had felt briefly at his waist was definitely looking for a pocket to pick, not a hipbone to caress.
All the same…
“What was that?” Beckman asked.
Shanks tried to get control of himself, but he couldn’t seem to bite back the no-doubt goofy smile on his face. He covered it with a hand instead. “That,” he sighed, “was the fulfillment of a dream I’ve had since I was twelve years old.”
“Really. Because to me, it looked like you let a clown kiss you for a minute while he very obviously and clumsily robbed you.”
Shanks laughed. “Yeah.” Taking in the shopkeeper’s irritated look, Shanks gave Beckman a hopeful smile. “Speaking of! Can you pay for this stuff?”
With a dead-eyed look on his face, Beckman paid for the beanie and sunglasses while Shanks retrieved his straw hat from the shelf he’d stashed it on earlier. They left the store in silence, only broken when Beckman stole the glasses straight off Shanks’ face.
“I can’t be seen with you,” he explained, sliding the glasses up his nose. The mirror effect left his expression unreadable… until he smirked. “Not while you’ve still got that goofy, lipstick-smudged smile on your face.”