Perona never wanted a brother. Especially a stupid, smelly swordsman who spent all his time either training or getting sliced up. And who was the one who had to patch him up when he came in bloody and broken? Her. Always her. While he bitched and moaned that he didn’t need bandages, despite the fact that she could see bone.
It was so not cute.
For eight months, they’d been sharing a castle with Mihawk. Eating together. Doing necessary chores together. Her having to find his lost butt at least once a day. With no one else around, it was easy to grow somewhat close. With no one else around, it was also easy to get on each other’s nerves. Especially when Zoro was being extra bitchy about the food.
“Cook’s would’ve been better,” he muttered as he sopped up gravy with a roll on his plate.
Perona sighed heavily. “You say that every time.”
“Do not.”
“You do. It’s annoying.”
“Well, it’s the truth.”
They were the only ones at dinner, having been left to fend for themselves. Mihawk cooked when he was around, but only one meal. The rest of the time, it was up to Perona and Zoro to feed themselves. Zoro always made eggs, rice, and fish, no matter the meal. Perona at least tried to provide a variety, even if she wasn’t the best chef. Which Zoro mentioned. Repeatedly.
She thought about sending a negative hollow through him, but didn’t feel like listening to him bemoan missing the cook again. Pining was not pretty. Especially since she knew it would never end.
Zoro was in love with his cook. And Zoro wouldn’t tell him this, because he was stupid. And also because apparently his cook supposedly only liked women, but Zoro didn’t know that for a fact because he never asked. Perona had gotten this information out of him one hollow at a time, and then used it for her own gain. She didn’t want dishwater chipping her nail polish.
But now that she knew, she was stuck with knowing, and had to listen to him mutter about the Cook this and the Cook that. It drove her crazy sometimes. So crazy that she was planning on doing something about it.
Her plan was simple: get Mihawk to tell her where the cook was and write him a letter confessing Zoro’s love. Then the cook would know, and Zoro would either get his heart broken or a boyfriend, but at least he would stop driving her up a wall with his pining.
Diabolical, yes. But she never proclaimed to be a good girl.
Mihawk came back at the tail end of the week, and Perona did not hesitate to badger him until he agreed to locate the cook’s whereabouts. A few Den Den calls later, and Perona had her answer. “No names,” Mihawk warned, as he passed her the information. “It is best if the Straw Hats continue to be forgotten for a while.”
She agreed, and skipped out of the study all the way back to her own room.
The old castle on Kuraigana was enormous and half in ruin, with corridors that branched too often, staircases that doubled back on themselves, and whole stretches of stonework left damp, cracked, and drafty. Perona and Zoro had taken over one wing while Mihawk kept to another, far enough away that it almost felt like a separate residence. To keep Zoro from wandering the castle until someone found him hours later, Perona had tied little cloth hollows to railings, door handles, and wall sconces along the route from the main hall to their rooms. He still managed to lose his way more often than he found it.
Her own room, at least, had been made livable. Perona had dragged in mismatched furniture from other parts of the castle and softened the stone walls with tapestries, curtains, and old draperies cut down to fit the windows. It had taken work, but she had made it cute in spite of the damp, the drafts, and the boring stone. She had also turned the room into a workshop for her sewing. Creating clothes and stuffed animals out of old garments and worn bedding had become one of her hobbies, so the floor, chairs, and wardrobe handles were crowded with folded fabric, half-finished dresses, pinned patterns, and small unfinished creatures waiting for faces. In one corner sat the push-pedal sewing machine she had made Zoro haul upstairs, scrub clean, and oil until it worked again.
She went over to her desk, pushed several dress sketches out of the way, and took out a clean sheet of paper. Pen in hand, she put her plan into action.
My dearest cook,
I am writing to let you know that I am in love with you. I hope you feel the same. If not, break it to me cleanly, so I can stop pining like an uncute, lovelorn fool.
XOXO,
Your swordsman
P.S. I was told no names. But you know who I am.
“Horo-horo-horo-horo-horo,” Perona laughed. She folded the letter, stuck it in an envelope, and addressed it accordingly. She’d send it out with the mail gull when it came by in the morning.
Perona squealed when she picked up the mail a week later and found a letter addressed to The Swordsman in a sharp hand. Mihawk’s mail, what little he got, tended to be addressed to M. Dracule or Warlord Dracule, so she knew this had to be from the cook.
She slit the envelope open with a small knife she kept in her belt – a lady could never be too careful – and withdrew the letter. A horo-horo escaped her lips as she unfolded it.
Dumbass–
How the hell did you manage to get drunk? I thought all the booze in the world couldn’t do that.
You probably won’t remember what you wrote, so I’ll pretend you didn’t write it.
At least your shitty ass isn’t dead.
Cook.
Perona blew out an unhappy breath when she finished reading. Well, poo. That didn’t work. The cook thought Zoro was drunk. She must’ve written too elegantly for him.
She wasn’t giving up, though. This was going to work. She couldn’t take another year-plus of Mr. Piney-Pants’ dramatic sighs. She needed to try again, and to write more like Zoro.
Cook–
Don’t remember what I wrote, because I am stupid like that. Still love you in a very annoying way. Either love me back or tell me to jump off a cliff. (Though not really, because then I’ll have to get patched up and I might not survive that this time.)
–Swordsman
Perona spent the next several days creating the cutest dress with ruffled layers and tight corseting, and only sent her hollows chasing after Zoro twice. By the time the response letter came, she pirouetted onto the balcony where the mail bird landed, wearing her new dress with a wide smile. She slit open the envelope and read the letter as the bird flew off.
Dickhead–
Your idea of a joke because of where I am is not funny.
Don’t write me again.
Cook.
Perona frowned. This was not good. Not good at all. Now she’d made him mad and still didn’t have an answer about whether he could be into Zoro. She tucked the letter away and went to find an atlas in Mihawk’s study.
He had several of them, some old ones that came with the castle, some newer. She picked a newer one and paged through it until she found Momoiro Island. She read the description and her brows climbed. The cook was on an island of queer people who behaved similarly to women. Even the animals were queer. Interesting. And also telling. It meant, at least, the cook was queer in some way.
She could use this knowledge to help. She ignored the directive not to write again – because why wouldn’t she? – and penned a new letter to Zoro’s cook.
Cook–
I wasn’t making a joke. I am too dumb to make jokes. And I laugh at things like farts and boogers. I’m really not cute at all.
Are you queer like you like men queer or just queer because you like women-type things? Do you have any cute dress patterns?
Oh, and I like men. Because I am queer, too. Especially cook-shaped men. (That’s you.)
–The Queer Swordsman
Perona was working on a new pair of pants for Zoro – black with dancing red skeleton bears on them – when she saw the mail bird through the window. She’d requested it land here rather than downstairs when it came, leaving out a dish of seed as an incentive. She set her sewing aside, opened the balcony doors, and stepped out.
She took the letter from the mail pouch and opened it immediately.
Bane of my existence–
I told you not to write me anymore. And are you high on something? Or under the effects of some sort of devil’s fruit power and this is your cry for help? I can figure something out, if yes. Just stop with the whole love liking me thing.
Cook.
Perona sighed. It wasn’t what she’d hoped for, but at least he didn’t seem mad anymore. She asked the bird to wait while she went back into her room to write a response.
Cook–
I’m only being truthful. I bemoan about you all the time. It’s very annoying. It gets worse when I’m hit with a devil’s fruit power and my life becomes filled with despair that you will never return my feelings. I crawl around depressed and miserable like a very sad ant and suck the fun out of getting hit. If only I knew how you felt then hopefully I will stop pining and repeatedly saying that you make better food. It would mean a lot to me if you answered that question!
–The Pining Queer Swordsman
Moss–
I’ve been told who you are with. I’m going to get on the next supply boat and make my way there. Just hold on.
Cook.
Perona blinked several times when she read the newest letter. Then her heart squeezed just a tiny, little bit. The cook was worried for Zoro! So much so, he was going to find his way to Kuraigana to rescue him! That was so, so cute!
But Mihawk would be really mad if that happened. And probably Zoro, because Zoro wanted to be trained by Mihawk to defeat him one day. And Mihawk had agreed to it because he’d challenged Zoro to defeat him one day. It made no sense to her, but they were both boys and boys were very stupid most of the time.
She told the bird to wait and hurried back into her room to write a reply that would stop the cook from coming before it was too late.
Cook–
Don’t come. I’m fine. I’m training. I’m very manly and can take care of myself.
–Swordsman
Perona stared in horror at Zoro as blood gushed from a brutal slice that ran from his forehead, over his left eye, and down his cheek. It spilled over his lashes and mouth as he grimaced, showing bloody teeth. “I’m fine,” he said, before dropping unconscious face-first onto the floor.
“He’ll be fine,” Mihawk said, coming in the door behind him.
Perona threw her arms in the air with a shriek. “Stupid boys!”
Moss–
Haven’t heard from you in a bit. You good?
Cook.
Cook–
I’m a stupid dummy and got hurt and am stupid, stupid, stupid. And I keep taking off my bandages because I am stupid.
–Stupid
Getting on that supply ship.
Cook.
Cook–
Don’t. I don’t want to get in trouble. And everyone would be mad.
–Swordsman
Moss–
I’m not going to let you stay there if they’re hurting you. Ship’ll be here in ten days. Expect me on it.
Cook.
Cook–
No, don’t! Really! I’m fine! I’ve been bitching and moaning about training again and I’m not allowed until I stop walking into doorways and corners. And I’m being taken care of really good even if I don’t appreciate it and don’t ever say thanks and still say your food is better.
–Swordsman
Moss–
Ship’s coming in four more days. I’ll be on it.
Cook.
Cook–
If this is your way of telling me you love me, let me know. Also, don’t come. I mean it.
–Swordsman
Perona sent the letter off, hoping it would reach the cook before he got on the supply ship. It was a last attempt to stop the disaster about to happen. But if it was going to happen, maybe she’d get a declaration of love before things exploded in her face.
Zoro was trying to dodge her negative hollows using Observation Haki, which mostly involved him bowing on the ground and groveling about his worthless existence, then declaring to send them again. The whiteness of the bandage around half his face stood out against the green of his hair. Perona sat perched on the edge of a ruin, parasol overhead shading her. She wore a darling set of new clothes she’d sewn – a long blouse with fitted boning and a cute pair of shorts with her black-and-white striped thigh-highs. Zoro even wore the new clothes she’d made him, though he’d complained the spiders kept making him hit himself when he caught one out of the corner of his still-working eye.
A shadow flying overhead made her tilt her head back, and she saw the mail bird soar overhead. It’d been eight days since she’d sent her letter to the cook. She wondered if he got on that ship or not.
She sent a hollow after the mail bird, who immediately spiraled down in a depressive freefall. “Catch the bird.”
“What?” Zoro looked up and darted forward to catch the mail bird before it crashed.
Perona hopped down and retrieved the letters from the pouch as the bird moaned piteously. Zoro’s brow was furrowed in confusion. “Why’d you attack the bird?”
“Didn’t want to have to walk to get the mail,” she said, sorting through the letters. There was a stack this time. Most of them were addressed to Warlord Prissy Pants, which made her blink. The return sender was Buggy the Clown. She wondered how long he would remain alive.
She found the letter addressed to The Swordsman mixed among the stack, and she turned her back to Zoro to open it.
Moss–
Yes.
Also, stop writing letters under the influence of ghosts. I know she’s there, too.
I didn’t get on the ship. This time.
Cook.
Perona squealed. She danced around, her laugh echoing off the ruins. “Horo-horo-horo-horo-horo!”
“What are you laughing at?” Zoro said, the limp bird hanging under one arm.
She waved the letter in his direction. “Your moronic cook loves you back!”
Zoro’s eye widened. “What?!”
He snatched at the letter in her hand. She let him take it, still dancing around the ruins. “Cook loves Zoro! Cook loves Zoro! Horo-horo-horo-horo-horo!”
Zoro frowned at the letter. “It doesn’t say that. And what is he talking about, writing under the influence of ghosts? And what ship?”
Perona giggled. “I’ve been writing to your precious cook, pretending to be you. Horo-horo-horo-horo-horo.”
Zoro paled. “What?”
“You wouldn’t shut up about him, and so I took matters into my own hands to find out how he felt. And he loves you!” Perona squealed again. “I am overwhelmed by cute!”
The letter crinkled in Zoro’s grip. His expression grew thunderous. “You had no right to do that!”
“Oh, don’t be pissy. Now you know and you can stop pining and being annoying.”
Zoro jammed a finger in her face. “I want every letter he sent to you, and then I want you to stay the hell away from me.”
Perona’s laugh died in her throat. He looked really angry. Not his usual anger, but angry-angry. She stopped twirling her parasol, feeling a little bad. “Alright. I’ll go get them and bring them to your room.”
“See that you do,” he growled, then stomped off in the wrong direction from the castle, bird under his arm.
Perona watched him for a moment, then turned and headed back to the castle.
Maybe writing the cook hadn’t been the best idea.
Perona left her door open, waiting to hear Zoro’s boots stomping up the corridor. She’d collected the letters the cook had sent, reading through them one last time before tucking them into a neat pile. She was actually going to miss corresponding with him a little. It had been fun having something to look forward to, and she’d only wanted to get an answer for Zoro. Was that so bad?
She finally heard the telltale boots and rose from her desk. She brought the letters into the hall and waited until he saw her to hand them over. He snatched them from her hand, mail bird still with him. His furious glare nearly made her cower, which she did not like at all.
He went into his own room and slammed the door.
Perona heaved a heavy sigh and returned to her room. What was done was done. Maybe one day, Zoro would thank her for sorting out his love life.
The letter, when it came, was unexpected. It had been two months since Perona had stopped corresponding with the cook. Two months of Zoro’s frosty attitude and not speaking to her. Even Mihawk had tsked, making her feel small and guilty.
The mail bird no longer came to her balcony. She’d moved the seed back to outside Mihawk’s study, where it had been to begin with. The letter was left on the dining table, and she found it at lunch. It was addressed to The Ghost Princess, with no return name in the corner.
She opened it and unfolded the letter.
My dearest Ghost Princess,
Enclosed find copies of several dress patterns I’ve gathered for you. Also enclosed is a recipe for the mosshead’s favorite whisky cookies. Be warned, they’re potent!
With hugs and sweet kisses,
Cook.
Perona felt a smile pull at her lips, and she looked through the dress patterns with a small amount of glee. Then she tucked them away, finished her lunch, and hurried back to the kitchen.
Perona knocked on Zoro’s door, knowing he was there because she could hear him thumping around. It took him a moment to open it, and she could tell by his scowl that he immediately wanted to shut it in her face again.
She held up the plate of freshly baked cookies and the leftover third bottle of whisky she hadn’t used in the recipe. “I made these, and there’s no way I can eat them all by myself.”
The scowl turned suspicious.
“There’s whisky in them,” she tempted, wiggling the bottle in her other hand.
Zoro stared at her for a moment longer, then reached out and took one from the plate. He bit into it, chewed, then his shoulders slumped with a sigh. “You got this recipe from the cook.”
“I did.” Perona was giddy that he was talking to her again. “He said they’re your favorite.”
Zoro finished the cookie in his hand, then stepped back from the doorway in invitation. He snatched the whisky bottle from her hand as she walked in. “Don’t think I’m going to forgive you because you made cookies.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she lied, and set the cookies on the end of his bed. She pulled the desk chair over, took one, and had a bite. The deep, nutty, caramel-like flavor mixed with the richness of the oaky undertone of the whisky.
Zoro left his door open and sank onto the end of the bed beside the cookies. He drank several gulps of the whisky from the bottle before taking another cookie.
They ate in silence, save for the crunching of the cookies.
Perona floated above the street beneath her parasol, pale and composed amid the confusion, her hollows drifting outward in a loose cluster. Marines who got too close crumpled, weapons slipping from limp hands as despair swallowed them.
“I knew you people were behind this,” she said, eyeing the three men with sharp annoyance as another Marine folded to his knees. “Why are you still here?”
“Hey! You’re Perona!”
Straw Hat Luffy frowned. “Who was she again?”
She looked at the blond who knew her name with a furrow in her brow, then cut a glance at Zoro. Zoro hovered close to him, and it clicked. “Oh! You’re the cook!”
“Sanji,” he told her with a wide smile. “Thank you for taking care of the idiot. I know it must’ve been nearly impossible.”
“It was!” Perona said. “Finally, someone who understands my pain.”
“What are you doing here?” Zoro said.
“How can you talk to me like that? I was the one who brought you here. Without me, you’d be in West Blue by now.”
“Don’t be rude to the lady, marimo,” Sanji said, elbowing Zoro in the ribs.
Zoro rubbed his side. “She’s not a lady.”
Perona screeched. “I am, too! And you’re not cute at all.”
“Tch. Whatever.”
“Anyway, hurry up and go,” Perona said. “I saw a warship nearing the island.”
Zoro exchanged a quick look with Luffy, then looked back at her. She felt sad all of a sudden, like she’d been struck by one of her own hollows.
A voice shouting overhead distracted them. A giant bird flew closer, with a small reindeer riding on its back. “Luffy! Zoro! Sanji! Get on! I’ll take you to the Sunny!”
Luffy’s arm shot toward the bird as it swooped lower, his other arm wrapping around Zoro’s middle. Before Zoro could get out another word, he and Luffy were yanked out of sight.
Sanji still stood before her, and he offered her another smile. “He’ll never admit it, but he’s glad you sent those letters to me. Dumbass never would’ve said anything otherwise.”
Perona smiled in return, though it wobbled on the edges. “He’s such a dummy.”
A hand came down and nabbed the back of Sanji’s collar. He gave her a quick bow. “Goodbye, fair Perona.”
Then he, too, was yanked out of sight.
Perona tipped her head back, watching the bird soar across the blue sky. Her chest felt tight. “Goodbye, Zoro. You were the brother I never wanted. But I hope you’ll be happy.”
A new batch of Marines came charging toward her, and she shifted her attention to them. She drew her arm across her chest and then flung her hand out in a dramatic, so cute gesture. “Negative Hollow!”
End