Home at last, the third son finally begins to relax. His mission had been tamed, all killing mundane at this point. One diplomat had gotten into it with another and wanted her gone; it was petty like most of the assassin work he was contacted out for. Judge never seemed to care as long as the belly were delivered in equal parts before and after the job was completed. Sanji had been under strict orders to make it appear as an accident: easier said than done given the women's schedule. Most of his time away had been spent tailing his target to get a sense of her schedule. He couldn't say he hated that part entirely. Having a candid look into people's lives; of all his siblings he's sure he has the greatest sense of what life off of Germa was like.
The women he had killed by all accounts seemed well adjusted. Made time for her aging father who only remembered her every other visit and he thinks she liked her work. This job wasn't espionage so he didn't indulge in snooping, not like she would have noticed with the state of her home. The woman was a barely held together mess; makes sense that a fall after a shower would get her. She liked to shower after work, it was a summer island during summer so the humidity was torture. Even in his raid suit purposely made with temperature control in mind the job was running long.
He's not sure why but he'd decided to conclude the job after one of the good visits with her father. They had spent most of the time laughing, sharing a meal he'd remember his wife loved. She'd taken leftovers for lunch the following day, kissed him goodbye, said she loved him and would talk to him later. Sanji isn't sure why he lingered after posing her body just outside the shower,water still running, her head cracked open. It wasn't painful, she hadn't seen it coming and by the time her assistant found her in the morning she'd be dead.
Sanji pulls deeply from the joint between his lips, let's the smoke swim in his lungs before exhaling long and slow. None of the details mattered now, the job was closed and he'd done his report for Ichiji's neurotic organization, the only issue he had came after. The voyage back to Germa was inexplicably rough out towards the end. He'd given orders to batten down the hatches and ride the freak storm out, the grand line too moody to test their luck.
Relief or a more muted, neutered version of the emotion settles in his belly when they are finally given permission to dock. Communication may have been affected by the storm or maybe the clones were growing more incompetent. Sanji would only tolerate as few men as he could get by with, the bloated cannon fodder his brothers kept on their ships was excessive at times. Still he doesn't expect the armed greeting after his snail ship retreats into its hull.
Standing at the base of his tower, a good portion of paved stone and manicured lawn between them. Gloved fingers push his dark shades up onto the top of his head. "What the hell are you men doing?" He huffs chewing around the end of his blunt.
A few of the soldiers mutter amongst themselves, the stealth black raid suit and familiarly dressed clones behind the intruder looking all too similar to their own ranks.
"Whose orders are you under?" Sanji doesn't appreciate the stone walling or rifles leveled at him but stands there, hand on his hip waiting for an explanation.