The gift she had carefully selected was not even presented in a traditionally wrapped box: patiently nestled into the plush comfort of the ex-performer’s bed, waiting to be NOTICED whenever the ship’s party had successfully dwindled to a sleepy, albeit satisfying end - when every last scrumptious crumb of the festive feast Sanji had diligently prepared was devoured off collections of platters, and when the oddly cheerful, haunting rendition of Brook’s Silent Night no longer gently hummed in the background like an old friend, visiting for the winter.
There was NO grand reason why she elected not to leave it under the Christmas Tree, following all the others, although she hoped Anita wasn’t under the false impression that the promise of a gift from her in lieu of Saint Nick’s had carelessly slipped from her mind. The pirate simply desired for the Grizzly Zoan to experience the same emotions she had the first time she encountered the item on display at the floating market.
Of rare awe and naive DELIGHT — as the music box GLOWED and flashed, a revolving stage spinning under the miniature BIG TOP in time to the hearty rhythm of a universally recognized tune. Colourful, hand-painted animals were eternally poised during the best moments of their act, whilst little wooden acrobats swung boldly from left to right in all their charming splendor with indescribable confidence. The buttery smell of popcorn tickled her nose, cackling in their cookers. Without consulting the shop keeper; the tips of her fingers were already reached out to softly stroke the red and white curves of the big tent and Shou could vividly hear the imaginary cheers of the audience sing out to her, deeply absorbed in what she conceptualized was once Anita’s HOME.
Gold eyes longed to see it one day; the circus.
— There was something wondrously special about that ornament, to her. But would the ex-performer have liked it just as much? Or would it have come off as offensive; merely a poor replica of the real thing? Invoke some sensitive memories? She wasn’t SURE, except to walk away without it securely in her possession would’ve seem like a mistake regardless, and now it sat continuously playing on her nakama’s mattress until the time of its discovery.
Not a NOTE, not a mention of the sender found.
…Unlike with the little velvet jewelry box that contained a pair of silver SALMON shaped ear studs, ODDLY signed“Merry Christmas! To a certain naughty Grizzly Bear! From Santa Claus, with love,” placed on her bedside as if she could’ve been so easily fooled by the DIFFERENCE.
Full and properly drunk, the ex-acrobat couldn’t have been happier. She could eat brilliantly prepared food and drink on any given day, but there was a jolliness in the holiday that made it feel twice as fun. She’d danced, laughed and spent time with people she considered family, and she couldn’t have thought of a better way to end it than to stumble into bed for a long, well-deserved sleep. And so she stumbled, catching the door frame as she took petering steps into the room she shared with the rest of the girls.
She made to shed her jacket and pull on something warmer to wear while sleeping, but something stopped her.
Music — familiar and heart-wrenching — played around her ears. It was quiet at first, but swelled as she drew closer to the bed. She seemed afraid, unsure of what was causing the sound until she found the source sitting on her bed.A hard breath was sucked in. She dropped her jacket, clambered into bed, then sat with her legs folded. The little music box was pulled into her lap. Her arms and legs were the consistency of jelly thanks to all of the booze she had downed that night, but she was delicate. She handled it with the utmost care, something that was rare from her considering how rough she could be. She was even afraid to breath around it. She held her breath now, lifting the tent up to her face.
She saw the lions, the tigers, the horses and elephants. She was reminded of her troupe and immediately put names to some of the animals that she knew had been zoan users back home.
Her eyes followed the acrobats. She recalled being that slender and graceful once. That act had been the one and only thing capable of earning her mother’s pride, but now it didn’t matter. She was bigger, bulkier. A protector. The more she traveled, the less of an entertainer she became. She wasn’t an acrobat now, and she reckoned she never would be again. But she missed it.
She missed the thousands of smells coming from various food stands, she missed the sound of children cheering and laughing. She missed the attention. She didn’t regret traveling with the Straw Hats because they were as near and dear to her as the people in her troupe, but she did worry that there might be no place for her once she returned. She would protect them and get back what as rightfully theirs, but could she consider herself a performer again?
Anita didn’t realize until much later that she had begun to cry. She’d blame the fact that she had been drinking, and that things hurt a hundred times more when she was softened by several glasses of whiskey.
She didn’t hate the gift. She adored it. Loved it. She would keep it for as long as she possibly could, given their adventures didn’t end up with it shattered. But at that very moment, all she could do was cry.
Flopped onto her side, she pulled the music box closer. Little hiccups and pitiful whimpers sounded against her pillow, but they were drowned out by the sound of the cheerful music. She hated crying; it made her face sticky and her stomach feel knotted. After bottling up most of her emotions, they were bound to explode eventually.
“I wanna go home. . .” But she wanted to bring her new home with her. She wanted her friends to come with her, and she wanted so badly to impress them. She wanted them to love the circus as much as she did.
Anita wished she knew who had left the gift for her. She wasn’t the least bit observant, especially while emotional and inebriated. But, whoever had left it, she loved them. The fact that she would fall asleep with the music box in her arms, cheeks still sticky with dried tears, might prove that — maybe.
The earrings would remain unnoticed until the next morning, when she finally woke and scurried away to hide the fact that she had become a blubbering mess the night before. And one she thought she’d successfully hid it, she would slip the salmon-shaped earrings into the little holes punched into her earlobes.
The music box would sit beside her bed. It wouldn’t move, and no one else was allowed to touch it.
