@willofd asked: castillo de sevilla, vast empty as it remained, still felt noticeably more full with its two most-recent inhabitants; mihawk was no stranger to company, having been convinced to carouse with pelirrojo's crew on more than one occasion, but this was a far different experience than he'd had before. over the years, he and vápni had spent more time apart than together, always managing to make their ways to kuraigana to reunite before parting once again; it was over the course of vápni's time working at thriller bark alongside gekkō moria that mihawk had first heard of the girl known as the ghost princess, as vápni always had tales to tell of her whenever they met up.
having her on the island was perhaps less strange than having roronoa, even if that didn't make it not strange either—it was simply a change, something to adapt to, and while mihawk had no doubt in his abilities to do so … he also knew he was not the only one in need of adapting. while it wasn't as though they had gone so far as to kick the interlopers out, they also hadn't been the most hospitable host, merely continuing on living as they would if the younger pair were not present, but he also had no intention of putting on some grand gesture of welcome when the single point remained : they were intruders. [ perhaps too clinical a reading, but one that remained true, sans one's personal feelings. ]
however, despite what others might say or think of dracule mihawk, he was not a cruel man. he remembered well the stories vápni would share about the young ghost princess and her innumerous stuffed creatures, possessions which she had been forced to forfeit from her forced exile by kuma : possessions which the girl would make to keep herself company amidst the strangely lonesome nature of thriller bark.
[ the newfound presence of two did make kuraigana feel less empty : but the same could not be said for it feeling less lonely, either. ]
returning to the castle after a shopping trip on a nearby island, mihawk says nothing as he makes his way towards the room perōna has claimed as her own, entering only because he had heard her bickering with roronoa near the kitchen on his way up the stairs. in a few strides, they step across the room, placing a simple, handstitched basket-shaped bag upon her bed—inside are a few rolls of fabric, needles and thread, and various buttons which might be used to adorn whatever creations she may craft. there is a small amount of fluff to be used for stuffing, but not much; she will likely run out of it before she comes close to finishing even one roll of fabric. [ the seeds currently resting in his pocket shall ensure the ghost princess has more cotton to use in the future. ]
near-soundlessly, the swordsman turns to leave the room, shutting the door behind them; returning to their study, they sit in their chair to pick up the book they'd left off on reading, letting out a gentle hum. she may discover the items in her own time, without any sort of fanfare or expected thanks : she may very well think it a gift from vápni, which would be no issue either. whatever she thought of it did not matter much to him, really—just the thought that, perhaps, it might help her to feel more welcome.
This castle looms around her, despite its size in comparison to Thriller Bark, her unfamiliarity with the layout leaving her still tentative in her exploration, keeping to walls and using her hollows to scout ahead of her to check for surprises or the other presences she shares space with. She knows what to expect when she comes across Vápni, but she is still hesitant around the green-haired swordsman given their previous encounter, and the world's greatest... well she does not know what to make of them yet. With their ochre gaze and severe disposition, it is hard to know what he is thinking of any time, and she has not worked out yet a comfortable method of communication either.
Perona feels lost; bereft of her creature comforts and security and uncertain of which way to turn. Whatever Kuma had been thinking sending her here, she simply wishes to understand it, or at least have Vápni back from their travels to lean on.
A sniffle of sound escapes her as she storms away from the kitchen leaving Roronoa in her wake, hands curling around her body as moisture stings her eyes, the lamentation of loneliness that haunts her days. It is not something she wants the other two to see; cannot allow herself to be perceived as weak when she is supposed to be one of Moria's strongest. With a soft huff, she pulls on her hollows to give her direction, finding her way back to the room that she has claimed as her own in this place, decorated now thanks to the time she had alone until first Zoro had been dropped on the shores and then the inhabitants had returned.
Footsteps drag as she crosses the threshold of the room, the spectre of loneliness looming over her, and she presses the door closed behind her with a soft sound, filling the room with her hollows in hope that the crowd would make her feel better. They swirl about the ceiling, their tones nearer lime than their usual white, smiles falling periodically into concerned frowns. Her hands press to her eyes, willing herself not to falter, telling herself that Vápni would return soon.
When hands drop, she realises something in the room has changed. There's something new, and innocuous presence resting upon the bed, one that draws her curiosity. Drawing closer, she spots the shape of the bag and tentatively unpicks the contents. When she finds fabric, needles, threads and the necessary adornments for the craft she loves, she cannot hold back the tears that pour down her cheeks making a mess of her make-up. Even as she sobs, she begins to pull out her new equipment, moving to the floor where she could begin to craft. There are scissors that she had managed to bring with her, and a chalk pencil and she can begin to draw out pattern pieces, working in an almost frenzied state.
Mascara tracks are dried on her face by the time she finishes, frayed fabric and loose threads scattered on the floor and on her lap a range of small creations, a little bat in thought of Moria, a ghost in the shape of her hollows and a debonair, lop-sided rabbit who she gives a hat to and an open muskateer-looking coat. If it is reminiscent of the owner of this new place she is staying, then the likeness is coincidental. Or perhaps she has acknowledged the gifter of her materials in her own way. Her new trio take pride of place on her bed as she begins to clean up, fabric scraps saved to be utilised as patches if big enough or as additional stuffing, and buttons and tools returned to the basket they had been left in. Once the room is clean, she disappears to wash her face and returns to scoop up the bunny, curling him under her arm as she ventures towards the kitchen for a snack, hearing the sounds of the swordsmen in discussion.
When she enters the room she elects to huff her usual comments about their lack of decorum for not extending an invite to her while simultaneously inserting herself into the busyness of dinner prep, finding the plates and cutlery to lay the table all while her new creature sits on her arm clutched tight as a source of comfort.
