Crocodile inhaled his cigar deeply, his eyes following the sultry figure wrapped in deep burgundy.
An hour ago, he was informed by one of the managers about an unusual guest in the Rain Dinners—the woman who looked like a local but still did not.
Standing here, he understood exactly what the manager meant. While the woman had been dressed like a seductive gipsy, with her provocative dark burgundy and gold outfit and her skin, a tapestry of bronze and amber, held a natural radiance, as if capturing the essence of the autumnal landscape., her hot cinnamon hair that reached her low back in a braid over her shoulder and the phoenix tattoo that seemed to cover all of her back betrayed her. Or rather helped her stand out amongst everyone else like she had wanted.
Why else would someone show off such a distinguishable mark?
The woman turned. The sheer red veil over her face did little to cover it, her features, soft and gracefully contoured, exuded an ingenue essence that added a touch of innocence to the sultry allure of the desert night. Almond-shaped eyes, the colour of warm hazelnuts, held a quiet depth within them, reflecting a blend of curiosity and quiet determination. Long, dark lashes framed those eyes, casting demure shadows with each downcast gaze that lifted many times to look right at him, as if wanting to approach him but not sure if she should.
A pert nose, delicately sculpted, sat above lips that seemed to carry the hint of a perpetual, gentle smile. The natural flush of her cheeks spoke of a subtle blush, reminiscent of the rosy tones that graced the petals of autumn flowers. Freckles, like scattered cinnamon dust, adorned her skin, adding an endearing charm to her countenance.
Her eyebrows, gracefully arched, conveyed a quiet strength, framing her expressive eyes with a touch of elegance. The dappled sunlight played upon her features, casting a warm, golden glow that enhanced the allure of her ingenue persona.
She looked so foreign to be in the desert yet it felt as if she belonged right there.
"The woman sure is so alluring," Miss All Sunday commented from beside him, and he could imagine her smirking lightly. "as if a desert oasis with a promise of danger. and pleasure at the same time."
Crocodile silently agreed. She looked so innocent yet felt so dangerous, it made a heady combination. If the woman was not already moving towards him with a promise, he would've approached her in due time anyway. He felt each step she took, a grace ballet against the polished floor, echoing the tap of her delicate shoes.
She seemed to have shifted at the last minute, as she now leaned on the bar table beside him. Her lips tilted in a light smirk as she ordered her poison.
The Rain Dinners hummed with the murmur of conversations, a symphony of voices punctuated by the gentle clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Sineka, draped in her burgundy gown, her eyes shifting to look up at him as if she knew he watched her. The dim light accentuated the play of shadows on his stoic countenance.
Without a formal introduction, she leaned in slightly.
"Mr 0, I presume," Her voice, a velvety resonance that seemed to emerge from the depths of a hidden well, echoed with a captivating depth that only he could hear above the ambient noise. When she spoke, it carried the weight of secrets and the sultry warmth of a dusky twilight. There was a husky quality to the timbre, a low, melodic cadence that wrapped around each word like a cloak. Her dark eyes shifted to his companion, a small pause and then it glided right back into his eyes. "Your reputation precedes you."
Sir Crocodile glanced at her with a calculated coolness, acknowledging her presence without a word.
"I trust we can dispense with formalities," leaning closer, her voice taking on an even deeper tone, "There are matters of significance that require your attention. Somewhere more private, perhaps?"
His gaze, unyielding as the desert sun, assessed her for a moment before nodding imperceptibly. She turned on her heel, the rustle of her gown like the soft whisper of the desert wind, and led the way to a secluded alcove, away from the prying eyes and curious ears of the Rain Dinners.
Sir Crocodile followed the woman into the concealed alcove, the shadows embracing them like a cloak of secrecy. The ambient noises of the Rain Dinners faded into a distant murmur as they found themselves isolated from the prying eyes and ears of the establishment.
As they stepped into the shadows, the atmosphere shifted. She turned to face him, the moonlight casting a muted glow on her features, and spoke in that deep, resonant voice that held an air of both mystery and command.
"Here, we can speak freely," she continued, "I trust your discretion, Mr. 0. Now, let us delve into the matters that bring us together in this clandestine encounter."
He said nothing. The enigmatic presence of Ms. All Sunday lingered nearby, a silent observer of the unfolding exchange.
"It's rare to find a moment of privacy in a place like this," she continued, maintaining her composed demeanour, "It seems even the shadows have ears."
"Speak your piece," he replied, leaning against a subtly lit pillar, "I have little patience for games."
"Directness is appreciated," she nodded, her head leaning to the left, "I've heard whispers of your interest in strategic alliances, Mr. 0. I come offering more than just whispered promises. I bring tangible assets and a particular set of...skills, shall we say, that could be of great use to someone in your position."
The pale moonlight caught the glint in Sir Crocodile's eyes as he studied the woman with a calculated gaze. Ms. All Sunday observed with an arched eyebrow, intrigued by the unfolding exchange.
"I've survived this long without needing such alliances," he replied dryly.
"True, but survival isn't the same as thriving," the woman smirked. The expression contrasts with her innocent face in delicious ways. "There are storm clouds on the horizon, and even the most formidable desert can be eroded over time. You may be powerful, but no one is invincible."
The statement hung in the air, the weight of its implications settling between them like grains of sand. The woman, undeterred by the gravitas of the moment, continued to navigate the conversation with a captivating mix of confidence and subtlety.
"I propose a partnership, Mr. 0, where our interests align for the mutual benefit of both parties," the woman leaned in, her voice dropping even lower, "And to seal this pact, I suggest a union of a more personal nature."
Sir Crocodile's expression remained inscrutable, but a flicker of intrigue danced in the depths of his gaze.
His brow raised, "Explain."
The woman smirked. "Marry me, Mr. 0. A union that extends beyond the strategic, a bond that would fortify our positions in this ever-changing world."
The audacity of her proposition sparked a moment of silence. Crocodile's eyes bore into hers, his expression unreadable, while Ms. All Sunday muttered a bemused "Ara" under her breath. The Rain Dinners, oblivious to the weight of the exchange, continued its symphony of murmurs and laughter, unaware of the seismic shift in the dynamics between the Shichibukai and the mysterious woman who had just thrown down an unexpected gambit.
YOU ARE READING
A Bride for the Desert King | Crocodile
Fanfiction"Marry me," she commanded, almost. Crocodile narrowed his eyes at the impertinence of the woman who stood in front of him. "Ara," he heard Ms All Sunday mutter amusedly. "Who are you?" "Sineka Duskblade," she replied.
