FindersKeepers (Dracule Mihawk x OC)

The Cold Shoulder

|Gloom Island|

Mihawk expertly steers the boat toward the western dock. As they approach, Astera rises, and with a swift motion, she leaps onto the timeworn planks. Jinx, poised to follow, halts at Astera's stern glance, a silent warning hanging in the air. With an eye roll, Jinx resigns herself to the deck, awaiting Mihawk's next move.

"I wouldn't stray too far," Mihawk advises, his voice carrying a hint of caution.

Dismissing his counsel with a silent rebuff, Astera strides forward, her path taking her through the dancing shadows of an ominous forest.

"Suit yourself," Mihawk remarks under his breath, securing the vessel with practiced hands.

Gathering their gear from the ship's nooks, Mihawk shoulders the load and proceeds along the trail Astera took. The foreboding silhouette of a grand mansion emerges over the treetops, its presence accentuated by the swirling mists that enshroud the island.

At the hill's crest, Astera pauses to survey the below ahead, the echo of Mihawk's distant steps mingling with the stillness. Confronted with a fork in the road, one veering into the dense embrace of coniferous woods, the other ascending towards the imposing manor, she inhales the cool, mist-laden air. With a resolve that steadies her breath, she chooses the shadowed forest trail.

Mihawk, tracing her steps to the junction, casts a lingering glance down the path swallowed by fog and foliage where Astera vanished. A moment's contemplation furrows his brow before he turns, ascending the path to the mansion's solitude.

Jinx, the last to reach this crossroad, sits into a thoughtful pose. From her vantage, she watches Mihawk's figure, burdened with their gear, climb towards the manor. Simultaneously, she traces the ghostly silhouette of Astera threading through the woodland's murk. With a silent sigh, she remains frozen with indecision, Jinx lies down at the fork's edge, her gaze switching between the diverging paths, guardian of their crossroads.

...

|Mihawk|

As Mihawk crosses the threshold of the manor, his presence reawakens the silent grandeur of the entryway. His belongings land with a thud, marking the end of his long journey. He inhales deeply, the air tinged with the essence of home-a comfort he hasn't known in what feels like an eternity. Weariness weighs heavily on him, a mental fog thickened by his time away. With a hand that speaks of exhaustion, he smooths his face, placing his hat on a familiar rack almost reflexively. His ascent up the grand staircase is slow, each step echoing heavily in the vastness of the house, as he directs his tired steps toward the sanctuary awaiting him in the west wing.

Before vanishing into the serpentine corridors of the west wing, Mihawk allows his gaze to drift back to the grand entryway one last time. There's a part of him that half-expects Astera to burst through the doors at any moment, her spirit undampened even by the daunting presence of the Humandrills. Yet, the hall remains eerily silent, untouched by the chaos he anticipated. Heaving a sigh hinting with disappointment, he navigates the dimly lit passageways until he reaches the refuge of the main bedchambers.

As he pushes open the doors, the candles flicker to life, welcoming him into a Victorian Gothic bedroom filled with charm and splendor. Dominating the chamber is a large bed, its dark wooden frame embossed with elaborate carvings. Draped across it, a velvet bedspread in a rich, blood red stands in striking contrast to the room's ebody furnishings. Encircling the bed, an array of furniture adorns the room. Against one wall looms a grand armoire, its somber wood catching the flicker of candlelight, while in another corner, a vanity with a trifold mirror stands, its reflection casting delicate whisps of light. Heavy drapes frame the windows, their fabric pooling slightly on the floor. The walls, adorned with tapestries and paintings, depict scenes of romance and despair. Throughout the room, candelabras, with their flickering candles cast intricate shadows, and a collection of antique books and curiosities on a mahogany bookshelf The air is heavy with the scent of aged wood and the faintest hint of roses.