White Dress
by Rasetsu

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situation created and owned by Eiichiro Oda and various publishers including but not limited to Shonen Jump and TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Yet.

A/N: Inspired by Zoro’s expression of dislike on the recent chp. 379 color spread. I’m delusional. First of two parts. Theme song: Miss Sarajevo by George Michael.

---

Here she comes. The beauty queen in her new dress. I am keeping my distance. I am turning my eyes away. But there is no time. My feet are keeping me planted, my brain is shutting down.

Here she comes.

Heads turn around. Mine is not the only one. She is trapping me with that blinding white. And those long legs.

There’s no time to look away. Here she comes.

To take her crown. To take her kill.

Here she comes.

---

I am putting on this dress because I want to see that look on your face. I am painting my lips red because I want to see their imprint on yours. There is no time to take cover.

I got you. I got you the moment I slipped on this dress.

I got you the moment I finished applying red.

Here I come.

Don’t look away.

Here I come.

---

I hate it. I hate it when everybody else is falling for you.

That makes me no different than the others.

I can’t like it.

I can’t like your white dress.

Because everybody can see it.

---

This is the right dress to wear. This is the right shade of lipstick.

I saw it in your face before you frown.

Before you throw that disdainful look.

It’s okay.

I can wait.

---

Take a pause of breath...

---

It was an innocent dress with two thin straps. According to fashion experts, it was a look that would never go old. She’d bought the dress quite a while ago at some trade port which was positively unfriendly to pirates. That time, she hadn’t known why she liked it so much.

It felt soft against her skin. The saleslady had said that it was a hundred-percent-cotton. Its softness was comparable to that of a baby’s bottom. Maybe it was that comment that had made Nami take out her wallet and part with her money.

Maybe.

Or maybe it was the way the dress made her feel like she was wearing nothing. It flowed with her, like liquid cotton that knew her curves well.

It fell just below her knees in waves of light fabric. She’d spent some secret hours spinning around in front of the mirror, laughing happily because she felt like a princess in that dress.

The problem was there were no princes anywhere to impress.

No, no princes indeed.

But there was always the dragon.

The sleeping green dragon.

Oh, he was a tough nut to crack. Forget the fact that princesses and mean, bullying dragons were not supposed to play the game of flirtations. It was the dragons’ fault in the first place. Who told them to kidnap beautiful princesses, hm?

Why, the princesses themselves, the dragons said. It was their fault for being so bloody beautiful.

But nobody told the dragons to keep the princesses’ hearts for themselves.

To this the dragons had no answers.

No, no. There were no princes around. But there was always the dragon.

One day, the princess caught a glimpse of something on the dragon’s face when he was looking at her. Just a fleeting something, but it was enough to send warm tingles up her spine. When that treacherous warmth settled on her cheeks, he had turned away. His green scales protecting him from whatever damage she might have done to him.

It was his fault. Really. It was his doing that her heart skipped a beat. It was his gaze that made her feel like she was the only woman alive. It was him that made her unable to forget.

So she put on that white dress.

Just to see that look on his face again.

---

The red stain on her white dress had an interesting history. It was from her lipstick, but it wasn’t from her lips. She couldn’t get it off no matter how hard she tried.

It was the dragon’s fault.

If it weren’t for his clumsiness, it would still be pristine white.

If he hadn’t been blocking her way.

If he hadn’t stood too close.

If the ship hadn’t lurched at that moment.

If he hadn’t caught her.

If his face hadn’t been the only one she’d been able to see.

If the jolt had not brought their lips together, the white dress would not have a smear of red on its front.

Because then his face would have not turned an impressive red.

Because then he wouldn’t have wiped his mouth.

On her skirt.

See?

It was all his fault.