One Piece is the property of Eiichiro Oda.
Waves of rhythm course through her blood, her arms, her hands and hips. They move through her skirt as it ripples and fans out around her very able legs as she turns around and around. They raise their drinks. Drunk on and drowning in her own allure, she turns and turns, high on the addiction in their eyes. For the first time, she can control dozens without being the subordinate of a menacing man with a golden hook as his weapon - without the fruit-borne deformity that scathed her childhood. She feels truly eighteen again, beguiling as her "barely legal" status proclaims her to be.
Throughout her childhood, her negative experiences failed to put a damper on her ever-flourishing imagination and hope. When a good thing happened, she'd compile a list of three wishes. Having been born into a world with fruit that possessed the ability to alter one's genetics, there was a time during which she was convinced that she would stumble upon a genie over the course of her travels. And she would feel awful making that genie wait for her to think of her wishes, so she opted to preempt such an event by compiling her list beforehand, planning accordingly. Today is like that.
She wishes that this high could come to her through a less bizzare medium. She wishes she could uncover this much pleasure in a cup of coffee or a novel.
She wishes that the new kind of confidence that these longing stares from the men in the crowd would stay with her, even after she gained back the twelve years stolen from her by the caped woman.
And she wishes to captivate the first mate of her crew the way he does so effortlessly to her. This rejuvenation is her key. No longer is she the mysterious older woman, but the much more attainable - and still as mysterious, mind you - young adult. Every time he stared hard at her, trying to find just how she'd aged in twelve years, his lone pupil prodding at her, her heart raced. Such a penetrating, pensive stare stirred up an unfamiliar, out of character shyness in her. So commenced her awe of him and his ways, her longing to acquire his attention the way he had held hers hostage; the ransom being her secrets.
Such a happening erased Robin's misconceptions of Roronoa Zoro. Though his intelligence was questionable and the size of some of her books made him nervous, his curiosity sparked her own. How he saved her life, caught her when she fell, jumped to her aid in the blink of an eye and wished for not even thanks in return... she was so unused to such selflessness. Growing up she learned very quickly that people were selfish, so much so that they would practically sell an orphaned child, denying that child both safety and a home, telling her that she ought to be grateful that they took her in to begin with.
Despite the blood he'd spilled, he possessed one of the purest souls that Robin had ever come across. It is the soul she sees when she looks into that single brown eye, studying the odd twenty years of hardship and successes that soul had undergone. She finds herself praying that he'd disclose such displeasures to her, knowing that his own would comfort her. To humanize himself and validate her obsession.
But how could she avoid the most predictable factor? Luffy's strength stood out among thousands and, naturally, Z and his subordinates suffer his wrath. The horror, her greatest fear at the moment, unravels within her as her slim waist becomes a newer, yet, older kind of thin and her bust expands. She doesn't feel much else except for the loss of one other certainty: Zoro. He validates this loss when he sinks back into his routine of passing glances - a grand juxtaposition to the stares to which she'd grown accustomed.
Vain as it is, her twice-experienced youth and beauty taunts her, convincing her that such allure that penetrated the mind of even the swordsman would never be achieved again. In turn, Zoro would no longer care. She is now what she had been to him from the beginning: the creepy, dangerous, archaic archaeologist whom he was obligated to save now and again.
But this frequent saving is a blessing she won't soon forget. The details of their nakamaship are blurred, yet, crystal clear. It excites her that both of them are headstrong and dangerous - it wasn't often that she found both qualities in someone other than herself. Apathetic as he could seem, Roronoa Zoro cares for her, as both his nakama and, perhaps, as a kindred spirit.
Regardless of youth or beauty, that's enough for Robin.
This one is a more poetic piece, clearly. The idea happened upon me whilst listening to the soundtrack for The Great Gatsby - namely "Young and Beautiful" by Lana Del Rey, thus explaining all the mentions of youth and beauty. This was also based on Film Z, what with Robin getting younger and such. This was just a quick drabble so I could address two things:
#1. I was wondering if you guys would like to see some of my smut here as part of the collection. The scare with the mods here deleting stories with sexual content in them has left me, and I have lots of smut to share. So, yes, let me know!
#2. This drabble collection is an OC-free zone. If you're wondering who Valentina was in the last drabble, she's Miss Valentine. She doesn't appear to have a canon given name, I bestowed "Valentina" upon her. Yep yep.
Thanks for reading!