#Liberties taken with the Kitsune DF

[tiamatwrites]

Daddy's Little Monsters

A/N: And we're back. Finally. Okay, so, keep in mind when reading this, we had to go back and edit Evelyn's section in part one because one of us (Hi, guilty, that was my fault- P) forgot how the house was laid out. TW: There are guns being handled, but none are fired. There are brief jokes about drugs and sex-work, but again, nothing actually happens regarding them. One character is implied to be caught either just before having sex, or in the middle of it, but nothing graphic is going on. There is also a dream sequence that is violent and has a lot of blood and death involved, but it's not particularly graphic.

Part 1

Part 2 - 3136

Third pov

It’s late when the pair finally arrive at their home, both tired and slightly more messy than their date nights usually called for. Unfortunately, someone had fucked up, and the red haired man had needed to get involved personally when it became clear that his coworkers weren’t going to be able to handle things themselves. While it wasn’t the first time, they generally tried to avoid mixing business and their personal lives these days, simply because it rarely ended well. “Mihawk, Love–” The redhead starts after he’s at least in the driveway. “Shanks, if you apologise again, you will find yourself sleeping not only on a couch, but downstairs.” The voice of his husband is stern, and his eyes pin him in place. Shanks knows well enough that Mihawk is dead serious with that threat.  “Alright, sorry,” He placates gently, raising his hand in surrender, “Guilty conscience and all that.” Mihawk hums, eyes already focusing on something out the window, “I’m sure. Now can we take your guilty conscience inside, so that my tired one can sleep?” Shanks huffs a laugh, more a chuckle for how quiet it was, “Yeah, Love, come on.”

Shanks gets out of the hearse first, moving towards Mihawk’s side of the car and opening the door. The switch between holding the door with his hand and holding it with his hip so he can offer the hand to Mihawk is smoother than it used to be, when the injury was newer and everything was more difficult between them.  Mihawk rolls his eyes, but takes the offered hand and stands, allowing Shanks to wind his arm over his hips, and pull him closer to plant a kiss on his cheek. The door is kicked closed and he knows the car will lock as they walk away from it, so he lets it go and moves to walk away, only to feel Mihawk stiffen as he does his subtle perimeter check around the front yard. Shanks looks at him, follows the line of sight, and finds himself faced with the same car his husband is currently staring down.

It was one Shanks had owned when he was younger, one he’d given to the younger of their girls, who shouldn’t be here, wasn’t supposed to be here, why on earth was her car– “Mihawk, did the girls message you about visiting?” “No, they did not.” The darker haired man says, hands already going towards the gun that he kept in the holster below where Shank’s hand was. Shanks himself lets go of Mihawk so he can flick his jacket open to grab the pistol from his own holster that was usually only for emergencies. “Fuck.” The redhead muttered. The smile he was given in exchange was grimmer than most. “That does seem to be the word of the day.”

They go in quietly, clearing rooms with the same sort of efficiency as was usually only seen in marine operations. They don’t talk about what they are expecting to find. They don’t talk about what they hope– pray– they don’t find. Entry way, formal entertainment, kitchen, formal dining room, downstairs bathroom, cinema room, stairs.  Lounge, bathroom, Fiore’s room and ensuite– It is Evelyn’s room where they find the person who had left the car on their drive. It was, thank god, the actual owner, rather than someone who’d decided to send some sort of fucked up theatrical message about the systematic elimination of a yonko-level crime family. Unfortunately, that does mean that they do enter their daughter’s room with guns aimed at her.

Evelyn starts awake when her door hits the wall and god only knows how she hadn’t woken up before that, but her eyes are open and she doesn’t move until both of her parents’ guns are lowered and the safety on both is back on. “What the fuck?!” She demands loudly as she sits up and then stands, and both of them flinch back at the pitch, “What the hell happened to hello and how are you? Or even we missed you?!” “You weren’t supposed to be here!” Shanks insists, aborting a motion to splay his arm out when he remembers the gun in his hand. He tucks it away in the holster quickly after that. “And that excuses the guns?!” She demands, her eyebrows slowly moving towards her hairline as she gets more upset. Mihawk takes over then, having already returned his gun to its holster, tired and still stern as he was in the car with Shanks, “Evelyn Nadia Silvers-Dracule. You did not call us, nor did you send a message. We assumed we would find something far worse than you asleep in your room when we found your car in the driveway. A reasonable assumption given–” “Alright, fine! I still didn’t think you were gonna come in with guns pointed every which way.” Both men give her looks of doubt at that, and she rolls her eyes and folds her arms as though she is still a petulant child rather than a woman mostly grown, “Fine. I didn’t even consider sending a message. I was tired.” 

Shanks sighs, always the easier to placate in these situations, and rubs his palm over his face. “It’s okay, Peanut.” Evelyn rakes a hand through part of her hair in a gesture that is absolutely learned from the red head. “I missed you guys too.” Mihawk sighs, and steps forward to pull his daughter into a hug and plant a kiss on her head the same way he had when she was a child. “We did not mean to scare you, Evelyn. Go back to sleep.” Her muttered response is muffled, but definitely an affirmative, and Shanks only gets the chance to kiss her temple once Mihawk releases her before she is shuffling back to her bed and crawling under the covers properly. The pair take it as the dismissal it is, and they turn to go to their own room, each aiming for at least a damp washcloth to clean up before falling into bed themselves.

•°•°•❈•°•°•

Becky pov

I had lived in utter bliss, for three years. Or, if not bliss, then at least peace. It is 9:12pm, and I'm about to go to bed with my wife. Alone. Together. For the first time in weeks. And then my phone rings with a sickening, disgusting pop song. The one that Fiore had set when she was little and used to ring my phone intentionally just to hear my groans of utter contempt. (I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world)

The force of my hand hitting my phone on the side table should shatter the screen, but it doesn’t. Honestly, probably a good thing. Makino starts snickering from underneath me as I pick up the call, cursing as if it was my mother-in-law.  “Fiore, what a pleasure to hear from you. After three years. At a quarter past nine in the evening.” I say, trying to get across how much I do not want to be dealing with this right now even with an overly-sweet tone. “Benny Becky!!” she squeals into the microphone, and I physically flinch away from it, and have to mind that I don’t smack Makino in the nose with the phone as I move it away, “so, do me a favour–” “Pause.” I cut her off quickly, bringing the phone back to my ear as I move off of Makino and onto my side, “How drunk and-slash-or high are you?”

“... fuck you, Becky.” She pouts. And I can almost see the pout, honestly. She’s done the same thing every time I’ve had to ask her that since she was first starting to be involved with parties that risked drugs. “Answer the damn question.” I sigh, reaching out to tug at a lock of Makino’s hair as she was turning to settle in to read for a while. Both of us knew how this was going to play out. “I had three drinks, asshole! Maybe I’ll just call a fucking cab. Fucker.” “I am obligated to check. Fuck’s sake.” I snapped, pushing myself up and to the edge of the bed so I was sitting, “And no, you won’t, Mihawk’d skin me if I let you.” “Good. We could use a Becky rug.” Jesus H Christ. I hold back a sigh before I mutter just loud enough that I know she’ll hear, “Don’t ever let your uncle convince you that you are more like your dad. You are your father all the way through. Where are you?” “Was at the docks. Started walking about ten minutes ago. Got bored of walking.” “Fucking–” I turn to Makino, who is barely holding back her laughter now, “Kee, I have to go collect a wandering child–” “FUCK YOU, BENJAMIN.” “I will be back in an hour.” I continue with a forced calm, even if it is a lost cause because said young woman is loud. “I’M TWENTY TWO YEARS OLD, ASSHOLE. I AM LE-GAL.”

I roll my eyes as I make to start searching for my underwear and the pants I’d been wearing when I entered the room, “I attended your kindergarten, primary school and secondary school graduations. You are a child to me.” “I’m about to find a strip club and graduate into motherhood.” And now she just sounds petulant.  “If I have to pull you off a prostitute tonight, I am going to make sure both of your parents know exactly how and where I found you, and where you were before that.” “Good. They need some tips for the bedroom.” “... Just give me your fucking location, kid. Neither of us want to talk about your parents’ sex life.” Fiore hangs up at that, and as I'm begrudgingly putting my clothes on, the location message comes through. Thank fucking god. I didn’t want to have to deal with hunting a fox this evening.

I give Makino a kiss goodbye and leave, as quickly as possible, to get the mythical rat home. 

•°•°•❈•°•°•

Fiore’s pov

I’d made it four blocks before a car stopped anywhere near in my direction. It’s a well known fact that any person– any woman in this city that walks around with their devil fruit abilities on display, has the means to back themselves up. It’s a warning and a threat that I do use my devil fruit so freely.

I forget how much I hate Beckman’s car until it pulls up on the other side of the road, big and burly, not cute at all. I wait with my arms crossed, until he does a U-turn and pulls up beside me. He looks just as upset that I'm here as I do. “Get in the car.” “Nevermind, I'm walking home.” “Fiore Raelynn, get your ass in the car.” “Eat a rock, you old fuck.” “Kid, we are both tired, please, just get in the car so I can get you home.”

I let out what is a purposefully obnoxious groan. I’d figured out early during high school that it perfectly conveyed my point of being deeply annoyed with a situation. Then I climb into the passenger seat, pouting as if it would magically change his car into something more palatable than a land rover. Gag. 

We roll down the streets in relative silence, until he asks, “Why were you at the docks?” “I was buying hard drugs.” I respond flatly, my eyes on my nails. I might need to get them done properly at some point. The clippers and file are fine, but I’d like to have some fun with them. “... what?” I continue, keeping my expression stoic, “Yeah. Got coke in my pocket.” “WHAT.” Ow. Sensitive ears and sudden high noises are not a good mix. You would think people would have learned this by now. “Kidding, kidding, Jesus Christ. Take a fucking breather–” I grumble, pulling my ears down. “Child, when I ask you if you are high, I expect to get an update on any drugs you might obtain, what the fuck are you thinking, you–” He’s turned to face me and the hands are going and oh god, here comes the rant. I interrupt before he can get too much momentum going, “I was jOKing. Jesus. I don't even have any–” Wait. “Shit. I left my bag behind.” He stops the car in the middle of the road. “I’m going to eat lead.” “I didn’t know your wife was lead.” I tease, raising an eyebrow at him. The car continues moving. “Yes well, instead of–” He starts harshly before stopping and moving on, “Nope, no. Not finishing that sentence. Which side of the docks is your bag at?” “Beck, I was at the docks. It’s gone by now.” He really must be tired if he hadn’t put that together. He pauses for a moment, taking a breath before, “You’ll have stuff at Shanks’ house. Let’s go.” A few minutes of tense silence pass, and a moment of music before Beck slaps the goddamn radio off. His way of saying ‘you can live with the same amount of discomfort I’m feeling right now’ without actually saying it. Petty bitch.

Dimly lit industrial streets turn to city streets, then residential streets. Our house comes into view, grey bricks covered by far, far too many vines. You’d almost think this was originally Mihawk’s house, with how gothic it looks, but no. Pop’s hearse is in the driveway beside Evelyn’s car, and Beck pulls up behind them. “Get the hell out of my car.” “Okay, rude.” He glares at me, and the point is gotten. Get out of the car, or he’s going to start driving again, and he doesn’t care what I see. “Bye, Becky.” I tease, climbing out of the car. “Don’t start with that. You cock blocked me.” “Ew. I get enough of that from dad.” “Then don’t ask for a pickup on the first night off I’ve had in weeks.” I give him a short wave, turning to walk up the driveway to the door through the back yard. I give the dog door a quick nudge to make sure it’s unlocked, before shifting into my fox form. Business as usual.

The house smells the same as it had the last time I was here. Like dad and pops. And a hint of Evelyn and Grampie. I walk through the dining room and round the wall, heading up the stairs. I see Evelyn’s door open past the lounge, scenting the wood and citrus perfume she wears. Then, little paws pad up to dad and pop’s bedroom, their door open as well. Pops is reading– and the bathroom light is on. I shift back in a poof, which draws pop’s attention. There's a bruise on my calf, but other than that, I appear relatively unblemished by the fight. No more questions than necessary. “You’re home,” he says. “It's late. Where were you?” “Irrelevant,” I murmur, climbing onto the bed beside him. I don’t get too close, and neither does he. “I’m home.” He gives me a curious glance. “How did you get here? Evelyn’s been here a while.”

Dad steps out of the bathroom as I answer, dressed in only boxers. “Beckman dropped me off.” “You know we would have come to get you,” pops says. I shrug, dad coming to sit on my other side.  “It’s like you think I’d overreact about seeing you again or something.” “You would,” pops and I say at the same time. “Probably try to hug me or something.” I am given no warning, as dad does exactly that, scooping me into a one armed and yet still just as tight hug. “You’re right, I can't help myself.” I let out a loud, irritated groan– to which he starts shaking me around. I see pop’s eyes land on the already purplish bruise on my calf. “How did this happen?” “I… walked into a table.” Liar. The skeptical look I get once Dad stops shaking me like a ragdoll does not promise a clean getaway. “A table. You and your sister have purchased… a coffee table?” “No, it’s the table I was doing coke on– JOKING.”

“And that is the sound of bedtime for kiddies.” Dad says in that overly cheerful voice that means he's trying to avoid potential trouble. “Actually, I'm a dog.” “Fiore, Sweetheart, dog or not, you need to sleep. You’re explaining this in the morning, but for now, go to bed.” I let out another irritated groan. “Fine.” i slip out of dad’s grip, “goodnight.” “Night, Kit.” “Good night Fiore. Sleep well.”

•°•°•❈•°•°•

My hands are warm with blood, and it’s everywhere. Not just my hands, my arms, my face, my chest. My hands are numb from the guns, my ears are ringing. The walls are red– are white and then red again. It’s a marine base. The bodies are wearing uniforms, stained with blood.

Marine uniforms. Cadets, from the stripes on the shoulders. Not more than boys.

Their blood is on my hands. His hands. So warm when he holds us, so warm when he kills for us.

He– I– He blinks, and it’s a different room, more gory than the last. The guns are gone, and in their place is a knife. There’s a person, still screaming, then the knife is at their throat and then there’s nothing.

Thump.

Blink. Shanks– Dad– Shanks. Red in the face. Wild. Beautiful. Terrified. He’s as covered in blood as I am. He was there? Why was there there, he was supposed to be– Shit, what’s he saying–

“– could have died, Mihawk, and then what?! You are supposed to be better than this! And what about the girls–”

The girls. Fiore. Evelyn. Where are they, where–

Blink. The room of cadet bodies is back. And against the desk are two more bodies. Girls– Women– Girls. My girls, eyes wide and empty. Dead. Gone. Did I–

Blink. A Child. There’s a child, a girl, covered in blood– she’s small. Breakable. Gone. They are mine. where are they, wherearethey,wherearethey–

Mihawk stop.

•°•°•❈•°•°•

I wake up suddenly, head thudding, body sweating, mouth dry. The sun is coming over the horizon when I look towards the window, curtains I hadn't bothered to shut. I shake it off. My feet hit the cold floor as i climb out of my bed, aiming for pop. The door is still partially open, and I can hear them talking quietly. Evelyn’s still fast asleep. Good. I don't need anyone fussing over me, as I can tell pop is about to, when he opens the door. I see him, and he sees me.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, my voice croaking.

He purses his lips, but nods in acceptance. “I am going to make something for breakfast. Would you like to join me?”

I look down for a moment, before nodding.

[tiamatwrites]

Daddy's Little Monsters

A/N: This one is winding up to be Long, so this is probably the best to start with. Sidenote: You're gonna figure out really quickly where our blog name came from with this one, so enjoy that. TW: Swearing included, non-graphic alcohol consumption and violence towards the end, proceed as needed. Just as a heads up: this one is one of the ones that could get dark later on. It's not likely, but there is a chance. We'll do our best to keep on top of warnings for each part.

Edits made 28/11/2024 - Revising story flow and continuity. (Someone forgot the layout of the house (Me, I forgot) - P)

Part 1 - 2138 words

Evelyn’s pov

The car is fucking loud. Somehow, I notice it better in the daytime, when I’m driving at speed for eight hours with my sister bitching in the passenger seat. I adore my car, I do, but Doc is not subtle. Normally that works in my favour, but today? After almost eight hours of highways and freeways and other cars? It’s irking me.  Admittedly, everything is irking me at the moment. Everything from the curls that have come loose and sit around my eyes when I check my mirror to merge, to the brightness of the sky overhead, to the sound of Fiore continuing to have an issue with the upholstery on Doc's seats. 

“So have you figured out where I’m gonna drop you off yet?” I ask, cutting through the new round of complaints about the comfort of the leather seats. As though I had the time to put the seat covers on this morning when she was snarling and spitting and hissing like a feral cat. She pauses in the tirade to glance down at her unlocked phone, Carmine eyes scanning over messages between her and one of Whitebeard’s people, filling her in on the half a dozen fights set for tonight in our desired city. 

She twirls a piece of hair around her finger as if she hadn't just been threatening to skin my car. It’s bright orange as if it’d been dyed with the morning sun, and the dark brown closer to the roots looked like it was growing out, but she’d always been able to turn heads. “I’m thinking the one out in the dockyards. You know, with the warehouses?” Ignoring the almost white golden fox ears sprouting from her head and the nine tails to accompany them. “I remember.” I nod. Of course I did; one of the first fights she’d attended, though just as a spectator, was at those docks. Gramps always spent a decent chunk on gambles when they were hosted there, and Dad had still been trying to get him to quit it when we’d left. “Tell me which warehouse I’m dropping you off at so I’m ignorant. And don’t get caught.” “I’m not an idiot, Slut bag.” “I know, but it bears reminding.” I mutter. “You know as well as I do that it’s one of the favourites.” She rolls her eyes, folds her arms and turns away from me, “Whatever.”

I have never felt more like our father. “Fi, the warehouse?” “Seventeen,” She snaps, sharp teeth bared in mock warning. The drive is quiet from then on, at least for a while.

•°•°•❈•°•°•

We make it into the city, and more importantly to the warehouse, before the sun is fully down. Fiore grabs her go-bag that has all the shit she needs and climbs out silently. Before she can slam the door shut, I grab it and look out at her. She has her tails on display, a writhing mess of fluffy white-silver-grey behind her, and her ears poke up from the loose hair that sits around her face. I know that she’s been picking at her claws for hours, but she won’t let them scratch up the car. “Hey. Kick their asses. Don’t end up in the morgue.” She grins, her teeth all sharp and dangerous, “Of course. Don’t tell me what to do.” I roll my eyes, “Sure Fi, go win some money or whatever.” The door is closed before I sit back up properly, and she is inside the warehouse, probably going to register for at least half a dozen fights, or one particularly brutal one, depending on how she feels.

I leave as soon as she’s out of sight. Longer than I’m meant to stay, but not long enough to attract too much attention.  It’s an easy enough task to navigate my way through the familiar streets, deeper into the city, and then back out the other side again, even in the falling darkness. The houses in the suburbs all almost look the same, the lawns still evenly cut, the bushes and trees all still perfectly manicured.  When I get to the one I am looking for, I’m struck by how familiar it is, how I could almost step out of my car and walk back in time to the days after my graduation. The rose bushes were starting to bud, and the flowers would probably come out soon, the trees had been trimmed and were also starting to flower.  The porch light is off, which means that my parents aren’t home yet, and I honestly can’t be bothered with waiting for them, so I park on the grass, before reaching back to grab my own go-bag, electing to leave mine and Fiore’s main bags for now, and make my way to the ivy trellis.

Climbing the trellis was something Fiore and I only tried once or twice in highschool before we worked out that it was easier to steal the keys and plan to get back once our parents were asleep. Tempting, but not today, I think to myself, looking at the apparently newly trimmed ivy. I push the gate open, walking past the pool and onto the back patio. Dad had decided the foolproof method of us being able to get in would be a key, through the dog door they’d installed for Fiore. She’d been so insulted at the time that she made a point of finding any other way to get into the house, hence the ivy, and accompanying trellis. I reach through the dog door and grab the key, then unlock the back door. I head straight upstairs, the dining room a familiar blur of reds and blacks in the low light. It’s lit by a fish tank, pretty much the size of the wall. I pause. The fish tank is new, filled with what appears to be piranhas. Awesome, Dad had managed to talk Pops into piranhas.  “... what did they do to the turtles?” I murmur, my brow furrowing. We’d had the turtles since we were young, and I’d be beyond annoyed if Dad and Pops had gotten rid of them in exchange for piranhas. I shake off the thought, their tank is upstairs. I turn, walking up said stairs. 

The lounge is the same as I remember, as if it’d been left untouched in our absence. That wouldn’t be all that surprising, actually, dad is just sentimental like that. The turtle tank is there, against the wall beside the stairs. I lean down, peering into it. There’s… one turtle. Mikey, based on the chip in his shell. Odd. I’d have to ask pops about it later, he’d promised to do the maintenance while we were gone. Then I'm onto my bedroom, swinging the door wide open and dropping onto the end of my bed like a lump of rocks. The sheets are clean, scented like something vaguely floral. The walls are still pale teal, the room is exactly as I'd left it. Minus the dust, and the books I'd left stacked beside the desk. Pops hated it. And he’d just have to get used to it again. I don’t bother to do much more than kick off my shoes and pull the blanket from the end of the bed over me as I roll over.

•°•°•❈•°•°•

Fiore’s pov

To nobody’s surprise, and especially not my own, the docks smell like shit. I beat my fist on the door until a bouncer answers– he smells like sugar. Donuts. Sharp eyes and purple hair. Odd, but not unexpected in these parts. Not odd enough to be a signature. “What's the password?” he sounds like he could be more bothered to be there, but isn’t. “Let me the fuck in, is the password.” 

He pauses, before slamming the slider for the hole in the door shut. I start to kick it, hard enough to dent, before he opens it again. “What’s the password?” he repeats, sounding vaguely more interested in my presence than before. “Ever heard of Tiamat?” I ask, stepping back and crossing my arms. The tails and ears may look for show, but they do the intimidation tactic well. The man raises a brow, “Haven't heard that name in a while. What’s got you down here?” I make no attempt to hide my growing impatience. “What do you think, dipshit? Let me in or I’m going to kick down this fucking door.” “Alright, alright… Miss Tiamat.” he closes the slider, before opening the door. Tall, didn't expect him to be that tall.

“Right, thank you,” I say, walking inside. Must be one of Big Mom’s boys. It makes sense, given that she runs most of these places. It’s dark inside, as they all are, dimly lit with warm yellow lights. The patronage is nothing to write home about– old men who get off on the violence and the betting, young men who want to prove themselves in the next fight and middle-aged women who want to pay for a rough night with the hottest fighters.

I turn back to the bouncer, “tell me, who’s the best fighter here tonight?” “The best fighter, Miss? Well, for the younger men–” “I’m not looking for a fuck, asshole,” I snap, “set me up against the best fighter you’ve got here tonight.” He pauses, an amused expression on his face. “Very well, Miss.”

I walk away, towards the ring that the patrons had circled around, the sound of flesh striking flesh echoing with the hollering of the crowd. I follow the sound, face schooled into its regular scowl. This wasn’t impressive, compared to the ones I'd seen in Whitebeard’s territory. Haruta had been fucking ridged about that shit, and there’d still managed to be full-to-the-brim venues every time. I slip past a pair of men, peering into the fight. A scrawny looking younger man, and a built-up man, probably in his thirties. Neither look as though they'd be the best of the night, though the older one looks worn, like he does this for a living.

It takes about half an hour until I'm called on– which I spend finding the bar. A bar at a warehouse? More likely than you’d think. I’m two drinks in before a tall, masked man approaches. Muscled, long blonde hair– I’m fighting this guy? “You’re Tiamat?” he asks. “Asked for the strongest fighter here? He’s ready.” Fucking finally. “Great. So it’s not you, then?” I remain leaning against the bar, chin propped up on my palm. “No ma’am. You’ll be against my boss. Eustass Kidd” I raise a brow. “Never heard of him.” “Must be new to the city, ma’am.”

He escorts me to the ring, offering no new information about his supposedly well known boss. If Dad never mentioned it, I'm sure this guy is just up his ass about himself. When I step into the ring, I see the opposition. A monolith of a man, with a– “I’m not fighting a fucking cripple.” “And I’m supposed to fight some mite-sized prissy cunt who’s too big for her damn britches?” I pause for a long moment. Before bursting out laughing. “Oh, I'm gonna kill you.”

•°•°•❈•°•°•

Third pov

The fight begins with a bang. Literally. Kidd hits the floor as Fiore tackles him, and he manages to grab her by the ankle, slamming her into the wooden floor. Once the two are up again, it’s blow after blow. A broken nose on Kidd’s end and a broken rib on Fiore’s. Both are grinning wildly, exchanging one vulgar insult for the other. “You look like your mother half swallowed.” “You look like you dance on poles for a living.” The crowd is laughing as if it’s a comedy show– and the middle-aged women look like they’re taking hits of secondhand embarrassment. Which is fucking hilarious, because Fiore’s pretty sure that was a compliment. Killer’s right up at the barricade, more curious than ever because he can see that his boss isn’t pulling his punches but is intentionally missing vital spots. He can see that Tiamat is doing the same– hitting spots that’ll bruise, visibly. God he wants to leave, this place is full of a vomiting amount of sexual tension.

Fiore manages to get her arms around Kidd from behind, knees in his back so he can’t get her off. He gets increasingly agitated the less he can breathe. So he taps out. 

He. 

Taps. 

Out. 

The crowd goes silent.

Fiore jumps off him, dusting her hands off as if touching the man had disgusted her. Kidd watches her with his usual scowl. “What’s your name?” he asks, rubbing his throat with his flesh hand. “Why do you care?” she responds, a smirk on her pink lips.  “You just kicked my ass, little girl.”

She simply gives him finger guns and walks away.