Work Text:
Perona doesn't have time to think in her rush to rescue Moria.
She was an idiot for never buying a boat while she was staying with Mihawk; she had basically unlimited access to the old bastard's berry stash at the time if she needed it, and now she'll have to front the whole damned payment herself for a ride to Fullalead. Whatever — she promised herself she wouldn't think about him. Time to go.
The ride she ordered to a nearby port town was shockingly prompt. There must have been a ship nearby already en route. It probably also helped that she used Mihawk's transponder snail to make the call; she can't imagine anyone would want to keep him waiting. Either way, she's nearly there. The next problem will be finding a way to Fullalead itself.
It being pirate island, the only people she'll be able to hitch a ride with will be a pirate crew. She can't risk being a stowaway, as she has to do whatever she can to make sure she reaches Moria in one piece. She'll have to find the first ship she can at the port heading to Fullalead and pay them to let her hitch a one-way ride. Such a pain in the ass. Maybe she can charm them into giving her a ride for free. Hah.
Eventually she finds a crew that fits the bill. They look like a bunch of sweaty miscreants, but the captain is at least put together enough; she's ordering her men to load a ton of supplies onto their ship— way more than should be needed to feed a crew of this size. They've probably been hired for a supply run to Fullalead. They should do nicely. Perona approaches the captain, puts on her poutiest face (while offering a sack full of berry), and manages to find herself on board as the ship departs.
The crew is as disgusting as the ship. She hasn't felt this gross in years. She'd gotten used to the godforsaken prim-and-proper bullshit her last place was infested with, so the change hits harder than it should. Plus, there's this odd itch under her skin that feels somehow familiar. She chooses not to think about it for very long. She does what she can to keep a watchful distance from her travel party and peacefully finds other ways to pass the time.
God this shithole is booringgg. There's nothing to do with so little space, and it certainly doesn't help that so much of the deck is occupied. A few of the crew members have tried chatting her up already, but they learned pretty quick when she hit them with a hollow or two. Who knew people would stop bothering you if they start to feel like life is hopeless just from being in your presence? Makes for a handy deterrent in case any of these assholes try something. It does give her some confidence to see other women on the ship, but not enough to let her guard down.
Night comes, eventually. Unfortunately, all it does is remind her how ill-prepared she is for this. Seriously, she could have at least brought a bedroll or something. She'll make do. She finds as comfortable a spot as she can at the stern of the ship, snags some spare cloth to use as a blanket, and nestles into a sleeping position. She definitely won't be leaving herself unattended, though. Her body and brain will rest well enough while she floats above it in her ghost form to keep safe. She gets to sleep with both eyes open. Suck on that, idioms.
There's a certain relief that comes with Perona leaving her body — one she hasn't felt in a while. It's because she doesn't have to worry about anyone messing with her, probably. That wasn't a concern while she was staying with— okay, that's enough. She can't think about him right now. He didn't even have the decency to tell her off when she stormed out, and now she has to deal with all this mushy shit. God. That's beside the point, anyway. She has to focus on Moria.
It's been far too long since she saw him last. Damn, he was fun. He loved what Perona could do with her hollows. He never cared much for Kumacy, though. In his defense, she was probably the weird one for being fond of a zombie anyway. Still, he was a useful little henchman.
Being a ghost really brings her back to her time on Thriller Bark. She spent most of her time there in this form anyway, so it's got a nostalgic feel to it. Moria always liked her better like this. She fit the aesthetic of the crew much better. It seemed to keep him happy, so she was happy to oblige. So much has changed since then; she suspects the entire crew has disbanded by now. There's no guarantee the others found places to stay that were as safe as hers.
She really has to stop thinking about this sad shit.
The sun crawls up the horizon to meet her gaze at dawn.
What an awful night. Hopping back into her body shows Perona that spare cloth does not make for a good blanket. She's freezing, and the itch from yesterday is back to boot. She may as well have stayed a damn ghost. She collects herself as she sees the crew start to file onto the deck and braces for company.
It's a while before Perona gets approached again, but this time it's the captain. The woman looks her up and down with an air of disgust and concern on her face. "Have a nice night? That's one of our most luxurious suites."
Okay, fuck you too. Perona prepares a hollow in case she gets any closer. "Your deck is creaky. Poor craftsmanship."
"We do have places for you to sleep, you know. Like the beds. I'd recommend, they're usually my pick."
Straight to the chase, then. "I think I'll pass. I like my lodging private."
The captain cracks a smile, oddly. "The crew aren't so bad, you know. And I'd sooner castrate every one of them than let them make a paying guest uncomfortable."
Perona rolls her eyes as visibly as she can. "I'll consider it." The captain tips her hat and returns to her crew.
Perona lets out a deep sigh as soon as she's out of earshot. She looks down to the cloth she slept with, and back up to the drinks the crew seems to be sharing already. Perona is no stranger to a glass of wine or two in the morning. It can't hurt too much to join in.
It's dusk before she knows it. Maybe these jackasses aren't so bad.
And okay, maybe the bed is an improvement. Perona had to bother learning the captain's name to get it, though, so who's to say, really. 'Captain Shellback' explains that she's trading out with navigation tonight, so she'll make sure to keep watch of Perona's door whenever she can. Admittedly, that helps. Perona pulls the covers over herself and quickly drifts to sleep, risking not keeping watch herself as a ghost. She needs the rest.
Halfway through the night, her ghost rolls out of her body and off of the bed. She's glad to avoid the thud of her body hitting the floor as she floats aimlessly to the side, but that doesn't detract from the distress of the situation. What the hell was that? She was having a nice dream about being back on Kuraigana when Dammit, No. She said she wasn't going to think about that. At least the itch is gone.
Perona groans and moves to float back into her body, but her soul screams and the echo batters around her mind like a runaway ping pong ball. Taken aback, she looks at the body on the bed. It looks disgusting. Obviously it's gorgeous, it's her, but it feels like a carcass she has to lug around after a fresh kill. The stench of that thought fills her mind and stagnates. She’s never really felt like her body was hers. Not since she ate her devil fruit. It feels... it feels akin to a meatsuit she dons— one that sags around the edges from poor fit. It’s as if her life as a ghost is more real than her life as a corpse. Like life in her body isn't real at all. But then, she supposes everyone feels that way sometimes. Bodies are gross. She just has the luxury of leaving hers when she needs to. She doesn't know how the others manage.
Okay. If she can't waste the night away in her subconscious, she might as well keep herself busy. This is ridiculous, though. She thought she'd gotten over this. She used to come crying to Moria whenever she couldn't bring herself to hop in and wake herself up, but he would just shoo her away to get back to his sleep. Moria saw his body as a symbol of power. He couldn't have understood. That was okay, though.
The feeling only really went away once she was sent to Miha— shit. She can't keep letting herself get distracted by this. Mihawk wouldn't want her to feel— Dammit. For god's sake, get a grip, girl. Can she seriously not think about his ugly, pompous, warm, overcomplicated, emotionless, uncompromising, candid, punchable demeanour for more than five god damn seconds?? FUCK.
Maybe she misses him a little.
She starts to bawl.
Perona decides to sleep in this morning.
It takes unbelievable effort to drag herself into her body. She wanders out of her room and hauls herself up the stairs to the main deck. The crew greets her, and she gives a half-hearted wave. They're nice enough, but they aren't home. She finds her place at the stern again.
His absence makes the itch sharpen. She sets her body down somewhere safe and removes herself from the feeling.
So what if she misses him? What's the big deal? She's handled worse. She lived on Thriller Bark for years, and— No. She doesn't have the heart to finish that sentence. She lets the meaning hang and casts it out to sea. One crisis at a time, thank you.
Well it’s not like she could go back. Not now. Not to him. She made her choice, and they aren't the kind of people to go back on their word. 'A swordsman never turns their back to their opponent.' Or something. She could never remember the way Mihawk phrased it in his ramblings. Plus, would he even want her there? She was a disaster to live with. She always messed with his decor and forced her own spin on it. She could see how he loathed it. He hated her sangria, too. He must have drank it out of pity. She was certain her morning routine disrupted his, with how prissy he was about that damn beard, but a woman needs her time in the bathroom, okay? Hair like hers doesn't get done on its own. Beauty takes time and perfection. He wouldn't get it. Well, she supposes maybe he would, but that doesn't stop her from needing her time. God, he's a nuisance. She's fed up just thinking about him. What's the deal with that ridiculous hat, anyway? Feathers have been out of style for ages, and he should know damn well that—
Perona is back in her body. The itch is gone.
Everything falls away for a moment. She remembers what it's like to be one, and she savours the moment while it lasts. Mihawk's final words to her before she left flood into her head on their own.
"Stay safe."
She knows where home is.
She just has an errand to run before she gets back.