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Scops steps in to the bar, and is surprised to see he's the first to arrive. Scanning around for a table he could grab, he grumbles to himself. The crew had given him all these warnings before they separated, admonishing him to stay out of trouble, but who had gotten here first in the end? "Use your brain and not just your eyes, don't get caught up in your daydreams, blah blah blah," Cawkatoo liked to scold, and even set Frogmouth to babysit him, when he was the one who watched the currents and clouds and had gotten them this far in to the Grand Line. Ha!
He's stepping around a gaggle of rowdy drunks when he sees a tall, slender figure out of the corner of his eye, and is struck dumb as he takes them in. The dim lamp behind their head illuminates him like a halo, standing alone at the bar with no one brave enough to approach the regal beauty. He turns fully to admire the figure, the tousled hair black as a raven's wing, broad shoulders clad in a wine red shirt, a trim waist sitting above a high, tight ass, ending with long legs clad in knee-high boots.
He has a saber belted to his right hip, polished to a gleam, and as Scops stumbles closer he sees arresting golden eyes surrounded by dark lashes within a porcelain face, with a neat mustache above full, pouting lips. The shirt, barely laced and nearly hanging off his shoulders, also exposes the smooth, pale skin of his chest, with nary a scar nor blemish to be seen. He must be a rookie with his pristine clothes and shiny new sword, not yet exposed to the harsh life of the open sea. With the treasure the crew had just acquired he could take care of a classy guy like that, bring him in to the flock before he was snatched up by someone less savory. His Raven he thinks dreamily, Cawkatoo's screeched warnings fading in to mist.
Scops imagines the crew coming in to see him with someone like that on his arm, on his lap, in his bed with those long legs hooked over his shoulders--shit, he's getting ahead of himself. He has to wait to calm down before he can approach the bar, thankful no one else has tried their hand while he was daydreaming. He walks up to the bartender and spying a glass of red wine in the other's hand (he was surprised to see it, wasn't common in the sort of joint pirates frequented) he requests another, or whatever the gentleman desires.
Those gold eyes glance over at him then quickly away, but he doesn't move to take the glass. Charmed by his shy demeanor, it's the last push Scops needs to lean dashingly against the bar and finally speak to the beauty. "So, you new here? I'd sure remember seeing someone like you around." The other continues looking bashfully down at his drink, unable to meet his gaze, and that's all the encouragement he needs to continue his plan. Yawning widely, he slowly stretches his arms over his head before surreptitiously lowering his left to put a hand at the small of his raven's back.
Before he can though, someone beats him to it. He doesn't even see or sense anyone on the other side but a hand comes out of nowhere to rest casually on the long, pale neck, before it strokes sensuously down his back to come to a rest at his waist. Scops stares jealously at the pinky, resting so close--too close to the swell of that pert ass. His raven turns towards whoever dares intrude on their rendezvous and he growls, spinning around to warn them away. Well, fuck, the interloper is also a handsome son of a gun. Fiery red hair going a little gray at the temples frames a ruggedly handsome face, skin bronzed by the sun, with a set of rakish scars over his left eye and a strong, stubbled jaw. His shirt hangs half open to expose more tanned skin, a golden cross resting on a well muscled chest.
The redheaded menace runs his leering gaze down and back up his raven's figure, lingering on his right hip. Then the redhead has the nerve to lean in even further, a downright sleazy grin on his face. "Look at you all dressed up for me, sweetheart," he smirks before pulling him close, fingering the hilt of the saber before grasping the hip it rests on. His raven gives a startled gasp, left hand rising to push weakly at the redhead's chest.
They must know each other he thinks, mind racing. Has his raven been trapped in an unwanted relationship, unable to ward off the advances of this--this vulture? Scops imagines himself stepping between them with a suave, "Is this guy bothering you?", forcing the redhead back with a really cool flourish of his nunchaku, his raven gazing adoringly at him as the uninvited guest curses his overwhelming prowess and stomps away.
But neither of them are moving, and as Scops looks again he can admit his raven's expression doesn't look that frightened. He can hardly blame the other when he's willing to admit the ruffian has a certain bad boy charm of his own. He can't help imagining the two together, both so tall and handsome but with such contrast between their coloring. He pictures the redhead leaving purple marks on the other's pale skin, nipping at that long neck while his raven gazes at him with hooded eyes and extends a slender hand toward him. Maybe they could share his raven--he takes in the intense stares they're giving each other, the way they haven't looked away once. Maybe they'd let him watch...
When he comes back to himself long, slender fingers are grasping the chain of the redhead's cross--perhaps to strangle the intruder! Instead he's pulled close as his raven whispers something in his ear, the rake's expression somehow getting even sleazier. Quick as a flash he's whirling them away from the bar. Scops tries to follow and spit out his proposal but the redhead turns his head to glare at him out of the corner of his eye. He stops in his tracks, a chill running down his spine. He can only watch as they depart together--his raven doesn't look back once.
Suddenly it's like the world returns to life around him, the noise bowling him over. He hears shouting and realize his crew has surrounded him and are panicking, yelling frantically.
"What was that!? What did I tell you about staying out of trouble??" yells Cawkatoo.
"What are you talking about? What's it matter to you if I get a little action-"
He's cut off, "I can blame you for not having the sense your mother gave you! Do you have a death wish!?"
Frogmouth is peering surreptitiously out the window. "I think they're gone, doesn't look like they're going to bother with us."
"Why would they bother with us? It looked like they knew each other, I guess he wasn't on the market after all," he sulks.
Cawkatoo gesticulates wildly. "You! Idiot! Fucking! Hawkeyes!" He can't get any more words out and lets out a frustrated scream.
Scops spins around, head swinging frantically back and forth, "Hawkeyes? Where!?"
When his crewmate can only sputter wordlessly Scops rolls his eyes, and is about to turn away when he's grabbed by the shoulders and given a hard shake. "You blind walnut, why do you think no one else was approaching tall, dark and terrifying? I'm telling you that was fucking Hawkeyes Mihawk! And Red-Haired Shanks!!"
He stares blankly, then shakes his head at the crew as they all nod gravely, disbelieving. "You're joking--"
"No, we're not!"
"Seriously!? I didn't think Hawkeyes would look so, so--"
"Young?" someone interjects. "I thought he was supposed to be like, sixty now."
"So beautiful..." Cawkatoo whacks him on back of the head.
But it was true, without his infamous sword and hat, the thought that this languid beauty could be the once greatest swordsman in the world had never crossed his mind. Now that he finally realizes how close he was to danger his heart starts racing as his mind bombards him with images he'd tried so hard to ignore. Instead of a halo the lamp was a spotlight, pinned on the most dangerous predator in the room. The glances and whispers of the other patrons hadn't been lustful but fearful--all right, maybe they were both. The man hadn't been shy and retiring, scared to meet the gaze of an up and coming rookie, instead readily discounting the ant so desperately courting his attention. No one could be worthy of him--besides a former emperor. He remembers the way Red-Haired Shanks had so casually reeled him in with a smirking grin as if he'd done it a hundred times before, the sound Hawkeyes had made less a gasp of fright and more an exasperated huff. Then there was way the former legends had stared in to each other's eyes as Hawkeyes trailed a strong hand down that muscled chest...
"I've heard rumors Hawkeyes joined the Red-Haired Pirates, I suppose he's really joined with the red-haired pirate," Frogmouth pipes up, starting to find humor in his mishap now that the danger has passed.
Scops stumbles over to a stool and collapses on it. He grabs the untouched glass of wine he'd ordered (for Hawkeyes!!) and downs it in one gulp.
Cawkatoo claps him on the back, "Cheers."