When You're Hungry, Eat [Pt. II: Careless]

The rag missed the rack, landing, instead, on a pointy protrusion.

"I told you guys."

Brook was stifling a giggle as, cleanly draping over the whole front portion of Usopp's unamused face, the rag slowly slipped sideways before falling to the cola-filled floor. It was swiftly picked up by the liquid, floating away, which swished at their feet.

"I can explain everything. But first, you gotta help me plug these holes!"

After a passing silence, their fellow blue-haired shipmate darted his head up and waved a wrench at them. "Hello! Ya guys blind or what?" Thunk, thunk! "I could use a hand here since we're all on this ship together, you know! Sink, or swim!"

Usopp and Brook looked at each other, sighed, and whipped out hammer and nail. From where, don't ask me. Seriously, I'm just a narrator.

"What exactly happened, Franky??" Usopp and Brook hobbled over towards a hole and closed them up with makeshift planks, hammering them tight. "This is worse than the time you stocked these with root beer for laughs."

"THAT WAS YOU!" decried Brook.

"Don't pin all of this on me!" On the other end of the energy room, the giant-forearmed man in his underwear and an unbuttoned shirt (in fact no, he was not underdressed) shanked wooden bandages over fissures in an indistinguishably harried blur, jumping from barrel to barrel as if hopscotching home from a a big bad something something. "You can thank that new contraption you were asking me to fix up for this, you know. At least part."

"What?"

"Yeah, I was powering it up for a whirl when, suddenly, it ignited without warning! Blew everything into bits all over the place, OOOWWW!"

Another 'ow' ricocheted against the walls, this time with a lot less flamboyance. Franky and Usopp turned to see Brook meekly holding up a throbbing thumb, hammer clanking to the river hosting floor. "How is that even possible, you're a skeleton!!" cried spectator one and two alike.

"Yohohoho. Indeed," the pirate mused in a shadowy soliloquy while Franky and Usopp flatly watched, "the body works in mysterious ways." He looked up one dramatic pause later to see them both on the other side of the ship, hurriedly working the shriveling patchwork, and swiveled backward. "Are you even listening to me!?"

---

Mm-mm, Nakaba licked a lip. Either one in wanting of moisture, you'd think. How pathetically wrong you would be. They were still doused with fresh pan oil. A touch of crisp mint. Dairy in the perfect quantity. This quality of craft painted Sanji in a new light for the boy, if for but a harry. It would be more than an insult, it would be magnanimously inaccurate, to call such cooking a wee bit scorching dry.

No-ho-no. It just happened that, marooned of course at this given moment, in a perfunctory sight that a discreetly professional pervert as himself wouldn't dare let go remiss, a certain orange haired piece o' spunk had stood up, planted two legs firmly on the floor, hands on her hips, leaning forward in a near 90-degree angle that probably took a certain level of contortionist proficiency to achieve so effortlessly but shit there it was, and maddogged, with expertly suppressed killing intent, the talking reindeer doctor. What a laughable sight it was, wedged as fate so procured in an awkward predicament that, if he wanted to defuse it at all, made him probably wish he was born a weasel. A weasel blessed with the handiness to wriggle out of a predicament nevertheless so pleasantly accompanied by flashy, silky skin-riding girl garb at his person that it would render a priest bloody.

And, feet away, Nami and her unassuming butt. Purr.

Puurrr.

Thought that was a rearing feline, and you'd be wronger than Montblanc Noland. That was dick, as Nakaba's libido took point. In his case, it wasn't just an organ. It was an organism.

Standing before him was another eye catching organism. Enough to make his wavy antsy wand tremble as the world was ephemerally shut out and left the two (three?) of them to sojourn like bunny-eared scribes off a corncob.

Him and his perv radar.

Her shorts-stretching, petite ass.

His eyes, Nakaba-fueled laser goggled dots.

Her festive display of young, smooth skinned leg.

His lip digging teeth.

Her trim, youthful body.

What was the saying?

Two.... ah, fuck it, he didn't remember.

Nakaba furtively pinched his little friend through his trousers. The touch of Nami's foot from earlier still lingered in the form of a throbbing pocket of blood in his penis that couldn't be denied, twitching and swishing and control-presuming. Truly a comedy for the ages: just like her fellow woman-mate of the seas, these earrings effortlessly arose to assume the role of her silent lurking master -- even with all that will and spunk; control, in an utterance. From this no-name loser treasure hunter.

Anyway, it was weird. More than weird. But sexy. Sexier, even, than lacy panty material from -- what? A pantry from one of the global kingdoms?

Whatever the case, here those spicy lady-wear lay now. And here he sat, looking at them. It was the kind of opportunity maker that only lent one's brain to questions of pressing urgency, ones he mulled as he drank in the moment.

Could that ass hold a cannonball inside it? Could such pillagable boobs feed a starving nation? Where was the G-spot? Where was it really?

Nakaba was no scholar. Of course he didn't have answers to these questions.

"N-Nami, I--I know how this looks--"

"It looks," teeth gritted, the orange-headed minx hung a panty over a finger as deadweight, "like someone's been nosing around."

Chopper cowered by Zoro's leg, while Nakaba quietly, unassumingly, like a father pushed to coordinated action, used his own to stand himself up.

But he did have the best damn seats in the entire dysfunctional house.

So...

Who cared?

"Nami." Finally -- but in deliberately measured timbre -- he placed his piece on the board.

At Nakaba's sudden interjection, the navigator peeked her head back and eyed him unscrupulously. "Yes?" The response was accompanied by the curious heads of Luffy and the others, most of which were still wrapping said craniums around the notion of Chopper fishing around the women's quarters for Nami's brassieres. And whatever Nakaba had to say about it.

"Do you want to know something?" the boy, the stowaway, the bane of their existence in guise of wimpy rag stitches, asked no-fuss.

"What?" the young woman pressed, chin angled over a shoulder.

"I'd like to see you out of those," Nakaba's finger prodded the air in the direction of Nami's backside.

Hilariously, each eye followed its invisible trajectory. A path which ended at the terse derriere. One, sadly, covered at the moment, in a pair of form fitting, air-flapping fabricky shorts.

Nami gave Nakaba a stolid look. Then, airily, cocked a brow. "You want to see me... out of these."

It felt like a week's stretch of dialogue, condensed to a smatter of seconds, and didn't really come back a question. But Nakaba only locked eye to caustic, catty eye. Then he grinned ghoulishly, nod in tow.

Nami just lent him a flatlining stare. "My shorts."

"Right again, detective." Snicker. "Come on. Whatchya say?"

Another skip of an itch danced faintly across Nami's two eyes. "Hm," she eventually managed, with a potentially malicious upturned pout of the lips as she straightened her back. Whaddya know, his brain smugly pulled its non-existent lips from corner to corner. I could've sworn waiting for me was a ferocious fist to the face.... why the restraint? Why no just, vindicated **** of retribution for my dumb, idiotic outburst, Nami?

I know you want to do it. I know you should want to do it. To ball that fist. To swing it. And yet, I could see it in your eyes...

Dangle, bounced an ear accessory.

...****.

****... or a missing file in a cabinet dedicated to caring about the precious womanly dignity people like me, day in, day out, consistently, never-endingly, threat to violate? One that in this case...

...will be stepping in like an old, snuggly friend? After a terse pause, the woman finally, assertively, conclusively lasered her gaze onto Nakaba and, in a glimmer that was easily missable were you just a single blink off, seemed to, at last, taxingly, relinquish a flame that inhabited her deeply and with fluent occupation, since whenever she first made the first strides towards the adult charmer and pragmatist she clearly was today perhaps, now taking a turn instead to something... calmer. Cooler. Relaxed, but not quite free of her torrid tongue. "Well, that's good for you. But just so you know, if you haven't noticed already," Nami stated, half-obviously, "I'm wearing them, these pants you seem so interested in seeing wherever, and no they're not coming off," she trailed off with -- what, what was that? A... chortle of condescension?

A 'pfft yeah'? A 'what the hell was in your joe, buddy, 'cause I'll have that to-go'? A Nami-trademarked stamp of unequivocal non-negotiable rejection?

Not a syllable after, Chopper shakily joined in with a vocal tremor. And then a guttural start later, so too did the others cue the throaty harmony. A near invisible chuckle from moss-head. A bemused tsk from 'ol blonde cook-face. Even a booming roar from the captain himself.

"HA-HAHAHAHAHAHA." Luffy tilted his head in confusion. Wrinkled his brows, nose tucked in. "Wait. Why we laughing again?"

Meanwhile, across the room, the smirk on Nakaba's lips visibly betrayed the feeble get-up from just moments previous. As had his entire attitude the moment Chopper had barged through the door. How odd. Odder still, that nobody bothered to point it out. At least, if in some possibility, you were an observer of the situation, external to it, not ransom to its unique peculiarities. If, somehow, you were in a capacity to see through the flakes on your eyes and curl your toes at the quirkiness of Nakaba's, and thus his new acquaintances', general behavior. If, perhaps, only you were a god yourself. Watching as a wannabe one drank himself clear-giddy with some kind of invisible power. A power he, don't be fooled, never choose, not exactly; only haphazardly given. The same power that would put hot chicks like these at his handsome, unequivocal mercy, whether they could do anything to resist it or not.

And which, of course, was inescapable, insurmountable, like the air in the breeze, the light from a star. All covering. Blanketing. Including everyone in that very woody, spacious, aroma filled room, privy to the guy's little brazen set of interjections like anybody with an ear would be.

No, they weren't... odd. No. As the others likely quickly came around to, Nakaba was just a get-to-know-you kind of fellow. It was funny, dorkily cute even, how he broke out of his shell. So readily he broke it, at the meager inquest of a little hospitality. Sometimes all you needed was a gentle...

... push.

Nakaba cast his eyes up from their shadowed gleam. If he was suppressing the deviant tingles twitching like phantom tugs at his face, the **** squiggle of excitement on the other side of his mouth was giving it away a little.

"Yep. Yep you are Nami. And," one scanning side-eye was relegated to Sanji. And then Zoro. And then the doe-eyed Luffy. They were all watching. Observing. Gauging him. Even as his eyes fell back down to the woman before him, hungrily, and with a hastily diminishing levy of innocence. "...yes, they will." The boy's lech of a stare traveled over Nami's knees, the upper, grabbable stems which snugly hid into her well fitting pair of pants, so hint-fully, so implicitly, yet as obviously as the fake grass on their outer deck. One pass of a flexing digit and you could have set off something. "Those shorts," he flicked a wrist, and stepped forward, "don't leave much to the imagination anyway. Watch, just," briskly, he swiped something from off the kitchen counter as he stepped forward, causing Sanji to raise a brow, but not a hand (or end of either shoe, to put it mildly) to stop him, as he was just a boy, and, not to mention, a guest under their care. It wasn't really worth a reprimand or even a grunt of consternation -- as neither was what he was intending to do in a matter of paces. "Stay right there. I wanna check something."

Nami, a scoff leaving her lips quicker than you can say, 'Ass,' folded her arms as her best response, "What would that be?"

In his hand, Nakaba held up a spatula, apparently not courteous enough to even give her a proper answer. Instead, Nami watched as he stopped in front of her, curled his lips into a shit-eating grin, and stared into her eyes. For whatever reason, she couldn't really guess, nor bother to be bothered about. It almost looked as if he was trying to say something through his totally insignificant, appropriate stare. Maybe just to himself, more like. Like a bubbling 'spark' of vigorous, uncontainable excitement, dying to be unleashed.

Then, he reached around her hips. What did he think she was? A mannequin? Not really empowering, but it was his space as much as hers. Nami's pupils coolly followed him as his arms and hands proceeded behind her, and then lower, and... oh. Oh boy. Typically, it was past this incriminating point of no return a man would immediately stop, muscles instinctually contracting themselves morally immovable. Maybe go paralyzed. Maybe face a paralyzing punch to the soul by an unamused Nami to render them benchwarmed for the remainder of the day if they weren't going to take initiative and, you know, do it themselves.

But this?

This was different. This was Nakaba and, holy shit, did mouths even produce that much foam!? Like, get a towel! Hello? Someone! Anyone?

(Anyway), for him, surely, this was nothing but another stretch of the muscles. Who really cared where his hands were by a woman? Even someone like.

Well. Someone like her?

Cat Burglar Nami, resident navigator of the Straw Hat Pirates. One eye-ravishing body, with supple curves and a a slender, young nubile woman's figure in tow. Truly, there was a cute, pretty beaut in that bundle of materialistic spunk; however quickly that may dissolve in an actual combat scenario.

Indeed.

And -- because of course they would -- someone was bound to want to find that out for themselves. Nakaba was one of those someone's. Hell; he was one of the few that didn't just want. He was doing. He was doing it right now.

Nami wrinkled a brow.

He was doing it right now. Crossing that threshold. Invading that space. Satelliting body parts she wouldn't give free access to if it was the damn Admirals asking for it. And... she didn't care.

Who cared how exactly close her 'careful places' were to the grubby tips of his fingers? How familiar and intimate he got with her winning body? How close, how low, how deep and around he explored, feeling up buttcracks and squeezing warm skin?

Hm...

.... Yeah.

Not any she could immediately summon to the front of her brain. Certainly not herself. Certainly not any of the other Straw Hats currently gathered in that room. Not her old friends and family back at Cocoyashi Village. She just couldn't bring herself to. She was sure neither could they.

He had no reason not to violate her personal space. He was just Nakaba. What he did didn't really even matter. Spanking? Thrusting? Fingering? All no-no's that, if attempted on someone like Nami, would probably send a man to an early grave.

Lucky then, that Nakaba was one guy in the world that could spank, thrust, and finger all he motherlicking wanted; at least in this moment. This instance of time. He posed no threat. Whereas other men were scum, Nakaba was harmless.

So down the inconsequential boy of a man progressed. Harmlessly. Down until his hand was twitches away from forbidden, no-go, restricted, no-men-allowed-EVER territory. And in that territory Nami watched Nakaba hover his hands over. A forcefield he dared challenge, even with the shingle of hesitance in his downward pilgrimage. He was close enough for his breath to traipse over her arm.

Only a second later, equipped with conduct built rough as rain, Nakaba quite predictably laid shit to all unspoken, de facto boundaries between man and woman, fingers trailing down before finally bristling against the material of her quaintly fitting pair of shorts. Nami could've sworn he uttered something to the ilk of, "Here we go, bitches." Or "Let's roll this shit," or maybe, "Hoes, hoes, all in 'dis biz-'nitch."

He was practically an ear away. A whisper might as well have been in front of a megaphone.

Clasp.

Clutching the upper back hem of her pants, some kind of crude noise that could be passed as a snort left his nostrils and he pulled the minx's shorts back with a sharp tug, back off of the succinct curves of her panty-wrapped, physically present set of evidently shakable, hopelessly lickable and bottle throttle buttocks now blankly presented before him like they were just two freshly carted watermelons in an autumn sheath, thrust upon him, ready for squishing. And instantly, at the view that her opened shorts provided to this rear-hind heaven, Nakaba lit up like a child in a candy store, gingerly taking in the faint scent of her intimate womanly corners with a high-nosed sniff as Nami squiggled her nose at a passing speck of dust, remaining idle and in place as plastically as before, near the start of their exchange. In the same time window, Nakaba proceeded to drink in her ass like a tutor grading the strangely arousing homework.

Nakaba's eye was having a side all to itself. A side that was just as much main course as he greedily meandered, measured, traveled up and down every curve and fit, fleshy tenderloin of butt-skin that was now teasingly exposed below him, Nami's arm barely a centimeter from the base of his cheek as his dick boinged to life, tip grazing her thigh. "DAMN! Nice lil' butt you got here! Seriously! I knew they'd be lookers, Nami, I just knew it!" He gleefully spewed. In his physically expressive excitement, he shook Nami's body about in tremor-laden slights . The young woman stood nonplussed as her person from the lower torso down was sometimes jerked the same way a heavy sleeping Luffy would be by the nearest designated waker before they raced into whatever throes of danger awaited them next.

Every particularly stressed syllable from Nakaba caused her to sway a little, her head effectively remaining non-adjusted and at times having to lazily loll back into place above her yanked body below. "Look at them, squeezed into these frimpy things!" he yanked her shorts up, pulling them up by the upper hem and then tugging and whortling it around 'til it would be at equal elevation with the small of her back. In addition, he'd pull far back enough that it would cause her to lean slightly from the waist with an uncomfortable twist of the throat. Nakaba was having much too grand a time in this grand little line to not get a little liberal. Proven when he spontaneously decided to try making the orange-headed girl's tush shake with the bottom-cradling cut of her shorts alone.

Predictably, his sporadic pulls turned twitchy and up-swung. With each new pull, he attempted to lift and compress Nami's ass, in a manner that made it look like he was running a thread of cloth through a sewing machine, only with it fully complete and wearable, and somebody and their warm-feeling, impeccable tight ass currently in it. Consider it a way to strengthen her attire's textile. Snickering as he made the petite butt Nami's momma gave 'er dance without so much as flicking at it with his hand, Nakaba gleamed, "They could use some air, these slappable hand-warmers of yours, Nami! So," he flashed a smile to no one, "here they are, ladies and gentle-morons!"

The navigator blinked, returning her head backward to take in Nakaba's miniature investigation herself, then rolled her eyes as the boy peered down her pulled out pants and shoved them down and over, just to the bottom slopes of her ass, having a drastic chemical reaction to the now much more exposed cheeks right in front of her and her fellow, thankfully patient, sea riding colleagues (who knew their place, at least, thank god). Nami stood un-availed, and simply took in the sensation of the moderate morning room-temperature air swathing over her bare derriere, a tinge of chilly sea mist entering her pantyclad ass-crack, with candor.

Men.

"Like my bottom that much, huh?" she tangentially purveyed a fingernail.

"Yeah," he snorted as if answering an obviously retarded question before dismissively moving on. "Have you ever tried doing butt exercises, Nami?" Nakaba verbally managed. He had to wipe his drool off a portion of her shirt first, 'cause. Well. No one brought the towel. "Something to help shape and round this trunk of yours even more wholesomely?"

Her tongue slung against the inside of her cheek.

Exercises.

For her ass.

To make it more... wholesome.

For a guy that deliberately grabbed her bare foot to grind against his dick when she was just trying to give him a gentle, discreet footsie under the table during breakfast -- a guy like that -- she was surprised he didn't ask something with a little more bark. Nami just rolled her temple with a finger. "No, I have never tried 'exercising' to get my butt in shape for guys to just ogle and play creep to." A hint of sass, once again. Nakaba smirked. He'd call her attitude bitchy if he didn't like how much hotter it made his gains over her. "I just stick to a healthy diet and, you know. Run a lot. Jump. It's kind of a given in this line of work."

"Huh, that's too bad. I could show you some moves, you know."

"And I'm still waiting on what you wanted to show me right now."

Nakaba chuckled piggishly. "Nami, are you a fucking idiot?" The boy then slipped his other hand down to plop atop Nami's left butt-cheek. With the observance of a monk on the mountain, somewhere, he pressed his fingers down against the warm flesh, and oh what sassy-girl warmth, swallowing his cold-blooded bones. His fingers immersed in the lush fat and a ribbon of muscle, each wigglable glute supporting her firm, upright standing position. Man. If this got old one day, he was going to make sure this moment was savored. Like rich, viscous porkbelly. "I'm groping you in the ass, as we speak! That's what's happening right now! I'm ogling and playing creep to you, under your fucking nose! And you're just going to let me get away with this shit."

"Ehh?" swizzing out of Nami's lips couldn't have been any more dripped in irony as she haughtily scoffed off Nakaba's vulgarity-laden insights. "Wow, I can't believe this random guy we found off a chunk of plank weeks ago and treated to recovery is now groping my ass!" she quipped through a wryly up-swung lip. "I can see it for myself, you know. I'm not blind. But," she corrected, " if you think anything you do to me is worth any attention to, sorry, you've been misled. Groping included. No offense."

Nakaba shrugged, moving his hand over and across Nami's waiting buttock. "So... you're saying I could squeeze and smack this spanker of yours to my heart's content, then?"

"Squeeze and smack all damn day for all I care. What's it to me? You know I'm not going to stop you from making a move on me just because I'd kill anybody else for it," Nami dismissed rationally, checking up on her other set of fingerbeds, "because. You're... Nakaba." Upon barely finishing her sentence, Nakaba pinched her ass hard and wiggled and kneaded it like he was tearing off a batch of dough, then double-slapped it double-time, sending the consecutive sound ricocheting off the wood-boarded walls.

SMACK!

SMACK!

Nami immediately winced, her shoulders tensing up; her tiptoes shoving her heels off the floor as if she was just jolted with a pump of electricity. Through gritted teeth and air-tight eyelids, she released a hiss. "Oof! Etetete.." her body comically rippled with vibrations before recovering.

Nakaba had to convince gravity to keep him off the floor. Because by the heavenly sea, he was about to roll over it, curled in a fetal position, dying of totally not malicious laughter.

Nami. Oh, Nami. Gotdamn. The fox just gave him, in unofficial verbal consent, full leeway to **** her lil' behind! Right before her (and her compatriots') very own eyes!!

Because as far as she was concerned, who was he? Who, exactly, was he born to threaten? Him? A hazard?

He was just Nakaba.

Nakaba caught Robin's eye, just across the room back to their table. She did the same. He grinned through intact teeth.

"That hurt, Nami?" asked a grisly, but otherwise non-volatile voice.

"A little, yeah." The ass-exposed lady pirate looked sideways, miffed. "You don't need to worry about me though, Zoro, just... focus on your blade filing thing."

"I'm not giving this a manicure, you know! This is a weapon! A real life, deadly weapon!" Zoro fanged, disgruntled at Nami's disregard for the art of sword maintenance.

"Yeah, yeah." The orange-head was already moving promptly on. "Anyways, sorry Nakaba, but if mashing my butt with your hand was all you were trying to flaunt for me, then I need to get back to dealing with," sighing, Nami flung her hands directionlessly before her, "this--"

SMACK!

Another wince, as she finished her sentence over Nakaba's slap of her ass, causing her to glare over her shoulder at him, testily. "--mess."

Ultimately empty of intimidation, as Nakaba only slung a knuckle gently across the hanging flesh of her sweet ass and plopped it off the top like he was dropping ice into a martini, then paddled the upper swell of her butt cheek lasciviously with his hand. Two rapid-fire pats, like he was wishing good luck to a set of unassuming skin-melons. And once again, only a roll of the eyes was her chosen response to his humiliating indulgence in her body.

Nakaba, reveling at the nonchalance with which her crewmates carried themselves while he manhandled their friend -- surely, surely, someone they'd be unequivocally protective of; whom they'd kill for, now openly molested before them like a rack of meat -- and trying not to give it away with another cackle of his, only then registered Nami's throwaway mumble. "But I'm not done!" protested her full-handed harasser.

"I didn't say you had to stop," Nami deflected matter-of-factly, soliciting another hardness-induced twitch from Nakaba's pants tenting junior from how uncaring her demeanor was. Not just towards Nakaba. Towards the thought itself, the pure, unbridled act, of her molestation. Apparent as she talked and casually engaged in the room like it was any other copacetic morning, with a pair of shorts halfway down her ass and Nakaba leering at the way the skin of said smooth, creamy, visibly well-maintained and -groomed ass sunk and compacted at the ministrations of hand and finger. Apparent as she acted with the disposition of a chicklet still in full control of a situation that had just been subject to a case of malicious, discreetly carried out infiltration. "I just would prefer it if I get all my... 'articles'... out of the eating area, in the open." She narrowed her eyes, tongue whetted in disapproval. "And talk to Chopper. In private."

"Chopper, huh?" Nakaba glanced to the reindeer. "Yeah, you can talk to Chopper. Sure. But first," he withdrew himself from the girl's behind and stood upright, raising a hand as he focused on her, "it's normal for you to keep the handle of this spatula warm by sticking it as far up your uptight ass-hole as it can go, right?"

"Right," nodded Nami.

Carrying on. "It's also normal for you to come by later to show to me how far you got the spatula in," Nakaba circled his finger over the referred location, "indicated by a mark that shows where it sat just by the entrance of your anus."

Nami scoffed. "Why wouldn't I? You should know. You're into my butt so much you probably want a whole encyclopedia on it." She beckoned. "So, do you think I can have that spatula now?"

"Sure," he passed her the utensil, "but don't stick it up your bum just yet."

"Great." Nami, having just been assessing where to aim it into her half-exposed trunk with a wrinkled brow and a finger tapped chin, stopped, looked forward at Nakaba, and hung the spatula at her side. Nakaba's internals wanted to burst. How **** for release. But no. He had to learn to control himself -- well, part of himself -- if he wanted to play his little self-aggrandizing game. It -- all of it -- was key to the romance of this whole adventure. "What now then?"

Tink tink, went Zoro's sword filing thing. A sparse chuckle, from Nico Robin, that flew mostly unnoticed.

Chopper only stared intently on, aware that his tail now rested on whatever came of this exchange. Nakaba smirked.

He was going to have some invaluable fun using him for mischief moving forward. No doubt; it had sure been an oddly active duet of days for him.

.... Actually, scratch that. He didn't notice a single thing off, not a cubic meter out of place, did he? Odd? Obviously relative. Why would he be concerned over a day or two of odd antics with Nakaba-san?

No one was.

He'd finger-fuck Robin.

He'd grope Nami's ass cheeks in front of whoever was present to bear witness.

He'd call the girls 'bitch' and 'idiot' while they let him run over them.

And he'd make him run a woman's underwear stealing operation and it would be a fun, awesome idea.

Because that was who he was.

"In plain terms," smiled a serenely unfettered Robin, as Nakaba openly doughed his crotch and looked up to see Robin offering him a non-judgemental, almost intrigued stare, one that penetrated him, one that saw through the thick divots in his cranium -- and yet also, resolutely, nothing at all, "you are free to be who you are."

"Come here," Nakaba curled a finger at Nami, and she obliged. An awkward waddle followed as she walked over, with her shorts looking like she'd barely thrown 'em on before getting yanked away two slender pulls in, letting her butt fall out into prying view devil-may-care. Eventually, her shorts quietly fell down to mid-thigh, but she didn't even bother to pull them up.

Leaning into her ear, Nakaba whispered into it.

His tea, in the chipped teacup.

Then, "Well, duh. Of course," Nami shook a hand on the way to a clutched hip. "All the girls I know do. It's... eurghem... it would be very flattering." The orange headed woman shrugged and, almost modestly, seemed, looked to the mess of underwear scattered on the floorboards. "What can I say, it just... I..."

Nami widened her eyes, causing Nakaba to narrow his own.

Too little too late, but hey. He got something in.

"LOOK OUT!"

THWACKK!

KA-THUD.