Chapter Text
Sabo stares out into the ocean, his blue eyes reflecting the waves. He sighs, and closes his eyes. He could almost imagine the sun against his skin, the dirt under his feet, the smell of blood and trees that never really quite left his senses. The feel of a cold, metal pipe in his hand. The sound of laughter, of crying, of the roars of creatures — both the ones being hunted and the ones who's hunting.
He misses those simpler times. Misses his brothers, misses his freedom.
Misses it so badly, that feeling of freedom. The taste of it had been so sweet, and he wants more. But not yet. A few more months, he thinks as he glances at the calendar, six months at the latest.
He had waited for nine years, what's a few more months?
A knock on his door startles him out of his musings, and he glances away from the window to look at the servant. The lady's mouth is pursed, her eyes narrowed. She, and most of the staff, had never minded showing their displeasure of him and — he thinks as he traces the name he carved on his seat — his habits.
"Master Outlook asks for you," she says, not bitingly, but not really respectful at all.
Perhaps she still remembers those times he and his brothers ran her over after a dine and dash. Huh. Maybe that's why most of the staff dislikes him. Nevertheless, he smiles politely, and inclines his head. He jumps of the crate he declared as his seat — gracefully, mind you — and snaps the book he had been reading shut.
"In his study?" He says more than asks. The maid nods, and turns around sharply to march away. Sabo feels a flicker of amusement, and grins for a second before stifling it.
***
"You called for me, Father?"
He opens the door and walks inside, posture relaxed and book held aloft in his hand. He watches as the man purses his lips and turns just the slightest bit red. Outlook had never liked the way he slouches at home.
He waits for the man to comment, and was surprised when he simply inclined his head for Sabo to take a seat. Sabo's lips pursed, but he sat on the chair nonetheless.
"As you know," the man says stiffly, "the coming of age of our people is important. And, as such, the coming of age of the child of a king is even more important. Especially the heir, or heiress in this case."
Sabo carefully doesn't react as the dark haired man seem to struggle getting out his next words. He keeps moving on his chair, and if its unbecoming of a noble, he would probably fidget with his sleeves. He's possibly stalling, but why?
"The King invites all the eligible Nobles of Goa to the Princess's Coming Of Age Party, including you," the man's face twist as if he had eaten a lemon, "and it'll be done in Sabaody Island."
Sabo freezes, staring at the man with wide eyes. Sabaody is in the Grand Line, he knows. No wonder Outlook looks so displeased. The man had done all he can to get rid of anything connected to pirates, letting Sabo's knowledge of that place as little as possible. To avoid any crazy ideas getting into his head, he says, as if Sabo can't do that all by himself.
"Now go and pack a whole week's outfit," the man orders, "and stop slouching!"
There it is. Sabo had wondered why Outlook didn't comment on his position.
"Yes, sir," he mutters as he rises from his seat.
The moment he enters his room, Sabo grins widely. He's sailing out into the sea~