Chapter Text
The man sitting across from him in the little parlor of the Donquixote estate glares daggers at him, but Doflamingo just keeps smiling pleasantly, basking in the waves of helpless hate emanating from the other Celestial Dragon.
Both of them have the holy blood flowing through their veins, and yet they couldn't have been more different. Doflamingo is tall, with a sculpted body worthy of a god – the result of meticulous exercise. His white garments are cinched at the waist, the slit is tailored to show off his long legs in form-fitting pants, and his hair are cut short, with only a few locks done in the traditional high bun – a fashion that a lot of younger Celestial Dragons started copying, much to their parents' displeasure.
His opponent is pudgy, but not in the way Rosinante is pudgy; Rosi is soft and plump because this is what he is like inside: hurrying around with his random charity cases, eating his worries down with sweets. Although some of his charity cases turned out useful, like Trafalgar Law whom Rosinante fed a five-billion-berry Devil Fruit. At least now Rosi has a bodyguard whom Doflamingo can trust, so it was a good investment in the end.
No, Saint Rosward is bloated like a tick, with the same level of intelligence in his eyes. And he hates, oh, how he hates that he has to sit here before Doflamingo and rely on him to fulfill his equally stupid son's caprices.
“Charlos wants a tank with twenty-two mermaids to be present at his birthday party. He is planning to let the guests hunt them.” Judging by the downturned corner of Rosward's mouth, he is not too fond of his son's wastefulness. “Can you or can you not get them?”
Doflamingo's smile widens.
“You know very well that I can, Saint Rosward. The question is – can you pay for them?”
Rosward yanks the chain leading to the spiked collar of the slave that sits at his feet – a pathetic attempt to blow off some steam. He cannot aim his anger at Doflamingo who is, by all rights, his equal, even if Rosward would deny it.
“Just name the sum.”
Doflamingo steeples his fingertips together.
“Please, this is not about money. Why would gods like us trade in human currency? I am doing you a favor, Saint Rosward, and I expect a favor in return.”
The old man grumbles.
“What do you want?”
“Oh, nothing much. I know your family possesses a little island near Sabaody – I think you haven't even been there once? I want this island. Rosi wishes for a holiday home, you see, and who am I to deny my little brother his desires? I'm sure you know how family is.” Doflamingo offers him an understanding smile.
The holiday home will be built, and together with it – a secret port and a warehouse for Doflamingo's smuggling and trafficking empire. A perfect spot to fatten up the wares before the Auction House.
Rosward agrees, of course – all of them agree to Doflamingo's deals, every time. They cannot see what he is building right under their noses, how every favor gives him another thread for the web he weaves around the world. The Five Elders might see it, but Doflamingo has leverage over them too, and when the time to move will come, they, too, will fall before him.
They all despise him and Rosi, Doflamingo is aware. He sees it in their eyes, in the way Rosward hurries to leave his house, in the way they whisper behind his back. Tainted, they say. Traitor's blood, they spit. All because Doflamingo and Rosinante spent two years in the lower world, breathing the same air as the commoners.
But the Celestial Dragons do not know the full story. How Doffy and Rosi scavenged for scraps of rotten food in the commoners' trash. How they were hunted like animals and beaten like slaves. How they hurt, how they got sick, how they buried their mother in a shallow grave they dug behind their dirty shack. If the other Dragons knew this, they would've never allowed Doflamingo and Rosinante back, even with the traitor's head offered to them.
But terrible as those two years were, they opened Doflamingo's eyes. Children who never knew suffering would never understand the children who did. Doflamingo sees his heavenly kin for who they are: useless parasites who waste their holy blood and power on nothing. If there is anyone that is tainted, it is them: foolish gods who lost their way.
No wonder they hate Doflamingo so much. Unlike them, he works: ruling his crime empire from the white walls of Mary Geoise. Unlike them, he does not only punish, but also rewards: he never forgot those who helped him when he was in need, and Trebol, Pica, Diamante, and Vergo are his loyal servants now, doing his bidding in the lower world and enjoying the privileges Doflamingo bestowed upon them.
And when the time comes, Doflamingo will destroy the Celestial Dragons. He will make them live through the horrors little Doffy and Rosi experienced, he will wipe them out like the fallen gods they are, and he will take his true birthright together with the empty throne.
He made a deal with Law behind Rosinante's back: that Doflamingo will destroy the Celestial Dragons and the Marines, all those complicit in the genocide in Flevance. And for this, Law will grant him eternal youth. It will be a pity to lose Law; Doflamingo likes the vicious young man. But in the end, he is just that: a man.
Doflamingo is a Celestial Dragon.