Chapter Text
♬♫ ♪ ♩
The faint sound of music floating on the breeze roused Django from sleep. He started awake, half expecting to see Kuro looming over him, or worse, see that meddling sniper kid in the distance. But he saw neither. Instead, the distinctive shape of Mirror–Ball Island rose out of the gleaming water, growing ever closer.
Django grinned, jumping up so forcefully he almost capsized his boat and had to crouch down again, holding onto the sides until it settled. He grabbed his coat, slinging it over his shoulders with a practiced dramatic flair. Taking the rigging in hand, Django furled the sail in increments as he pulled into Port Dance. When all was safely fastened, he picked his hat up off the bottom of the boat, planting it over his wind-swept wavy hair. He kept his hand there, planting a heel on the prow of his little dinghy—the proper pose for gazing upon the dance capital of the East Blue.
Colorful bunting fluttered overhead in welcome, strung from poles towering out of the water, marking the way for incoming ships. It was strung between the buildings of Mirror–Ball itself, too, which clustered together and stacked themselves up the slope of the iconic Globe Mountain. Perfectly spherical and completely overgrown by the town forest, it marked the largest nature park on the entire island—also the site of many themed dance parties, of course. Adorning its port–facing slope was the infamous ‘FUNKY!’ sign, and crowning it all was a giant disco ball glittering where it hung on a striped pillar. Lights flashed above a welcome banner tied to a bridge spanning the port, along with the sign for the port itself at the end of the wharf.
Django let out a quiet chortle, already excited to stroll through town at night to see it all lit up under the stars. His dinghy bumped up against the dock and his arms pinwheeled as he cursed. Scrambling with the tethers, he looped one around the dock cleat closest to him in a quick, sturdy knot. He clambered onto the wooden planks of dry land, and pulled the bow end of the boat against the wharf using the other tether before securing it as well.
Now came the fun part!
Django passed a coin to the dockworker who came up to him, who nodded and murmured something about being gone before a week passed. He nodded back, knowing he’d set sail again long before that. But surely a few nights here couldn’t hurt; what could possibly happen?
The streets, as always, were bustling; completely thronged with people shopping and eating and generally excited to do or watch some dancing. Two–story storefronts stood right beside carousels blaring carnival music across the street from ornate spires with bejeweled flying buttresses—all commemorating the spirit of dance and the invention of music. Django strode down the streets, taking it all in and feeling quite at home in a crowd sporting outfits even groovier than his.
He noticed they liked to stick to their theme here: the lights perched atop the lampposts were made of glass blown into hollow spheres with stylish bubbles frozen in them, and the cobblestones were brightly colored slabs hewn into concentric rings that slotted into one another. He took a deep breath in, savoring the smells, sights, and sounds of perfection.
That is, until the white uniform of a Marine caught his eye.
Ah! The Navy! Shit!
Django froze mid–stride, mouth agape, staring at the dark–haired man where he stood several paces away. He faced away from Django, and he seemed to be questioning a woman. He held a piece of paper, probably a wanted poster for some poor, unlucky nobody–
The Marine finished showing the woman the paper and lowered it, turning it as he did so that Django could see just who was plastered over its surface. His own face stared back at him through the crowd, a perfect match down to his beloved coat and favorite heart-shaped glasses. He even had his hand resting on his hat in the picture, a pose he just so happened to be recreating to a very-recognizable-T. The woman shook her head, denying the officer’s questions to his satisfaction.
They would turn any second now—maybe she would see him, point him out to the Navy and then, and then it would all be over. Django didn’t waste another second. He turned first, and speed-walked in the opposite direction.
If they caught me now… I can’t let them catch me. I need a disguise, to change my look.
Django paused in front of a store window, staring at his reflection. His hat, glasses, and coat; they would all have to go. He smiled ruefully, reaching up to grasp the golden frames. That was alright though, it could be fun to become someone else for a few upbeat days. He slid his glasses off his face, returning his own somber stare from the display window. The display… of a clothing store.
He peered inside, assessing the glamorous outfits. According to the sign on the door, they also offered clothing trades and would hold your clothes until they made sure you didn’t want them back. Hoping the Marines hadn’t already questioned the store owner, Django ventured inside, announced by a trill of the doorbell.
♬♫ ♪ ♩
Django struck a pose, pointing a finger at the clear sky. The crowd milled around the little space he’d claimed for his dance practice, not yet quite filling the square in front of the stage. It was the whole package, from an ornately carved and lit-up facade to the disco ball scattering spots of light over the suited announcer. This was the Mirror Ball Dance Contest.
He relaxed, pausing a moment before doing some casual stretching, the sequins on his pale lavender shirt sparkling in the sun. It had so many buttons he’d given up doing them all, which meant showing more skin than he expected—halfway down his abdomen!—but he could get used to it. Django liked the pants he’d chosen too, black and comfortable to move in, not to mention airy. The low heels of his white dance shoes—also sequined—clacked emphatically on the cobblestones as he performed some smooth warm-up moves. The bead necklace and bracelets he’d accented his fit with jangled and clicked as he moved into his finishing combo, concluding with a sharp readjustment of his sleek new sunglasses.
Right on time, the announcer called for contestants to step up and receive their numbers. Django strode toward the stage. He was in his element, there was no way he’d lose. And of course, his carefully crafted disguise would completely conceal him from any nosy Marine eyes.
The smiling announcer handed him a sign in the shape of a star to pin to his clothes, emblazoned with the number 18. Django filed backstage to wait with the rest of the contestants as the announcer did his part, introducing the rules, thanking generosities, and generally hyping up the crowd. Chatter rose from his soon-to-be opponents, animated with excitement and competitiveness, but Django only half-listened. He tapped his fingers on his thumb, running through the extra-groovy combinations he could pull out, with room for improvisation depending on the song choices.
A hand landing on his shoulder brought him out of his head with a start. Django looked around, expecting the show to be starting but finding to his confusion they were all still milling around behind the curtain.
“What?” he stared down at the man who’d grabbed him, taking in his pink hair and striped suit with matching pants. Django couldn’t help raising his eyebrows just a little bit.
“Confident, are we, number eighteen? Think you can beat me, the Boogying–Man? Don’t get ahead of yourself, this is gonna be an intense show. You ready?” The man winked at Django.
Unfazed, Django fired a cocksure grin at him. “I don’t know, number two, I guess we’ll have to leave it up to the Disco Judgement to see who’s really Number One. Although with a stage name like yours, you’ll probably scare everyone away.” he couldn’t help letting out a snicker.
Mr. Boogie frowned. “Now hold on, I’m no nighttime terror, I just have a ferocious rhythm!”
Django’s mouth quirked, his mind shamelessly putting this stranger into… situations. “Oh yeah? Would you still be so fierce on a–”
“And here come our contestants! Please welcome this evening’s dancers, brave and full of soul all!” The announcer’s voice cut him off, and the sudden surge of people entering the stage snapped Django’s mind back into focus. Mr. Boogie’s hand left his shoulder as he stepped away with a parting smirk and two-fingered salute.
Not wasting another second, Django strutted onstage after him, joining the line of contestants. He knew it was petty to dwell over that annoying guy, but he didn’t care. He swore that even if he didn’t win, by disco he’d beat that second-rate boogier.
He gazed out at the crowd, getting used to the flare of the stage lights and the incomprehensible mass of people filling the square. Anticipation built up in his stomach. His limbs itched to get started; once he’d found his groove he’d become unbeatable. Trying to be subtle, Django peered down the lineup, spotting a flash of pink hair behind a large man near the far end of the stage. Even from there he could see that ‘Mr. Boogie’s’ easy smile. His eyes lingered until he saw that smile start to turn his way, flicking his attention back out at the crowd.
Hmph! Turning up the charm works at first, sure, but dancing takes more than just being pretty. Not even that pretty…
Django almost missed his chance to do a few simple moves for his introduction, he was so preoccupied. Luckily the person before him flailed a bit, snapping him out of his troubling thoughts. But he pulled off a spectacular intro, no thanks to that distracting head of pink hair with those irritating looks.
He let out his breath as the spotlight passed to the woman beside him, willing himself to focus on the competition. A goal, he needed a goal…
A lightbulb may as well have gone off above his head when it came to him, so perfect he had to let his mouth quirk up. He’d beat that stuck-up dancer making them all look bad, and then, well, and then he’d indulge himself in a victory dinner. Mr. Boogie would be invited, obviously, and after they’d eaten he’d take them to an establishment for… nighttime dancing. And that’s where the real humbling would go down. His fingers twitched, ready to spin and swing and drain that man’s brain until nothing was left, not even his name. Which, if he was honest, he wasn’t really planning on learning anyway.
Django couldn’t wait, but first things first: winning.
The last contestant bobbed back into line and the lights shifted, brightening and filling the air with sparkles. The music, dialed back up til this point, ramped up the instant the announcer finished saying “GO!!!”
Everyone sprang into action, the orderly line dissolving into whirling movement. Right off the bat, as far as Django could tell, each and every contestant danced at their full capacity. The familiar rush coursed through him as the music washed through his head, setting out his steps and directions before him according to the instruments’ guidance.
Django put his whole body into it, even incorporating some lip-syncing and theatrical expressions as he swung his hips. His legs bent, slid and jumped according to what the bass thundered out from the speakers while his arms traced dynamic patterns around him, tastefully accenting the finer parts of the song—like the lyrics and any fun, extra sounds built in. Django’s hair swished past his eyes, fanning his neck whenever he moved with enough speed to make it stream out behind him.
Just as he thought to wonder about how they’d handle the song changes, the fading melody transitioned into the beginnings of another.
Ah, so there’ll be no breaks. Good, I can handle that.
Luckily enough, Django recognized the new song. He launched a different set of moves to the first chorus with delight. Dancing had never seemed easier; his body practically flew and flowed like water in time with the rythm.
Around him he noticed some close calls where other contestants almost collided with each other, and noted to watch out for that hazard himself. To his satisfaction, Django flawlessly pulled off his choreography, even managing to compliment the moves of the women on either side of him with a tastefully contrasting movement style or simply fitting between them like a key. He even managed to integrate dodging and leaping over the breakdancing guy’s pinwheeling legs as he spun on his head and pulled off some impressive kicks amid resounding cheers from the audience.
People began dropping out of the competition by the time song five blared over the crowd. Even as the DJ took pity on the contestants by playing a few slower songs, each transition to a different tune saw at least one dancer waving a tearful goodbye to the audience as they shuffled offstage. To Django’s annoyance, Mr. Boogie was not among them. In fact, he seemed just as determined to win as him.
This could be a problem…
With only a handful of them left, the music picked up again, pumping into high gear as the light array intensified its complexity. The mad frenzy driving him drowned out any fatigue Django might have been feeling. All that mattered was executing the perfect dance sequences to fit with each song’s composition.
And yeah, he did it. The notes themselves pumped through his veins instead of red blood cells, his fervor blazing brighter than even the purest stagelight they had. His energy only grew as the bass shook the entire stage, so powerful he could feel the vibration deep in his chest. Django grinned, showing all his teeth. Time to use all this newly-opened-up space.
He lunged, beginning to travel across more of the stage with swinging movements that left most of his bodyweight in the hands of gravity. Not wanting to become redundant to look at, Django interspersed those steps with pauses for percussive jabs and contortions that echoed the feral competitiveness beating inside his ribcage. He made use of the snarling grins he’d seen on Captain Kuro’s face all too often and as the drums peaked in their thunder he kicked and leapt along to the song finale.
Now only that cheeky Mr. Boogie stood on the stage with him. They eyed each other, the few seconds of silence between tracks stretching out much longer. Django had time to take in his opponent’s finishing pose and note that only a slight sheen of sweat coated his neck and the slice of chest his shirt left visible. In that moment he felt glad he’d lost patience buttoning up his new shirt; it brought more ventilation and more spectator appeal all at once. Mr. Boogie smirked at him, nodding in an irritating, almost condescending way. Django smirked right back, moving his eyebrows up and down in a taunt.
If you know how to dance, you’ll become my greatest opponent tonight.
He saw Mr. Boogie raise his own brows as if he could hear Django’s thoughts. However, neither of them had a chance to communicate further as the final song started with a boom, crashing over the crowd with such force the speakers visibly trembled. The crowd added a resounding cheer to the noise, and in a moment they were dancing again.
Django listened to the bassline, picking up the melody and shuffling across the stage to it with a style that seemed to defy gravity. He flung his arms this way and that in flowy motions that the gentler emotions woven into the music evoked. Meanwhile Mr. Boogie took to the drumbeat like a fish to water, opting to leap and kick along with the percussion. They orbited each other around the stage, the audience yelling the lyrics as they pumped their fists. They loved their complementary styles, Django could tell. But that wasn't enough, he meant to win this thing.
He waited until he reached the center of the stage to break his pattern with a sweeping gesture followed by a staccato burst of much bolder moves. The crowd roared, then screamed in surprise as he sprang forward to the very edge of the stage and struck a dramatic landing stance. Django gave the first few rows of people a bright flash of a smile, spread his arms, and danced. Not afraid to change level, he plunged down in drops and leapt up high again, making sure to travel back and forth as he did. Mr. Boogie had changed up his performance too, but Django knew the spotlight was his. The whole town bopped with them, people in the crowd dancing too and even the buildings themselves swayed from side to side with the beat. Django could’ve sworn he’d glimpsed a conga line of seagulls flying into town from the port, but he never got a good look at them.
The song rang out through the entire square and beyond until finally its last reverberating strum of the guitar faded. Its absence echoed in his ears, but it was by no means silent. The crowd surged as people applauded, shouted, whistled and jumped in place, still overflowing with fervor from the spectacle they'd just witnessed. Django panted where he stood back-to-back with Mr. Boogie, both of them posed with one hand resting on their hips and the other pointed up at the sky. Gull wings filled the air as flocks of them flew aloft, circling the square looking for scraps before soaring back to the harbor.
"Well," Mr. Boogie wheezed from behind him, "aren't you full of surprises, huh, number eighteen?"
"Hah! What are you talking about, 'Mr. Boogie?' I'm always ready to stop the show!" Django kept his charming grin on his face as he looked out at the audience, waiting for the announcer to break out of his stunned trance. Now that he'd stopped moving, he could feel the sweat condensing and running down his skin in rivulets.
"Okay, okay, that's enough of that nickname. I couldn't bear to keep it if you win. My name's Fullbody."
Django snorted. "Heh, you sure? I'm not sure 'Fullbody’ is much better, but whatever, nice to finally meet you properly." he bumped an elbow playfully into Fullbody's back and got a responding nudge an instant later. The announcer interrupted them before their little game could go any further.
“Aaannd that is the end of Mirror–Ball's Dance Competition for tonight! Thank you, one and all, for coming to this totally white fever dance!"
Django relaxed as the jolly baritone rolled out of the speakers, turning only to see Fullbody covering his mouth as he snickered. "Oh you– Really? Be serious."
"Pfftb! Sorry, sorry, I'm must have danced myself silly." Fullbody muttered back, his eyes actually glistening as he tried to suppress his wheezing laughs. "You were really good there at the end; I don't actually know if I'm gonna win this one."
"Honestly, I'd prefer your stupid thoughts if they stayed in that rosy head of yours." Django tsked, turning back around to beam and wave at the audience. Fullbody snorted, but before he could fire back, the announcer spoke again.
“Would the two contestants please join me at center stage! Your trophies are waiting for you!" The crowd cheered uproariously as Django and Fullbody walked with smooth strides to join the announcer where he waited for them, a trophy half his height beside him. He also held a small crown and smaller trophy with the number '2' engraved on its golden surface. He smiled tearfully at them both, beckoning them the rest of the way over. Taking a moment to join the audience in their applause, the announcer grabbed his silver microphone.
"First, I must say thank you for everyone from the bottom of our boogying hearts for entering this humble competition! The whole of Mirror–Ball will remember your dance battle for years to come. Now, onto revealing who will take home the crown! Ahem, it was the closest call that myself or any of the other judges have ever had to make, and even we didn't quite know who it would be until the very last minute!"
Django's heart jumped at that. The announcer started making a show of taking out the results envelope and opened it the slowest he possibly could. Needing a distraction lest he explode from anticipation, Django glanced over at Fullbody, meeting his eyes. "May the best dancer win." he held out a solemn hand, which Fullbody took somewhat incredulously. Damn, he looks like he really needs some water, Django thought, studying the brilliant red glowing in his face and down his neck. It was tough for me, too.
"H–Hey, what if we, uh, if we got lunch after thi– agh!" Fullbody cut himself off, yelping as Django's hand clenched down on his.
Django's undivided attention focused on the announcer, who'd finally pulled a folded piece of paper out of that infernal envelope. Excitement tensed all his muscles, and whatever Fullbody had been about to say flew out of his brain.
"Ahem! Everyone gathered here tonight, listen up for the final results!" A hush fell over the crowd, who stood on their tiptoes as the announcer read over the short lines of text in front of him. Django resisted the urge not to peek.
"The winner of the Mirror–Ball Dance contest held on this fine day... is... contestant number... EIGHTEEN!! Congratulations to all the other valiant–"
The rest of his words drowned in the deafening wave of sound from the crowd, which echoed to such volume Django couldn't hear his own "WHOOOOP!!" above the din. He grabbed Fullbody's arms and spun him around, prancing like a happy goat and grinning up at the spinning disco ball covering them all with colorful specks of light. Fullbody laughed, letting himself get tugged along and joining in despite how tired his legs must be. Django couldn't believe his eyes when he saw actual streams of tears running down Fullbody's face when the announcer waved the second place trophy at them, and soon the waterworks flowed for him too as the announcer placed the small crown on his head. He heaved the trophy up with one arm and struck a pose for the audience.
Fullbody grabbed his other arm and hoisted it skyward, standing next to him with his own little trophy held aloft. Django stared out at the overjoyed crowd through watery eyes, both him and Fullbody still hollering thanks and praise at each other. The announcer stood by the side, also moved to tears as he joined in the audience's lasting applause. A wonderful lightness spread fluffy wings in Django's chest—he felt sure he could fly away right then if he'd wanted to. So caught up in the moment as he was, he almost missed Fullbody talking to him.
"–funny coincidence! Look what they gave me!" Fullbody pulled a small slip of paper out of his trophy with a bright smile. "A coupon to the best restaurant on the island! Would you join me there, victorious number eighteen? Or shall I call you...?"
"Dj– Ah, I mean, Ringo. My name's Ringo."
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