["With someone?" Those words stir up the memory of a night in some backwater bar, long before he'd developed a tolerance for booze. A marine man, objectively handsome in his clean-cut way, had sidled up beside him. The next few hours were a blur of clinking glasses, swirling smoke, and the warm press of another body. Eventually, Zoro woke up with a splitting headache and the chill of rented sheets. He can't remember much else...probably because it was something he could've easily done alone.

(And anything worth remembering wouldn't have ended with the marine, whoever he was, disappearing without a word.)

In hindsight, it was pretty stupid. But it was a learning experience, too. That kind of intimacy simply didn't serve him. As his reputation as "the demon" grew, so did Zoro's vigilance. Rebuffing advances became second nature — a curt word or a stare cold enough to extinguish anyone's interest.

A flicker of that reflex ignites in his gut at Vrenille's suggestive look. But this time, a hitch in his breath, Zoro holds it, observing his own reaction. In that sliver of self-awareness, he realizes something: The stakes with Vrenille are laughably low.

So, Zoro exhales slowly, nostrils flaring.]

Not really. But with someone worth the effort, maybe the steps wouldn't be so damn tedious.

[Leaning closer, a challenge glints in his eyes as he adds in a rough voice:]

What makes you think you can handle me, Vrenille?