Doflamingo held out his hand.
His palm faced upward, his fingers slightly curled, as though inviting a frightened bird.
"I'm Doflamingo."
He said.
The movement inside the coat stopped.
"Don't be afraid."
The corners of his mouth tugged upward. "I'm a good person."
The silence lasted three seconds.
Then the first round white hat peeked over the collar, followed by a second and a third.
The little people looked at one another and let out a collective breath.
"Oh, so that's it."
"Since you say so yourself."
"Then you must be a good person."
They climbed back onto Rossi's shoulders and palms, their movements regaining their earlier nimbleness.
Bian even patted her chest, the miniature bow and arrows swaying gently on her back.
Doflamingo laughed.
The laughter rolled up from deep in his throat, his dazzlingly white teeth flashing under the lights.
"Just like the records from nine hundred years ago."
He took off his sunglasses, something cold settled deep in his eyes. "Exactly the same."
Fingertips brushed the edge of the newspaper with a faint rustle.
The smell of ink mingled with the smoky fragrance of burning wood in the hall's fireplace and drifted into their noses.
Rossi's gaze lingered on the report, a brief account of how an island had been wiped off the map entirely.
He set the paper down gently, yet the movement made several people beside the fireplace break off their quiet conversation.
"It wasn't a weapon."
His voice was not loud, but it cut clearly through every whisper.
Doflamingo had been reclining in a broad chair. At those words, he lifted his back from the backrest and leaned forward slightly.
That subtle movement seemed like a signal, drawing every gaze in the room to the speaker-the two masked women, the little girl Viola sitting