[He has, in fact, sought a fruit - but it wasn't for his own use, and that's a story he doesn't feel inclined to share even though the outcome of that long search is on wide display at his grave. What she's really asking is if he has powers.
He's so used to hiding them he's forgotten that most in his world are proud to show them off. The average devil fruit user can't seem to go more than a minute in conversation without telling someone about what they can do. Here, it's been weeks and he hasn't mentioned it once. Had Doflamingo found out, his cover could have been blown so much earlier. He would have been killed so much sooner. Here, it doesn't matter, and he has to keep reminding himself that. The habits formed over the last three years and some months aren't the habits of a normal person but of a spy terrified daily for his life.
It's one thing to explain and another to demonstrate. He places his cigarette in his mouth to hold onto it and sets his elbow on the table, then snaps his fingers as he utters the word "Silent". The creak of footsteps on the floor above, the strange squeaking of the forest spirits at the bar, a conversation between two people heading down the stairs and out the door, all of it immediately falls silent, though none of the others seem to react or notice and carry on doing what they're doing.]
I didn't seek it out. I was a kid, and I ate it on accident. Didn't know what it was until I took a bite.
[It would be a funny story if he hadn't been starving. The ugly, weird, disgusting fruit kept him fed another day.]
no subject
He's so used to hiding them he's forgotten that most in his world are proud to show them off. The average devil fruit user can't seem to go more than a minute in conversation without telling someone about what they can do. Here, it's been weeks and he hasn't mentioned it once. Had Doflamingo found out, his cover could have been blown so much earlier. He would have been killed so much sooner. Here, it doesn't matter, and he has to keep reminding himself that. The habits formed over the last three years and some months aren't the habits of a normal person but of a spy terrified daily for his life.
It's one thing to explain and another to demonstrate. He places his cigarette in his mouth to hold onto it and sets his elbow on the table, then snaps his fingers as he utters the word "Silent". The creak of footsteps on the floor above, the strange squeaking of the forest spirits at the bar, a conversation between two people heading down the stairs and out the door, all of it immediately falls silent, though none of the others seem to react or notice and carry on doing what they're doing.]
I didn't seek it out. I was a kid, and I ate it on accident. Didn't know what it was until I took a bite.
[It would be a funny story if he hadn't been starving. The ugly, weird, disgusting fruit kept him fed another day.]