[ Some cooks might be offended by Shanks’ choice with something as seemingly simple as Fried Rice, but Sanji just smiles and nods and jots a mental note to make good on his promise eventually. ]

Consider it done. [ There’s a soft chuckle as he nods his head, a burst of frustrated exasperation that they need to worry about aphrodisiacs at all making his eyebrow twitch a moment later. ] Shit, yeah, any food I make is safe. That’s part of my code as a cook. [ Not that he’ll always have a choice about what he eats, probably, but at the very least, he can guarantee that anything he cooks won’t be tainted.

He tosses another grin as Shanks grabs the bottle, nodding with satisfaction. He didn’t order that rum for it to go to waste and, again, he owes him enough that it’s the least he can do for the moment. ]

Text? [ As unused to the watches as Shanks is, Sanji’s even less used to them. ] What’s that?