More History Lessons
May. 10th, 2006 11:35 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mettathron.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
onepieceyaoi100The alternate endings to the History drabble I posted a bit back. Only one of them counts as yaoi...
Title: Learn From History (alternate endings)
Word Count: 300 each
Topic: History
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: They're not mine.
Warning: Different pairings than the original.
He knows the chef from the first mouthful of soup. It’s good, especially since the only man who could have made it supposedly died at sea years ago.
He asks the waiter to bring out the cook, and the frightened worker complies because there’s something about the grumpy man scowling at his soup that seems inherently dangerous.
He’s genuinely surprised when the kid swaggers out of the kitchen. Confident and calm, the young man looks at the bowl and asks if there’s a problem.
He grunts to the whelp that he’s looking for the man who made the soup. They’ve got history. The boy looks smug as all hell when he says he made it, and then looks fit to kill when the old man says that’s impossible. The man he’s looking for is no kid playing grown-up.
The kid is livid and looks ready to kick him in the head, but remains adamant about his claim.
The waiter must have gone for the owner, because at that moment another man shows up, snapping for the shitty little eggplant to get back to work.
The boy calls him a shitty old man, and gets kicked for it.
They watch the boy slink back to the kitchen, grumbling about shitty old men, and then give each other wary, cautious looks.
“You better be planning on eating all of that, shitty old man.”
“I heard you died, baby eggplant.”
“You heard wrong, and I’m not the baby.”
“Your brat…?”
“Might as well be. Kind of grows on you after a while, like moss or something.”
Silence.
“I thought you were dead.”
“…I couldn’t find it. I searched to the end of the world, and I couldn’t find it.”
“I figured.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Some dreams were meant for searching, not finding.”
(End 2)
He knows the chef from the first mouthful of soup. It’s good, especially since the only man who could have made it supposedly died at sea years ago.
He asks the waiter to bring out the cook, and the frightened worker complies because there’s something about the grumpy man scowling at his soup that seems inherently dangerous.
He’s genuinely surprised when the kid swaggers out of the kitchen. Confident and calm, the young man looks at the bowl and asks if there’s a problem.
He grunts to the whelp that he’s looking for the man who made the soup. They’ve got history. The boy looks smug as all hell when he says he made it, and then looks fit to kill when the old man says that’s impossible. The man he’s looking for is no kid playing grown-up.
The kid is livid and looks ready to kick him in the head, but remains adamant about his claim.
The waiter must have gone for the owner, because at that moment another man shows up, snapping for the shitty little eggplant to get back to work.
The boy calls him a shitty old man, and gets kicked for it.
They watch the boy slink back to the kitchen, grumbling about shitty old men, and then give each other wary, cautious looks.
“I thought you were dead, shitty cook.”
“I thought the same of you, shitty swordsman.”
“Bastard. That kid…”
“Not mine, though he might as well be. Kind of grows on you after a while, like moss or something.”
Silence.
“I thought you were dead, bastard.”
“Well, I’m not, so finish your damn so—mmph!”
He grabs the head cook by his pinstriped shirt and drags him down into a kiss that says all the things he can never voice. History repeats.
(End 3)
Title: Learn From History (alternate endings)
Word Count: 300 each
Topic: History
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: They're not mine.
Warning: Different pairings than the original.
He knows the chef from the first mouthful of soup. It’s good, especially since the only man who could have made it supposedly died at sea years ago.
He asks the waiter to bring out the cook, and the frightened worker complies because there’s something about the grumpy man scowling at his soup that seems inherently dangerous.
He’s genuinely surprised when the kid swaggers out of the kitchen. Confident and calm, the young man looks at the bowl and asks if there’s a problem.
He grunts to the whelp that he’s looking for the man who made the soup. They’ve got history. The boy looks smug as all hell when he says he made it, and then looks fit to kill when the old man says that’s impossible. The man he’s looking for is no kid playing grown-up.
The kid is livid and looks ready to kick him in the head, but remains adamant about his claim.
The waiter must have gone for the owner, because at that moment another man shows up, snapping for the shitty little eggplant to get back to work.
The boy calls him a shitty old man, and gets kicked for it.
They watch the boy slink back to the kitchen, grumbling about shitty old men, and then give each other wary, cautious looks.
“You better be planning on eating all of that, shitty old man.”
“I heard you died, baby eggplant.”
“You heard wrong, and I’m not the baby.”
“Your brat…?”
“Might as well be. Kind of grows on you after a while, like moss or something.”
Silence.
“I thought you were dead.”
“…I couldn’t find it. I searched to the end of the world, and I couldn’t find it.”
“I figured.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Some dreams were meant for searching, not finding.”
(End 2)
He knows the chef from the first mouthful of soup. It’s good, especially since the only man who could have made it supposedly died at sea years ago.
He asks the waiter to bring out the cook, and the frightened worker complies because there’s something about the grumpy man scowling at his soup that seems inherently dangerous.
He’s genuinely surprised when the kid swaggers out of the kitchen. Confident and calm, the young man looks at the bowl and asks if there’s a problem.
He grunts to the whelp that he’s looking for the man who made the soup. They’ve got history. The boy looks smug as all hell when he says he made it, and then looks fit to kill when the old man says that’s impossible. The man he’s looking for is no kid playing grown-up.
The kid is livid and looks ready to kick him in the head, but remains adamant about his claim.
The waiter must have gone for the owner, because at that moment another man shows up, snapping for the shitty little eggplant to get back to work.
The boy calls him a shitty old man, and gets kicked for it.
They watch the boy slink back to the kitchen, grumbling about shitty old men, and then give each other wary, cautious looks.
“I thought you were dead, shitty cook.”
“I thought the same of you, shitty swordsman.”
“Bastard. That kid…”
“Not mine, though he might as well be. Kind of grows on you after a while, like moss or something.”
Silence.
“I thought you were dead, bastard.”
“Well, I’m not, so finish your damn so—mmph!”
He grabs the head cook by his pinstriped shirt and drags him down into a kiss that says all the things he can never voice. History repeats.
(End 3)
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no subject
Date: 2006-05-11 03:49 am (UTC)ZoroSanji never fails to amuse me. XD They have one of the weirdest romances ever.
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Date: 2006-05-11 04:22 am (UTC)As for our boys... well, the course of love ne're did run smooth... or normal.
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Date: 2006-05-11 04:27 am (UTC)The first one was sweet. Poor Sanji, not finding All Blue... But the last line was very inspirational.
The second one was amusing. Having Sanji raising a prodigy is just too funny. And Zoro pouncing for a kiss… yay! You have given me my nightly dose of ZoSan. I can fall asleep happy now. XD
no subject
Date: 2006-05-11 06:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-11 02:56 pm (UTC)