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onepieceyaoi100Title: Under My Umbrella
Topic: umbrella
Word Count: 150 (times five) plus 25 (omake)
Rating: PG14 for Sanji's mouth
Pairing: San/Zo (do I really write anything else? so predictable)
Disclaimer: Characters and setting? Not mine. Probably just as well. Here, have them back...
Summary: That was his story, and he was sticking to it. Sanji's POV, if you couldn't guess from the liberal abuse of the vernacular. ;) Except the omake.
Excuse: The first song that came to mind when I read this topic? The Hollies' "Bus Stop", which they released as a single in '66 . Cute song. A little tinny-pop, but whattaya want for that era?
~~~
They'd been ashore, shopping, and Nami-san had said it looked like rain, even though there wasn't a cloud in the sky, so he'd grabbed his umbrella just in case. Shithead had scoffed.
As they'd started back, a heavy rain had started. He'd sworn and snapped open the umbrella. On the cusp of singing Nami-san's praises, he'd realized shithead had a 50-mark bag of flour over one shoulder. A paper bag. He'd sworn again, sidled close enough to keep the umbrella over the flour, put a painfully strong hand on shithead's side and hissed venomous endearments to the effect that the flour was worth more than a certain green-furred hide and to quit squirming.
They'd made it home, hip to hip, without killing each other or getting the flour wet. Even if the marimo-brain had scuttled away like a scalded cat as soon as they'd reached the safety of the galley.
~~~
They'd been ashore, sightseeing, and the clouds had been towering all day with nothing to show for their display. He'd grabbed his umbrella. Shithead had scoffed -- and checked the seal on his swords just in case.
Of course, sightseeing inevitably led them to the market. He had pacified the weedhead with slices of a rum-cake that he'd managed to charm the recipe for out of the baker's lass. The poor girl had the atrocious taste to think shithead handsome, of all things, but if the man's glowering presence and obvious enjoyment of the liquor-drenched confection won him a recipe with which to tease his Ladies' palates, well.
It had started raining while they were still roaming the market, and there wasn't any paper-bagged flour to protect, but cake fared poorly when immersed.
That was his story, and he was sticking to it.
Shithead didn't seem to mind, this time.
~~~
They'd been ashore, shopping. There'd been rain in the offing, but he'd thought they'd be back before it started.
Shithead had simply invited himself along, for some stupid reason.
He'd bought fresh bread, and app-- no, pears. Green ones. Hard, for baking and glazing with a raspberry sauce. He hadn't gotten as far as finding the raspberries before the heavens opened up.
He'd cursed, and then realized he'd forgotten his umbrella. Had cursed again, a little more colourfully. Had been more than a little shocked when shithead had quirked that aggravating smirk at him and produced the missing item from the depths of that ratty green haramaki.
And then the bastard had handed it over with a flourish and waited for him to open it and hold it over both their heads.
He nearly hadn't, just for spite, until the aho-marimo had looked pointedly at the baguettes. Shitty shit-for-brains shithead.
~~~
Heavy overcast, but no rain, Nami-san's forecast had said. They'd only still needed a few spices and the like. He'd planned to go alone.
Shihead had shown up at the gangplank, tucking the umbrella into a loop of the haramaki alongside his swords. Then the bastard had smirked at him, and motioned for him to lead the way.
They'd ended up at the fountain in the middle of the marketplace with a hankerchief full of rum-balls and a small mesh bag of sweet, half-bruised but still good plums.
Shithead had handed him the umbrella and genteelly motioned him to a seat on the stone rim of the fountain. Then the aho'd had the nerve to try feeding him. He'd shoved a rum-ball into the marimo's mouth and they'd nearly ended up brawling in the fountain pool.
When they walked back, hip to hip, shithead carried the umbrella like a trophy.
~~~
It was sunny. He didn't need to go shopping, and neither did shithead.
Said shithead had showed up at the galley door, though, with a by-now familiar long black object in those big hands, and smirked at him.
Nami-san took one look at the umbrella the swordsman held and scoffed. Idiot weedhead had just smirked harder. He'd shrugged, dried his hands, and followed the other man towards the marketplace.
They turned off a little ways before reaching it, though, ducking into an alley that led to a small, surprisingly deserted public garden, complete with a miniature waterfall in the centre.
Contrary to popular opinion (Nami-san's), he wasn't completely stupid about romance. So this time, when he flipped the umbrella open to hold over both their heads, he wrapped both arms around the swordsman's waist instead of just one.
After all, it wasn't like he had anything to carry this time.
~~~
Next time, Zoro thinks, maybe Sanji won't need to use the umbrella for an excuse. But there's no harm in bringing it along anyway, right?
Topic: umbrella
Word Count: 150 (times five) plus 25 (omake)
Rating: PG14 for Sanji's mouth
Pairing: San/Zo (do I really write anything else? so predictable)
Disclaimer: Characters and setting? Not mine. Probably just as well. Here, have them back...
Summary: That was his story, and he was sticking to it. Sanji's POV, if you couldn't guess from the liberal abuse of the vernacular. ;) Except the omake.
Excuse: The first song that came to mind when I read this topic? The Hollies' "Bus Stop", which they released as a single in '66 . Cute song. A little tinny-pop, but whattaya want for that era?
~~~
They'd been ashore, shopping, and Nami-san had said it looked like rain, even though there wasn't a cloud in the sky, so he'd grabbed his umbrella just in case. Shithead had scoffed.
As they'd started back, a heavy rain had started. He'd sworn and snapped open the umbrella. On the cusp of singing Nami-san's praises, he'd realized shithead had a 50-mark bag of flour over one shoulder. A paper bag. He'd sworn again, sidled close enough to keep the umbrella over the flour, put a painfully strong hand on shithead's side and hissed venomous endearments to the effect that the flour was worth more than a certain green-furred hide and to quit squirming.
They'd made it home, hip to hip, without killing each other or getting the flour wet. Even if the marimo-brain had scuttled away like a scalded cat as soon as they'd reached the safety of the galley.
~~~
They'd been ashore, sightseeing, and the clouds had been towering all day with nothing to show for their display. He'd grabbed his umbrella. Shithead had scoffed -- and checked the seal on his swords just in case.
Of course, sightseeing inevitably led them to the market. He had pacified the weedhead with slices of a rum-cake that he'd managed to charm the recipe for out of the baker's lass. The poor girl had the atrocious taste to think shithead handsome, of all things, but if the man's glowering presence and obvious enjoyment of the liquor-drenched confection won him a recipe with which to tease his Ladies' palates, well.
It had started raining while they were still roaming the market, and there wasn't any paper-bagged flour to protect, but cake fared poorly when immersed.
That was his story, and he was sticking to it.
Shithead didn't seem to mind, this time.
~~~
They'd been ashore, shopping. There'd been rain in the offing, but he'd thought they'd be back before it started.
Shithead had simply invited himself along, for some stupid reason.
He'd bought fresh bread, and app-- no, pears. Green ones. Hard, for baking and glazing with a raspberry sauce. He hadn't gotten as far as finding the raspberries before the heavens opened up.
He'd cursed, and then realized he'd forgotten his umbrella. Had cursed again, a little more colourfully. Had been more than a little shocked when shithead had quirked that aggravating smirk at him and produced the missing item from the depths of that ratty green haramaki.
And then the bastard had handed it over with a flourish and waited for him to open it and hold it over both their heads.
He nearly hadn't, just for spite, until the aho-marimo had looked pointedly at the baguettes. Shitty shit-for-brains shithead.
~~~
Heavy overcast, but no rain, Nami-san's forecast had said. They'd only still needed a few spices and the like. He'd planned to go alone.
Shihead had shown up at the gangplank, tucking the umbrella into a loop of the haramaki alongside his swords. Then the bastard had smirked at him, and motioned for him to lead the way.
They'd ended up at the fountain in the middle of the marketplace with a hankerchief full of rum-balls and a small mesh bag of sweet, half-bruised but still good plums.
Shithead had handed him the umbrella and genteelly motioned him to a seat on the stone rim of the fountain. Then the aho'd had the nerve to try feeding him. He'd shoved a rum-ball into the marimo's mouth and they'd nearly ended up brawling in the fountain pool.
When they walked back, hip to hip, shithead carried the umbrella like a trophy.
~~~
It was sunny. He didn't need to go shopping, and neither did shithead.
Said shithead had showed up at the galley door, though, with a by-now familiar long black object in those big hands, and smirked at him.
Nami-san took one look at the umbrella the swordsman held and scoffed. Idiot weedhead had just smirked harder. He'd shrugged, dried his hands, and followed the other man towards the marketplace.
They turned off a little ways before reaching it, though, ducking into an alley that led to a small, surprisingly deserted public garden, complete with a miniature waterfall in the centre.
Contrary to popular opinion (Nami-san's), he wasn't completely stupid about romance. So this time, when he flipped the umbrella open to hold over both their heads, he wrapped both arms around the swordsman's waist instead of just one.
After all, it wasn't like he had anything to carry this time.
~~~
Next time, Zoro thinks, maybe Sanji won't need to use the umbrella for an excuse. But there's no harm in bringing it along anyway, right?
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no subject
Date: 2007-10-19 12:19 pm (UTC)