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onepieceyaoi100Title: Mature
Rating: G
Pairing: none, really. oops.
Wordcount: 300
Not really on topic, unless coffee counts as food. Oops again.
This isn't quite the drabble I started to write, but this is how it came out in the end. So be it.
She is elegance itself, one of the most beautiful women he's ever seen, and he's seen many. Through the tumult of their winter camp around her, she sits reading quietly by the fire, eye of their storm, unfazed by the cold, or the snowballs and shrieks Luffy and Usopp are throwing. They're such kids; she's years beyond such idiocy.
Sanji adds the final touch, chocolate shavings sprinkled over the cream, gives himself a final lookover before picking up the tray. Suit pressed, tie tied, cufflinks in place. He may be young, too, but not by much. Maturity is in the details, the effort to make every element perfect.
"Robin-chan," he calls, and she looks up from her book, even that simple motion graceful. Gratitude in her small smile--such a refined and adult smile, he almost fancies it's to a peer. He wishes he better understood how to please those mysterious, complex tastes. "Pour vous--"
At which point a snowball hurtles into him, and all that saves the tray is a quick pair of arms reaching from the snow. Robin takes the cup, appreciatively inhales the coffee's rich steam. "Why, thank you."
But the cook doesn't hear, being too busy hollering, "You idiots!" as he plunges after Usopp and Luffy, who bolt, crying over their shoulders, "But we didn't--!" Their protests are futile, however, and soon the snowballs are flying thicker than ever, propelled by wild kicks.
Robin puts down her book. Snatching a stray missile out of the air, she tosses it back into the fray, and winks when Usopp catches it. Usopp, who saw whose hand threw that other snowball, grins back.
And if Sanji's suit is soaked and his tie undone and his cufflinks lost under the snow, he's laughing too hard to care.
Rating: G
Pairing: none, really. oops.
Wordcount: 300
Not really on topic, unless coffee counts as food. Oops again.
This isn't quite the drabble I started to write, but this is how it came out in the end. So be it.
She is elegance itself, one of the most beautiful women he's ever seen, and he's seen many. Through the tumult of their winter camp around her, she sits reading quietly by the fire, eye of their storm, unfazed by the cold, or the snowballs and shrieks Luffy and Usopp are throwing. They're such kids; she's years beyond such idiocy.
Sanji adds the final touch, chocolate shavings sprinkled over the cream, gives himself a final lookover before picking up the tray. Suit pressed, tie tied, cufflinks in place. He may be young, too, but not by much. Maturity is in the details, the effort to make every element perfect.
"Robin-chan," he calls, and she looks up from her book, even that simple motion graceful. Gratitude in her small smile--such a refined and adult smile, he almost fancies it's to a peer. He wishes he better understood how to please those mysterious, complex tastes. "Pour vous--"
At which point a snowball hurtles into him, and all that saves the tray is a quick pair of arms reaching from the snow. Robin takes the cup, appreciatively inhales the coffee's rich steam. "Why, thank you."
But the cook doesn't hear, being too busy hollering, "You idiots!" as he plunges after Usopp and Luffy, who bolt, crying over their shoulders, "But we didn't--!" Their protests are futile, however, and soon the snowballs are flying thicker than ever, propelled by wild kicks.
Robin puts down her book. Snatching a stray missile out of the air, she tosses it back into the fray, and winks when Usopp catches it. Usopp, who saw whose hand threw that other snowball, grins back.
And if Sanji's suit is soaked and his tie undone and his cufflinks lost under the snow, he's laughing too hard to care.
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Date: 2004-09-16 05:06 am (UTC)re: Mature
Date: 2004-09-23 09:29 pm (UTC)-k.
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Date: 2005-10-03 01:57 am (UTC)