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dethoratsTitle: Swordstroke
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2705
Summary: Zoro, with a dash of Mihawk and Chopper, after Enies Lobby
Fragrant steam hissed gently up between the cedar floorboards and shrouded the small, boxy room with gentle curtains of white. Roronoa Zoro paused in the doorway and stretched, one corner of his mouth curling upwards in satisfaction as joints popped faintly in between his shoulders and well-worked muscles announced their presence with a slight burn. Five hours of lifting increasingly heavier weights and tuning out the whispered babble of consternated awe had left him feeling satisfied and just about ready for a long nap. The sauna wasn’t quite what he was used to but there weren’t any of the large near-boiling baths available here to ease the strain from his body. He never noticed the large sign with its bold red letters warning patrons not to fall asleep.
A kaleidoscope of colors drifted through Zoro’s sleeping mind, flowed across the backs of rapidly fluttering eyelids. He stood on a moonlit hilltop, the heavy steal of the more advanced students’ practice katanas heavy in his hands and pulling hard at his jaw. A shifting figure waited for him. It was Kuina but it also wasn’t. His young rival blurred, the outline of her budding female form shivering in a wind he couldn’t feel. Overlapping her determined childish body, or maybe coming from it, were two more figures. An older semblance of Kuina, in glasses this time and with a kind of wide-eyed innocent optimism that her younger self had never known, glared at him and raised a green-hilted blade as his dream-self took a disbelieving step forward. And melded with the two women, less distinct but somehow more palpable for the lack of definition, was the Hawk Eyes. Golden eyes bore into him with unblinking directness and Zoro opened his avatar’s mouth to shout a challenge. The world spun, twisted, and the strange trio melted away as Zoro fell through the hole that opened without warning beneath his feet.
There was no time to flail or grope about for purchase in the long, dark tunnel. His journey ended abruptly, spitting him out on a desolate stretch of ground. Rocks dotted the dry, gritty soil and the wind howled around him. The proper blades were in his hands now, Wadou clenched between his teeth. Though he could see no one beside himself, the hair at the back of his neck stood on edge and his spine tingled in warning. Shadows appeared on the horizon even as his grip tightened on his swords. One by one the black figures popped into existence, moving closer and closer and doubling, tripling, splitting into duplicates that soon ringed him. The vague and sinister army advanced in a silent, gliding rush and Zoro felt his eyes widen in surprise as the black enemies shimmered and sharpened into clones of men he’d beaten in the past.
He still couldn’t speak but the words of his attacks resounded inside of his skull as he crossed his blades and sent a tornado at a squadron of Cabajis. Whirling, he ran through the gamut of his three-sword style attack arsenal. The six arms of Arlong’s octopus melted into the ground many times over and the Meowban brothers were thrown in a tangled heap into a pack of themselves. He fought with all the skill he hadn’t had when he still sailed East Blue, sent his shadowed foes back in droves but the silent army kept coming. Sweat dripped down his brow and his throat ached for water as he staggered for the first time. The acrobat’s blade burned when it slid along his arm, more like a fiery brand than a sword cut, and Zoro stared in disbelief as green liquid oozed from his split flesh. Three drops hit the ground as he stood frozen in surprise and the umbral army closed in. Darkness washed over him like a tidal wave and he fought for breath and any sign of light.
The forest where he found himself after a sudden wrenching jolt was old and still, heavy with a sense of age and the ever-turning cycle of life. A moss-covered rock formed his seat, his legs crossed into the lotus position and his right hand rested palm up as if in supplication on his thigh. Wadou lay easily in his left, the blade pointed out and the pommel resting on his knee. He could hear everything. The pulse of the world beat up through the stone into his skin, moved through his veins, passed out through the top of his head. It started to rain, a life-giving mist that nurtured the plants that drank up every drop. Zoro dropped his head back and smiled in pleased surprise when moisture landed on eyes he hadn’t realized were closed. Life was green, green and gold and brown. Even the air shimmered with streaks of color, trails swirling in the chaotic paths of insects and the fading drifts of falling leaves.
Peace lived in that ancient forest and Zoro sat on his rock for what felt like eons, watching and listening and absorbing everything the world had to offer. Wadou never wavered in his grip and he could feel even its spirit begin to thrum in time with the pulse around him, with the singing in his own blood. Roronoa Zoro was nearly a moss-covered stone himself when a jarring deep bass note, a thread of red, intruded into his tranquility. He knew them both at once, the auras of the two men who stood to either side of him. Daz Bones, Mr. 1 from the Baroque Works organization, and the swordsman among Ener’s misguided quartet of priests, Ohm. Two more old enemies he had defeated, surpassed with the feeling of the world beating beneath his skin. Wadou moved as slow and smooth as a dropped silk sash and its steel was warm with life when he laid the blade against his upturned palm. The air around Zoro crackled with energy, the red lines sliding through the other colors in the air. He didn’t move, merely let his breath out in a silent puff that stirred green and gold and snared the jagged blood colored force, slowed it down. Living steel met iron cloud in a blow that echoed throughout the trees but Zoro wasn’t there to hear it.
Only a faint tendril of forest calm remained to anchor him in a veritable firestorm. It was a scene straight out of one of his master’s religious scrolls, flames leaping from the ground and ash falling like thick snow to cover everything in a layer of grey before the fire rose up to burn it away again and again. The heat was almost unbearable, like being roasted alive, but Zoro didn’t sweat. His brow was dry and the skin on his arms as he raised Sandei Kitetsu and Yubashiri was flushed and taut. The giraffe man was there, grinning like a loon and spinning his four blades. The steel flashed before his eyes, multiplied as Kaku dashed through the roaring flames with superhuman speed. Rage and frustration surged in his heart, echoed his emotions from the last time he had faced the CP9 member. It was too hot and his tongue was like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. He could feel the demon rising in him again and the effort it took to control it was more than he wanted to admit. The specter of Ashura rose over his dream form, his heads tripling and his sword count rising to nine. There was no question of whose strength was greater, even there in the bowels of Hell. Zoro struck and watched dispassionately as the giraffe swordsman shattered into a million pieces.
The flames died away as he returned to normal until even the well-banked embers sparked out of existence. His breath came out in shallow pants and his limbs were heavy as lead. The small kernel of his soul flickered in his chest and he swayed on his feet. His swords trembled, vibrated themselves so fast that he couldn’t hold them, and then vanished. Three balls of life formed in the void that now surrounded him and he stretched out questing fingers. They glowed with the colors of life and with their own unique spirit. Sandai Kitetsu pulsed a warning red inside a delicate cage of brown and Yubashiri glittered, danced in between white and gold just like sun-touched snow. And Wadou, Wadou Ichimonji, her sword and his, was a pure misty green that reminded him of his childhood home. His soul yearned towards them, his whole being aching for the pieces of steel, the spirits he’d poured so much of himself into. Zoro felt his grasp on the dream slipping, consciousness edging with unpleasant roughness into this final moment and he fought long enough for his swords to fly at his astral shape and stab through into his heart. The last fragment of dream reality was a pair of fierce blazing eyes piercing him, seeing straight through him with the strength of expectation.
His nostrils were filled with heady cedar and he could feel his head pounding, his pulse beating at the back of his skull where it rested against the wall. Zoro’s eyes were gummed shut and it took far too much effort to rub the back of his papery-feeling hand across them, coaxing them open. The sauna spun in front of him, the steam so thick he couldn’t make out anything at all. He was desperate for water and for cooler air but his legs didn’t seem to want to work. His mind was as hazy as the sauna and he wondered absently what time it was. There was a party scheduled for that night, Luffy wanting a formal recognition of their new ship, new nakama, and to welcome Robin and Usopp’s return. Enies Lobby was a week behind them and they were all recovered and ready to face the increasing treachery of the Grand Line’s waters and the wrath of the World Government. Nami would have his head if he was late and, even worse, he wasn’t precisely sure where their hotel was in relation to the gymnasium he’d stumbled over.
Zoro struggled to sit up, cursing under his breath when his knees failed to support his weight and he fell back onto the cedar bench. A low chuckle wormed its way into his ears through the clouds of steam, thick and with a hint of bite. He glared at the wall of white, willing his eyes to see just who was so amused at his predicament. One of the Grand Line’s more perfect predators met his gaze evenly, golden eyes crinkled ever so slightly around the edges in response to Zoro’s own failings. Suddenly glad he was still sitting down because otherwise he feared he might have fallen in shock, Roronoa stared at the Sea Knight and wished his fingers didn’t itch so desperately for his swords. At least there was no sign of Mihawk’s own oversized black blade although the golden cross still hung around his neck. In naught but a skimpy white towel and barely keeping from barking out a challenge, the green-haired swordsman snapped his jaw shut and stiffened his spine.
“Now, now Roronoa. No need to look so tense.” Mihawk’s tone was light and jocular and it set Zoro’s teeth on edge. “I’m not going to fight you in a steam room. We’re both here for the same thing, to relax.”
The world’s greatest swordsman stretched out his lean, pale legs and propped an elbow on the ledge at his back, lounging in the steam like a great hunting cat. Zoro bit his tongue until he tasted blood and watched warily as the Hawk Eyes ran an assessing gaze over his body.
“Some new scars, I see. But none quite so impressive as the one I gave you.” His voice shifted, deepened and darkened and he pinned Zoro with a searching look. “Have you kept your vow?”
Snatches of his recent strange dream reeled out again in a jumbled collection of images, interspersed themselves with the enemies he’d faced but hadn’t beaten. Arlong, he decided, and Ener and Lucci did not count. They were not swordsman. And they weren’t ultimately destined to be his foes for they had all belonged to Luffy. There was no shame in allowing his captain to smash the shark man or send the would-be god to the moon. As for Lucci, they all had a grudge against the Cipher Pol agent but he knew Luffy’s was the biggest of all. Zoro, in spite of his growing dizziness and trouble seeing his ultimate rival, nodded his head firmly with a heart and mind free of doubt. He hadn’t yet failed to defeat his chosen opponents since Mihawk marked him and he’d sworn never to lose again until they crossed blades once more.
Another low chuckle came out of the steam as Zoro blinked heavy eyelids and struggled to stay awake. His body was demanding water and fresh air and, above all, sleep. He couldn’t see the man’s golden stare any longer, couldn’t see anything at all except for swirling clouds of white with darkness quickly seeping in around the edges. His ear tingled, earrings chiming softly, and he could dimly feel a chilly metal cross slide along his bicep in counterpoint to the hot breath whispered against his flesh.
“You’ve come far indeed, Roronoa but there is more waiting for you to learn. I’m waiting but my patience can only last so long. To face me you need to open up, to wake up. Wake up!”
“…Up! Wake up, Zoro. Didn’t you see the sign? Wake up!”
Tiny hooves prodded insistently at his chest and a high-pitched voice shouted in his ear. Zoro groaned around a dry, swollen tongue and wondered just how many times Luffy had sent him crashing into the deck to make him feel so wrung out. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and strange bits and pieces of dream-memory flitted through his brain. The last thing he remembered was Mihawk and at the thought of the other swordsman, he managed to pry open his eyes.
A blue nose hovered only inches from his face, Chopper standing on his lap to get a closer look at him. Zoro jerked in surprise, managed to croak out a questioning, “Chopper?”
“You’re not supposed to fall asleep in saunas, Zoro! They can dehydrate you really easily, especially if you were training hard beforehand and didn’t drink enough water. You might have gotten heatstroke.” The reindeer doctor hopped off his lap to wave a scolding hoof in his direction.
“Nami sent us out to look for you. It’s almost time for the party and you’re unconscious in a sauna with no one around to help you.”
Zoro mumbled a half-hearted “sorry” and peered over his nakama’s shoulder in search of a golden-eyed man. There was no sign of Mihawk, no sign of anyone else at all, and he let Chopper pull him upright. His legs wobbled like half-cooked noodles but he managed to keep his footing and take a few steps towards the door. Chopper babbled at his side, bits of warnings and instructions along the lines of “cool shower” and “drink plenty of water and no alcohol because that will only dehydrate you more” drifting in one ear and out the other. He nodded in passive agreement, tuning out the doctor while he concentrated on recovering his strength and getting back his swords. His three blades were safely stowed away with his clothing and he dressed, his thoughts straying again and again to his fever dream. The last part had seemed so very real…
He didn’t notice until he was following the doctor up the wide paved streets towards the hotel and their party. His fingers, when he slipped his hand into a pants’ pocket, touched on something small, smooth, and skin-warmed. He drew the hard object out and studied it as the setting rays of the sun made it gleam. A gold cross, no bigger than one of his earrings. Zoro let out a whoop and scooped up Chopper, running with him into the sunset and towards their eagerly waiting nakama.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2705
Summary: Zoro, with a dash of Mihawk and Chopper, after Enies Lobby
Fragrant steam hissed gently up between the cedar floorboards and shrouded the small, boxy room with gentle curtains of white. Roronoa Zoro paused in the doorway and stretched, one corner of his mouth curling upwards in satisfaction as joints popped faintly in between his shoulders and well-worked muscles announced their presence with a slight burn. Five hours of lifting increasingly heavier weights and tuning out the whispered babble of consternated awe had left him feeling satisfied and just about ready for a long nap. The sauna wasn’t quite what he was used to but there weren’t any of the large near-boiling baths available here to ease the strain from his body. He never noticed the large sign with its bold red letters warning patrons not to fall asleep.
A kaleidoscope of colors drifted through Zoro’s sleeping mind, flowed across the backs of rapidly fluttering eyelids. He stood on a moonlit hilltop, the heavy steal of the more advanced students’ practice katanas heavy in his hands and pulling hard at his jaw. A shifting figure waited for him. It was Kuina but it also wasn’t. His young rival blurred, the outline of her budding female form shivering in a wind he couldn’t feel. Overlapping her determined childish body, or maybe coming from it, were two more figures. An older semblance of Kuina, in glasses this time and with a kind of wide-eyed innocent optimism that her younger self had never known, glared at him and raised a green-hilted blade as his dream-self took a disbelieving step forward. And melded with the two women, less distinct but somehow more palpable for the lack of definition, was the Hawk Eyes. Golden eyes bore into him with unblinking directness and Zoro opened his avatar’s mouth to shout a challenge. The world spun, twisted, and the strange trio melted away as Zoro fell through the hole that opened without warning beneath his feet.
There was no time to flail or grope about for purchase in the long, dark tunnel. His journey ended abruptly, spitting him out on a desolate stretch of ground. Rocks dotted the dry, gritty soil and the wind howled around him. The proper blades were in his hands now, Wadou clenched between his teeth. Though he could see no one beside himself, the hair at the back of his neck stood on edge and his spine tingled in warning. Shadows appeared on the horizon even as his grip tightened on his swords. One by one the black figures popped into existence, moving closer and closer and doubling, tripling, splitting into duplicates that soon ringed him. The vague and sinister army advanced in a silent, gliding rush and Zoro felt his eyes widen in surprise as the black enemies shimmered and sharpened into clones of men he’d beaten in the past.
He still couldn’t speak but the words of his attacks resounded inside of his skull as he crossed his blades and sent a tornado at a squadron of Cabajis. Whirling, he ran through the gamut of his three-sword style attack arsenal. The six arms of Arlong’s octopus melted into the ground many times over and the Meowban brothers were thrown in a tangled heap into a pack of themselves. He fought with all the skill he hadn’t had when he still sailed East Blue, sent his shadowed foes back in droves but the silent army kept coming. Sweat dripped down his brow and his throat ached for water as he staggered for the first time. The acrobat’s blade burned when it slid along his arm, more like a fiery brand than a sword cut, and Zoro stared in disbelief as green liquid oozed from his split flesh. Three drops hit the ground as he stood frozen in surprise and the umbral army closed in. Darkness washed over him like a tidal wave and he fought for breath and any sign of light.
The forest where he found himself after a sudden wrenching jolt was old and still, heavy with a sense of age and the ever-turning cycle of life. A moss-covered rock formed his seat, his legs crossed into the lotus position and his right hand rested palm up as if in supplication on his thigh. Wadou lay easily in his left, the blade pointed out and the pommel resting on his knee. He could hear everything. The pulse of the world beat up through the stone into his skin, moved through his veins, passed out through the top of his head. It started to rain, a life-giving mist that nurtured the plants that drank up every drop. Zoro dropped his head back and smiled in pleased surprise when moisture landed on eyes he hadn’t realized were closed. Life was green, green and gold and brown. Even the air shimmered with streaks of color, trails swirling in the chaotic paths of insects and the fading drifts of falling leaves.
Peace lived in that ancient forest and Zoro sat on his rock for what felt like eons, watching and listening and absorbing everything the world had to offer. Wadou never wavered in his grip and he could feel even its spirit begin to thrum in time with the pulse around him, with the singing in his own blood. Roronoa Zoro was nearly a moss-covered stone himself when a jarring deep bass note, a thread of red, intruded into his tranquility. He knew them both at once, the auras of the two men who stood to either side of him. Daz Bones, Mr. 1 from the Baroque Works organization, and the swordsman among Ener’s misguided quartet of priests, Ohm. Two more old enemies he had defeated, surpassed with the feeling of the world beating beneath his skin. Wadou moved as slow and smooth as a dropped silk sash and its steel was warm with life when he laid the blade against his upturned palm. The air around Zoro crackled with energy, the red lines sliding through the other colors in the air. He didn’t move, merely let his breath out in a silent puff that stirred green and gold and snared the jagged blood colored force, slowed it down. Living steel met iron cloud in a blow that echoed throughout the trees but Zoro wasn’t there to hear it.
Only a faint tendril of forest calm remained to anchor him in a veritable firestorm. It was a scene straight out of one of his master’s religious scrolls, flames leaping from the ground and ash falling like thick snow to cover everything in a layer of grey before the fire rose up to burn it away again and again. The heat was almost unbearable, like being roasted alive, but Zoro didn’t sweat. His brow was dry and the skin on his arms as he raised Sandei Kitetsu and Yubashiri was flushed and taut. The giraffe man was there, grinning like a loon and spinning his four blades. The steel flashed before his eyes, multiplied as Kaku dashed through the roaring flames with superhuman speed. Rage and frustration surged in his heart, echoed his emotions from the last time he had faced the CP9 member. It was too hot and his tongue was like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. He could feel the demon rising in him again and the effort it took to control it was more than he wanted to admit. The specter of Ashura rose over his dream form, his heads tripling and his sword count rising to nine. There was no question of whose strength was greater, even there in the bowels of Hell. Zoro struck and watched dispassionately as the giraffe swordsman shattered into a million pieces.
The flames died away as he returned to normal until even the well-banked embers sparked out of existence. His breath came out in shallow pants and his limbs were heavy as lead. The small kernel of his soul flickered in his chest and he swayed on his feet. His swords trembled, vibrated themselves so fast that he couldn’t hold them, and then vanished. Three balls of life formed in the void that now surrounded him and he stretched out questing fingers. They glowed with the colors of life and with their own unique spirit. Sandai Kitetsu pulsed a warning red inside a delicate cage of brown and Yubashiri glittered, danced in between white and gold just like sun-touched snow. And Wadou, Wadou Ichimonji, her sword and his, was a pure misty green that reminded him of his childhood home. His soul yearned towards them, his whole being aching for the pieces of steel, the spirits he’d poured so much of himself into. Zoro felt his grasp on the dream slipping, consciousness edging with unpleasant roughness into this final moment and he fought long enough for his swords to fly at his astral shape and stab through into his heart. The last fragment of dream reality was a pair of fierce blazing eyes piercing him, seeing straight through him with the strength of expectation.
His nostrils were filled with heady cedar and he could feel his head pounding, his pulse beating at the back of his skull where it rested against the wall. Zoro’s eyes were gummed shut and it took far too much effort to rub the back of his papery-feeling hand across them, coaxing them open. The sauna spun in front of him, the steam so thick he couldn’t make out anything at all. He was desperate for water and for cooler air but his legs didn’t seem to want to work. His mind was as hazy as the sauna and he wondered absently what time it was. There was a party scheduled for that night, Luffy wanting a formal recognition of their new ship, new nakama, and to welcome Robin and Usopp’s return. Enies Lobby was a week behind them and they were all recovered and ready to face the increasing treachery of the Grand Line’s waters and the wrath of the World Government. Nami would have his head if he was late and, even worse, he wasn’t precisely sure where their hotel was in relation to the gymnasium he’d stumbled over.
Zoro struggled to sit up, cursing under his breath when his knees failed to support his weight and he fell back onto the cedar bench. A low chuckle wormed its way into his ears through the clouds of steam, thick and with a hint of bite. He glared at the wall of white, willing his eyes to see just who was so amused at his predicament. One of the Grand Line’s more perfect predators met his gaze evenly, golden eyes crinkled ever so slightly around the edges in response to Zoro’s own failings. Suddenly glad he was still sitting down because otherwise he feared he might have fallen in shock, Roronoa stared at the Sea Knight and wished his fingers didn’t itch so desperately for his swords. At least there was no sign of Mihawk’s own oversized black blade although the golden cross still hung around his neck. In naught but a skimpy white towel and barely keeping from barking out a challenge, the green-haired swordsman snapped his jaw shut and stiffened his spine.
“Now, now Roronoa. No need to look so tense.” Mihawk’s tone was light and jocular and it set Zoro’s teeth on edge. “I’m not going to fight you in a steam room. We’re both here for the same thing, to relax.”
The world’s greatest swordsman stretched out his lean, pale legs and propped an elbow on the ledge at his back, lounging in the steam like a great hunting cat. Zoro bit his tongue until he tasted blood and watched warily as the Hawk Eyes ran an assessing gaze over his body.
“Some new scars, I see. But none quite so impressive as the one I gave you.” His voice shifted, deepened and darkened and he pinned Zoro with a searching look. “Have you kept your vow?”
Snatches of his recent strange dream reeled out again in a jumbled collection of images, interspersed themselves with the enemies he’d faced but hadn’t beaten. Arlong, he decided, and Ener and Lucci did not count. They were not swordsman. And they weren’t ultimately destined to be his foes for they had all belonged to Luffy. There was no shame in allowing his captain to smash the shark man or send the would-be god to the moon. As for Lucci, they all had a grudge against the Cipher Pol agent but he knew Luffy’s was the biggest of all. Zoro, in spite of his growing dizziness and trouble seeing his ultimate rival, nodded his head firmly with a heart and mind free of doubt. He hadn’t yet failed to defeat his chosen opponents since Mihawk marked him and he’d sworn never to lose again until they crossed blades once more.
Another low chuckle came out of the steam as Zoro blinked heavy eyelids and struggled to stay awake. His body was demanding water and fresh air and, above all, sleep. He couldn’t see the man’s golden stare any longer, couldn’t see anything at all except for swirling clouds of white with darkness quickly seeping in around the edges. His ear tingled, earrings chiming softly, and he could dimly feel a chilly metal cross slide along his bicep in counterpoint to the hot breath whispered against his flesh.
“You’ve come far indeed, Roronoa but there is more waiting for you to learn. I’m waiting but my patience can only last so long. To face me you need to open up, to wake up. Wake up!”
“…Up! Wake up, Zoro. Didn’t you see the sign? Wake up!”
Tiny hooves prodded insistently at his chest and a high-pitched voice shouted in his ear. Zoro groaned around a dry, swollen tongue and wondered just how many times Luffy had sent him crashing into the deck to make him feel so wrung out. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and strange bits and pieces of dream-memory flitted through his brain. The last thing he remembered was Mihawk and at the thought of the other swordsman, he managed to pry open his eyes.
A blue nose hovered only inches from his face, Chopper standing on his lap to get a closer look at him. Zoro jerked in surprise, managed to croak out a questioning, “Chopper?”
“You’re not supposed to fall asleep in saunas, Zoro! They can dehydrate you really easily, especially if you were training hard beforehand and didn’t drink enough water. You might have gotten heatstroke.” The reindeer doctor hopped off his lap to wave a scolding hoof in his direction.
“Nami sent us out to look for you. It’s almost time for the party and you’re unconscious in a sauna with no one around to help you.”
Zoro mumbled a half-hearted “sorry” and peered over his nakama’s shoulder in search of a golden-eyed man. There was no sign of Mihawk, no sign of anyone else at all, and he let Chopper pull him upright. His legs wobbled like half-cooked noodles but he managed to keep his footing and take a few steps towards the door. Chopper babbled at his side, bits of warnings and instructions along the lines of “cool shower” and “drink plenty of water and no alcohol because that will only dehydrate you more” drifting in one ear and out the other. He nodded in passive agreement, tuning out the doctor while he concentrated on recovering his strength and getting back his swords. His three blades were safely stowed away with his clothing and he dressed, his thoughts straying again and again to his fever dream. The last part had seemed so very real…
He didn’t notice until he was following the doctor up the wide paved streets towards the hotel and their party. His fingers, when he slipped his hand into a pants’ pocket, touched on something small, smooth, and skin-warmed. He drew the hard object out and studied it as the setting rays of the sun made it gleam. A gold cross, no bigger than one of his earrings. Zoro let out a whoop and scooped up Chopper, running with him into the sunset and towards their eagerly waiting nakama.
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Date: 2006-08-23 08:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-25 05:27 pm (UTC)