ZoSopp challenge number 37
Feb. 22nd, 2007 06:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsTitle Prompt: Accident
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1146
Note: Definite homage/inspiration from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chibi_trillian's amazing sword trilogy
Two days out from Water 7 and he hadn’t meant to go looking for trouble. Lately it seems as though it dogged his path, followed him around and waited for just the right moment to dart out and trip him up. Or maybe it was because he never thinks when he should and spent too much thought on stuff that doesn’t matter. Either way, he acted.
Skulking around in the receding floodwaters, he’d kept tabs on his former nakama. His courage hadn’t been enough yet to bring him to actually approach them but he’d watched and waited. And in that time he’d seen the swordsman cling to his blades in a wholly unfamiliar way. He’d been there when Mihawk had sheared two of them, only the precious white-handled one strong enough to withstand the power of the black sword. Zoro hadn’t seemed overly bothered by their loss, more inconvenienced than anything. But the new blades he’d picked up in Logue Town had been different. The green-haired pirate had a connection with them, something almost tangible that showed up in the way he cared for them and the way his skills seemed to skyrocket. So the loss of Yubashiri had to have been an especially cruel blow. Usopp didn’t know enough to be able to come up with a proper comparison, but it had to be at least as harsh as the loss of a beloved animal that was more partner than pet.
He’d held that same blade in his hands, melded with it in a strange way thanks purely to the undeniable force of Zoro’s will. A part of him grieved for that loss, for the connection that had been severed. It had been a strange bond but it had been real and in the days while he haunted the construction sites of the city, it had seemed like one of the few things that still felt real. Rejoining the crew had been harder than he’d imagined, harder for his pride and his courage and his very real anger at all that had transpired. But it had happened and Luffy had promptly acted as if he’d never left. Usopp still didn’t know how to react to that and so he too had done his best to pretend nothing had changed even if everything had. The rest of his nakama were a tad more careful of his feelings, treading a bit more lightly and giving him his space but never once making him feel unwelcome.
In that time, those two short and yet impossibly long days, while he tried to reconcile his heart and body to the feel of a new ship beneath his feet and to acknowledge once again that Merry really and truly was gone, he tried to distract himself any way he could. And the thing that seemed to work the best was watching Zoro brood ever so faintly over his swords, both the ones he had and the one that was missing. It probably wasn’t healthy but it was working and he found himself becoming more and more obsessed with the two blades slung comfortably - but somewhat forlornly without a third – at Zoro’s hip. They never seemed to leave him anymore, not even in his sleep, and it was only late into that second night with the swordsman having come off watch to take a shower and his own newfound insomnia keeping him awake that he found his chance.
The white one, the special one, was warm against his palm when he wrapped his hand around the hilt and drew forth several gleaming inches of steel. Sleep deprivation was probably the culprit but for some reason he felt as though he could feel a kind of welcome coming from the blade when he carefully touched the tip of his finger to the razor edge. Despite how sharp the sword obviously was, it took concentration and the careful application of speed and pressure to draw forth a single small drop of his blood. The cut welled shallowly on his fingertip but the blade remained clean and slipped back into the sheath with nary a whisper. As for the red-wrapped one, he didn’t like that one nearly as much. It too invited him to draw steel, practically demanded it or so it seemed to his fogged brain. But he’d had no intention of touching the dangerous, shadowed edge. It had to have been an accident, some slight lurch of the ship or a wavering in his unsteady hands, which sent his cut finger once more against a sword edge. The demon blade bit deep, almost burning, and he chomped his tongue on a yelp as he jerked away.
It took everything he had to put that sword away, and he didn’t quite have the strength to wipe away the small streak of blood marring the steel, but he managed to lean it back up against the wall next to its companion. There was a sigh on his lips and his bleeding finger was halfway to his mouth when he turned around and ran nose first into a damp, scar-split chest. Zoro’s eyes were dark and hooded in the dim light and Usopp knew his knees were shaking when the older pirate caught his wrist and tugged on his hand. A few beads of blood trickled out as the swordsman stared at his finger and then, even as he opened his mouth to stammer out something, anything, warm lips closed over it, tasting.
Usopp had never dreamt of being steel. He was a reed that bent with the wind rather than something stubborn that could be broken. Yielding to stand tall again, that was his way. But fate, an accidental slip of sweaty, nervous hands, just a strange coincidence, SOMETHING had led him to be bound to Roronoa Zoro at a moment when their lives and the lives of their nakama were in dire peril. Stuck together, what else was there to do but become the other man’s weapon? He couldn’t chop off his hand and he wouldn’t let Zoro do that either. And so he’d locked his fingers around a black hilt and screamed his head off as he tried to keep stiff and still while he was swung about willy-nilly by his ankles. Though they hadn’t done much together, for a short time he’d been a sword. Zoro’s sword.
He went to bed once his finger had been cleaned, not a word exchanged between them. Sleep still didn’t come as quickly as he’d have liked and he still felt confused and a little lost. But he didn’t feel quite so alone among his nakama anymore. If nothing else, there was one place he could forever claim. He’d been one of Zoro’s swords, one of the important ones, and so a portion of him, however small, would always belong with the rest of them.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1146
Note: Definite homage/inspiration from
chibi_trillian's amazing sword trilogyTwo days out from Water 7 and he hadn’t meant to go looking for trouble. Lately it seems as though it dogged his path, followed him around and waited for just the right moment to dart out and trip him up. Or maybe it was because he never thinks when he should and spent too much thought on stuff that doesn’t matter. Either way, he acted.
Skulking around in the receding floodwaters, he’d kept tabs on his former nakama. His courage hadn’t been enough yet to bring him to actually approach them but he’d watched and waited. And in that time he’d seen the swordsman cling to his blades in a wholly unfamiliar way. He’d been there when Mihawk had sheared two of them, only the precious white-handled one strong enough to withstand the power of the black sword. Zoro hadn’t seemed overly bothered by their loss, more inconvenienced than anything. But the new blades he’d picked up in Logue Town had been different. The green-haired pirate had a connection with them, something almost tangible that showed up in the way he cared for them and the way his skills seemed to skyrocket. So the loss of Yubashiri had to have been an especially cruel blow. Usopp didn’t know enough to be able to come up with a proper comparison, but it had to be at least as harsh as the loss of a beloved animal that was more partner than pet.
He’d held that same blade in his hands, melded with it in a strange way thanks purely to the undeniable force of Zoro’s will. A part of him grieved for that loss, for the connection that had been severed. It had been a strange bond but it had been real and in the days while he haunted the construction sites of the city, it had seemed like one of the few things that still felt real. Rejoining the crew had been harder than he’d imagined, harder for his pride and his courage and his very real anger at all that had transpired. But it had happened and Luffy had promptly acted as if he’d never left. Usopp still didn’t know how to react to that and so he too had done his best to pretend nothing had changed even if everything had. The rest of his nakama were a tad more careful of his feelings, treading a bit more lightly and giving him his space but never once making him feel unwelcome.
In that time, those two short and yet impossibly long days, while he tried to reconcile his heart and body to the feel of a new ship beneath his feet and to acknowledge once again that Merry really and truly was gone, he tried to distract himself any way he could. And the thing that seemed to work the best was watching Zoro brood ever so faintly over his swords, both the ones he had and the one that was missing. It probably wasn’t healthy but it was working and he found himself becoming more and more obsessed with the two blades slung comfortably - but somewhat forlornly without a third – at Zoro’s hip. They never seemed to leave him anymore, not even in his sleep, and it was only late into that second night with the swordsman having come off watch to take a shower and his own newfound insomnia keeping him awake that he found his chance.
The white one, the special one, was warm against his palm when he wrapped his hand around the hilt and drew forth several gleaming inches of steel. Sleep deprivation was probably the culprit but for some reason he felt as though he could feel a kind of welcome coming from the blade when he carefully touched the tip of his finger to the razor edge. Despite how sharp the sword obviously was, it took concentration and the careful application of speed and pressure to draw forth a single small drop of his blood. The cut welled shallowly on his fingertip but the blade remained clean and slipped back into the sheath with nary a whisper. As for the red-wrapped one, he didn’t like that one nearly as much. It too invited him to draw steel, practically demanded it or so it seemed to his fogged brain. But he’d had no intention of touching the dangerous, shadowed edge. It had to have been an accident, some slight lurch of the ship or a wavering in his unsteady hands, which sent his cut finger once more against a sword edge. The demon blade bit deep, almost burning, and he chomped his tongue on a yelp as he jerked away.
It took everything he had to put that sword away, and he didn’t quite have the strength to wipe away the small streak of blood marring the steel, but he managed to lean it back up against the wall next to its companion. There was a sigh on his lips and his bleeding finger was halfway to his mouth when he turned around and ran nose first into a damp, scar-split chest. Zoro’s eyes were dark and hooded in the dim light and Usopp knew his knees were shaking when the older pirate caught his wrist and tugged on his hand. A few beads of blood trickled out as the swordsman stared at his finger and then, even as he opened his mouth to stammer out something, anything, warm lips closed over it, tasting.
Usopp had never dreamt of being steel. He was a reed that bent with the wind rather than something stubborn that could be broken. Yielding to stand tall again, that was his way. But fate, an accidental slip of sweaty, nervous hands, just a strange coincidence, SOMETHING had led him to be bound to Roronoa Zoro at a moment when their lives and the lives of their nakama were in dire peril. Stuck together, what else was there to do but become the other man’s weapon? He couldn’t chop off his hand and he wouldn’t let Zoro do that either. And so he’d locked his fingers around a black hilt and screamed his head off as he tried to keep stiff and still while he was swung about willy-nilly by his ankles. Though they hadn’t done much together, for a short time he’d been a sword. Zoro’s sword.
He went to bed once his finger had been cleaned, not a word exchanged between them. Sleep still didn’t come as quickly as he’d have liked and he still felt confused and a little lost. But he didn’t feel quite so alone among his nakama anymore. If nothing else, there was one place he could forever claim. He’d been one of Zoro’s swords, one of the important ones, and so a portion of him, however small, would always belong with the rest of them.
