Drabble Bit
Mar. 28th, 2007 06:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsPrompt: Needing Help
Rating: PG
Pairing: Implied Shanks/Ben
Word Count: 300
“Damn it! Stupid stubborn thing…”
Muttering followed the outburst along with several grunts and another curse. An inevitable crash came on the heels of frustration, dark red wine staining the wooden deck and splattering like raindrops on tanned feet. Shanks stood up, a scowl darker than thunderheads on his face, and stomped off presumptively to change his newly soaked shorts and get another bottle.
Without a word, Ben rose as well. There was a broom and dustpan recently tucked into the corner of the galley along with a mop and he cleaned up the mess with an efficiency born of practice. Talk among the few men who had been sitting with them was subdued and Yasopp excused himself to assist the first mate when he took note of the strain around the older man’s tired eyes.
“You can’t,” he said when it looked as if Ben would dispose of the bits of glass and follow after his captain. The hand he placed on the other’s scarred arm was gentle and he shook his head softly. “Don’t make it worse.”
“I know.” More plaintive than he might have liked, Ben lit a cigarette to occupy himself instead, smoke wreathing his head as he sought some comfort in the familiar burn in his lungs. “I know.”
Shanks would never ask and every man aboard the great dragon-prowed ship knew it. Too proud to ask for help and often too stubborn to accept when it was offered, the captain struggled and his men shared his frustration, tasting of it themselves thanks to his pride. Still, things were slowly changing and it was only a matter of time before balance returned. In the meantime they all leaned on each other, showing by example to their beloved leader that no man had to stand alone.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Implied Shanks/Ben
Word Count: 300
“Damn it! Stupid stubborn thing…”
Muttering followed the outburst along with several grunts and another curse. An inevitable crash came on the heels of frustration, dark red wine staining the wooden deck and splattering like raindrops on tanned feet. Shanks stood up, a scowl darker than thunderheads on his face, and stomped off presumptively to change his newly soaked shorts and get another bottle.
Without a word, Ben rose as well. There was a broom and dustpan recently tucked into the corner of the galley along with a mop and he cleaned up the mess with an efficiency born of practice. Talk among the few men who had been sitting with them was subdued and Yasopp excused himself to assist the first mate when he took note of the strain around the older man’s tired eyes.
“You can’t,” he said when it looked as if Ben would dispose of the bits of glass and follow after his captain. The hand he placed on the other’s scarred arm was gentle and he shook his head softly. “Don’t make it worse.”
“I know.” More plaintive than he might have liked, Ben lit a cigarette to occupy himself instead, smoke wreathing his head as he sought some comfort in the familiar burn in his lungs. “I know.”
Shanks would never ask and every man aboard the great dragon-prowed ship knew it. Too proud to ask for help and often too stubborn to accept when it was offered, the captain struggled and his men shared his frustration, tasting of it themselves thanks to his pride. Still, things were slowly changing and it was only a matter of time before balance returned. In the meantime they all leaned on each other, showing by example to their beloved leader that no man had to stand alone.
