[personal profile] dethorats
Firstly, for my ZoSopp Challenge:

Prompt: Trivia
Rating: PG
Pairing: Zoro and Usopp
Word Count: 692



These are some of the things Usopp knows. He knows the names of Zoro’s swords. He knows the names of all of Zoro’s favorite moves and even some of the ones he’s only used once or twice. He knows how much the swordsman loves puns but will never, ever admit it, not even under pain of Nami-chores and Luffy-watching after an afternoon of sugar. The sniper knows the rhythm and routines of Zoro’s daily exercises. More importantly, he has a good idea of how many more reps will get tacked on should the swordsman be angry or feels he’s failed in any way. And when the older pirate gets injured, Usopp can guess well enough to bet against the navigator just how long Zoro will get away with exercising before Chopper makes him stop. He knows the most famous bad guys Pirate Hunter Zoro collared and just how much they were worth, old knowledge he collected to help in his tales to Kaya that even Zoro doesn’t remember that has been held over. Usopp knows how much Zoro loves moon viewing during crisp autumn evenings and keeping warm with good sake and he understands how much the calm, quiet beauty aids in later meditation. And his fingers can find and trace every scar on the swordsman’s tanned body without the aid of sight.

These are some of the things Zoro knows. He knows exactly how to make a flaming star and just how old an egg has to be before it’s good enough – or rather bad enough – to be used in battle. He knows all of Usopp’s heroic poses and most of his lesser, much more pitiful escape postures. He knows just how fast the sniper can run and for how long and just what sort of an injury can finally bring him down. The swordsman knows the best variations on Usopp’s stories and which of his lies have more than an element of truth. Given a choice of mediums and colors, Zoro can pick out exactly which are Usopp’s favorites and even explain why he prefers charcoal to oils, although why the sniper likes that particular pinkish-reddish-brownish color so much is completely beyond him. He knows which dial experiments have been a success and which have backfired, even when the results haven’t been explosively spectacular. And he knows where Usopp keeps his extra rubber bands and chemicals and all the fun things that Luffy and Chopper would love to know but Zoro sure as hell isn’t going to tell them. Fall islands on a clear day with plenty of well-laden apple trees and the warm, homey smell of pie coming from the oven, or even just the scent of roasting apples on the fire – Zoro knows how much Usopp loves this and just how happy and full of good memories the sniper looks perched in a gold-and-russet-dripping tree munching on the ripe red fruit. It’s more than instinct and well-trained fighter senses, too, that let the swordsman predict Usopp in battle and help him with clearing the way when it needs to be done. And Zoro can identify each and every type of Usopp’s nightly snores and sighs and figure out what it means about the sniper’s mood.

And none of it is terribly amazing or important or even that surprising. Not really. Not in the long run. Not when one stops to consider just how observant the two of them are if Zoro’s failure at directions isn’t taken into account. It’s the bigger things that matter: the dreams and the desires and the hopes and the plans and even the failures and the disappointments. And these things they know too – about becoming the world’s greatest swordsman and a brave warrior of the sea, about being with their nakama and helping Luffy find the One Piece and become the pirate king, about Mihawk and vows and Merry and quaking knees and about what’s the most important. And they know how to be with each other and how to belong and to get along and to even maybe love, and there, at least, the little bits of knowledge help ease the way.



And secondly, and also cross-posted to OPY100 for the "Streak" topic:

Title: Two Hundred and Twelve
Rating: PG
Pairing: Shanks and Ben
Word Count: 199



Sunrise. Inside of a little leather-bound notebook with its dog-eared pages and cramped, narrow script, hash marks count off the days. The tally runs to two hundred and twelve; a count that had earned a drunkenly awed hiss or two and one set of narrowed eyes the previous night as the total had been figured by the tall and phlegmatic owner of the book. Two hundred and twelve sunrises in a row is quite the run, especially given how cold the nights have been in comparison to the warmth of blankets and banked fires. It’s impressive but today is the day it ends.

The captain is seeing to that, going through all the trouble of waking up in the dark and tangling his hand in hair shot through with gray. Lips and tongue and oh so very clever fingers catch and hold, keep the first mate in bed where he properly belongs. Blush and pale gold strokes paint the rim of the bowl of the sky and the day dawns empty of a certain dark-eyed observation. Inside the ship, the chain of sunrises is broken but Shanks’ promise of a new record to track means Ben really doesn’t care.
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