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Jan. 19th, 2005 01:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsTitle: Unwanted History Lessons
Pairing: Shanks/Ben
Rating: PG
Word Count: 300
“Didja know th’ main export a Sangaria’s fertilizer? Heh. Giant sandworm droppings. That’s how they make money.”
“Mmmm.”
“…Michon begat Honamon begat Shiro, who ya know, funded some a’ the first expeditions to th’ Grand Line. He begat Shirondo, who begat Mircen, who begat…who begat…Sha~nks, who’s next? I always forget.”
“Huh? What? Mircen? Um…”
“Yer not listenen’ ta me, are ya?”
Shanks sighed and put down his pen. He needed to finish tabulating the inventory, but Ben was making with the sad puppy eyes. Considering he rarely reached this level of intoxication, Shanks figured it wouldn’t hurt to indulge him. Besides, if he were lucky, Ben would pass out any minute now. If only plastered Ben didn’t always mean an unwanted lesson in historical trivia.
“So, who was that again? Mirshon? Mirse?”
“Mircen! Ya know the…” Ben started counting on his fingers. “…The fifth king a Sangaria. It’s in South Blue. I can never remember who his son was, ya know, the next king.”
“And you expect me ta know?”
“I thought ya might.”
“Well I don’t. I’m sorry but I really have ta finish this, okay?”
Ben nodded, rolling over on the bed and mumbling to himself. Shanks turned back to his paperwork. Typically Ben handled it, but he’d been having a bad week. So Shanks had offered to take care of the inventory while Ben went to the bar. Four hours later, Lucky Roo had brought him back, swaying and beyond drunk. Quite a change from the normal way of things.
“Shanks, pay ‘tention to me.”
Shanks gave up. Inventory could wait. After all, the first mate managed in similar situations all the time. And Ben’d be ammenable to just about anything at this point; some pleasant exertion and he’d fall asleep. It certainly always worked on him.
Pairing: Shanks/Ben
Rating: PG
Word Count: 300
“Didja know th’ main export a Sangaria’s fertilizer? Heh. Giant sandworm droppings. That’s how they make money.”
“Mmmm.”
“…Michon begat Honamon begat Shiro, who ya know, funded some a’ the first expeditions to th’ Grand Line. He begat Shirondo, who begat Mircen, who begat…who begat…Sha~nks, who’s next? I always forget.”
“Huh? What? Mircen? Um…”
“Yer not listenen’ ta me, are ya?”
Shanks sighed and put down his pen. He needed to finish tabulating the inventory, but Ben was making with the sad puppy eyes. Considering he rarely reached this level of intoxication, Shanks figured it wouldn’t hurt to indulge him. Besides, if he were lucky, Ben would pass out any minute now. If only plastered Ben didn’t always mean an unwanted lesson in historical trivia.
“So, who was that again? Mirshon? Mirse?”
“Mircen! Ya know the…” Ben started counting on his fingers. “…The fifth king a Sangaria. It’s in South Blue. I can never remember who his son was, ya know, the next king.”
“And you expect me ta know?”
“I thought ya might.”
“Well I don’t. I’m sorry but I really have ta finish this, okay?”
Ben nodded, rolling over on the bed and mumbling to himself. Shanks turned back to his paperwork. Typically Ben handled it, but he’d been having a bad week. So Shanks had offered to take care of the inventory while Ben went to the bar. Four hours later, Lucky Roo had brought him back, swaying and beyond drunk. Quite a change from the normal way of things.
“Shanks, pay ‘tention to me.”
Shanks gave up. Inventory could wait. After all, the first mate managed in similar situations all the time. And Ben’d be ammenable to just about anything at this point; some pleasant exertion and he’d fall asleep. It certainly always worked on him.
