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May. 26th, 2005 03:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsTitle: Found Out?! (No, not for real)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ben and Shanks
Word Count: 246
He’d learned to put up with a lot over the years, gotten used to sailing with a man for whom the words ‘mortification,’ ‘restraint,’ and ‘humiliation’ held very little meaning, especially after a few drinks. Considering that the captain tended to drink pretty much every night, this meant the odds of Shanks landing himself in an embarrassing situation were pretty high. But nothing ever seemed to faze him.
Hauled from the drunk tank, bailed out or sprung from jail in all kinds of strange get-ups, awoken from various bizarre locations after passing out, even that whole incident with the pig, the monkey, and the rhubarb pie – Shanks had never failed to react with laughter and no sign of regret. So now, standing there watching him, sober as the captain’d ever been, was a priceless gift.
Shanks was sitting on the ground outside of one of the small cottages that marked the entrance to the village, desperately trying to keep the small girl squirming on his lap from pulling any more of his hair out. Three more youngsters tumbled shrieking around him, all with blood-red hair and the youngest hollering "Da...Da..." at the top of her lungs.
“Daddy?” Ben raised an eyebrow, enjoying the sight for all it was worth. “Is there something you forgot to tell me?”
Shanks flushed almost as red as the heads around him and swatted ineffectually at the sticky hands reaching for his sword.
“This isn’t what it looks like!”
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ben and Shanks
Word Count: 246
He’d learned to put up with a lot over the years, gotten used to sailing with a man for whom the words ‘mortification,’ ‘restraint,’ and ‘humiliation’ held very little meaning, especially after a few drinks. Considering that the captain tended to drink pretty much every night, this meant the odds of Shanks landing himself in an embarrassing situation were pretty high. But nothing ever seemed to faze him.
Hauled from the drunk tank, bailed out or sprung from jail in all kinds of strange get-ups, awoken from various bizarre locations after passing out, even that whole incident with the pig, the monkey, and the rhubarb pie – Shanks had never failed to react with laughter and no sign of regret. So now, standing there watching him, sober as the captain’d ever been, was a priceless gift.
Shanks was sitting on the ground outside of one of the small cottages that marked the entrance to the village, desperately trying to keep the small girl squirming on his lap from pulling any more of his hair out. Three more youngsters tumbled shrieking around him, all with blood-red hair and the youngest hollering "Da...Da..." at the top of her lungs.
“Daddy?” Ben raised an eyebrow, enjoying the sight for all it was worth. “Is there something you forgot to tell me?”
Shanks flushed almost as red as the heads around him and swatted ineffectually at the sticky hands reaching for his sword.
“This isn’t what it looks like!”
