Zoro B-Day Prompt Request
Nov. 12th, 2008 05:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsFor irrelevant, who requested "Zoro gen with Kitetsu III"
Title: Choices
Rating: G
Pairing: None/Gen or Zoro/Swords
Word Count: 1,109
He fell for a long time, longer than he really knows. Kuma’s touch, his real touch and not a bubble or a repellant blast of force, was soft but it was enough to send Zoro’s exhausted body over the edge and into the black gulf of unconsciousness. It was dark when he awoke and he was falling still, body nearly weightless but for the press of shadows and the undeniable sense of absence. Zoro was alone, or nearly so. His nakama were not with him but he still had his swords and their presence was reassuringly familiar. Gradually the shadows brightened, bleached to dim gray and a spot of pressure began to build at the back of his head, the hair on his neck rising like a dog’s hackles in undeniable warning.
Zoro landed on his feet, the world around him misty and undistinguished and he braced himself for an attack that never came. After ten minutes of waiting, he broke his wary stance and flopped to the dry earth, a weariness sinking in as deep as his aching bones. What would come would come in its own time and a nap while he had the chance would only serve to make him better prepared. Zoro closed his eyes, his hand wrapped reassuringly around Wadou’s hilt and it was just as he was drifting off that the derisive snort of laughter came.
Typical. Lying there letting the world come to you.
The voice is deep, accusing beneath the sarcastic tone, and for the way it goads him to his feet with a scowl on his face it could almost belong to that shit-cook except that Zoro knows his nakama are far away. There is nothing to be seen in the shifting gray world around him and his nerves are set on edge but cannot pinpoint a direction for him to charge. Wadou is unsheathed and the blade almost seems to glow, a sharp-edged shadow cast upon the ground the only definite thing Zoro can sense beyond himself. The laughter comes again, more hollow this time, and it surrounds him.
That’s right. Cling to her. Cling to that precious blade and unspoken promises only half remembered. See how far that gets you.
Zoro bristles, his right hand moving instinctively to his waist. But Yubashiri is gone and Shuusui seems to slide through his grasp. The hilt of Kitetsu the Third sears his palm and Zoro grits his teeth and draws anyway. Darkness, the purple-tinged shadows that have always gilt the finest edge of his blade, sucks in the faint light and seems to slither over his hand. Every touch burns with white-cold fire at the heart of a glacier and Zoro knows that, even if he wanted to, he could not release his grip.
Always with the light. With the honesty and clarity of a child’s vow. But you’re not a child and you know there are other ways. Stop being a fool and open your eyes.
There are paths that run down the Grand Line that run red with blood and do not leave behind rescued kingdoms and grateful souls. Zoro has not always stood so firmly in the light and in his heart he knows Kuina would perhaps have chosen a similar way. But all he has of her is a shared dream, a promise, and a sword that is as much a part of him as his heart or his arms. And he has found things with that sword, with himself, by following Luffy’s path, a path that is harder on the body but easier on the soul.
Kitetsu the Third has always known that he could take the other path and be great, could sense it in Logue Town and chose to go with him. But bloodlust feeds on itself and Zoro knows how easy it would be to lose himself, to fall prey to the sword. Even still, there is something tempting in what his red blade is saying. If he had fed Kitetsu the Third as they traveled the Grand Line, it would have grown stronger and perhaps he wouldn’t have lost – twice – to the same man. But that does not bear examination. Luffy would not be with him and he would not have stood there and known who he could be, who he was. He would not be the swordsman to the future Pirate King.
Yubashiri was a bright sword and with Wadou, the two kept Kitetsu in line. Now, weakened as he is, there is a choice to be made. Resist, as the demands for blood - for vengeance if you must - grow in the absence of the light or give in and become a shadow of himself. It is an easy choice to make, if harder to carry out, and sweat breaks on Zoro’s brow, his hand screaming in pain, as he forces Kitetsu the Third back into its sheath. Shuusui falls into his palm as soon as he releases the cursed blade and the hilt of that old blade is cool, a soothing balm against his skin. Zoro sighs in relief, a luxury he can afford since he is alone with the spirits who dwell in his soul. If he was going to have a battle, it would have been preferable to face Kuma again, to take the man’s measure, but he feels settled now, in a way he hadn’t before, as if his swords have reached their balance and adjusted him to fit.
If you’re going to be an idiot, at least you stick to it.
Kitetsu’s voice fades away, sounding so much now like a prickly exasperated cook that Zoro can’t help chuckle a little in surprise. The test is over and he has passed and apparently contact with Luffy has changed more than himself.
The best steel is flexible. It bends so that it does not break.
The voice is dry and light, a sharp contrast to Kitetsu the Third, and this is the first time he has heard it clearly and stronger than a whisper. Zoro squeezes Shuusui, his hand feeling no worse than it had when he awoke. The call of a nap is strong again and he settles on the ground and closes his eyes. His next awakening is far ruder, as his battered body slams into the ground, leaving an imprint of himself spread-eagled within a massive paw print. He is alone, unsure of where he is, and very very sore but Zoro has his blades, his nakama are out there somewhere and Luffy will no doubt do something outrageous to capture his attention and bring him home again eventually.
irrelevant, who requested "Zoro gen with Kitetsu III"Title: Choices
Rating: G
Pairing: None/Gen or Zoro/Swords
Word Count: 1,109
He fell for a long time, longer than he really knows. Kuma’s touch, his real touch and not a bubble or a repellant blast of force, was soft but it was enough to send Zoro’s exhausted body over the edge and into the black gulf of unconsciousness. It was dark when he awoke and he was falling still, body nearly weightless but for the press of shadows and the undeniable sense of absence. Zoro was alone, or nearly so. His nakama were not with him but he still had his swords and their presence was reassuringly familiar. Gradually the shadows brightened, bleached to dim gray and a spot of pressure began to build at the back of his head, the hair on his neck rising like a dog’s hackles in undeniable warning.
Zoro landed on his feet, the world around him misty and undistinguished and he braced himself for an attack that never came. After ten minutes of waiting, he broke his wary stance and flopped to the dry earth, a weariness sinking in as deep as his aching bones. What would come would come in its own time and a nap while he had the chance would only serve to make him better prepared. Zoro closed his eyes, his hand wrapped reassuringly around Wadou’s hilt and it was just as he was drifting off that the derisive snort of laughter came.
Typical. Lying there letting the world come to you.
The voice is deep, accusing beneath the sarcastic tone, and for the way it goads him to his feet with a scowl on his face it could almost belong to that shit-cook except that Zoro knows his nakama are far away. There is nothing to be seen in the shifting gray world around him and his nerves are set on edge but cannot pinpoint a direction for him to charge. Wadou is unsheathed and the blade almost seems to glow, a sharp-edged shadow cast upon the ground the only definite thing Zoro can sense beyond himself. The laughter comes again, more hollow this time, and it surrounds him.
That’s right. Cling to her. Cling to that precious blade and unspoken promises only half remembered. See how far that gets you.
Zoro bristles, his right hand moving instinctively to his waist. But Yubashiri is gone and Shuusui seems to slide through his grasp. The hilt of Kitetsu the Third sears his palm and Zoro grits his teeth and draws anyway. Darkness, the purple-tinged shadows that have always gilt the finest edge of his blade, sucks in the faint light and seems to slither over his hand. Every touch burns with white-cold fire at the heart of a glacier and Zoro knows that, even if he wanted to, he could not release his grip.
Always with the light. With the honesty and clarity of a child’s vow. But you’re not a child and you know there are other ways. Stop being a fool and open your eyes.
There are paths that run down the Grand Line that run red with blood and do not leave behind rescued kingdoms and grateful souls. Zoro has not always stood so firmly in the light and in his heart he knows Kuina would perhaps have chosen a similar way. But all he has of her is a shared dream, a promise, and a sword that is as much a part of him as his heart or his arms. And he has found things with that sword, with himself, by following Luffy’s path, a path that is harder on the body but easier on the soul.
Kitetsu the Third has always known that he could take the other path and be great, could sense it in Logue Town and chose to go with him. But bloodlust feeds on itself and Zoro knows how easy it would be to lose himself, to fall prey to the sword. Even still, there is something tempting in what his red blade is saying. If he had fed Kitetsu the Third as they traveled the Grand Line, it would have grown stronger and perhaps he wouldn’t have lost – twice – to the same man. But that does not bear examination. Luffy would not be with him and he would not have stood there and known who he could be, who he was. He would not be the swordsman to the future Pirate King.
Yubashiri was a bright sword and with Wadou, the two kept Kitetsu in line. Now, weakened as he is, there is a choice to be made. Resist, as the demands for blood - for vengeance if you must - grow in the absence of the light or give in and become a shadow of himself. It is an easy choice to make, if harder to carry out, and sweat breaks on Zoro’s brow, his hand screaming in pain, as he forces Kitetsu the Third back into its sheath. Shuusui falls into his palm as soon as he releases the cursed blade and the hilt of that old blade is cool, a soothing balm against his skin. Zoro sighs in relief, a luxury he can afford since he is alone with the spirits who dwell in his soul. If he was going to have a battle, it would have been preferable to face Kuma again, to take the man’s measure, but he feels settled now, in a way he hadn’t before, as if his swords have reached their balance and adjusted him to fit.
If you’re going to be an idiot, at least you stick to it.
Kitetsu’s voice fades away, sounding so much now like a prickly exasperated cook that Zoro can’t help chuckle a little in surprise. The test is over and he has passed and apparently contact with Luffy has changed more than himself.
The best steel is flexible. It bends so that it does not break.
The voice is dry and light, a sharp contrast to Kitetsu the Third, and this is the first time he has heard it clearly and stronger than a whisper. Zoro squeezes Shuusui, his hand feeling no worse than it had when he awoke. The call of a nap is strong again and he settles on the ground and closes his eyes. His next awakening is far ruder, as his battered body slams into the ground, leaving an imprint of himself spread-eagled within a massive paw print. He is alone, unsure of where he is, and very very sore but Zoro has his blades, his nakama are out there somewhere and Luffy will no doubt do something outrageous to capture his attention and bring him home again eventually.
