More RWG Wrtiting
Oct. 12th, 2017 03:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsTitle: Wintry Mix
Rating: G
Pairing: Shanks and Benn
Word Count: 859
A nasty combination of very wet snow and frigid raindrops - sleet the shopkeeper had said the island natives called it when he’d chanced to comment on the hideous weather – dogged Shanks’ footsteps as he headed for the docks. He couldn’t go as fast as he wanted towards his ship, back to his home, because he’d drawn the longest straw at chore time. He usually did, as it was a captain’s prerogative, but for once he was beginning to regret his choice. There was a load of stuff in the wagon he was forced to tow behind him, the usual hodgepodge of individual crew requests that he did his best to fulfill whenever they couldn’t afford to dock long enough for everyone to have shore leave. The mounds of provisions, all the food and munitions and the precious precious alcohol, would already be aboard or arriving shortly. He’d started with the essentials that morning after the lottery and he’d been finishing up the more personalized shopping when the weather had gone south.
The wintry storm was slow-moving and intermittent for the time being but it had made the cobbled streets treacherous with ice and the tips of his ears and nose were red from the cold. Sandaled feet ignored the temperature, however, and Shanks was mindful of his footing as he snaked the wagon through the evening crowds. The work day for most had come to an end and he fought against the tide of people heading inland from their fishing boats, dry docks, and stores. Only the restaurants and taverns were still open and he was sorely tempted by the warmth and comfort the cheerful glowing lights spilling from windows and a few open doorways offered. But there’d be hot food and a restocked supply of liquor on his ship and the best company in all the Blues so he pressed on, pausing only to rest the wagon handle against his side as he tugged the collar of his cape snugly against his neck to protect it from the freezing precipitation.
There were only a few more blocks to go at that point; he could already see the small forest of masts rising over the rooftops and what he thought was the limp banner of his own flag weighed down by a growing coat of ice. As he rounded the harbor master’s office, he could hear Yasopp’s cheerful whistle of welcome, spotted the man himself when he waved. He was perched up in the rigging with a few other men tying up the sails for the night. Some of the rest of the crew were still about despite the weather. There were a few covering the trees with tarps for protection and several more clustered around the prow where the scaffold was just now being pulled up. His first mate was with them, immediately identifiable by the smoke wreathing his head and because he’d started for the gangplank as soon as Yasopp had marked his return. Benn had that ridiculous rainbow scarf around his neck, the first one Lucky Roo had made three years ago when he’d taken up knitting, a hammer stuck in his sash instead of his gun, and an expression of resigned amusement on his face as he walked towards Shanks.
Warmth trickled back into his face when Benn divested himself of the scarf and wound it instead about Shanks’ neck, looping the ends up and over his ears before tying it in a knot on top of his head. Critical eyes studied him before Benn tried to smother a grin behind a stern expression. “Well, you look like an idiot but maybe this will keep Doc from wailing and yelling at you about the dangers of frostbite yet again.”
“D’ya really think so?”
Benn was silent for a moment, moving to stand next to him, equally chilled fingers brushing against his as the first mate took hold of the wagon handle. Shanks grudgingly traded his grip on icy metal for that of rough skin and dirty fingernails as he slid his lone hand into Benn’s free one. Skin to skin, he could feel the warmth blossom almost immediately as they took the last few steps to the ship together.
The grin couldn’t be contained this time. Benn shook his head as he looked at Shanks. “No. He’s up with Yasopp and has probably seen the whole thing. But you went with it and your ears aren’t frozen anymore so…”
“Benn!”
The false outrage had Benn’s eyes twinkling as they carefully climbed up the slick wood of the gangplank, while the brief soft brush of thumb across his knuckles and a murmured “But the stew’s almost ready, the alcohol arrived, and I sent a rookie to draw you a hot bath” had him dropping his plans for revenge. The sleet, as his feet finally planted themselves on the deck of his ship, gave way to snow. Shanks caught a snowflake on his tongue and ignored the physician haranguing him about proper footwear. With the chores all done, there’d be time for a snowball fight on deck tomorrow before they headed once more out to sea.
Rating: G
Pairing: Shanks and Benn
Word Count: 859
A nasty combination of very wet snow and frigid raindrops - sleet the shopkeeper had said the island natives called it when he’d chanced to comment on the hideous weather – dogged Shanks’ footsteps as he headed for the docks. He couldn’t go as fast as he wanted towards his ship, back to his home, because he’d drawn the longest straw at chore time. He usually did, as it was a captain’s prerogative, but for once he was beginning to regret his choice. There was a load of stuff in the wagon he was forced to tow behind him, the usual hodgepodge of individual crew requests that he did his best to fulfill whenever they couldn’t afford to dock long enough for everyone to have shore leave. The mounds of provisions, all the food and munitions and the precious precious alcohol, would already be aboard or arriving shortly. He’d started with the essentials that morning after the lottery and he’d been finishing up the more personalized shopping when the weather had gone south.
The wintry storm was slow-moving and intermittent for the time being but it had made the cobbled streets treacherous with ice and the tips of his ears and nose were red from the cold. Sandaled feet ignored the temperature, however, and Shanks was mindful of his footing as he snaked the wagon through the evening crowds. The work day for most had come to an end and he fought against the tide of people heading inland from their fishing boats, dry docks, and stores. Only the restaurants and taverns were still open and he was sorely tempted by the warmth and comfort the cheerful glowing lights spilling from windows and a few open doorways offered. But there’d be hot food and a restocked supply of liquor on his ship and the best company in all the Blues so he pressed on, pausing only to rest the wagon handle against his side as he tugged the collar of his cape snugly against his neck to protect it from the freezing precipitation.
There were only a few more blocks to go at that point; he could already see the small forest of masts rising over the rooftops and what he thought was the limp banner of his own flag weighed down by a growing coat of ice. As he rounded the harbor master’s office, he could hear Yasopp’s cheerful whistle of welcome, spotted the man himself when he waved. He was perched up in the rigging with a few other men tying up the sails for the night. Some of the rest of the crew were still about despite the weather. There were a few covering the trees with tarps for protection and several more clustered around the prow where the scaffold was just now being pulled up. His first mate was with them, immediately identifiable by the smoke wreathing his head and because he’d started for the gangplank as soon as Yasopp had marked his return. Benn had that ridiculous rainbow scarf around his neck, the first one Lucky Roo had made three years ago when he’d taken up knitting, a hammer stuck in his sash instead of his gun, and an expression of resigned amusement on his face as he walked towards Shanks.
Warmth trickled back into his face when Benn divested himself of the scarf and wound it instead about Shanks’ neck, looping the ends up and over his ears before tying it in a knot on top of his head. Critical eyes studied him before Benn tried to smother a grin behind a stern expression. “Well, you look like an idiot but maybe this will keep Doc from wailing and yelling at you about the dangers of frostbite yet again.”
“D’ya really think so?”
Benn was silent for a moment, moving to stand next to him, equally chilled fingers brushing against his as the first mate took hold of the wagon handle. Shanks grudgingly traded his grip on icy metal for that of rough skin and dirty fingernails as he slid his lone hand into Benn’s free one. Skin to skin, he could feel the warmth blossom almost immediately as they took the last few steps to the ship together.
The grin couldn’t be contained this time. Benn shook his head as he looked at Shanks. “No. He’s up with Yasopp and has probably seen the whole thing. But you went with it and your ears aren’t frozen anymore so…”
“Benn!”
The false outrage had Benn’s eyes twinkling as they carefully climbed up the slick wood of the gangplank, while the brief soft brush of thumb across his knuckles and a murmured “But the stew’s almost ready, the alcohol arrived, and I sent a rookie to draw you a hot bath” had him dropping his plans for revenge. The sleet, as his feet finally planted themselves on the deck of his ship, gave way to snow. Shanks caught a snowflake on his tongue and ignored the physician haranguing him about proper footwear. With the chores all done, there’d be time for a snowball fight on deck tomorrow before they headed once more out to sea.
