black leg

[flamestyle]

#flamestyle; an independent & selective sanji vinsmoke rp acct from the series one piece. currently reading the wano arc.

guide / about / verses

[flamestyle]

@yakiire said; ' ... ' confidently points in a random direction (that they've never been to, in their life)

  "hm. right. yeah, that's totally  WRONG! we haven't even gone that way yet!"

[safeneia]

based on this

[flamestyle]

it only takes a fleeting moment of him being distracted by laughter and a muffled, splashing noise following suit outside on deck ... and already does the table he was supposed to wipe down groan underneath his ill-adjusted strength. it emits a dull cracking sound, a cry for help. he's clearly not hearing it.

   it's quiet. except for the faint clinking of glass and silverware and his crewmates having a laugh in the distance...and...zoro helping him clean. quiet, yet, the silence that hangs in the air isn't something that is...uncomfortable. it's a day of peace. so when he hears cracking   for far longer than he'd like to, he glances over. ah.

   "...hey, don't think the table needs to be scrubbed with that much vigor, else we won't exactly have one anymore..." he throws his own cleaning rag over his shoulder; walks over to examine the usually sturdy table for any visible cracks that may look concerning enough. hates to imagine it splitting right down the middle while plated with food. better save it while i can... his sanity. the table. "that looks clean enough anyways. i'll finish up. thanks for the help."

[flamestyle]

' i know the way back. '

   he stares. he doesn't believe it. even if he really really wanted to, he can't. and it never fails to amaze him how even after getting lost time after time after time...after time; zoro believes this. "yeah? alright...then point in that direction."

[yakiire]

"hm." hold that thought. he draws his sword; blissfully unaware of the nervous side-eye the sea creature seems to give him from within the tub. there's little to be gained from re-homing this guy to the large aquarium and risk other crew-favorites being eaten up. he might as well attempt to expand its living space right here and now. "fine. i'll fix this."

[flamestyle]

  eyes widen the second he hears the familiar sound of a sword unsheathing. no way. he thought first. then, "no way." he said, out loud. that shark isn't the only one feeling nervous. "you idiot." he lunges forward to grab hold of zoro's arm. well, he wasn't exactly sure the plan the other had in mind but he could sure guess. "'fix it' my ass! you're going to make it worse. just stop and think for more than a second will you!"

[yakiire]

chin rises just a bit; attention remains glued ( almost stubbornly so ) to the cook. one would think that a guy so obsessed with appearances would break out in hives the very moment such comical alterations appear on his head. as is, it seems that the man has not noticed the two strands of stray hair that've begun curling right on top of his crown and that were bouncing rhythmically to the sound of his steps. "... huh." how does one best point this out, however? he supposes he simply should 'spit it out' indeed.

"... you're a mess."

[flamestyle]

   an eyebrow raised; smoke blown through lips. a mess? he sticks both his arms out, scans his sleeves, and torso, then his legs for any mess that he or his apron could have missed during cooking and cleaning. yet, there is nothing to be seen. hardly anything zoro would ever comment on anyways. his brows now furrowed, head snapping back to the other. (the stray curls continue to bounce and sway.) "..the hell are you talkin' about?"

[flamestyle]

[flamestyle]

' what's for lunch. ' ( it's 9pm ).

   "lunch?" . . . a glance at the clock. a glance at the nightfall. lunch? "did you just now wake up? lunch is long over." as a matter of fact, dinner is over too. "you're lucky i fought to hide your portion of the meal from luffy. sit."

[flamestyle]

  he takes a step (or three) back as the water makes a mess of zoro and the floor. gaze drifting down to watch the spill move past his own feet, before settling on the shark, again. these idiots... a sigh. "...look, it obviously isn't comfortable in there. if you're going to keep it, at least put it in something bigger..." / @yakiire continued from this.

[lincov]

[yakiire]

he's looking ... he's staring. perhaps even glaring. hard to tell whether he's trying to communicate for the cook to 'hey, come over here' or issuing more of a warning along the lines of 'hey, come here and i'll slice you like a weak-gilled freshwater fish'. only one way to find out, though. / @flamestyle

[flamestyle]

  at first, he tried to ignore it, the burning feeling that he is being stared at. he glanced his way once, and figured that those eyes had no thoughts between them at that moment. but...this is a little too long, no? what's his deal... so finally, he stares back, raises a brow. silence, before he speaks. "...if you've got something to say, spit it out already."

[yakiire]

"—wh!" he steadies his grip around the sea creature's fin to keep it from slipping away amidst the second impact. ( the poor animal's interrupted blood circulation consequently causes it to adopt an unhealthy shade of purple ). "watch it! you're gonna make me drop yonsan with your idiocy. how's he s'posed to swim on wooden planks!?" ... or breathe while being held up in the air—but that is beside the point. "forget it. i have an idea." hand belonging to his seized arm clasps around the cook's forearm in turn. then, he pulls. time to haul the man to the fish tank along with its new inhabitant. ( maybe throw him in along with it, too ).

[flamestyle]

   “an idea?!  ah?” oh     he didn’t like that. he didn’t like that at all. there was no reason for zoro to be holding onto him so tightly. with the way yonsans complexion turned; he would probably agree with the cook, if either of them bothered to notice. he yanks his arm away once. “hey, mosshead; i’m not kiddin’ around now.” then, twice. “i actually have things to get to. let go.” a third, to no avail. and the puddle of seawater offered no help to his feet that resists against the pull. as if this one idea to begin with wasn’t troublesome enough, now he’s decided to go and have another. great. "why do you have to be so difficult, huh?!"

[yakiire]

maybe it is. or it will be at the latest when his irritation-induced forehead vein finally pops. he swallows a huff and reconsiders—though said considerations still seem to result in the swordsman deciding that the cook is out of his damn mind and up to no good. "i don't get lost," he replies evenly; voice engulfed in layers of frost ( and perhaps an ounce of piqued pride ). it's an off-script scenario he'd never even begun to follow in the first place. he mirrors the other man's motion anyhow and releases his collar soon after cigarette-stained hands withdraw from his skin—more of a knee-jerk-reaction than sentient volition ... as evident when dull confusion settles in his intact eye.

the liana 'round his hips hadn't loosened in the slightest and his head still hurt.

"—whatever." too bothersome to double-check the argument. he walks past the blond, vine in tow and, of course, headed into an utterly erroneous direction downhill. all that matters to him is the promise of sun-glitter atop waves somewhere beyond all those tree trunks. "'n that case let's get going, busybody. ... ... before you start making any less sense." one step forward. two. then, his mind draws a blank and his knees give in. if only for a moment, he topples forward.

[flamestyle]

   “yeah, yeah.” neither does he; truthfully. yet here they both are, lost. and if he’s lost, he can’t imagine it getting any better for the directionally challenged. for good measure; with the help of his free hand and his teeth, the vine is tied and secured around his own wrist. free hands and a sure way that it won’t slip through his fingers if the bull tries to charge without warning. speaking of. . .where the hell is he going.

                              “where the hell are you going?”

   he at least has some vague idea of where they should be heading, if memory serves him right; there is some helpful plants and herbs that he could use to treat their wounds with in the very opposite direction. important, if they don’t want to end up slowly bleeding out and traveling in anymore discomfort..possible infections, even. here’s hoping it doesn’t get to that point. sanji tugs on the vine, lifts his finger to point out the way, before turning his head back over to zoro     “let’s go that way instead...”    who suddenly seemed to be falling. “you-! ogh?!”

   the sudden jerk sets him off balance before he could think, body slamming into blood-stained dirt. the force and weight of the swordsman pulls him along. “idiot!” he shouts, strained, whilst hands try to grab onto anything that will save them. twigs, grass, and finally a tree branch that hung low. a crack. sanji takes a deep breath, exhales slow. looks down and sees just what awaits him, again. another goddamn hill. and zoro, hanging there. another crack. his attention turns back on his only hope, eyes widened. “hurry up and grab onto something too, you bastard, before this   ” crack ! the branch snaps; sending them down with no hope of stopping this time. he braces himself as best as he can, shielding the back of his head with his arms.

   it happened fast, bouncing off odd rocks and, luckily, mainly grass. not that it stopped the pain that shot through his body with each hit but it was better than last time. actually, the landing felt a little different too      he shot up quick, despite his body protesting. oops. that’s what broke his fall. "zoro..!"

[flamestyle]

you're the cook. recommend me something.

   he quirks a brow at the request, it shouldn’t catch him off guard, he thinks; he is a cook after all. he knows his crew mates tastes very well, better than anyone else. he’s dedicated to it, takes pride in it. yet, it does. coming from zoro, at least; the man who doesn’t usually care what he eats, or for his opinion either. but he seems serious. “well   okay.” he answers. lifts his head from resting off his palm, sliding the menu closer to himself. a hum could be heard, a sound to go with the look of focus on his face. maybe he’s putting more effort than he needs to be into his pick, as most likely anything he picked he’s sure the swordsman would enjoy. but…

                                          “roasted leg of lamb,” he decides.

   “i think you would really enjoy this. i’d suggest pairing it with wine as well.. though.. ʸᵒᵘ’ʳᵉ ⁿᵒᵗ ʳᵉᵃˡˡʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢᵃᵛᵒʳ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ...”

[ruryouki]

"behold my creation." she presents it to him; there it is. a little fucked up charcoal omelet in vague bunny shape. "as a master chef, i'd like your opinion." / @flamestyle

[flamestyle]

   when the being blinded by her radiant beauty finally subsided, he stared at it for a solid minute. rubbing at his chin in thought; well. if it weren't for the tiny bit of yellow peeking out at some corners he isn't sure he would've guessed what it was at first try. but she looks proud, and he can clearly see she did her best. "yeah," he starts, giving her a thumbs up. "very creative! i can see what you were going for. " a nod. "you have a lot of potential - how about we work together to refine some of your techniques?"

[yakiire]

he has fins.

[flamestyle]

FINS THAT STILL CAN'T HOLD ANYTHING.