DEAD MEN DO TELL TALES @petrieglyph - Tumblr Blog

I MISS THE WEASEL BOI

#✖ | if you want to be a good archaeologist / you’ve got to get out of the library { ooc }

❤ — FLYNN

Flynn expected only two possible answers to this invitation, these being the very basic “yes” or “no”. In normal circumstances, those happened to be the possibilities anyway. While he secretly desired for the first, Flynn was inclined to understand the latter, for the cook seemed too mature in his eye to spend an afternoon crouching and crawling after insects; and thus Sanji’s improbable reaction caught the archaeologist off guard. He would have thought the ally stronger of spirits, too, but lo, here he shudders.

Flynn had no time to add in a happy chirp how amazing bugs were or measure just how much fun Sanji would have if he tagged along, for the cook cut off this thought of infantile wonder.

Were he as good at reading people as he was in reading dead languages or at least better at the former than he was, Flynnigan might have interpreted Sanji’s body language as apprehensive, displeased, panicky — take your pick. There was plenty to choose and guess from, from the phantom of distress in his voice to the drawing of the hands into his pockets, notwithstanding the blasé nature of such a gesture, so easy to perform.

As he could be simple-minded in living human behaviour, incapable of grasping its many subtleties and complexities at a glance, Flynn could not do more than tell something was offbeat. If Sanji thought bug catching a pastime undeserving of his attention or if he loathed the concept with a passion, the archaeologist did not know.

Thankfully, the chef himself brought enlightenment in the form of a swear and a heartfelt statement. If the words “son of a bitch” were meant as an insult rather than an expression of exasperation, they altogether missed their target.

❝ Hate is such a strong word, my friend. ❞ Flynnigan said in that tone of someone who is used to being the pacifier in a house where things are prone to get heated. ❝ Dislike? Sure, but hate? Though I don’t know why anyone would hate arthropods; they’re fascinating. I mean, they’re the largest form of animal life on the planet; did you know that? ❞

Though this tirade lacked the candid passion commentaries relating to his discipline conveyed, Flynn’s friendly feelings towards bugs were still detectable. Sadly, it sounded like he had more sympathy for the little critters than empathy for Sanji and his peculiarities. Not that he was a cruel guy.

❝ Actually, not everything has to be about insects. I’m hopeful that we meet something of academic interest along the way. ❞ A good archaeologist was ever ready to survey their grounds. ❝ Come on, Sanji! You’re not afraid, are you? ❞

At this point, I remind you Flynn did not particular overflow with that which we call “tact”.

The tease sounded dim. Flynn, kindly nicknamed by his crew as Weasel, was not used to making fun of others — his experience consisted of being ridiculed in all degrees of intensity. So, though not in a mean but rather in a petty way, because opportunities ought not to be wasted and who knows when such an opening will present itself again? he could not skip the chance of acting playful with Sanji.

Sanji hated when this happened.

He could go for so long without thinking about it, but — once voiced — the thought burrowed into his mind like so many larva burrowing into the living tissue of a tree. Where there had been silence, he now felt he could hear and see everything that went on around him. And he very well may have been able to because, without thinking a small portion of his haki may have kicked in. He heard buzzing and clicking, heard the breeze slipping between the jagged holes in leaves. In the distance, he heard Luffy shouting enthusiastically — didn’t need to be in the middle of a bug-induced frenzy to hear that.

This wasn’t an attack of fear, but the cook teetered on that fine line between panicking and being highly uncomfortable. Which, in itself, made him twice as uneasy because he hated anyone but Usopp and Nami knowing that he had this one, slightly debilitating fear.

In a flash, he moved from shaking and appearing paranoid to heated and ashamed.

“Hate’s not a strong enough word if you ask me! They’re disgusting! Tiny, little, freaky-eyed bastards!” His hands remained in his pockets, but his shoulder moved to rub against the edge of his chin and near his ear where he swore he felt something fly past him. Euugh!

Sanji’s annoyance doubled, fiery temper flaring white-hot in his chest when teased. He could hardly see it as playful when he knew that other members of his crew, namely their swordsman, would ruthlessly drag him down if they knew he was afraid of something as small and fairly harmless as insects.

Flushed, Sanji scoffed.

“Shut the hell up! Asshole. . . You don’t see me pickin’ at whatever you’re afraid of!” Not that he was aware of the other man’s insecurities or outright fears. He likely would have if given the chance, but he was too indignant and peeved to bother trying for a guess at what might make even ground between them. “Tch, you’re as bad as Luffy. No wonder he was so excited to head out. Look, for his sake, I’ll come along. Someone’s gotta make sure he’s not causin’ trouble. But you make fun of me hatin’ bugs again, and I’ll kick a hole in your head so big a whole swarm of ‘em could live there.

Gross.

petrieglyph

Flynn watched Sanji, ignorant of his little displays of distress, absent-mindedly stroking the strap of the satchel. Only too late did it occur to him it might be prudent not to provoke his ally too much. After all, it was a civil acquaintanceship they shared, not a friendship (which required trust), and harmless jokes could be interpreted as offensive.

...and Law’s personal dealings did not shield Petrie Flynnigan from, say, Sanji’s kicks, if the Heart Pirate did the correct reading of the cook’s epithet. Infamous pirates, with bounty posters and ear-catching epithets and everything, ought not to be harassed.

But he was not cowering in his big boy khakis.

Flynn could consider himself lucky his knees were still white and unscathed. He did feel happy when Sanji agreed to tag along between threats not to be handled as empty promises, and he even smiled regardless. The more the merrier!

❝ Actually, in spite of what you may think, I find your phobia is justified. ❞ Note he did not use the word “rational”. ❝ Disgust towards insects is part rejection response, part culture and a widespread phobia at that. I can’t really make fun of you for being human. ❞

You can bet that, were his face presently adorned with a pair of glasses, Flynn would have caused them to rock over the nasal bridge as he rubbed it, as if in an allergic reaction to his own smartassery.

For all his intellect, Flynn was incapable of connecting the two dots representing the knowledge he possessed and what real people, living the real life, showed him. For example, while the archaeologist could speak of a negative human response to bugs as it being something natural, he would not have known of Sanji’s phobia had the chef himself not admitted it out loud. This notwithstanding the vast number of symptoms in view.

It was as if real life spoke the same language as he did but had it recorded in a different writing system, one Flynnigan did not know. Though he had the cognitive ability to understand the message, he did not possess the resources to translate it.

❝ As for me, I find insects interesting creatures. Not in the same way your captain appears to like them but, nevertheless... They’re fun to watch. Still prefer artefacts, though. ❞

It appeared it would take a while for Luffy to join them and if a crewmate was disinclined to rush the young captain, it was not for the ally to do it either. Flynn felt he had the freedom to make himself comfortable on the nearest, smoothest floorboard of the Sunny’s deck unless the cook gave him permission into his holy kitchen while they waited.

Flynn sympathised with Sanji and his initiative to prevent Luffy from causing trouble, as that as much Hats and Hearts could share in regard to captains so unlike. In different ways, undoubtedly, but this similarity inspired a feeling of proximity in the archaeologist’s heart.

❝ Suppose it would even things out if I told you of my phobias but... ❞ He gave it a bit of thought. ❝ I can’t think of one. I’m not trying to sound brave. I’m just not afraid of bugs, the dark, death or any of those common things. ❞ He tried harder. ❝ I’m not too fond of snakes, though. Does that help? ❞

#long post for ts #devilslcg #✖ | next to coins / fragments of pottery afford the most reliable of all evidence { verse / one piece }#(well... he really is a bit of an ass)#(i'm with sanji on this one)#(and weasel should be grateful his butt was not kicked... yet)#(yes i'm totally stealing the snake thing from indiana jones / sue me)#(put a snake in front of him now and watch him shriek like a banshee)#(a sissy baby banshee)

ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅʟʏ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇʀs ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ:

Currently, the following things are free for everyone: asks (IC or OOC), memes (IC or OOC), The Mummy/The Mummy returns starter calls (might be selective with those if I don’t feel comfortable!)

Currently, the following things are reserved for mutuals: plotting, private messages, other contacts, incoherent babbling about our characters and their relationships.

I am fine with duplicates (until further announcements of mains and/or exclusives).

If your character is a Strawhat, they are more than free to treat Flynn as a friend on the account of the alliance between the two crews (or even to distrust him and present, or not, their doubts). This is valid for random asks and memes. At any rate, a first meeting is not necessary – just assume our characters are acquaintances.

If your character is a Heart Pirate, needless to say, they are welcome and encouraged to treat Flynn as a crewmate (unless we discuss plotting more meta-driven threads that could include introductions, first days, initial dislike etc.) This is valid for asks and memes. Obviously, I welcome HP OCs right into my heart.

I understand the implications of being cheeky with characters who’re great friends with their dark side. Being an ass is a matter of perspective and I reckon Flynn can be an ass. If he says/does something your character would generally reply to with a punch, feel free to have them punch Flynn. It’s up to you to play your character. I won’t throw a fit about it. What might (read will) happen is, unless we’re plotting it out, I might cease responding to a thread that turns violent – no, it doesn’t bother me, but Flynn is meant to be my “sunshine” character. He’s not developed as a fighter and I don’t want to have him brawling unless in a plotted story.

#✖ | if you want to be a good archaeologist / you’ve got to get out of the library { ooc }#(and by 'violent' i don't mean a slap that can be read as mild / to which i can respond to)#(i mean being vio effing lent for realsies)

ploverstudies

100817

i think figs might be my new favourite study snack (ft. some apwh key concepts!)

#✖ | nothing pleasantar than to spend all of our lives digging for relics of the past { material culture / aesthetics }

Do you believe in fortune telling?

✖ | { anonymous }

Flynn huffed. More than irksome, the question was infuriating, though in a mild and rather insignificant way (when compared to real issues). Flynn wished he knew the nonny’s identity so he could shake the distress off his shoulders, puff his chest with exacerbated verve, stick his nose up and proudly declare “Sir!/Madam!, I’m a scientist!”

He would have to make do with not as glamorous a reaction — and what a pity, too, that the world should be spared of Petrie Flynnigan’s archaeo-melodrama.

❝ Not in the slightest. ❞ Were the most educated words he found, though his tone was all but it, the words strong and dragged only in annoyance, in an effort not to offend, as respect happened to be a pretty thing, and not due to uncertainty.

Flynn could be blunt and unpleasant — rude, even, should his asker be of a particularly sensitive personality — when science (or the amalgam of issues in at least one sense contrary to it) was the topic under discussion. Things had a way of being done and this way was directly drawn or thought in accordance with the scientific method. Everything else was balderdash, to use a favourite noun of his grandfather’s.

❝ I find it offensive that you would think me as the kind of man who’d rely on magical thinking or indeed condone it. ❞

#anonymous #✖ | as my eyes grew accustomed to the light / details of the room within emerged slowly from the mist { answer / ic }#✖ | next to coins / fragments of pottery afford the most reliable of all evidence { verse / one piece }#(oh the thing you chose to ask...!)

I’m not done thinking of romance for Flynn.

#✖ | if you want to be a good archaeologist / you’ve got to get out of the library { ooc }#(these are all very cute to imagine ;u;)

Whats so fun about digging in the dirt????

✖ | { anonymous }

Digging in the dirt? Digging in the dirt? A whole world, nay, a universe of lovely ways that could be employed to talk about Flynn’s field of expertise and chief pastime and nonny had gone with digging in the dirt??? Flynn felt upset and though his tone remained (fairly) polite, his countenance did not hide the vexation pulsating underneath smooth cheeks.

❝ There are many more means and procedures to archaeological investigation than the phase of excavation. ❞ Many a colleague would be fine in calling it “the dig”, as it was a matter of semantics, but the Petrie men always appreciated the propriety of things. ❝ All essential to the success of any serious project. Arguably, on-site work is only a small portion of it. ❞

Flynn sighed. He doubted it would do any good to be expansive with this interlocutor in particular unless they showed themselves interested upon getting a first answer.

❝ I’ll admit — It’s not much fun when the heat is making you uncomfortable or when work has to be carried under heavy rains for ten days straight. Or when your equipment gets broken. Or when you lose your favourite trowel in the trench… ❞ At these words, Flynnigan shuddered as if in the presence of a ghost or in the receiving end of a freezing wind.

It had happened to him before, losing his favourite trowel, and now that he was an older, more experienced guy, the thought of losing or breaking his (now) favourite trusty comrade was enough to send shivers down his spine. Of course, he knew there would come the day when man and equipment would have to bid each other farewell, for work would eventually wear out the blade; but there might be a blessed two or three decades for the happy couple yet.

❝ However… ❞ The word got dragged as Flynn pulled himself together. ❝ I have always enjoyed field work ever since I was a nipper. It was the most fun I could have, too, because I knew little of the methodology, nothing of bureaucracy, so the whole thing just felt like massive playtime with my granddad. In a way, it still feels like it! ❞ He giggled and in the archaeologist’s mirth, you could still perceive some of that childish carefreeness.

Flynn composed himself again and the expression he now bore had nothing to do with that first one he’d given the nonny. He was not vexed; he was not bothered to be talking all this. He was all smiles instead.

❝ Excavation requires teamwork as much as any other process in research does. And there is fun in working with mates you like. That’s what makes the more bothersome things bearable and the pleasant ones special. And maybe it’s not really fun, per se, but pride in knowing you’re unearthing something that will help preserve a people’s culture or that might bring forth a hitherto unknown people who’ll finally get their place in the history books!

❝ Overall, I feel privileged I get to do archaeology! ❞

#anonymous #✖ | as my eyes grew accustomed to the light / details of the room within emerged slowly from the mist { answer / ic }#✖ | next to coins / fragments of pottery afford the most reliable of all evidence { verse / one piece }#long post for ts #(thanks very much for the ask!!!)#(and for bothering weasel too)

ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴘ sᴇᴇ ꜰʟʏɴɴ:

ʜᴏᴡ ꜰʟʏɴɴ sᴇᴇs ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴘ:

#✖ | conducting archaeological research is a privilege not a right { material culture / musings }

delta-breezes

#✖ | nothing pleasantar than to spend all of our lives digging for relics of the past { material culture / aesthetics }

Walking down the street, trips and faceplants against the floor. However, there is no reaction. No movement. In fact, if you came closer, you would hear the jellyfish snore in her sleep.

✖ | { @jcllyfisn }

There were a couple of words dear old Grandpa had strongly engraved on Flynn’s mind back when it was soft and squishy and easily moulded by the pair of controlling hands who first grabbed ahold of it. One was “context”. The other was “prospection”.

The older Petrie had done an excellent job in shaping Flynn’s mind to serve the science that would blossom in the toddler’s heart, and this was the reason why Flynn’s eyes would rather scan the floor than pay heed to the horizon, though both directions, downwards and ahead, should be taken into consideration when enjoying the harshly conquered bipedalism and when surveying the perimeter.

Should one direction be favoured, well, you would think Flynnigan would pay attention to what was in front of him — people, buildings, carts, stalls, Marines carrying unfriendly guns — when moving in a street where the chances a pottery shard or a chunk of metal was testimony of an ancient everyday and not of the present one ran low.

But habits tend to be tough to break. And a man is allowed his eccentricities.

At meeting this person who stood horizontal on the floor, Flynn’s march ceased. This discovery was more than a sample of bygone life. It was a creature, living and breathing if the intuition of someone used to the departed can be counted on to work so efficiently in a short-lived moment’s acquaintance.

Human, he would say, though it was hard to tell when the creature’s face faced something other than his own. The ground obscured any giveaway features. Female, perhaps… Though, on second thought, it could be male too. People came in all shapes and sizes. Wore all kinds of fashions, too.

Flynn stared. Around him, life went about its way, people went here and there and chatted about this and that, all ignorant of the human on the floor.

Could they be so used to having weird folks around, putting all their weirdness to use, not to notice what was, to say the least, a bizarre happening? Or were they that self-absorbed not to notice an equal in need of assistance? Was Flynn the only one who could see this or did his eyes trick him? Hallucinations had been a problem when he’d been a child growing up in the desert but they had been dealt with.

For a moment, Flynn thought he, too, should move along and leave the person behind. For all he knew, they might be used to being a public disturbance and enjoy the harsh caresses of a cobbled surface against their cheek.

But he could not do it. He could not walk away from the stranger without knowing what was going on — what had happened — if only to satisfy his detective’s curiosity.

He started by touching the foot of the human with his own in a timid shoe-to-shoe encounter. Then, he lowered himself in a squat and searched further, thus detecting the typical breathing of one who’s snoring. Had this person been put to sleep and discarded onto the street as the result of a crime or simply passed out? (Drunks would do it.)

Flynn tried again, now resolved to cause the person to wake up from their public slumber, and for this, he poked what he guessed to be their shoulder under the concealing fabrics.

❝ Hey. Hullo. Don’t mean to interrupt but... ❞ he called out in a neutral tone that was not too warm and friendly. ❝ Are you alright?❞

#jcllyfisn #✖ | next to coins / fragments of pottery afford the most reliable of all evidence { verse / one piece }#✖ | as my eyes grew accustomed to the light / details of the room within emerged slowly from the mist { answer / ic }#(thanks for sending this because of that inbox call and sorry for the delay)#long post for ts #(you can tell i had fun with this)

devilslcg

❤ — FLYNN

@devilslcg cont’d

Flynn looked sharp and ready to get some dirt on his hands. His faithful satchel hung from his shoulder, his alabaster knees could be seen from under a khaki bermuda – they looked like they had hardly caught sunshine in circa twenty years of existence, but it was nought but deception. Not only was Flynn accustomed to the sun and heat, but he also tried to take care of himself whenever under the blazing star, that is until his mind raced so fast it took him away from the present reality and its demands on the flesh.

To prove his capability to stay hydrated, Flynn produced a canteen from his satchel and, since he had opened the bag, fished out a bucket hat as well, which he pulled down hard on his head. Needless to say, he looked ridiculous as an adult but quite cute if he were a boy with big bones. Someone should get him a fedora.

❝ You don’t know, uh? ❞ He didn’t imagine what could justify a need for secrecy from Luffy’s part, but the archaeologist was used to captains and their secrets anyway. It was not his job to decipher either and this Flynn would excel at, by keeping to himself and only questioning his captain when Law gave him fair reason to.

Then again, Sanji’s captain was so different from his own… Though no more than an acquaintance – and this much applied in equal truth to all Straw Hats – Luffy struck Flynn as a very easy-going guy who would not get mad at him for sharing a harmless plan for a sunny day.

Were Luffy any different, the following share might be interpreted as a breach of trust and so trigger the dissolution of this alliance between Straw Hats and Heart Pirates. This, consequentially, would result in the death of Petrie Flynnigan at the gruesome hands of his captain. That was a whole lot of trouble for a day off.

All aspects submitted to a careful evaluation, Flynnigan decided there was no harm in telling Sanji what was up. Who knew, the cook might be interested in joining the two big boys in their pastime.

And what pastime might this be? Archaeology? No. Entomology!

❝ We’re going bug catching. Why don’t you come with us? ❞

Sanji’s own fashion sense ( when he wasn’t wearing suits ) was hardly redeemable, but he still had the gall to cringe at the outfit Flynn wore. He looked silly, and the cook’s expression gave away that much. He made no comment, however, since it wasn’t worth it to waste his breath on petty insults that weren’t aimed at Zoro.

“Don’t know a thing. Luffy’s got this habit of getting too excited too quickly. It ain’t that he didn’t wanna tell me or anything — probably forgot to.” Sanji trusted his captain unconditionally. He was reckless and selfish sometimes, but even then he wasn’t the worst captain the world had to offer. So, despite not knowing what today’s plan of action was, Sanji didn’t seem the least bit concerned. He had sailed with Luffy for over four years, after all, and had learned to expect this sort of thing. Act first, explain later. That was the way Luffy likes to do it.

And while Sanji accepted this, he wished that he had been told before hand.

“B. . . Bug what?”

A fine layer of sweat immediately broke out across the cook’s forehead. His voice cracked and, for the span of a second, it looked like he might turn and flee. Bugs, no matter how small and harmless they were, disgusted him. Scared him, even, and so few things did. He couldn’t quite explain why, but that was the point of an irrational fear. It made no sense, yet the fear was there and made his tongue taste of bile.

Shuddering, Sanji snapped himself out of his white-noise thoughts.

“You mean I came all the way out here to go bug-catching?” He shrank in on himself despite standing tall. His shoulders hunched forward, his hands dove into the pockets of his pants. He had become highly aware of every noise in the area, from the sound of the breeze through the grass to the sound of a grasshopper chattering. “Son of a bitch —— ! You couldn’t have said something sooner? I hate bugs! Euugh. . .”