"Black Leg" Sanji (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deviledlegs) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hadriel_logs2019-01-13 12:30 am
deviledlegs) wrote in hadriel_logs2019-01-13 12:30 am
Entry tags:
[open] how can we expect
Who: Sanji and OPEN
What: Someone didn't take the last event well.
Where: The permafrost ice cellar dug vaguely close to Sanji's restaurant
When: January 13th
Warnings: Angst. And a boo-boo.
The visions have ended. They haven't plagued anyone for days, and Hadriel has settled back into its modicum of twisted peace. Sanji's restaurant-slash-home-slash-kitchen, however, is eerily empty. His equipment is clean, the lights are all out, and his tools have been carefully slotted into their proper places. All except for a single kitchen knife still lying atop his pristine counter. The very fact that Sanji's left it out is concerning. The dots of red on its blade? Those are a problem.
Sanji himself is now holed up in the very ice cellar he helped dig, cross-legged next to a pile of frozen game as he glares at the bloody cut marring his right pointer finger. He's angry at the stupid, shitty noise that had made him jump, at himself for being distracted enough in the first place to jump with a fucking knife in his hand, at this whole damn situation for tearing him away from his life. But most of all, he's angry at the bone deep ache that's managed to penetrate every single one of his defenses and just won't go away.
He'd never even considered that his crew could die without him. That's the way it should have stayed. Sanji believes in every member of the Straw Hats with absolute certainty. Every member except himself.
The weary cook wraps the wound with his towel again, soaking up more blood but also just so he doesn't have to look at it anymore.
What if he never makes it back to them? What if they spend the rest of their lives looking for him? Luffy's voice echoes in his head. It's usually such a guiding light; now it only stings like his damn stupid cut.
"Without you, I can't become the pirate king!"
Sanji leaps to his feet and slams his shoe into the wall with devastating force. The whole cellar shakes.
"Shit!"
What: Someone didn't take the last event well.
Where: The permafrost ice cellar dug vaguely close to Sanji's restaurant
When: January 13th
Warnings: Angst. And a boo-boo.
The visions have ended. They haven't plagued anyone for days, and Hadriel has settled back into its modicum of twisted peace. Sanji's restaurant-slash-home-slash-kitchen, however, is eerily empty. His equipment is clean, the lights are all out, and his tools have been carefully slotted into their proper places. All except for a single kitchen knife still lying atop his pristine counter. The very fact that Sanji's left it out is concerning. The dots of red on its blade? Those are a problem.
Sanji himself is now holed up in the very ice cellar he helped dig, cross-legged next to a pile of frozen game as he glares at the bloody cut marring his right pointer finger. He's angry at the stupid, shitty noise that had made him jump, at himself for being distracted enough in the first place to jump with a fucking knife in his hand, at this whole damn situation for tearing him away from his life. But most of all, he's angry at the bone deep ache that's managed to penetrate every single one of his defenses and just won't go away.
He'd never even considered that his crew could die without him. That's the way it should have stayed. Sanji believes in every member of the Straw Hats with absolute certainty. Every member except himself.
The weary cook wraps the wound with his towel again, soaking up more blood but also just so he doesn't have to look at it anymore.
What if he never makes it back to them? What if they spend the rest of their lives looking for him? Luffy's voice echoes in his head. It's usually such a guiding light; now it only stings like his damn stupid cut.
"Without you, I can't become the pirate king!"
Sanji leaps to his feet and slams his shoe into the wall with devastating force. The whole cellar shakes.
"Shit!"
no subject
[She can no doubt see the gears beginning to turn in his head, the prospect of preparing food distracting him from his turmoil in a way not even Margaery's fine feminine physique could. Standing right in front of him is a beautiful woman who needs to be fed. He'd damn well die to sate that need.]
I don't have many fresh fruit or vegetables stocked. This damn barren wasteland's made sure of that. But I found a jar of peanut butter the other day, and I have a few cans of tomato paste saved. Then... How do you feel about peanut soup?
no subject
Yes, it's been simply terrible here. If I'd wanted to go North, I'd had ample opportunity to back home. [she listens to the rest of what he has to say] I feel. . . I don't know! I've never had peanut soup before!