Set 1?! Whaddaya mean, you're still working on Set 1?!
Title: One kid
Theme: Axe
Claim: Shanks
Words: 1021
Rating: K+
Warnings: A rather morbid conversation.
Disclaimer(s): I don't own One Piece.
A/N: Shanks may be a bit OOC here, but in his defence, he is rather young...
"Maybe they'll use an axe. Yeah...use an axe, an' chop off my head."
The bartender eyed the very drunk pirate captain slumped across his counter warily. He had heard his share of strange yarns in his time, but this wasn't the kind of conversation he was used to having with his customers. "Don't they usually use those long swords?" he asked cautiously.
"Nodachi? Yeah, but that's only at the most ceremonial executions. At the Marine bases they just use firing squads. That mightn't be too bad." Shanks hiccuped as he groped for the mug of ale sitting on the bar, downed it, and waved the empty vessel at the bartender for another. He hastily refilled it - this was one of the most famous pirates in the area, after all - though only halfway, in consideration of the man's inebriated state.
"They could hang me. Nasty way to go, hanging, if it isn't done right," Shanks informed the bartender.
"Quite, quite." The bartender looked around his otherwise-empty bar, desperately hoping for someone else to come in and give him an excuse to abandon this utterly depressing conversation.
"What about you? How'd you like to go?" Shanks' glazed eyes slid over to the bartender.
"I've...never really thought about it...ah! Welcome!" The bartender brightened up at the opening of the door. Finally!
Shanks swung around to examine the newcomer. "Benny! Come an' have a pint!"
"So this is where you've been hiding," Shanks' first mate scolded, marching up to the bar. "We've been looking all over for you! Has he been giving you any trouble?" he asked the bartender.
"Well, I..."
"We were havin' a philo- hic! philosophical conversation," Shanks protested.
"How many has he had?" Beckman sighed.
"Seventeen," the bartender confessed.
"Only?" Beckman frowned, and turned back to consider Shanks.
"Benny, if you were to be executed, which would you prefer - hanging, decap- decapitation, firing squad, or stabbing?" Shanks slurred.
Beckman's frown twisted further downwards. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Is he always like this when he's had one too many, sir?" the bartender inquired.
"No, never," Beckman said. "Unless..." He glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall. "Oh."
"What is it?"
"It's the anniversary of that day. C'mon, cap'n, we're going home."
"You hav'n't answered my question!"
"I'll tell you on the way back. Come on." Beckman tossed a few coins onto the counter, letting the size of the tip convey his apology, and put his arm around Shanks' shoulder to escort him out.
It was awkward going - what with Beckman's height, Shanks' feet couldn't quite find a purchase on the ground, but when Beckman tried letting him walk by himself, he swayed so alarmingly that Beckman had to step in hastily to steady him. "Can't you cooperate just once in your life?" Beckman demanded, his eyes sweeping the square in search of a bench or something where he could put his captain down and let him sober up. Ah, over there...
"I am co- cooperatin' - whoaaaaa!" Shanks yelled, before his cry was drowned in a loud splash. A few seconds passed before he was able to extricate himself from the water trough, coughing and spluttering and looking for revenge. "Benn, you cur! You..."
"You know," Beckman interrupted, "we have got to figure out a better way to handle these anniversaries."
The expression on Shanks' face changed as he slumped down against the trough and gazed up at the clear, star-filled sky. "It's not like I was depressed or anything," he muttered, quietly defensive. "I was just having a drink!"
"You were discussing methods of execution with that poor barkeep!"
"Helps to be prepared, doesn't it? You never know, the Marines might let me choose, when the day comes."
Next thing Shanks knew, he was being hauled into the air, and backed into a nearby wall, eye to eye with his first mate, who looked alarmingly angry. "It won't happen to you."
"Happens to the best of us," Shanks replied, calm in the face of his first mate's anger. "It happened to the best of us. It happened to my captain." He looked heartbreakingly young suddenly, and it was all Beckman could do to keep from folding the younger man into his arms and just keep him safe.
"It won't happen to mine," he settled for growling protectively. "I won't let it happen. You can't let it happen." He locked gazes with his captain, knowing that Shanks would understand the unspoken plea. For your sake. For my sake. For the sake of the crew that calls you captain.
Shanks stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, then burst into sudden, raucous laughter.
"What's so funny?" Beckman demanded, wary of the sea-change in his captain's mood.
"Who's being illogical now, Benny? The life of a pirate's lived on the edge of a blade. I can't promise you anything of the sort. East Blue making you forget that?"
Beckman stared at his captain, taken aback. How many times in this last year and a half had he sighed over his captain's youthful antics? Tut-tutted at his carefree ways? Imagined himself to be carrying the weight of the whole crew on his shoulders, never sensing that Shanks was carrying such a burden himself? Only now did he realise how perilously close he'd come to forgetting why he'd chosen to follow the man in the first place.
And now he'd continue to follow him, to the very end of the world. And bear as much of that burden as Shanks would let him, put up with the most childish of antics, anything to see that carefree, joyous smile back on his captain's face.
But first...
"If you can't promise me that, then at least do what your captain did," Beckman said firmly.
Shanks looked up at him in surprise, arched eyebrow inviting him to elaborate.
"Gol D Roger didn't live his life in vain. He inspired a whole age. At least do the same."
Shanks smiled wistfully. "I doubt I could inspire a whole age."
"Cap'n..."
"One kid," Shanks interrupted. "If I could inspire one kid, the way the captain inspired me..." His voice trailed off as he fingered the brim of his straw hat. Then he looked up at Beckman again, his voice suddenly firm and clear. "One kid'll be enough."
"One kid," Beckman conceded reluctantly.
But that, he decided, had better be some kid.
Theme: Axe
Claim: Shanks
Words: 1021
Rating: K+
Warnings: A rather morbid conversation.
Disclaimer(s): I don't own One Piece.
A/N: Shanks may be a bit OOC here, but in his defence, he is rather young...
"Maybe they'll use an axe. Yeah...use an axe, an' chop off my head."
The bartender eyed the very drunk pirate captain slumped across his counter warily. He had heard his share of strange yarns in his time, but this wasn't the kind of conversation he was used to having with his customers. "Don't they usually use those long swords?" he asked cautiously.
"Nodachi? Yeah, but that's only at the most ceremonial executions. At the Marine bases they just use firing squads. That mightn't be too bad." Shanks hiccuped as he groped for the mug of ale sitting on the bar, downed it, and waved the empty vessel at the bartender for another. He hastily refilled it - this was one of the most famous pirates in the area, after all - though only halfway, in consideration of the man's inebriated state.
"They could hang me. Nasty way to go, hanging, if it isn't done right," Shanks informed the bartender.
"Quite, quite." The bartender looked around his otherwise-empty bar, desperately hoping for someone else to come in and give him an excuse to abandon this utterly depressing conversation.
"What about you? How'd you like to go?" Shanks' glazed eyes slid over to the bartender.
"I've...never really thought about it...ah! Welcome!" The bartender brightened up at the opening of the door. Finally!
Shanks swung around to examine the newcomer. "Benny! Come an' have a pint!"
"So this is where you've been hiding," Shanks' first mate scolded, marching up to the bar. "We've been looking all over for you! Has he been giving you any trouble?" he asked the bartender.
"Well, I..."
"We were havin' a philo- hic! philosophical conversation," Shanks protested.
"How many has he had?" Beckman sighed.
"Seventeen," the bartender confessed.
"Only?" Beckman frowned, and turned back to consider Shanks.
"Benny, if you were to be executed, which would you prefer - hanging, decap- decapitation, firing squad, or stabbing?" Shanks slurred.
Beckman's frown twisted further downwards. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Is he always like this when he's had one too many, sir?" the bartender inquired.
"No, never," Beckman said. "Unless..." He glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall. "Oh."
"What is it?"
"It's the anniversary of that day. C'mon, cap'n, we're going home."
"You hav'n't answered my question!"
"I'll tell you on the way back. Come on." Beckman tossed a few coins onto the counter, letting the size of the tip convey his apology, and put his arm around Shanks' shoulder to escort him out.
It was awkward going - what with Beckman's height, Shanks' feet couldn't quite find a purchase on the ground, but when Beckman tried letting him walk by himself, he swayed so alarmingly that Beckman had to step in hastily to steady him. "Can't you cooperate just once in your life?" Beckman demanded, his eyes sweeping the square in search of a bench or something where he could put his captain down and let him sober up. Ah, over there...
"I am co- cooperatin' - whoaaaaa!" Shanks yelled, before his cry was drowned in a loud splash. A few seconds passed before he was able to extricate himself from the water trough, coughing and spluttering and looking for revenge. "Benn, you cur! You..."
"You know," Beckman interrupted, "we have got to figure out a better way to handle these anniversaries."
The expression on Shanks' face changed as he slumped down against the trough and gazed up at the clear, star-filled sky. "It's not like I was depressed or anything," he muttered, quietly defensive. "I was just having a drink!"
"You were discussing methods of execution with that poor barkeep!"
"Helps to be prepared, doesn't it? You never know, the Marines might let me choose, when the day comes."
Next thing Shanks knew, he was being hauled into the air, and backed into a nearby wall, eye to eye with his first mate, who looked alarmingly angry. "It won't happen to you."
"Happens to the best of us," Shanks replied, calm in the face of his first mate's anger. "It happened to the best of us. It happened to my captain." He looked heartbreakingly young suddenly, and it was all Beckman could do to keep from folding the younger man into his arms and just keep him safe.
"It won't happen to mine," he settled for growling protectively. "I won't let it happen. You can't let it happen." He locked gazes with his captain, knowing that Shanks would understand the unspoken plea. For your sake. For my sake. For the sake of the crew that calls you captain.
Shanks stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, then burst into sudden, raucous laughter.
"What's so funny?" Beckman demanded, wary of the sea-change in his captain's mood.
"Who's being illogical now, Benny? The life of a pirate's lived on the edge of a blade. I can't promise you anything of the sort. East Blue making you forget that?"
Beckman stared at his captain, taken aback. How many times in this last year and a half had he sighed over his captain's youthful antics? Tut-tutted at his carefree ways? Imagined himself to be carrying the weight of the whole crew on his shoulders, never sensing that Shanks was carrying such a burden himself? Only now did he realise how perilously close he'd come to forgetting why he'd chosen to follow the man in the first place.
And now he'd continue to follow him, to the very end of the world. And bear as much of that burden as Shanks would let him, put up with the most childish of antics, anything to see that carefree, joyous smile back on his captain's face.
But first...
"If you can't promise me that, then at least do what your captain did," Beckman said firmly.
Shanks looked up at him in surprise, arched eyebrow inviting him to elaborate.
"Gol D Roger didn't live his life in vain. He inspired a whole age. At least do the same."
Shanks smiled wistfully. "I doubt I could inspire a whole age."
"Cap'n..."
"One kid," Shanks interrupted. "If I could inspire one kid, the way the captain inspired me..." His voice trailed off as he fingered the brim of his straw hat. Then he looked up at Beckman again, his voice suddenly firm and clear. "One kid'll be enough."
"One kid," Beckman conceded reluctantly.
But that, he decided, had better be some kid.