BECAUSE THERE WASN'T ENOUGH BLOOD YET.
I’M LATE AND I’M SORRY! BUT, ANYWAY, A HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO KAJA!
YOU GET…MORE BLOOD! THIS CONTRIBUTION IS OF THE WORDY/DRABBLE-LY KIND.
SUMMERY: ZORO THINKS…AND BLEEDS. A LOT.
ZORO STARED DOWN AT HIS STOMACH, AS THE COTTON FABRIC OF HIS WHITE SHIRT QUICKLY BECAME SATURATED WITH BLOOD. HIS BLOOD. AGAIN.
DAMN.
SERIOUSLY…HE WAS GOING TO RUN OUT OF SHIRTS. THIS WAS, WHAT, THE THIRD SHIRT THIS WEEK? HE DIDN’T HAVE A FULL FUCKING WARDROBE LIKE THE SHITTY LOVE COOK. MAYBE HE SHOULD CONSIDER BUYING RED SHIRTS INSTEAD, OR BETTER YET, BROWN SHIRTS. THEN HE COULD JUST HAVE CHOPPER SEW HIM UP AND HE DIDN’T EVEN HAVE TO CHANGE AFTERWARDS.
YEAH.
HE PICKED HIS HEAD OFF THE GROUND AND LOOKED AROUND BRIEFLY.
IT WAS SURE TAKING EVERYONE A WHILE TO FIND HIM, THE BLOOD IN HIS SHIRT HAD ALREADY BEEN ABSORBED UP TO HIS ELBOWS. GENERALLY THAT WAS A BAD SIGN. THAT WAS WHEN CHOPPER WENT FROM ANNOYED TO JUST PLAIN PISSED. MOST WOULD BE SURPRISED TO FIND OUT HOW TERRIFYING THAT LITTLE RACCOON COULD BE WHEN HE WENT INTO “CRAZY DOCTOR MOOD”. THEY’D BE SURPRISED ABOUT HOW HE GOES RAMPAGING ALL OVER THE DAMN PLACE AND DOING CRAZY THINGS LIKE LOCKING UP THE BOOZE AND HIDING ZORO’S WEIGHTS. IT WAS A RARELY SEEN SHOW OF SHEER POWER THAT EVEN HAD LUFFY THINKING TWICE. LUFFY.
YEAH
HE POKED HIS STOMACH AGAIN, IT WASN’T A SERIOUS WOUND, HE DIDN’T THINK THAT IT HIT ANYTHING REAL IMPORTANT, EXCEPT MAYBE AN ARTERY, ‘CAUSE WHEN HE SQUEEZED BOTH SIDES OF THE WOUND THE BLOOD KIND-A SHOT OUT LIKE KETCHUP BREAKING THROUGH THE LAST BIT OF DRIED CRAP IN THE CLOGGED UP NOZZLE.
IT WAS COOL.
HE MANAGED TO HIT THE TREE ACROSS FROM HIM.
TWICE.
HE THOUGHT HE MIGHT TRY FOR A THIRD TIME, BUT HE WAS GETTING A LITTLE WOOZY. IT FELT LIKE…AFTER THE EIGHTH PINT OF SAKE, SO NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT QUITE YET. WHEN THE NUMBER GOT TO THE THIRTEENTH THEN HE SHOULD BE CONCERNED.
HE SIGHED.
ACTUALLY HE WISHED THAT HE HAD A DRINK RIGHT NOW. HELP PASS THE TIME.
OUT OF BOREDOM, HIS HAND RETURNED TO THE WOUND, HE WAS ABLE TO FIT THREE FINGERS INTO IT. THE LAST ONE ONLY FIT TWO.
HE WAS GOING BACKWARDS.
HE’D HAVE TO TRAIN HARDER.
PULLING THE BLOODY DIGITS BACK OUT HE WIGGLED THEM BACK AND FORTH, MANAGING TO FLICK A COUPLE OF CRIMSON DOTS ONTO HIS FACE. HE IGNORED THE THICK DRIBBLE THAT RAN DOWN HIS FOREARM AND STARTED TO DRIP OFF HIS ELBOW.
ROLLING HIS EYES HE RUBBED HIS FOREHEAD IN FRUSTRATION, LEAVING A NEW MESS OF RED. HIS HAND DROPPED BACK DOWN AT HIS SIDE SPLASHING LIGHTLY IN THE GOOEY PUDDLE SLOWLY FORMING AROUND HIS BODY. HE WAS GLAD HE HAD THE FORESIGHT TO MOVE WADOU OUT OF THE BLOOD LAKE’S RANGE. HE GLANCED AT THE SURROUNDING LANDSCAPE AGAIN…AND SIGHED…AGAIN.
HOW ALL THOSE GUYS COULD GET LOST IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIGHT…HE SAILED WITH A BUNCH OF MORONS.
HONESTLY.
YOU GET…MORE BLOOD! THIS CONTRIBUTION IS OF THE WORDY/DRABBLE-LY KIND.
SUMMERY: ZORO THINKS…AND BLEEDS. A LOT.
ZORO STARED DOWN AT HIS STOMACH, AS THE COTTON FABRIC OF HIS WHITE SHIRT QUICKLY BECAME SATURATED WITH BLOOD. HIS BLOOD. AGAIN.
DAMN.
SERIOUSLY…HE WAS GOING TO RUN OUT OF SHIRTS. THIS WAS, WHAT, THE THIRD SHIRT THIS WEEK? HE DIDN’T HAVE A FULL FUCKING WARDROBE LIKE THE SHITTY LOVE COOK. MAYBE HE SHOULD CONSIDER BUYING RED SHIRTS INSTEAD, OR BETTER YET, BROWN SHIRTS. THEN HE COULD JUST HAVE CHOPPER SEW HIM UP AND HE DIDN’T EVEN HAVE TO CHANGE AFTERWARDS.
YEAH.
HE PICKED HIS HEAD OFF THE GROUND AND LOOKED AROUND BRIEFLY.
IT WAS SURE TAKING EVERYONE A WHILE TO FIND HIM, THE BLOOD IN HIS SHIRT HAD ALREADY BEEN ABSORBED UP TO HIS ELBOWS. GENERALLY THAT WAS A BAD SIGN. THAT WAS WHEN CHOPPER WENT FROM ANNOYED TO JUST PLAIN PISSED. MOST WOULD BE SURPRISED TO FIND OUT HOW TERRIFYING THAT LITTLE RACCOON COULD BE WHEN HE WENT INTO “CRAZY DOCTOR MOOD”. THEY’D BE SURPRISED ABOUT HOW HE GOES RAMPAGING ALL OVER THE DAMN PLACE AND DOING CRAZY THINGS LIKE LOCKING UP THE BOOZE AND HIDING ZORO’S WEIGHTS. IT WAS A RARELY SEEN SHOW OF SHEER POWER THAT EVEN HAD LUFFY THINKING TWICE. LUFFY.
YEAH
HE POKED HIS STOMACH AGAIN, IT WASN’T A SERIOUS WOUND, HE DIDN’T THINK THAT IT HIT ANYTHING REAL IMPORTANT, EXCEPT MAYBE AN ARTERY, ‘CAUSE WHEN HE SQUEEZED BOTH SIDES OF THE WOUND THE BLOOD KIND-A SHOT OUT LIKE KETCHUP BREAKING THROUGH THE LAST BIT OF DRIED CRAP IN THE CLOGGED UP NOZZLE.
IT WAS COOL.
HE MANAGED TO HIT THE TREE ACROSS FROM HIM.
TWICE.
HE THOUGHT HE MIGHT TRY FOR A THIRD TIME, BUT HE WAS GETTING A LITTLE WOOZY. IT FELT LIKE…AFTER THE EIGHTH PINT OF SAKE, SO NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT QUITE YET. WHEN THE NUMBER GOT TO THE THIRTEENTH THEN HE SHOULD BE CONCERNED.
HE SIGHED.
ACTUALLY HE WISHED THAT HE HAD A DRINK RIGHT NOW. HELP PASS THE TIME.
OUT OF BOREDOM, HIS HAND RETURNED TO THE WOUND, HE WAS ABLE TO FIT THREE FINGERS INTO IT. THE LAST ONE ONLY FIT TWO.
HE WAS GOING BACKWARDS.
HE’D HAVE TO TRAIN HARDER.
PULLING THE BLOODY DIGITS BACK OUT HE WIGGLED THEM BACK AND FORTH, MANAGING TO FLICK A COUPLE OF CRIMSON DOTS ONTO HIS FACE. HE IGNORED THE THICK DRIBBLE THAT RAN DOWN HIS FOREARM AND STARTED TO DRIP OFF HIS ELBOW.
ROLLING HIS EYES HE RUBBED HIS FOREHEAD IN FRUSTRATION, LEAVING A NEW MESS OF RED. HIS HAND DROPPED BACK DOWN AT HIS SIDE SPLASHING LIGHTLY IN THE GOOEY PUDDLE SLOWLY FORMING AROUND HIS BODY. HE WAS GLAD HE HAD THE FORESIGHT TO MOVE WADOU OUT OF THE BLOOD LAKE’S RANGE. HE GLANCED AT THE SURROUNDING LANDSCAPE AGAIN…AND SIGHED…AGAIN.
HOW ALL THOSE GUYS COULD GET LOST IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIGHT…HE SAILED WITH A BUNCH OF MORONS.
HONESTLY.