[012 || Written/Voice]
Oct. 31st, 2014 11:02 am( post is here )
[Well, this week has been shitty. Half of the crew is in distress, most of them probably haven't slept in days, the ship is still covered in spiders, and basically everything sucks. Sanji's been counting down the days until all of this should be over. He remembers from last year that when the month finally fucking ended, the sun rose again the next day and the shitty ghost ships disappeared. He can only hope it'll be the same this year...
So he's getting a Thank Fuck That's Over meal ready for the next day, and hopefully...hopefully Elsa-san will be back by then, too.
Losing himself in his cooking is just abut the only thing that can even partially calm his mind right now. His crew still has to eat, after all. But he can't be bothered to find any spare paper, so have some quick ingredients jotted down for a recipe he's making up:]
- butter
- brown sugar
- cinnamon
- vanilla
- apples
- lemon juice
- flour
- eggs
[There might be the faint sounds of him moving around the galley in the background. Cabinets opening and closing, spoons clanging against bowls, a knife against a cutting board as he slices fruit.
And then a sudden curse and a slamming sound as Sanji has to abruptly jump back out of the way of a ghost that comes flying through the porthole.]
Dammit, these fucking things...
[Did it touch him? He doesn't think so. Fuck, he hopes not. Shit.
A moment goes by in silence, but nothing crazy or awful seems to be happening. So he goes back to slicing up the apples...
Only to curse again as he nicks himself. The hell, he hasn't been clumsy enough to do something like that in years. The spiders and shit must be getting to him. But it's only a small cut—
Except it's not. It's actually pretty deep. Blood trickles down his finger, thick and red, and the cut seems to get worse as he stares at it. It's more a gash now, spreading down over his palm and splintering into a spiderweb of more cuts and wounds that bloom outwards to engulf the rest of his hand.
What the fuck?
He lifts his other hand, gasping when the same pattern of slices and gashes appears on it, too. And they burn. They sting like he did a handstand on top of a pile of shitty glass. Blood rushes down his arms from the cuts, dripping off onto the floor, and Sanji's heart pounds in his chest as something cold abruptly lances up his spine.]
Oi... Oi, I didn't even do anything—stop! Fuck, what the hell, come on!
[But nope. His hands are a bloody, ruined mess, and it hurts.
He looks around wildly, needing to find something to stop the bleeding, wrap them up, save them before they're damaged beyond repair. It's suddenly hard to breathe. He needs—]
Chopper. Shit, my hands—oi, CHOPPER!!
(ooc: Sanji's wounded hands are only visible to him!)
[Well, this week has been shitty. Half of the crew is in distress, most of them probably haven't slept in days, the ship is still covered in spiders, and basically everything sucks. Sanji's been counting down the days until all of this should be over. He remembers from last year that when the month finally fucking ended, the sun rose again the next day and the shitty ghost ships disappeared. He can only hope it'll be the same this year...
So he's getting a Thank Fuck That's Over meal ready for the next day, and hopefully...hopefully Elsa-san will be back by then, too.
Losing himself in his cooking is just abut the only thing that can even partially calm his mind right now. His crew still has to eat, after all. But he can't be bothered to find any spare paper, so have some quick ingredients jotted down for a recipe he's making up:]
- butter
- brown sugar
- cinnamon
- vanilla
- apples
- lemon juice
- flour
- eggs
[There might be the faint sounds of him moving around the galley in the background. Cabinets opening and closing, spoons clanging against bowls, a knife against a cutting board as he slices fruit.
And then a sudden curse and a slamming sound as Sanji has to abruptly jump back out of the way of a ghost that comes flying through the porthole.]
Dammit, these fucking things...
[Did it touch him? He doesn't think so. Fuck, he hopes not. Shit.
A moment goes by in silence, but nothing crazy or awful seems to be happening. So he goes back to slicing up the apples...
Only to curse again as he nicks himself. The hell, he hasn't been clumsy enough to do something like that in years. The spiders and shit must be getting to him. But it's only a small cut—
Except it's not. It's actually pretty deep. Blood trickles down his finger, thick and red, and the cut seems to get worse as he stares at it. It's more a gash now, spreading down over his palm and splintering into a spiderweb of more cuts and wounds that bloom outwards to engulf the rest of his hand.
What the fuck?
He lifts his other hand, gasping when the same pattern of slices and gashes appears on it, too. And they burn. They sting like he did a handstand on top of a pile of shitty glass. Blood rushes down his arms from the cuts, dripping off onto the floor, and Sanji's heart pounds in his chest as something cold abruptly lances up his spine.]
Oi... Oi, I didn't even do anything—stop! Fuck, what the hell, come on!
[But nope. His hands are a bloody, ruined mess, and it hurts.
He looks around wildly, needing to find something to stop the bleeding, wrap them up, save them before they're damaged beyond repair. It's suddenly hard to breathe. He needs—]
Chopper. Shit, my hands—oi, CHOPPER!!
(ooc: Sanji's wounded hands are only visible to him!)