(no subject)
Who: Commodore Smoker [ brandedjustice ] and OPEN TO ANY AND ALL
What: Drinking, paperwork, anything else that happens to come up. You can have people blab about the task force here or even pull up and have a drink with the good Commodore. Really? I just need to get him DOING SOMETHING.
Where: Smoker's office, the docks.
When: This evening
It had been waiting for him, calling to him like an old friend he hadn't seen in years. Amber liquid sloshed, told him of the misery that had befallen Nuadoria since his departure. He just listened in the cool silence, swallowing shots full of that warming substance, filling himself with its calming energy. His eyes fell shut as he threw his feet up onto the desk with two solid thuds. As he did so, his logia exploded from his back and began to mix in the room with the smoke of the three cigars now lodged in the right half of his face. In the other half, was the bottle of rum.
Droplets of amber touched his lips, turned cracked skin to a smooth, shiny surface. Then, a touch lashed out, pushed between the cracks where tobacco hadn't made itself home. It examined the honey liquor on his lips and swallowed it, slowly, sensually, as if he hadn't had it in years; as if it were the last time he'd have the chance to be by himself like this.
It reminded him of the twenty-two years ago that had flown by in a blink of an eye. The hot summer, the moist air and the ringing of funeral bells. They tolled an end of an era and the death of a legend. The dying grin was burned into his mind and the wound had been reopened twice more during his time in the Marines; one by Monkey D. Luffy. The other by Portgas D. Ace. Both Ds and both carrying the same smile Gold Roger had carried that fateful day.
Now, that was all gone. Replaced again with this hell.
Smoker grunted, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The smell of smoke and liquor burned deep into his lungs as he sucked on the three cigars. He could feel a faint heat permeating off them and, for a second, he hoped it was Fire-Fist. He hoped to God it was Fire-Fist because that would mean that he had an excuse to beat the living shit out of something.
No one here had jurisdiction over what he did to pirates. Besides, he needed somewhere to vent his frustrations.
His eyes rolled at the thought and caught a window pane nearby. Sea salt frosted the glass, teasing him. He just frowned back, watching his pale reflection in the foggy glass. He looked tired, angry and those three cigars just didn't fit as well as the two. Still, it brought him comfort as he swallowed smoke deep into his lungs and kept it there. His thoughts fell with the smoke, exiling themselves deep within him before being expelled again. Smoke poured through his nostrils and thoughts exploded in his head, like fireworks. In turn, his eyes just narrowed and he ground a booted heel deeper into his desk.
There would have to be more booze if he was going to make it through the night.
What: Drinking, paperwork, anything else that happens to come up. You can have people blab about the task force here or even pull up and have a drink with the good Commodore. Really? I just need to get him DOING SOMETHING.
Where: Smoker's office, the docks.
When: This evening
It had been waiting for him, calling to him like an old friend he hadn't seen in years. Amber liquid sloshed, told him of the misery that had befallen Nuadoria since his departure. He just listened in the cool silence, swallowing shots full of that warming substance, filling himself with its calming energy. His eyes fell shut as he threw his feet up onto the desk with two solid thuds. As he did so, his logia exploded from his back and began to mix in the room with the smoke of the three cigars now lodged in the right half of his face. In the other half, was the bottle of rum.
Droplets of amber touched his lips, turned cracked skin to a smooth, shiny surface. Then, a touch lashed out, pushed between the cracks where tobacco hadn't made itself home. It examined the honey liquor on his lips and swallowed it, slowly, sensually, as if he hadn't had it in years; as if it were the last time he'd have the chance to be by himself like this.
It reminded him of the twenty-two years ago that had flown by in a blink of an eye. The hot summer, the moist air and the ringing of funeral bells. They tolled an end of an era and the death of a legend. The dying grin was burned into his mind and the wound had been reopened twice more during his time in the Marines; one by Monkey D. Luffy. The other by Portgas D. Ace. Both Ds and both carrying the same smile Gold Roger had carried that fateful day.
Now, that was all gone. Replaced again with this hell.
Smoker grunted, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The smell of smoke and liquor burned deep into his lungs as he sucked on the three cigars. He could feel a faint heat permeating off them and, for a second, he hoped it was Fire-Fist. He hoped to God it was Fire-Fist because that would mean that he had an excuse to beat the living shit out of something.
No one here had jurisdiction over what he did to pirates. Besides, he needed somewhere to vent his frustrations.
His eyes rolled at the thought and caught a window pane nearby. Sea salt frosted the glass, teasing him. He just frowned back, watching his pale reflection in the foggy glass. He looked tired, angry and those three cigars just didn't fit as well as the two. Still, it brought him comfort as he swallowed smoke deep into his lungs and kept it there. His thoughts fell with the smoke, exiling themselves deep within him before being expelled again. Smoke poured through his nostrils and thoughts exploded in his head, like fireworks. In turn, his eyes just narrowed and he ground a booted heel deeper into his desk.
There would have to be more booze if he was going to make it through the night.