[LOG] We are no more than candles burning in the wind.
Who: Vivi and Goemon.
What: Rescued from pirate captivity on the 27th, Goemon is recovering from his wounds while in Chopper's Infirmary. Stuff ensues. Most likely talking, and interpreting awkward silences.
When: Let's say sometime between June 30th and July 6th.
Where: The Thousand Sunny, of course.
Status: Closed, ongoing.
[I 'borrowed' Chopper for just this little bit, although there's no dialogue.]
A raw stinging sensation roused Goemon from deep contemplation, jarring and electric like a hangnail snagging on velcro. His breath caught in his throat - and the welling of tears was too sudden a reflex for even his rigorous training to hold back. Huffing, he blinked them back fiercely, mutely urging the Sunny’s doctor to carry on after a moment. Chopper’s cautious, probing touch felt strange and out of place - but it had nothing to do with the knowledge that he was being treated by a reindeer with prehensile hooves.
Silence settled in the infirmary, solemn with an undercurrent of tension. The ronin stared blankly at the wall as if held at gunpoint. Despite his awareness of time and place and freedom from danger, his frayed nerves had minds of their own, still twitching in anticipation of attack. He had made a career of flirting with danger for years - to suffer injuries as these was not uncommon. It was the experience of torture that he never grew accustomed to, no matter how tragically unfamiliar it was to himself, Lupin, and Jigen. The feeling of being trapped and whittled down before hungry, scrutinizing eyes had a way of dredging up dormant albeit unresolved feelings at unexpected moments, things better left to gather dust.
His wounds throbbed angrily at the memory of the lash that had cut swathes of fire into his skin. Captain Morgan’s crew could have gone so far as to crush every bone in his hand until it was reduced to a mangled, bloody pulp; they could have taken away what physically made him a man. But, they couldn’t have ever reached him, deep inside, and shook him at his core - or at least, so was the belief he liked- - no, he had to maintain. In times when his resistance had been stretched thin and twisted into impossible Celtic knots, his spirit had always remained unbroken.
“Your pride will kill you, one day,” Grant had remarked, with a dark, widening smile. If that was the price to remain loyal to oneself and to one’s principles, Goemon had mused, so be it. It was the way it had to be. Flesh was flesh: soft, weak, easy to destroy, but honour and dishonour outlived the body. He took a deep breath. It could have been someone else - anyone else - bound to the mast and flogged for their 'arrogance' before a company of jeering pirates. Looking across the room, he watched the sparkling sea through the porthole window, his chest aching dully at the thought. Had Vivi been in danger, he knew he would have taken her place if the choice were there; he would have endured it as more than just a samurai bound by duty alone.
Goemon sat still as Chopper laboured to wrap his back in fresh bandages, shaking his head dimly when the reindeer asked if they were uncomfortably tight. At the end of it, he thanked the doctor for his troubles, the sentiment genuine despite his low, weary tone.
What: Rescued from pirate captivity on the 27th, Goemon is recovering from his wounds while in Chopper's Infirmary. Stuff ensues. Most likely talking, and interpreting awkward silences.
When: Let's say sometime between June 30th and July 6th.
Where: The Thousand Sunny, of course.
Status: Closed, ongoing.
[I 'borrowed' Chopper for just this little bit, although there's no dialogue.]
A raw stinging sensation roused Goemon from deep contemplation, jarring and electric like a hangnail snagging on velcro. His breath caught in his throat - and the welling of tears was too sudden a reflex for even his rigorous training to hold back. Huffing, he blinked them back fiercely, mutely urging the Sunny’s doctor to carry on after a moment. Chopper’s cautious, probing touch felt strange and out of place - but it had nothing to do with the knowledge that he was being treated by a reindeer with prehensile hooves.
Silence settled in the infirmary, solemn with an undercurrent of tension. The ronin stared blankly at the wall as if held at gunpoint. Despite his awareness of time and place and freedom from danger, his frayed nerves had minds of their own, still twitching in anticipation of attack. He had made a career of flirting with danger for years - to suffer injuries as these was not uncommon. It was the experience of torture that he never grew accustomed to, no matter how tragically unfamiliar it was to himself, Lupin, and Jigen. The feeling of being trapped and whittled down before hungry, scrutinizing eyes had a way of dredging up dormant albeit unresolved feelings at unexpected moments, things better left to gather dust.
His wounds throbbed angrily at the memory of the lash that had cut swathes of fire into his skin. Captain Morgan’s crew could have gone so far as to crush every bone in his hand until it was reduced to a mangled, bloody pulp; they could have taken away what physically made him a man. But, they couldn’t have ever reached him, deep inside, and shook him at his core - or at least, so was the belief he liked- - no, he had to maintain. In times when his resistance had been stretched thin and twisted into impossible Celtic knots, his spirit had always remained unbroken.
“Your pride will kill you, one day,” Grant had remarked, with a dark, widening smile. If that was the price to remain loyal to oneself and to one’s principles, Goemon had mused, so be it. It was the way it had to be. Flesh was flesh: soft, weak, easy to destroy, but honour and dishonour outlived the body. He took a deep breath. It could have been someone else - anyone else - bound to the mast and flogged for their 'arrogance' before a company of jeering pirates. Looking across the room, he watched the sparkling sea through the porthole window, his chest aching dully at the thought. Had Vivi been in danger, he knew he would have taken her place if the choice were there; he would have endured it as more than just a samurai bound by duty alone.
Goemon sat still as Chopper laboured to wrap his back in fresh bandages, shaking his head dimly when the reindeer asked if they were uncomfortably tight. At the end of it, he thanked the doctor for his troubles, the sentiment genuine despite his low, weary tone.