Ficlets: from the 100 prompts (049)
Title: Club
word count: ~ 200
Fake statement: I own StS
However, note that "this" claim errrrr is not true, as the word “fake” might have already given away. Kurumada, Toeie and... Shueisha (thanks, yue) own StS
049 - Club
“Clubs will bring you luck, but not just any kind will do. Yeh have to be careful.”
And he had believed the old man. He had been careful choosing, never putting his eyes again on those that didn’t meet the requirements, the necessary conditions to bring him luck. It was time consuming, and in Sanctuary time was a valued good. But when he found a club that worked out, it was exhilarating.
But his old man’s opinions weren’t held in high esteem in the training arenas. And when he was, once again, late for training he knew the masters would be mad. From the soldiers and all the way up to the gold saint who was responsible for making him into a good warrior. The first time it had been rough words, then a slap, finally a club. And not the kind that brought him luck. One day the gold saint had said he’d go fetch a whip the next time and that had scared him off, for a while With the years they made it to the whip, and beyond when he officially became a gold saint trainee. But Deathmask never cared; he kept on looking for the clubs that would bring him luck, and a good hangover to go with it
word count: ~ 200
Fake statement: I own StS
However, note that "this" claim errrrr is not true, as the word “fake” might have already given away. Kurumada, Toeie and... Shueisha (thanks, yue) own StS
049 - Club
“Clubs will bring you luck, but not just any kind will do. Yeh have to be careful.”
And he had believed the old man. He had been careful choosing, never putting his eyes again on those that didn’t meet the requirements, the necessary conditions to bring him luck. It was time consuming, and in Sanctuary time was a valued good. But when he found a club that worked out, it was exhilarating.
But his old man’s opinions weren’t held in high esteem in the training arenas. And when he was, once again, late for training he knew the masters would be mad. From the soldiers and all the way up to the gold saint who was responsible for making him into a good warrior. The first time it had been rough words, then a slap, finally a club. And not the kind that brought him luck. One day the gold saint had said he’d go fetch a whip the next time and that had scared him off, for a while With the years they made it to the whip, and beyond when he officially became a gold saint trainee. But Deathmask never cared; he kept on looking for the clubs that would bring him luck, and a good hangover to go with it