[ OPEN ]
Who: Sir Crocodile and OPEN
When: Afternoon time?
Where: Near the cryptic message spot.
Format: Paragraph.
What: Having a gander at the cryptic message.
Warnings: Ah, I want to high ball it at R because Crocodile is a villainous sort.
Ash fell in thick clumps from the smoldering tip of a cigar, allowing fresh embers to breach the surface of tightly-knotted tobacco. The gray bits rolled across the ground, tossing in the slight breeze that had picked up just south of the current location until they were politely stamped out by the pristine soles of Italian-leather shoes.
A noise bubbled, disturbing the stillness for a moment. It was short, perhaps an acknowledging grunt of sorts. Crocodile leaned forward and placed the engorged cigar back into the corner of his tight jaws. The scar across his face bent with the movement of his jawline and it twisted, doubling his facial expression.
Kneeling, the ex-Shichibukai rested his fingers near the scribbling, tongue lashing at the burning cigar in his mouth. Yellow eyes lapped at the writing as he tried to decipher the meaning it held - perhaps there was something more to this hollowed world than he first thought.
"Fear of the night, of the dark. Something basic, something creatures have in common to some degree." Crocodile's voice was alone, deep and shallow. He adjusted himself and dug thick heels into the fleshy earth - ah, the dirt was dry today. His grin widened at that. "Loneliness, fear - everything an inexperienced refugee would experience."
War; that was one thing he knew best. The scripture sounded like a legend of war, of a battle unseen, but felt. Crocodile's eyes narrowed and his brows came together, creasing his forehead. But the foe was vague, the soldiers were vague. Fifty standing side by side; that didn't seem much in the whole spectrum of things.
Crocodile pulled his tobacco length from his jaws, leaned back on his heels and ashed it again. He stood then, deep eyes staring at the scripture.
When: Afternoon time?
Where: Near the cryptic message spot.
Format: Paragraph.
What: Having a gander at the cryptic message.
Warnings: Ah, I want to high ball it at R because Crocodile is a villainous sort.
Ash fell in thick clumps from the smoldering tip of a cigar, allowing fresh embers to breach the surface of tightly-knotted tobacco. The gray bits rolled across the ground, tossing in the slight breeze that had picked up just south of the current location until they were politely stamped out by the pristine soles of Italian-leather shoes.
A noise bubbled, disturbing the stillness for a moment. It was short, perhaps an acknowledging grunt of sorts. Crocodile leaned forward and placed the engorged cigar back into the corner of his tight jaws. The scar across his face bent with the movement of his jawline and it twisted, doubling his facial expression.
Kneeling, the ex-Shichibukai rested his fingers near the scribbling, tongue lashing at the burning cigar in his mouth. Yellow eyes lapped at the writing as he tried to decipher the meaning it held - perhaps there was something more to this hollowed world than he first thought.
"Fear of the night, of the dark. Something basic, something creatures have in common to some degree." Crocodile's voice was alone, deep and shallow. He adjusted himself and dug thick heels into the fleshy earth - ah, the dirt was dry today. His grin widened at that. "Loneliness, fear - everything an inexperienced refugee would experience."
War; that was one thing he knew best. The scripture sounded like a legend of war, of a battle unseen, but felt. Crocodile's eyes narrowed and his brows came together, creasing his forehead. But the foe was vague, the soldiers were vague. Fifty standing side by side; that didn't seem much in the whole spectrum of things.
Crocodile pulled his tobacco length from his jaws, leaned back on his heels and ashed it again. He stood then, deep eyes staring at the scripture.