(no subject)
Characters: Franky and other people
Time: Midday, before Thanksgiving
Location: Chicago
Content: A man's romance is to always have his guitar at the ready
Format: Prose
Warnings: Same as usual with this guy
Franky could mope about any number of things that got left back in Sabondy on the Sunny. But right now, what he decided to focus on, for the sake of not wanting to kill something, was his guitar. For a given definition, things were almost starting to look up. If you squinted, turned your head the right way, and didn't look very hard. The point was, here, that the Strawhats were not so scattered as they had feared they might become, and as painful as the circumstances were, that was enough to be grateful for.
But therein rose the problem; there was no proper way for Franky to express his emotions on the matter. Words weren't quite as big as they needed to be, leaving emotions flat and dry. No, the needs of a man were that of music, expressed as the heart saw fit, the chords of a guitar loosing his innermost thoughts into the world, understood by any who truly appreciated the torture of a passionate note.
All he needed to do now, he figured as he strode through the streets, studying building fronts and grumbling at their painful sameness, was to not end up feeling like Zoro as he searched for a music shop.
Time: Midday, before Thanksgiving
Location: Chicago
Content: A man's romance is to always have his guitar at the ready
Format: Prose
Warnings: Same as usual with this guy
Franky could mope about any number of things that got left back in Sabondy on the Sunny. But right now, what he decided to focus on, for the sake of not wanting to kill something, was his guitar. For a given definition, things were almost starting to look up. If you squinted, turned your head the right way, and didn't look very hard. The point was, here, that the Strawhats were not so scattered as they had feared they might become, and as painful as the circumstances were, that was enough to be grateful for.
But therein rose the problem; there was no proper way for Franky to express his emotions on the matter. Words weren't quite as big as they needed to be, leaving emotions flat and dry. No, the needs of a man were that of music, expressed as the heart saw fit, the chords of a guitar loosing his innermost thoughts into the world, understood by any who truly appreciated the torture of a passionate note.
All he needed to do now, he figured as he strode through the streets, studying building fronts and grumbling at their painful sameness, was to not end up feeling like Zoro as he searched for a music shop.