Characters: Shinjiro Aragaki and the crew of the Silvana
Content: To celibrate their defeat of the pirate scum, Shinjiro cooks a big meal.
Setting: Mess Hall
Time: Dinner
Warnings: Planned and unplanned chaos~ Expect thread chrashing by shotas
Notes: Feel free to start threads amongst yourselves or with Shinjiro.
(
He only cooks for people he hates, honest! )
"Congratulations?" the pilot wryly put in, with the barest trace of a smile on his lips.
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The planes and flying mean a lot to Hibari, but that goes without saying. The pilot leans against the wall, looking off briefly towards the mess hall (crowd; uninteresting) before turning back and tilting his head at Shinji.
"You sound like an old man."
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Shinjiro snorted again, rolling his eyes to the crowd as well and watching his crewmates mulling happily. He would never admit it, but the sight pleased him. Though secretly, he was watching out for someone specific.
"Adrenaline plus no sleep will do that." He wasn't about to bring up his knee. No way in hell.
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And that was really all there was to it - most of the damage involved the replacement of armor plates or small adjustments to parts than had been loosened in battle. Slightly more complicated things could be handled by the pilots themselves, and anything beyond that was well out of their jurisdiction.
Hibari decided that he was content to stay where he was. Shinji's company didn't seem like such a bad thing either - something told him that the other man also preferred to be alone, and would therefore be respective of his sense of personal space.
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Shinjiro made no attempt to either talk further, or try to get Hibari to leave. He was... comfortable. Comfortable silence was a rare thing on an airship, and he planned to enjoy it.
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"I need to smoke. May I?"
Want to join me?
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"So what were you up to during the raid? Something tells me that you weren't just cooking," he murmurs, as he turns on the vent.
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"I ran a cannon, for awhile."
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Now the cook(?) had become just a little more interesting. Hibari was also reminded why he had chosen the Silvana over all of the others, mishaps aside: not a single crew member appeared to be helpless.
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Maybe there was a tinge of pride in his voice... though he wasn't going to bring up all the training against Shadows that had turned him from a brawling punk into a practiced melee fighter.
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It wasn't an entirely surprising coincidence - the streets of his home city were crawling with all sorts of types, and a good number of them were young, lost and violent.
"I grew up there myself."
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"Hard place, Kropmork. It's is what it is."
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The mess hall was starting to fill up; the pilot could hear the noise of their conversation floating in from the kitchen. He'd go after he finished his cigarette, he decided. He'd rather eat fast and head back to the planes as soon as possible than linger for too long.
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