008 [Action]
[ There's yet another guy stalking into town from being randomly dumped in the forest today-but this one isn't a New Feather. Zoro is shoes-less and dressed in white, yes, but he does have a shirt-and his three katana are hanging from his hip on a dirty white sash that looks like it was made from ripping off his shirt's long sleeves and tying them together.
His face is hard and flat as he stomps through the village toward home (the meandering walk may take him a while; the Malnosso must've moved the place sometime after they'd grabbed him-bastards)-oh, and said face is also bloody from multiple thin cuts. Longer, surgically precise lines of incision run along the lengths of his exposed arms. At some point, when the goosebumps are joined by shivers, he crosses his arms over his chest in reluctant concession to the damn cold and snow, and the pull has trickles of blood running from re-opened cuts. Streaks of red sticking his shirt and pants to his skin speak of similar wounds on his chest, back, and legs.
(He doesn't care, obviously. Every swordsman gets cut-it comes with the territory, and none of these hold a candle to the strikes he's taken in any serious fight, let alone the slash that left the scar still bisecting his body from shoulder to hip-yeah, they might as well not be there, for all the attention he pays these wounds.
So the tight look behind his blank face-it's not pain. It's fury, an impotent rage that comes of being snatched away from his crew by fucking droids and then dissected like a bug, drugged immobile, but not senseless, and unable to fight back.
And knowing that his nakama have undergone the same thing.
Fucking. Malnosso.) ]
((OOC: Feel free to run across him anywhere if you want, Zoro's powers of lost will keep him occupied for some time.))
His face is hard and flat as he stomps through the village toward home (the meandering walk may take him a while; the Malnosso must've moved the place sometime after they'd grabbed him-bastards)-oh, and said face is also bloody from multiple thin cuts. Longer, surgically precise lines of incision run along the lengths of his exposed arms. At some point, when the goosebumps are joined by shivers, he crosses his arms over his chest in reluctant concession to the damn cold and snow, and the pull has trickles of blood running from re-opened cuts. Streaks of red sticking his shirt and pants to his skin speak of similar wounds on his chest, back, and legs.
(He doesn't care, obviously. Every swordsman gets cut-it comes with the territory, and none of these hold a candle to the strikes he's taken in any serious fight, let alone the slash that left the scar still bisecting his body from shoulder to hip-yeah, they might as well not be there, for all the attention he pays these wounds.
So the tight look behind his blank face-it's not pain. It's fury, an impotent rage that comes of being snatched away from his crew by fucking droids and then dissected like a bug, drugged immobile, but not senseless, and unable to fight back.
And knowing that his nakama have undergone the same thing.
Fucking. Malnosso.) ]
((OOC: Feel free to run across him anywhere if you want, Zoro's powers of lost will keep him occupied for some time.))