Does Anybody Really Know What Time it Is?
Characters: Sanji and OPEN.
Location: Mars oh come on where do you think the kitchen.
Time: Any time any day because the mun is so horribly out of the loop :D
Contents: Just your average day with a short-fused melodramatic pyrokinetic pirate chef.
Format: Whatever you feel like!
Warnings: Sanji. Out of practice rp writing. That... should about cover it.
Where did the time go?
This was a question that Sanji found himself asking with some unnerving frequency at the frantic school during his service there. Some days it felt as if he was washing dishes from the evening meal right after he'd just finished making breakfast, and still others he could swear someone had erased the week as he found himself facing yet another Monday.
Yet he spun the plates back into their cupboards and tidied the cutlery away and wiped down the surfaces with such a spring to his step you'd have thought he was training for the Russian ballet. What magic had laid its spell on the dour and tempestuous cook to dispel his acrid sarcasm with such efficiency? There were some who already knew, some who would never be told, and a great many more who could see it on his face as plainly as the hapless grin that kept surfacing there whenever his mind strayed from his work for more than a minute.
Well, time is rather hard to keep track of, when loves knows not what time is.
Location: Mars oh come on where do you think the kitchen.
Time: Any time any day because the mun is so horribly out of the loop :D
Contents: Just your average day with a short-fused melodramatic pyrokinetic pirate chef.
Format: Whatever you feel like!
Warnings: Sanji. Out of practice rp writing. That... should about cover it.
Where did the time go?
This was a question that Sanji found himself asking with some unnerving frequency at the frantic school during his service there. Some days it felt as if he was washing dishes from the evening meal right after he'd just finished making breakfast, and still others he could swear someone had erased the week as he found himself facing yet another Monday.
Yet he spun the plates back into their cupboards and tidied the cutlery away and wiped down the surfaces with such a spring to his step you'd have thought he was training for the Russian ballet. What magic had laid its spell on the dour and tempestuous cook to dispel his acrid sarcasm with such efficiency? There were some who already knew, some who would never be told, and a great many more who could see it on his face as plainly as the hapless grin that kept surfacing there whenever his mind strayed from his work for more than a minute.
Well, time is rather hard to keep track of, when loves knows not what time is.