roronoa "sword swallowing fuck" zoro (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stopbleeding) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
recolle2017-09-17 08:05 pm
stopbleeding) wrote in recolle2017-09-17 08:05 pm
[OPEN] i feel guilty
WHO: zoro and YOU!!!
WHERE: beach, some abandoned warehouse dump whatever, possibly other places
WHEN: 9/17 - On
WHAT: zoro is like the only person who actually wants more memories back and will do pretty much anything for them + catchall
WARNINGS: i mean it's zoro so he'll probably get injured at some point
I. OCEAN MAN, TAKE ME BY THE HAND, OR MAYBE NOT SINCE YOU'RE BEACHED ON LAND
[It's late. Dark enough that the ocean becomes a menace, swallowing all light that peeks towards it. The beach is quiet, dark, the streetlights providing only droplets of light over a broad stretch of sand. Still, it's enough to line the edges of the waves and countour the silhouette of–a monster? No.
Zoro. Coughing, spluttering, choking as he pushes his way out of the waves. His movement is slow and the further he moves from the water, the reason for that becomes clear. There's not one, not two, but eight cinderblocks tied around either ankle. They leave tracks in the sand as he escapes the tide. He lies there on his side, body lurches as he continues to choke on the water that just won't come out of his lungs. Closer inspection reveals that his hands are tied behind his back.
Maybe he needs some help.]
II-A. I CAN'T THINK OF A CLEVER TITLE ABOUT WAREHOUSES
[Maybe you're just on a stroll, cruising that sidewalk like a motherfucker, dancing under spotlights like a modern day Fred Astaire. Doesn't really matter so long as you're close to a very specific abandoned warehouse in whatever city district that'd be in. Soon, that peaceful stroll is disturbed by a noise so immense, it sends a slight shockwave through the street.
There's movement from inside the warehouse. Glimpses can be caught between the pane-less windows. A junked car or two goes flying. Some collapsed debris from a nearby demolition rising and falling into and out of view. Closer inspection will reveal a short crawl hole cut into the fence next to a bright "NO TRESPASSING" sign. A well-trodden path winds up to a collapsed wall, providing just enough of a window to see just what the hell is going on.
It's Zoro, probably shirtless and working out. With... cars. And huge chunks of rubble. Hell, it looks like he's clearing half the place out himself and from how soaked in sweat he is, it looks like he's been doing this all night. He looks over his shoulder after a few minutes.]
Didn't you see the "No Trespassing" sign?
II-B. SAME AS ABOVE X2
[Same bat-place but different bat-time. While equally late at night, there's no sweaty, half-naked brutal workouts. Just Zoro, a can of spray paint, and a large metal partition of sorts. There's graffiti already on it–lazy taggers scrawling their self-important aliases. Zoro does something different.
The teenager tagger's names have been covered in words, phrases. From the simple:
"Crazy dreamer"
"Useless"
"Prideless"
"Idiot"
To the more complex:
"No matter how hard you try, you can't win."
"Losing all hope and dying are two strangely similar things."
"Humans are fragile beings."
All from disparate contexts with a single thing in common. They're discouragment. Relentless discouragement scrawled over each over in multicolored, chaotic layers. And he's still adding to it, a black bandana pulled up over his face as he writes another disheartening phrase in red paint.
The can runs out halfway through the sentence. He reaches for another.]
WHERE: beach, some abandoned warehouse dump whatever, possibly other places
WHEN: 9/17 - On
WHAT: zoro is like the only person who actually wants more memories back and will do pretty much anything for them + catchall
WARNINGS: i mean it's zoro so he'll probably get injured at some point
I. OCEAN MAN, TAKE ME BY THE HAND, OR MAYBE NOT SINCE YOU'RE BEACHED ON LAND
[It's late. Dark enough that the ocean becomes a menace, swallowing all light that peeks towards it. The beach is quiet, dark, the streetlights providing only droplets of light over a broad stretch of sand. Still, it's enough to line the edges of the waves and countour the silhouette of–a monster? No.
Zoro. Coughing, spluttering, choking as he pushes his way out of the waves. His movement is slow and the further he moves from the water, the reason for that becomes clear. There's not one, not two, but eight cinderblocks tied around either ankle. They leave tracks in the sand as he escapes the tide. He lies there on his side, body lurches as he continues to choke on the water that just won't come out of his lungs. Closer inspection reveals that his hands are tied behind his back.
Maybe he needs some help.]
II-A. I CAN'T THINK OF A CLEVER TITLE ABOUT WAREHOUSES
[Maybe you're just on a stroll, cruising that sidewalk like a motherfucker, dancing under spotlights like a modern day Fred Astaire. Doesn't really matter so long as you're close to a very specific abandoned warehouse in whatever city district that'd be in. Soon, that peaceful stroll is disturbed by a noise so immense, it sends a slight shockwave through the street.
There's movement from inside the warehouse. Glimpses can be caught between the pane-less windows. A junked car or two goes flying. Some collapsed debris from a nearby demolition rising and falling into and out of view. Closer inspection will reveal a short crawl hole cut into the fence next to a bright "NO TRESPASSING" sign. A well-trodden path winds up to a collapsed wall, providing just enough of a window to see just what the hell is going on.
It's Zoro, probably shirtless and working out. With... cars. And huge chunks of rubble. Hell, it looks like he's clearing half the place out himself and from how soaked in sweat he is, it looks like he's been doing this all night. He looks over his shoulder after a few minutes.]
Didn't you see the "No Trespassing" sign?
II-B. SAME AS ABOVE X2
[Same bat-place but different bat-time. While equally late at night, there's no sweaty, half-naked brutal workouts. Just Zoro, a can of spray paint, and a large metal partition of sorts. There's graffiti already on it–lazy taggers scrawling their self-important aliases. Zoro does something different.
The teenager tagger's names have been covered in words, phrases. From the simple:
"Crazy dreamer"
"Useless"
"Prideless"
"Idiot"
To the more complex:
"No matter how hard you try, you can't win."
"Losing all hope and dying are two strangely similar things."
"Humans are fragile beings."
All from disparate contexts with a single thing in common. They're discouragment. Relentless discouragement scrawled over each over in multicolored, chaotic layers. And he's still adding to it, a black bandana pulled up over his face as he writes another disheartening phrase in red paint.
The can runs out halfway through the sentence. He reaches for another.]
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