12th Confession [Action]

[notabluesbro]

[Time for personal confetti because

~Wolfwood's back~

...Sort of.

Rather, he's smaller. Shorter. Even more scruffy and disorganized than before.

He'd woken up in a forest and spent a good 3 hours raking his mind over just what he was seeing—snow, actual snow. Of course, none of that was important for the meanwhile when he realized he was cold. Holy shit, was it freezing out here. At least whoever left him here gave him some clothes and... a gun in a holster?

Slipping on the way-too-big black jacket, he examines the handgun. Of course, Wolfwood always carried it on him, but... he's eight at the moment, so this information is just going over his head. It's not as though he's never used one, of course. He just never had such a nice holster to go with it!

But what doesn't go over his head is the fact that he has wings. Wings! What the hell is going on here? Where is he? Surely he's not... well, y'know.

He rushes around the dense for a for hours, stumbling and tripping in the groggy morning light, until he finds... ah, there are rooms in this building that aren't used? Maybe if he's sneaky, he can just stay in one of these here. Once that's done with, he wanders around town for a few hours with a stolen jacket sloppy thrown over his old collared shirt. Looking paranoid as he stalks through crowds. All right, Nick. You're in a strange place, but you cannot forget the number one rule: just survive.

Too many people around to steal from the stores. Stomach rumbling. Wait until night, then find a window, a door even, to sneak into.

When cold, black night eventually hits, he lassos the holster around his waist (hey, no more tucking into the side of his pants), under his shirt, and sets out, sneaking into whatever apartment or house he can. Perhaps sorting through your drawers, cabinets, or refrigerators. Hey, you can't expect him to know about all that free stuff, right? Despite him being as quiet as possible, there may be an occasional falling down of something—a pan, perhaps a glass. In case your character is a heavy sleeper. 8|]

[OOC: You can run into him any part of his day listed above! Replies will be from very very obvious journals~! Time and space is kicked often.

He might draw that gun in any robbery attempt, but he won't shoot at anyone. Unless they're trying to kill him. |Db]

Comments

My mom is making me bacon and eggs. 8| And tea.

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

[There is a tablecloth, but jeez, the sandwich is about done. 8|]

Call me Sanji. [With that, a plate full of delicious is placed in front of Nicholas, as well as a tall glass of water.]

Go on; eat up.

>:| You tease.

[not-a-blueskid.livejournal.com]

[He tilts his chin down in thought for a moment. This felt all wrong. The last time he'd eaten at a real table... he was at least four. But then to have something so colorful and full and there...]

I can eat up here?

[He backtracks, thinks about the last house he'd been in, as a real 'home'. And it makes him grip his once bruised arm tightly. But this guy wasn't like that. He wasn't the same guy, so it wasn't fair to compare them.

He fixed up his arm—he set mouse traps.

He offered food—could be poisoned.

He gave you his name—so did uncle.]

[not-a-blueskid.livejournal.com]

[His shoulders grow lax.]

At th'table, n'stuff...

*^* It was delicious

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

[Sanji watches the silence and what must be an internal battle, wondering what ugly type of life this boy must've led if he's that torn about eating at a table. Had Wolfwood told him? He can't remember.]

Of course. [He gropes at his pants pocket, taking out a cigarette] You're not some shitty dog who's gonna eat on the floor.

:'|

[notablueskid.livejournal.com]

[A quiet mumble:]

...Doesn't make you a shitty dog, if you eat on the floor.

[He doesn't scarf down the food, nor does he take big bites. They're small and quiet and careful, like a person handling glass.

But the water all goes first, in one long drink. He looks at Sanji—no, at that cigarette—and tries to control his brow from creasing.]

8D <3

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

[A small grin]

Nah, I guess it doesn't. But it's a lot cleaner on the table.

[Admittedly, Sanji did expect him to scarf everything down, and so watches this delicate type of eating in bemusement. Nicholas is full of surprises, ain't he?

But because of it, he's quick to note the subtle look being shot at him. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and idly holds it between two fingers]

Don't like cigarettes? [Also, promptly refilling the glass]

Cruel, cruel person ;;

[notablueskid.livejournal.com]

[He shakes his head swiftly at that.]

No, s'just—



...Do you have anymore?

I would send you some if I could!

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

... Started young, did ya?

[This is said as he forks one over. >_> Hey, he started at ten!]

It's okay, I'll make cut-outs and pretend 8D

[notablueskid.livejournal.com]

[Wolfwood takes the cigarette, gratefulness masked a little by his caution, like always. He takes a long drag, and suddenly, he looks a few years older; what kid doesn't, with their elbow perched and a smoke in hand.

But he nods at the question.]

I found 'em around the house, sometimes.

Those aren't very edible though >_>

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

[A shrug then, and he nods at the explanation]

So long as you know they're bad as shit for you. [He's not gonna stop him]

[notablueskid.livejournal.com]

[He shrugs back.]

More dangerous stuff out there than cigarettes.

S'why you should always have a gun.

[He pats his hip as he says it, sounding more than sure of himself.]

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

That so? [Eying that loaded piece he's got on him]

Things work a little differently here. You might not need that thing.

[not-a-blueskid.livejournal.com]

[Don't be alarmed, Sanji, but he actually cracks a smile at that. A little food and water can do that to a person.]

Says the guy that sets up mouse traps in his fridge.

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

[Surprise surprise. And here Sanji didn't think he had it in him]

Oi oi, those were for my captain I didn't expect to catch a kid.

[notablueskid.livejournal.com]

You put up traps for your boss...?

[What the hell kind of boss....]

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

Yeah. Not that they really hurt the damn glutton.

[notabluesbro]

[THIS LOOK. Just in tiny kid form.]

Y'could've killed me.

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

Then don't steal from pirates. [His sympathy resides in the negative numbers]

[notablueskid.livejournal.com]

[...e-eyebrow perk. He can't help himself—he's an 8 year old and he has to prod about these things:]

Pirates? Y'mean, like bandits?

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

Tch, hell no.

Like the kind that-- [Wait, would Nicholas even know the difference? There might not be one in his world]

My crew and I sail on the sea, for one.

[notablueskid.livejournal.com]

...








...That's a lotta water in one place... right?

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

That's right.

Never seen it?

[notablueskid.livejournal.com]

[He shakes his head.]

There isn't anything like that, at home. Lotsa' sand, I guess... Lotsa' sun.

S'why people'd fight over water, sometimes.

[oda-hates-me.livejournal.com]

Heh, kinda like Alabasta. [Tired of standing, he takes one of the empty seats and leans his weight on the surface of the table]

A desert country I've been to. War nearly broke out because they were suffering a drought with no end in sight.

[notablueskid.livejournal.com]

Tch. It happens a lot at home. [he sips on the water] Adults don't know when t'just shut up and get by.

[A bit bitter at them? Obvious, yeah. As far as he's concerned, 3/4ths of them are no good selfish assheads.]

If they took better care of each other, it wouldn't be so hard.