Open RP post

[callada]

Specific prompts:

Other-wordly
Six-word stories

Comments

[Text] MORE DUMB MAKEUP BROS STUFF PLS

[big_top_boss]

ROSI YOU WON'T GUESS WHAT I FOUND! THIS IS SO FUN!

[callada]

Is it glow in the dark lipstick? Because I've been trying to find a good brand but it's all really disappointing.

[big_top_boss]

You want some of that? Lemme do some research! If it's on the market, I'll find a good one! BUT NOT THAT'S NOT IT. Guess what guess what? THIS ISN'T FLASHY BUT IT'S SURE AS HELL FUN!

[An attachment is sent soon after.]

[callada]

Clever! I could just hide it in my pocket.

How... are you supposed to use that on a guy? Or how would you recommend it, I guess? Says it's for a clit. So...

[big_top_boss]

I JUST WANTED ONE TO HAVE IT. I mean, it's a lipstick!

You could use it on your dick, but it's way too small for my tastes. I think it's more fun than useful, for either gender!

Other-wordly prompts

[callada]

offing: the deep, distant stretch of the ocean that is still visible from land; the forseeable future

balter: to dance artlessly, without particular grace or skill but usually with enjoyment

resfeber: the restless race of the traveller's heart before the journey begins, when anxiety and anticipation are tangled together; a 'travel fever' that can manifest as an illness

hiraeth: a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

venters: what the wind or tide drives in from the ocean upon a wave.

Or go here and find your own prompt

Six-word stories

[callada]

1. Walked the beach. Found: toy soldier.

2. Have an empty bottle. Message ideas?

3. Yesterday, I didn't believe in fate.

4. Saw your name in the newspaper.

5. Think I found a gray hair...

6. [Write your own!]

TFLN

[callada]

1. I just tried to light a cigarette with a tube of lipstick. Now I'm disappointed nobody ever thought of a lipstick lighter. One side makeup, the other side fire!

2. I dk what to do with this kid he is like legitimately interested in my life.

3. beyond obliterated. i recall legitimately trying to use a ballpoint pen as eyeliner.

4. THERE IS A GOAT THERE IS A GOAT IN MY BED IT IS EATING MY BOXERS

HELP

1

[big_top_boss]

Shit, they need a combo. I've seen lipstick lighters, hell I bought a whole set because they were cute and flashy! But both would make things a hell of a lot easier!

[callada]

Yeah! Someone should get on that. Do you know anyone who invents things?

[big_top_boss]

Yeah but they usually just invent weapons. We need someone a little more creative.

[callada]

Wow, but you know a weapons inventor? That's cool. What kind of weapons?

[callada]

(( Continued from here ))

Broom.

[Otherwise he'll just fall again, though he's grateful as always that Law was quick and on top of things so that the coffee problem didn't get worse. He manages to sit himself up and rubs at an elbow, then just stays sitting on the floor for a second. Floor's fine. Nothing wrong with the floor.]

Wasn't just moments after, but that's not the point. The bouncers didn't know who started what, so they kicked us all out. So much for that kind of adventure. I'd rather be here.

[trasplante]

(( Continued from here ))

[ Law snorts softly at that. ]

You tend to find the quiet spots pretty quickly after enough 12-hour shifts. Or at least I do.

[ He makes a point of tilting his head toward Cora's cigarettes, since a glance won't be as visible behind dark lenses. ]

You want to walk and talk? I can light one for you once we're outside.

[callada]

Yeah, all right.

[He replies with an easy smile as he leads the way to the door and pushes it open with his shoulder, and then stands there to hold it open for the both of them. Walk, talk, drink and smoke? He'll be lucky not to fall, but he's not thinking about that right now. Mostly he's pleased he gets to sip at the coffee rather than chug it, and Law offering to light a cigarette for him is completely endearing.

Once outside, he offers the pack to Law so he can then also pull out a lighter.]

Twelve-hour shifts sound like hell. No wonder you needed a few drinks.

[trasplante]

Thanks.

[ Law doesn't usually make a point of actually thanking his friends for holding doors. It's implicit, as far as he's concerned, in the reciprocity. But Cora-san brought him sunglasses and company after a shitty night, so. ]

[ He's also plenty used to doing ten things at once with his hands at this point in his education, so he flips open the pack as soon as it's passed to him, pushes one up from the rest with his thumb and pulls it out with his mouth, pocketing the pack in the same motion. He takes the lighter as they walk, hmming under his breath. ]

Could be worse. [ It's a little mumbled around the cigarette. He tucks his drink against his chest to have a sort-of free hand to shield the lighter flame, gets the cigarette going; pockets the lighter to pull it from his mouth and breathe out a slow plume. ] At least as a surgeon I'll get to make something more like my own schedule for the things I need to be most awake for. Just, you know, getting there. [ He holds out the lit cigarette, careful to offer the filter end. ]

[callada]

[Before he can take the cigarette, Rosinante does, in fact, stumble. He'd just finished having a sip of his coffee, and then it's just one catch of his toe and the rest goes flying in an arc through the air as his arms cartwheel to try and catch himself before his face can hit the pavement. It's totally ungraceful and completely unfair.

Because Law looks so damned cool, there in his sunglasses with a cigarette, and of course that's what had thrown him off so quickly. God, the look of him with that cigarette.

But he laughs off his stupid fall as he picks himself up, then takes the cigarette in his hand.]

Bastard.

[Law's fault for being hot, apparently. He chuckles as he has a long draw of the smoke.]

[trasplante]

Run-ins with the Marines were commonplace when you were pirates with any kind of bounty. When you were The Heart Pirates? More so.

Not commonplace was the current din going on onboard.

It had been an almost boringly regular sea battle; the only reason Law hadn't ordered the Tang to simply dive when they were first fired upon was that the crew was antsy, and a little winning violence often did them good. Law himself had barely engaged, keeping an eye on the ruckus from the deck of the Tang, ready with a twist of fingers should the need arise. It would go as usual: the marines would be cocksure, the Hearts would subdue them, and they would - now that Cora-san was back with them - always leave most of them alive, most of them heavily bound, disable the rudder. Loot everything they could except enough provisions for the week or so it would take them to be noticed missing and rescued. It would get morale up, restock them on supplies, give the crew some needed venting and exercise.

The moment their own cannons rushed back into clear, decisive booms was noticed by every Heart Pirate on both ships.

It had been Shachi's idea - have Cora-san silence their guns, both confusing opposing ships and leaving less din for them to deal with on their end, leave orders to be heard loud and clear.

But Cora-san had stayed on the Tang as well, and he had apparently noticed a crow's nest sniper that Law's keen senses had missed, with his gold eyes focused on Jean Bart on the opposite deck.

Noticed and stepped between Law and the bullet.

Three of their long guns rang out in tandem, deafening in the previous silence, to match the physical rumbles that still gently shook the ship.

Cora-san had been the one to take the bullet, but Law felt his heart stop all the same as the taller man lurched and started to crumple.

There was a beat, after those booms, of horrible, unfabricated silence on the decks of the Tang. Cora-san seemed to fall into his arms in slow motion. He was so much easier - horribly, gut-wrenchingly easier - to catch like this, than all the times he was still trying to catch himself mid-stumble.

Three things, precisely, stymied the blaze of fury that demanded Law bring up a Room sizeable enough to encompass the full battle and slice the entire Marine ship in twain.

One: The cold chill of panic, the stutter of breath in his chest, that made him feel horribly small and twelve years old all over again.

Two: Years of experience with sea battles reminding him he had people on the opposite deck.

Three: Those booms of cannon, still echoing in his ears, telling him that Cora-san was at best unconscious, and that meant he had both no time, and no Devil Fruit energy to spare.

He had exactly enough time to meet the eyes of those crew still onboard, looking to him for a change in orders. Because they all knew, rightly, that there would be. As Law opened his mouth, he tasted a heat in his throat usually reserved for the blaze of battle when Kikoku was out of its sheath.

"Sink them."

Cora-san couldn't object, could he?

Then, the bubble of blue, Room, Shambles, and he and the other man were in the medbay with Cora-san on the table instead of his lap. Two attendants were already scrubbing in. For him, this first:

"Scan."

Nicked his heart. But only nicked.

"Mes."

Now, with that bullet in his hand - now, he no longer felt helpless and twelve.

"Chest compressions," he barked, and went to scrub in himself. "Bring him up or die."

[callada]

In truth, at the time, there hadn't been much thought to it. Things were manageable, even if there was always an element of risk in these engagements. It was risk they could handle, and had handled dozens of times already. Rosinante took no enjoyment in raiding Marine ships, but he understood the benefits, and so stood back, keeping his ability active and occasionally firing off shots just to keep the soldiers from finding ways to turn the tide. Nothing lethal, at least not intentionally.

But obviously they'd had other goals. Some marksman had wanted to make a name for himself, or had just gotten lucky. And Rosinante, well, he can't snatch bullets out of the air, so he'd done the only thing he could, as one big, durable target.

Same weak spots as anyone else, though.

Unconscious doesn't always mean completely unthinking, it turns out. For what feels like a very long time, he thinks he's swimming. Did he fall overboard? No, there's no water here, no light. The gunshot echoes in his ears, haunting him like a wisp of a memory, and he dreams of his father.

Eventually, the sounds of the operating room reach him. He screws his eyes shut against the light coming in through his eyelids, then coughs, mouth dry. His head feels like it's full of cotton.

"Law?" he croaks, and manages to open his eyes. Is Law all right?

[trasplante]

It's an agonizing few minutes, keeping that heart beating manually. Law forgoes the machines, knowing the Tang could at any moment need the electricity to dive if things above should go south, without either him or his patient to intervene - knowing that should the engines need to race on, there is whatever infinitesimal chance the medbay machines could stutter. So it's his most well-trained crewmates with fingers laced and arms pumping on that barrel chest, and his own mouth on Cora-san's mouth, breathing the strongest breaths he can give at proper intervals. It feels obscene, not sexually but because it is so painfully unsexual, unsensual, mechanical and utilitarian and it isn't right, isn't how things are supposed to be when his labored breaths are passing those painted lips.

He can feel the other's pulse right itself, in the thump where Cora's throat brushes his wrist, with his hand on the other's jaw to keep it tilted, and it's like his own heart restarts as well. The relief that washes over him pulls the briefest, softest smile to his face, and for the first time in decades, without thinking, he thanks whatever gods there might be. The automatic cough is the sound of the White Lead church bells in Flevance.

And then, his name, and he's torn between sweet rapture and hysterical fury.

"You idiot," he answers, barking out of his mouth before the gentle I'm here that half-wanted to answer can make it to his lips. So much the better, as his surroundings rush back and he remembers he has an audience.

(He does not realize he has lipstick all over his mouth. That will be an embarrassment for later, one he'll feel despite knowing all parties present are well aware it's the result of contact purely utilitarian. Hell, maybe that'll make it worse.)

"Transfusion," he snarls at the others, nearly elbowing them out of the way so he can move to the other's chest and begin pulling it apart, painlessly as possible with the Room still up, and get to that injured, stupid, reckless heart. "Type S." As though they don't know, as though his attendants don't know every blood type of every crew member as well as he does, but he's working on fury and the automatic, default assumption that everyone around him is an idiot, right now.

"Don't look down unless you want to see your own organs," he returns his attention to his patient. "I can't believe you. How dare you." And the default state of verbally tearing everyone a new asshole. This is what stress does to a man.

[callada]

Don't look down - well, of course he looks down, it's hard not to. What is it about being told not to look at something that makes his eyes immediately do that very thing? Especially since none of this feels very real, which is probably the result of some very powerful painkillers.

He glances down, then immediately regrets it and closes his eyes, feeling nauseous - though that also might not have anything to do with any of that. He feels nauseous anyway, vaguely, as much as he feels anything right now. He'd probably go pale, too, if he wasn't already suffering from blood loss. How much did he lose, he wonders idly? Dumb thoughts, intrusive, when he can't think straight. He tries to raise his arm and flop it across his face, but it feels like lead, and he gives up pretty much instantly.

He also knows better than to take Law's verbal assault too seriously. Yeah, okay, he could have gotten killed. He knows that. But Law could have gotten killed if he hadn't moved, and isn't that worse for everyone? It's not just about the two of them, it's about the whole crew.

And it's also about the two of them. He'll protect Law no matter what. Always has, or at least, he's always tried. It's practically a reflex. Like breathing.

"'M I gonna make it?" he mumbles, which might just be very very dry humor but he actually isn't sure if he meant it as a joke or not, which probably means both. His head is in a very weird place right now and he's looking forward to having some clarity back once Law has him all fixed up.

Which, he's pretty sure Law won't let there be any alternative, so he'd better make it, he decides. Can't let Law carry saving him all on his own little shoulders, Rosinante will pull through by sheer will and stupid Donquixote stubbornness, and that's final.

The decision is coupled with one more effort to move his arm to reach toward Law. He doesn't quite manage, but the gesture counts for something. Law's busy, anyway.

[morethan084]

[From here]

[It’s a thoughtful idea.]

Yeah, that seems like a great idea. The guy who passes out in water and the girl who can barely swim.

[callada]

I've sailed a shitty little square-masted cog through northern storms for weeks without falling overboard. An actual sailboat, in good weather? We'd be fine.

[C'mon Daisy, have a little faith.]

Twenty years of being useless in water, you learn how to get around.

[morethan084]

[She does actually trust him, but that doesn’t mean she can’t mess with him a little.]

Fine. But only if we wear life vests.

[callada]

[The idea is absurd enough to make him laugh. When's the last time he wore one of those?]

If you're serious about that, then you'll have to find one that fits me. That's the deal.