A Few Hours to the Execution
In the hours before the scheduled execution Fleet Admiral Sengoku gazed across the plaza. Thousands of marines swarmed like ants before his eyes. Their white uniforms stood out against the dark stone, but blended in with the sheer mass of marines present. From Sengoku's aerial viewpoint the marines present looked smaller, more insignificant, than he knew them to be in person.
Off to the right side of the plaza, a large cannon was being loaded by two regular marines before it would be pushed over to the rest of the gunline. A rack of ammunition was already being prepared in the location it would later sit.
A large sword was visible high above the head of its owner and wielder. The crowd surrounding it was sparse, few people willing to get close to the wielder of the dangerous blade. A glint of sunlight reflected off of the dark metal.
Deep voices echoed around the plaza: orders given with brisk efficiency. To the left a good sized group of Captains and Commodores clumped together, going over the plans once more and deciding on tactics to use with their neighbors in the defensive line. The group wasn't in position yet, but that could wait. The execution wasn't for another hour yet.
An unusual amount of silence came from the area where Vice-Admiral Garp stood with Rear-Admiral Tsuru. The man's posture allowed a dark shadow to fall over his face, and chills crawled the spine of anyone who noticed the typically outrageously happy man's half-hidden frown. Sengoku's own expression briefly mirrored it, but no, the man would not risk his career for a brat that wasn't even related to him. No matter that he loudly proclaimed the brat to be his grandson regardless of blood.
The vice-admiral's two apprentices also carried an unusual amount of somberness. The pink haired one was normally doing all he could to help anyone and anything, and the blonde was normally following after his sempai to offer his more reserved form of aide. This time both stood stiff and unsure in their commander's shadow.
Sengoku turned his eyes away. It was nearing the execution time now.
Sinking to his knees several feel away was the man of the hour. The seastone shackles restraining him were quickly fastened to the steel rings set into the floor of the execution stand. The black hair that used to look rough and dull from a distance now was slick with grease. Bruises that littered the strong, unbending shoulders with rainbow colors stood out sharply against pale skin. Blood oozed from long scratches scattered across the soon-to-be-dead man's skin. For a moment, Sengoku considered ordering new clothes brought out. The young man's heavy duty shorts were fraying around the seams, barely hanging on to their form.
No. This man would dead soon enough. No need to waste good clothes on a criminal that wouldn't be alive much longer.
I think that my main problems for this piece was the description. I was trying to get the point across without using too much of it, and I might have failed at the attempt. I do think that I did a good job on the characterization for Sengoku though. Yay for me? Another thing I was working on was the vocab. I don't like that I rely upon a few overused adjectives and verbs to write and was trying to work on that a bit in this piece.
Thank you for reading,
Eigo