Hello, Glad to be here, it's great to see all your smiling faces...
I'm
here tonight to bring to you live, from (insert place here) , my
one and only first official One Piece fanfic. Thank you. Thank you very
much.
Hunger
He ran a frustrated hand through his straight hair. Where was that idiot? He had failed to show up for breakfast and lunch, and it was already time for dinner.
"Come and eat!" he shouted to the whole ship, loudly ringing a bell he had put up in the kitchen.
The usual thundering of footsteps and shouts of "MEAT!" and "Hey wait for me!" and "Don't eat it all!" told him his nakama were on the way to get some dinner. But, like every other time today, one particular heavy footfall was missing.
He tried not to think about their absent crew member for too long. He didn't pretend not to notice whenever anyone 'liberated' ingrediants from storage, and there was enough stolen food hidden behind the bunks to last two days.
Nevertheless, he couldn't help feeling a subconcious pang of worry whenever he- or anyone else- missed out on meals.
"SANJI! Meat!" The captain's childlike voice interrupted his thoughts.
He mentaly cursed the worthless bonehead once more before setting the table for the impatient and remaining crew.
"What! Luffy, you idiot, that's mine! Give it ba-! Great. What am I supposed to eat now?" Just as the navigator's angelic voice graced the cook's feeble existance, pleading for another serving to replace her pirated food, the door burst open.
The cook imidiantly ceased verbaly gushing without knowing it as his gaze turned to the first mate.
He gave off a strong sent of sweat and seawater- more so than usual anyway- and his face was flushed from exertion. He looked like he had been soping wet and hastily dried, and his green hair was in dissaray, like his clothes.
The swordsman had been training- underwater with weights- and hadn't heard the bell any of the three times the cook had rung it, and hadn't kept any track of the time whatsoever. He had only just now noticed the sun sinking below the horrizon, and likewise only just now realised he had been starving.
One arm over his stomache, he groaned as he walked into the galley. "Man I'm hungry" he mumbled to himself. "'S already evening..." A loud rumble escaped from behind his green haramaki, as if to give no doubt of his condition.
Something inside the cook snapped. Not anger, just... something. The lovely navigator with no dinner, the swordsman with no food at all... He felt like his head would explode. The woman could go without food for one more minute, but it was wrong to keep a lovely lady waiting, very wrong and impolite. But, his other crewmate, the burly first mate, probably far more hungry than he had ever seen him before, what with all his training in the cold ocean...
The swordsman and the navigator were the first to pick up on the cook's distressed expression, him looking back and forth between the two of them. Brushing an orange lock behind one ear, she stood and walked over to her nakama.
"Sanji," she murmured in his ear, "I can wait. Give Zoro something to eat."
He didn't need telling twice. In less than a minute, he had prepared the largest meal that day- without making it look like it was any bigger than the others', of course- and set it before the swordsman, now seated at the table.
"Eat up, you swine. And if you're late to dinner one more time, I'll kick you to One Piece and back."
He made sure to lather his promise with as much loathing and pointedness as posible; he hated worrying. Especialy not for lazy marimo-head sword-breath idiots.
While the stupid Love Cook was fixing the thief her dinner, the aforementioned marimo-head was greatfully wolfing down the delicious hot food- without making it seem like he was even enjoying it at all, of course- and instantly felt a great deal better, with the extra weight in his stomache.
"Just try it, Mr. Prince. I'll slice you up so bad, there won't even be vapor left. And then I'll kill you."
He returned the threat with such vehemence, Davey Jones shivered in fright. He had seen the look on the cook's face, and he hated having to be worryed about. Especialy not by prissy cigarette-smoking skirt-chasing prince cooks. Especialy not.
Owari.
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