Life had always been unfairly shitty to a certain blond chef - not that he'd ever let it get to him. It had always turned out alright in the end. He had shitty parents, who sold him and left him for dead for about a year until the old geezer came and enslaved him, err, rescued him from the unforgiving vastness of the city streets. A few more years of shitty treatment in the old man's restaurant earned him respect and a high position in the kitchen - the Baratie's kitchen - as the sous chef.
"Two orders of pan-seared pork for table four and three orders of roast beef platter for table seven!" shouted said sous chef as he supervised the state of his kitchen. He frowned in irritation, the old geezer had told him not to cook the entire week, but instead keep an eye on the new recruits to see if they were quick enough without compromising the quality of the food in itself.
Within record time, the dishes were up on the serving counter. He closely inspected the quality of the replicated dishes and based on the aroma alone, he concluded that it was up to par with the Baratie's standards. It was nothing close to the perfection of his own creations but it was definitely Baratie food - except for one thing.
"Clean up the dressing on this and get this served." The sous chef commented to one of the waiters before turning ominously to the recruit in charge of said flaw. "Tighten up your plating on the next dish or I'll have to fail you." he continued sternly before motioning a thumb across his throat threateningly. The victim of the threat nodded once and scurried away to most probably tighten the plating on the next dish.
He nodded to the waiters and stepped aside so that they could take the dishes and serve them to their respective tables. He'd have to check on the customers themselves later.
The blond followed the sight of the two waiters balancing dishes on their arms skillfully before pulling back his sleeve to check the time on his wristwatch. He sighed as he realised he was only about 4 hours and a half into his 12 hour shift. This was going to be a long day if he wasn't allowed to help in the kitchen. He sighed in defeat and stalked off to closely supervise the greenhorns - if they were lucky, or skilled enough they'd be able to get through this day with at least one recruit surviving.
Fast forward 7 hours, thirty minutes and one recruit less later, Sanji was walking home with his knife case slung lazily over his shoulder. Absently puffing on the cigarette between his lips, he pulled out his phone with his free hand and stared at the dead screen. Gin would have called by now. He usually always did after the hardworking chef ended his shift. This was rare, the occasions on which this happened were usually when Gin's phone ran out of battery and even then he'd find ways to call. An uncomfortable niggle of worry had started in his gut, he just shook it off as he being overly attached to the man
He'll just have to reprimand the raven once he got home. Ah yes, home. The home that he'd made his own - their own together. Speaking of together, it'd be their anniversary in a few days, wouldn't it? He'd have to start thinking about what he'd have to plan for the big day. Hmm, Gin was definitely a softie on the inside and albeit his rough appearance, he'd always been affectionate so the blond usually received spices as offerings of sorts.
It was Sanji's turn this time. He held the phone against his lips in thought before his eyes caught sight of a crowd gathering on the intersection a bit further ahead from where he'd been walking. It really wasn't any of his business but his curiosity was getting the better of him and he was passing by that intersection anyway, it wouldn't hurt to take a look right?
He pocketed his phone and quickened up his pace into a little jog towards the edge of the crowd, their fearful mumbles doing nothing to ease his curiosity. Even with his height he couldn't get a good enough look so he manoeuvred his way through he through the throng of people and stumbled the last few steps onto the crossing. Recovering from the slight trip, he ran his free hand through his hair as the sight before him was indeed terrible.
Police tape had blocked off the area from the general public but it did not hide the actual scene. A sleek black car had rammed into a lamppost, it's hood and lights beyond repair. The lamppost itself had been bent out of shape causing the light to lean inwards, morbidly casting a spotlight on the scene before him. Beside him, a woman in her late twenties seem to be looking on with a glint of intelligence in her eyes but also with curiosity. "Excuse me, my beautiful lady, my name is Sanji, I hate to be asking a blessing such as you of such matters, but do you know about what happened here?"
The raven haired beauty turned to him with a dainty smile, an eyebrow raising slightly. "Ah, pleased to meet you, Sanji." She held out her hand and as Sanji took it, she'd said "Robin" by way of greeting. Was that her name perhaps? "As for what happened here, it was quite the sight. The car drove with such speed that it had hit someone before losing control and colliding with the lamppost." She looked on in thought and added, "The person who had been hit actually flew quite a height before landing on the curb over there." Robin had pointed toward the rear bumper of the car with a delicate gesture. It was almost creepy but he would never describe a lady as such. No matter how many shivers had travelled up his spine while she described the incident.
Sanji's eyes followed the direction of the finger and he visibly winced as he caught sight of two feet behind the tail end of the car. Judging from the amount of blood and the angle of the feet themselves, the victim did not go painlessly. While the sound of the ambulance had gotten closer, he hadn't noticed it's arrival until the medics themselves brought a stretcher to carry the body - probably for an autopsy.
While the medics went to work on the body, Sanji noticed something a bit odd about the scene. He walked around towards the front of the car as far as the crowd and the police tape would allow, and he realised with a raised eyebrow that the driver himself was not inside the vehicle but instead the door to the passengers side was wide open. Shattered glass from the windshield were scattered everywhere, even onto the driver's seat - which was odd because if there was a driver at the scene, there shouldn't be glass on the driver's seat at all, right? Which begs the question, where is the driver? He rolled his eyes at himself. What was he doing? He wasn't qualified enough to make theories out of this, geez.
His attention was dragged back to the sight of the medics lifting a body onto a gurney. The body itself was hidden behind the car's chassis but soon enough they were pushing it back towards the ambulance. From the shoes alone he could tell they were male. The way the victim's lower half was bent awkwardly suggested more than just a painful landing. As the trolley was pushed from behind the car, all the chef could do was stare in detached pity. He had to pity the family that had to learn about the death of a relative - because let's face it, no human could lose that much blood and still live. He pitied the officer that had to break the news as well; there had been more than a few cases of policemen being battered by grieving kin who couldn't believe it - they'd always popped up on minor news from time to time.
Sanji had had enough of the gruesome sight and was about to turn around and leave because it was none of his business. He'd already played his part as the curious bystander, a life was gone and he'd see it on the local news anyway - along with all the sketchy details of the missing driver. But you see, life had always been unfairly shitty to a certain blond chef - not that he'd let it get to him. It never had and never would - or so he thought.
He'd taken his time to sling his case over his shoulder, glancing one last time at the scene and as he turned, he'd followed the gurney with a sidelong gaze until his eyes finally found the victim's face. Every moment from then seemed to stretch on in slow motion. The mumbling of the crowd had thinned out and merged into an unforgiving static scratching at his ear. His eyes widened and a sheen of sweat had broken out over his skin. The visual was forcing itself into his brain, which responded with every cell of his being rejecting the image.
*This can't be real*.
All he could feel was numb for a while in those few seconds of stretched out infinity, but then all at once, reality had crashed down as if the tears falling from his eyes were the signal to the advent of greater suffering.
He hadn't realised that he breached the scene until he held onto the gurney for dear life as police tried to pry him away from it. His legs had given out from under him and the hands pulling at his shoulders and arms were threatening to rip them off. The static still hadn't ceased but he knew he was screaming, or at least he could feel that he was screaming. He felt it in every heave as he dragged breath into the lungs that tightened, almost suffocating him. He felt it in every shake of his head as he tried to shake this godawful illusion away. He felt it in every tear that streaked across his pale complexion. He felt it in every fibre of his being, every cell seeming to vibrate in denial. Most of all he felt it in his heart as it was wrenched out of his chest, travelling up his throat and breaking out in the one word that defeated the static in raw power.
"GIN!"
AN: The first chapter of my first ever published fanfiction. I've written many but not much by way of them not being anywhere near complete or satisfactory, but I think this fanfic has enough juice in it for me to be motivated enough in writing it.
Since this is my first fanfiction, I'd be honoured to say that it's a pleasure to have you all as my readers and I would be grateful for any comments on my work. Please rate and review (gently because author is every sensitive hahah)
Thank you and see you (hopefully) next week.