[Sanji can't help but arch a brow at Colin's change in tone and that the winds have immediately gentled in time with the dance steps. Weird guy, this one. Under different circumstances, Sanji would probably profess to liking him.]
Of course I'm fine. [This? This blood? Zoro would cry laughing at the chef if he could see him now, or just shake his head in disappointment. Dartboard, the hell are you doing? Apparently making a monkey act of himself. Sanji feels his chest burn and the bitterness rise higher in his throat. He keeps his expression neutral and his tone blank]
No, I'm good. [His eyes close, one of his hands moving through his pockets. Eventually, he finds a wayward cigarette, a little bent because it'd slipped out of the carton during the scuffle. He slips it between his lips] It's been fun, shitheads.
He's got some thinking to do. We left a mark. You left a pretty big one.
[He grins, still moving through the steps. That is the problem with the dances he performs... he could certainly stop moving, let the sands and the winds die down. But to disappoint the world that he'd drawn out for this performance would be a grave insult. It was probably the one aspect of the dance that he understood just as well as his father. "Leave them wanting more" requires satisfaction in the first place. You can't just end it on a whim.]
And cook, look me up when you're cooled off. Something tells me we're not quite done overall.
[ He remembers how Colin had kept up his dance -- albeit in a different one -- even as they guided two shell shocked kids from the wreckage of a disastrous adventure. There's magic in that, he can feel it, but Sans doesn't understand the rules and mechanics the act falls under. Colin sure does, though, so perhaps at some better time he'll ask.
Right now, Sans is standing there, not yet making a move to head out, even if he nods in agreement.
Sorry, he isn't doing a damn thing, other than to unhitch the snag on time, torchlight resuming their own dance, until Sanji's left.
That's when he drops down to sit on the floor with a wheezy sigh, mopping at his skull with his sleeve. Hey, when he's said he's not much of a fighter, he meant that. He hasn't had a workout like that in months, and like hell he was going to undo everything he'd established with the cook by betraying just how weak he is.
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Of course I'm fine. [This? This blood? Zoro would cry laughing at the chef if he could see him now, or just shake his head in disappointment. Dartboard, the hell are you doing? Apparently making a monkey act of himself. Sanji feels his chest burn and the bitterness rise higher in his throat. He keeps his expression neutral and his tone blank]
No, I'm good. [His eyes close, one of his hands moving through his pockets. Eventually, he finds a wayward cigarette, a little bent because it'd slipped out of the carton during the scuffle. He slips it between his lips] It's been fun, shitheads.
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He's got some thinking to do. We left a mark. You left a pretty big one.
[He grins, still moving through the steps. That is the problem with the dances he performs... he could certainly stop moving, let the sands and the winds die down. But to disappoint the world that he'd drawn out for this performance would be a grave insult. It was probably the one aspect of the dance that he understood just as well as his father. "Leave them wanting more" requires satisfaction in the first place. You can't just end it on a whim.]
And cook, look me up when you're cooled off. Something tells me we're not quite done overall.
no subject
[ He remembers how Colin had kept up his dance -- albeit in a different one -- even as they guided two shell shocked kids from the wreckage of a disastrous adventure. There's magic in that, he can feel it, but Sans doesn't understand the rules and mechanics the act falls under. Colin sure does, though, so perhaps at some better time he'll ask.
Right now, Sans is standing there, not yet making a move to head out, even if he nods in agreement.
Sorry, he isn't doing a damn thing, other than to unhitch the snag on time, torchlight resuming their own dance, until Sanji's left.
That's when he drops down to sit on the floor with a wheezy sigh, mopping at his skull with his sleeve. Hey, when he's said he's not much of a fighter, he meant that. He hasn't had a workout like that in months, and like hell he was going to undo everything he'd established with the cook by betraying just how weak he is.
Geez. ]