CHAOS THREAD. DRABBLE TIME!!!

[silverwolfcc]

Here's how it works:

I give a prompt, people reply with drabbles filling the prompt and then prompt someone new at the end.

I'll probably write One Piece, but you can ask for other fandoms/things just realize they might be harder to fill. If you ask for RP-centric ones that I know I'll try to fill those easier than fandom ;) THIS CAN BE SHOWN TO ANYONE AND LINKED ALL OVER AND HAVE OTHERS JOIN IN.

SO. Keep that in mind and if you're gonna write anything over PG-13, mark it up top \o/ That way I know what to read j/k or am I


First Prompt:
Cold rain

Comments

[toujoursfluer]

Usopp had always imagined himself a little bit of a James Bond. He could pull off a tux really well, he liked to think and even if his car was kiinnd of a clunker, it was a 67 Impala and so an antique so that only added to his cool, he liked to think. And sure, his watch was just a Rolodex knock-off and more gold paint than gold and made his wrist turn green and when he said he had a hot night with his girls, Bridgit and Bernice, he was talking about his finches--but hey, no one needed to know that. And no, he wasn't British, but he'd watched enough Mary Poppins to fake it and, hey, he could really shoot a gun and shoot it well, too. Though that looked substantially less cool when everyone was wearing safety goggles and noise cancelling headphones. Did not go with a suit.

But aside from all that, he was a great James Bond. He was sure of this. Debonair. Suave. Exciting. And not an underpaid, overworked student living of ramen that was--he was convinced--98% cleverly colored cardboard.

That was until he saw that other guy. Taller than Usopp and effortlessly cool. He wore a quality suit, and no watch but that didn't seem to matter when you looked that good. Instead of jouncing out in wild kinky curls, his hair was straight and shining blond. He smoked like those classy people in old movies and he even walked like he owned the world and he knew it--but not proud haughty footsteps but a kind of liquid grace, like a cat.

Noot that Usopp had been stalking him at all. With a 20 hour credit load and two jobs, he didn't have time to stalk anyone. But the guy worked at a restaurant just over and down a little from the coffee shop Usopp slaved in and he couldn't help but notice him leave every day at promptly twelve.

Time even seemed to slow a bit as he walked and if Usopp mentally inserted a soundtrack, he would never tell anyone. He wouldn't tell anyone that he'd been so caught up in watching he'd burnt his fingers either, but then half the cafe saw that and he was a stuttering bumbling mess for the rest of the day.

Strangely enough, he never saw the guy return, whether it was too late or the guy was just that sneaky, he couldn't say--even though he always waited for it, always craned his neck to watch and whipped around to peer at every blond that slipped into his peripheral vision. It was getting so he almost gave himself whiplash once and startled half the customers in the process. Kaya had only laughed, though. She was the owner so he never got in trouble for it, which was why he was currently suffering neck strain. Though, no matter how many times he spun like a freakin ballerina to catch a glimpse of this guy returning, he never did.

That was just as well, though, Usopp thought as he made the grande doubleshot no whip hazelnut espresso that Mr. Dodge would kill him if he got wrong and why wasn't there any whip even though he'd expressly ordered there not to be as he did every damn day. The guy might catch him watching and then how would Usopp explain himself? You kind of remind me of James Bond? Wanna trade hair? Wanna go see a movie? Just-- just to catch his style, of course--nothing else. What else would there be right? haha.

Shoving that thought aside, and into a closet, and into another closet which was then put in a box and mailed to Bermuda, he offered the coffee to Mr. Dodge who scowled at him.

"No whip?"

"Completely forgot," Usopp said, wrenching his mouth into a grin. So much practice in that. And added a good amount of whipped cream before sliding it back. "Have a nice day, sir!" he said to the old curmudgeon's retreating back. He turned back to the counter and started to wipe it clean. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

"I'd feel sorry for the door," said a completely unfamilair voice behind him. Usopp whipped around, cringed at the twinging pains in his neck and then stared. Mr. Blond and Bond was standing on the other side of the counter, hands shoved in his pockets and grinning.

"Hey there. Hear you have good coffee. Better than the sludge I usually get the shitty old man."

"O...oh well you know..." Usopp said, and then couldn't think of anything else to say. It was like a nightmare. He could only stare. No. No bad Usopp. Say something. Be engaging. "I grow it myself."

....

Great going, tiger.

"Really?" the man said. "I'll have to taste it then." He leaned back a bit, holding a cigarette between his elegant fingers, though made no move to light it. "You seem to have talented hands."

"You seem to have talented everything," Usopp's mouth said without consulting his brain. The man blinked, taken aback. Usopp's wrenched grin was still there and he knew his teeth would break if he didn't go back away from this guy right the hell now.

"Let me get some more cups," he said in a more or less steady voice as he darted back into the stock room. He closed the door behind him and, in the semi-darkness, started to very quietly hyperventilate. Oh god. Oh god. What was he doing? What the hell was he doing? How could he lose his cool so easily. He buried his face in his hands. That was it. That was it. He would just have to quit this coffee shop, that was all. Go somewhere far away where really cool blond guys didn’t exist for Usopp to accidentally hit on. This was stupid. He was stupid. Idiot idiot idiot.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Usopp’s heart seized. Oh shit. What if it was him? What if narrative convenience had really come back to bite him in the ass? What if it was like Chekov’s gun? If you see a guy in the first act he’s going to be shooting off in your— No. No bad Usopp. Very bad Usopp. Another knock.

“Usopp?” Kaya’s voice. Sweet Kaya. Understanding Kaya.

“Just getting cups,” he said. Tripped over a box. Cursed. The door opened and he froze, feeling like a deer about to get hit by a Walmart truck.

“He’s gone,” she said. Oh crap she knew. Oh crap he’d left.

“O-oh? We-well I thought he wanted coffee buut I guess not.” Which was good. Good that he was gone. Very good. So good in fact that it was on the other side of good to exceedingly goddamned depressing.

“I filled his order,” she said, sounding faintly amused. Usopp felt his face heat. Geeze. Even Kaya was laughing at him. He got a stack of cups and turned to see her standing and smiling at him, filling the doorway. She didn’t move aside as he came closer, the half moon smile still on her face.

“Um…” he said, wondering what he should say. Admit. Couldn’t admit not to anyone.

“He wanted me to give you this,” she said, holding up a napkin. He took it and nearly dropped it as he saw a phone number written in a neat hand. Oh shit. Oh shit. His heart squeezed. He was going to die from this. He was so going to die. Oh shit.

“I… I see.”

“Give yourself a chance, Usopp,” Kaya said, leaning up and pressing a butterfly kiss to his cheek. “Just this once.” And then she left him with a number, a lingering scent of perfume and a heart that had just stopped beating.

prompt
Midnight train

[silverwolfcc]

Marco tried to scan the newspaper lines one more time, willing the information to suddenly make sense and directly deposit it into his brain like a nice clean wire transaction between bank accounts in the Cayman Islands.

No such luck. For now he gave up and folded it for later.

Try though he might, it'd been too long a day and his eyes were tired. That was, after all, why he planned to take the midnight train in the first place rather than drive.

He really needed to get an office closer to Pops out in the country. One that he could get clients to come visit him at instead of having to go to them in the city. Unfortunately, this would only ever be a pipe dream as Marco just wasn't in the kind of business where he could have people to come to him. Which was a shame, the idea of a nice suburban office with one of those water coolers and a lobby and secretary to make clients wait in just seemed like a delicious change of pace. Pity.

Edward Newgate, Marco's father, had moved out into the country a couple of years ago to settle down and peacefully retire. Of course, retirement bored him so he wound up running a farm as a hobby for health. It was strange to think of the strongest man in the underworld, someone who could probably take apart any nation if he so chose, running a dairy farm and looking after cows and hay, but hey, whatever made Pops happy. Especially if it really did lengthen his life, though Marco had his doubts about that. The nurses seemed to think it was working though, so that was good enough for Newgate's right hand man eldest son.

Even if it did mean living in the sticks and having to take a train into the city to commute every now and again.

For the most part it wasn't so bad, it was way too peaceful for what Marco was used to, but that was the point of it. Cows, hills, a place you could actually see stars when you went outside of night. Weird, but as Pops liked to say, "No one can stay the strongest forever." And it as better to be out in the middle of nowhere where his enemies couldn't find him than in the middle of the city dead in a gutter. Definitely better. It just meant a long commute for Marco.

He couldn't take his porsche in, nowhere to park it in the city, and really, a long drive this late at night after working the last 16 hours? He'd pass. Still, he was too paranoid to sleep on the train while he's got the briefcase that needs looking after, and that still left him with the problem that the newpaper's words stopped making sense to him awhile ago. Maybe if he went and grabbed a coffee from the cart -- but it probably wasn't running this late. Figures. Oh well, it shouldn't be more than a few hours to the station and he could grab something from the all night stand there.

Blue eyes gazed out the window at the quickly passing countryside, what little he could see of it. It was too dark to see much more than just lights in the distance, and they were starting to reach the countryside so lights were appearing less and less. Pity. He glanced at the woman diagonally across from him reading a book. The cover was missing its jacket, perhaps on purpose, so no title could be read, but Marco could have sworn he knew her from somewhere.

She had dark straight hair and blue eyes, and she was dressed in a black coat despite the weather. Still, long legs peeked out underneath and were fairly exposed in their stockings until the high-heeled black leather boots. She couldn't possibly be one of Pops' nurses, and while she vaguely reminded him of a librarian, certainly none in particular, and he suspected he only thought as much due to the book in her hand. Still, there was something vaguely familiar about her. He was running down a mental list of connections, famous faces, anyone he would recognize, when he finally realized that he was staring.

He glanced back outside in a hurry, though he still mentally ran down a list. Usually he was pretty good with faces, and in his line of work, it was needed. Then again, he was so tired he couldn't read, maybe he was imagining it? He snuck a very discreet glance back in her direction. Old girlfriend or one-night stand? She was his type, but still, he hoped not, even with a makeover, he was pretty sure he could recognize someone like that and if he couldn't, that would mean she didn't mean anything. And that just wasn't his style.

Unfolding the newspaper, Marco tried to read the comics, (really hitting a snag in his reading comprehension when he couldn't even do that) and tried once again to remember where, if anyplace, he'd seen the woman before. She seemed unperturbed by his earlier glances, but Marco gave up on the newspaper again and glanced over at the woman with sunglasses on the top of her head. Who wore sunglasses this late at night anyway? She had luggage, so she could have packed them by now. Unless they were for cover.

"I'm sorry, but I could swear I know you from somewhere," Marco confessed and offered her a handshake, hoping to get a name or something to drive him less crazy.

"We've never met Mr. Bird," she didn't even look up from her book.

Marco faltered a little, she knew his last name? But how? He dropped the hand, mind still racing to place a name to her face, when he suddenly laughed. "Aha, Nico Robin if I'm not mistaken? You're early! I wasn't expecting to see you for three more days!"

She was his contact within the Straw Hat gang. With Pops retiring he wanted to see every taken care of for when he died. And none of his own sons wanted it, but it was too risky with all their enemies for everyone to take a small piece and go their separate ways. Ace had been Pops most recent favorite, and the only one skilled enough, and young enough not to be jaded by the last few decades of bitter feuding and avoiding the law. Nothing was like the old days, as Pops liked to point out, and these days the young brats kept setting new standards without respect to the generations that had shaped the world they lived in.

Still, Ace didn't want the position either. As soon as Pops brought it up to him, the damn freckled kid laughed and said no way. If Pops really wanted though, they should ally with his little brother's gang. Just starting out, but less terrorist than a lot of the new gangs, and much more like Pops' and Roger's families had been back in the day. The first meeting to even discuss transferring things over and give each side a chance to know the other, as well as to give the Straw Hats a trial run to see what they were made of, wasn't for another three days. Until then Marco and Robin had been busy setting everything up. Well, and in his case, running everything else on top of it. There was a reason his family kept insisting he must be a workaholic.

He got a better look at the woman who was almost his rival. Definitely beautiful, and she'd already gotten the edge on him by knowing who he was before she even sat down.

Strong feminine hands clonked the heavy tome shut as she finally looked up at him. He was pretty sure she'd taken an extra long time just to make him nervous, or at least gauge his reaction. Still, Marco took it all in stride. She explained, "I thought I'd come early to scope everything out in advance."

"Good," Marco returned quicker than he actually meant to speak. Still, he approved of her being cautious. It wasn't just that she was protecting her own family, but also respecting the kind of threat the Whitebeard pirates still were. "I like a cautious woman, it reflects well on your crew." Damn. This was what being tired did to a man. He was admiring her own caution, while being incapable of it himself. And while he was usually this blunt, he wasn't usually this... stupid.

She arched an eyebrow as though half ready to point out that she didn't care how it reflected on her family or not, their actions would speak for themselves, but Marco beat her to it.

"If this is the front-woman, I can't wait to meet the rest," he leaned back in his seat, starting to relax a little.

Robin smiled mysteriously, her tone not as fond as it'd be from Marco, but certainly confident nonetheless. "I've no doubt they'll surpass all expectations."

At that, Marco just smirked lazily, "I should hope so." He wouldn't let just anyone take on protecting Pops' lands. Still, with the amount of potential everyone expressed seeing in this one newcomer, Marco was definitely curious to meet him. Robin was a little older than the other reported members, and before joining Ace's little brother, she'd gotten herself exiled from a few places. Not to mention her previous involvement with Crocodile... oh yes, she was one to be wary of. "Marco Bird," he offered the handshake again, "Just Marco is fine."

"As you wish Mr. Bird," she coyly grinned back, lightly shaking his hand. She was teasing him and challenging him all at once.

And he couldn't help but enjoy it. It was a feisty game of cat and mouse, but still, it was a public train and some things couldn't be brought up here and now. Robin herself clearly had more on her mind that couldn't be discussed in the public, so she simply held them back.

"Is this fate or did you purposely take the same train as me?" Marco grinned and put his feet up on the bench next to her, truly lounging in his seat now that he knew who she was.

"I don't believe in fate," the playful tone continued as Robin answered, "It was deliberate, yes."

"Oh? I'm flattered," he really did sound genuinely delighted that she'd sought him out, "It also makes it easier to offer you a tour of town."

She kept grinning, "Are you offering, Mr. Bird?"

"Aye, a bird's eye view," he stuck his tongue out, completely unapologetic about the pun.

"That was terrible," she scolded him lightly.

"I'll make it up to you with coffee when we get to the train station," Marco replied right back.

Robin perked up at that, "My, you're generous. Do you make such puns often? I may need to keep a running tab."

"Hopefully not too often," he laughed, "Or I'll go broke."

"So it is a regular thing," she murmured, clearly amused by their exchange.

"Only around very pretty ladies," Marco nonchalantly shrugged.

She opened her book back up and leaned back in her own seat, practically mimicking Marco's position by putting her feet up next to him. Though hers were more at an angle, which just gave him a nice distracting view of those long gorgeous legs. Marco drilled himself to keep his trained on her own blue orbs lest he get lost in checking out everything below the waist. She had to be doing this on purpose, and Marco was an idiot for letting the advantage slip even more into her favor. "Very well then," Robin went back to reading her book, perhaps reassured that he didn't pose any immediate threat. "Coffee with cream, and no sugars when we stop."

Marco arched an amused eyebrow of his own, "Duly noted." Somehow he'd just been had even though he offered as much. He was half-tempted to ask her plans for mode of transportation when they reached the Dworl's Wend, seeing as he at least had his porsche waiting for him, and the buses didn't run this late, but he half-hoped she didn't have any plans, just so he could offer her a ride. Maybe he could pay for that in bad puns as well. It was going to be a fun week.



---------
Library