( it was probably a stupid question considering what zoro now feels like is an obvious answer. he frowns as he chews, trying to do the polite thing and not stare at koby while he seemingly struggles with each word. it's β hard, though. his own feelings about mihawk being gone are complicated enough, still rapidly shuffling through being pissed off that he left them without saying anything, sad or disappointed or whatever the fuck that he lost his mentor. for koby, though ...
it's way bigger than that. he thinks about how he would be if the shithead cook disappeared β thinks about how he would probably rip trees out of the ground with his bare hands trying to find him, to fill the kitchen with the sounds of food cooking in the kitchen and the smell of clove cigarettes again. and nami β he can't even think about losing her without his chest aching, pulse racing, souls tied intrinsically together by their connection. wherever she is, she might feel him tug on it a little, even, just to calm himself down.
There are plenty of other warm places to stay. ( for example: the castle. also implied: here. ) At least until it gets warm out again.
( zoro's been mostly ignoring the sealskin that keeps sliding seemingly wherever it pleases β save for the flick of his tail beneath it before koby steals it back, gathering it up in his arms. it's a changeling thing, he thinks β a kind of mutual understanding. it'd be rude to point out zoro purring. it'd be rude to gawk at the soft fur beneath sanji's navel when he reaches up into a cabinet for something and his shirt comes untucked (hypothetically). it'd be rude to comment on koby's ... pelt. his nose wrinkles, though, and he sets his empty plate to the side, pointing at the silky smooth fur in koby's grasp. ) What's it trying to do?
( rude, maybe, but changing the subject seems more important. )
[He's good at loss. Koby thinks about rowing away from a burning ship, about standing on a dock, in a deserted street, in a tangerine grove. He thinks about the home he'd had, however briefly, and then he puts it out of his mind, a jagged-edged thing he refuses to let himself dwell on any further. There's a comforting numbness in the act of that, of pulling on the skin, the Changeling, the animal who thinks about nothing but here and now.
Unfortunately Koby isn't an animal, not at his heart. He's a person, a person who has somehow ended up caring very, very much about the people in this house. The potential of their loss -- all at once, which would somehow be more bearable than one at a time, two left here alone, delirious with loss, missing the third like a limb -- hangs over Koby constantly, keeping him tethered to humanity like an anchor. He feels it now, watching to make sure Zoro finishes the plate, leaves only a smear of blood on the smooth surface.
There's a huff of a laugh at the flat summary of his actions, a nudge of the glasses back up Koby's nose.] I don't feel the cold. I'm less...scrawny as a seal. [He's fairly cylindrical, actually. Aerodynamic.
The pelt pools in his lap, satiny between Koby's fingers as he finally loosens his grip. There aren't any wrinkles, the fur smoothing out immediately, pink-spotted and luxurious.] It wants to be taken, I think? Something like that, I've been doing some reading on legends and things, and the whole point of a skin is to be taken and held by someone else. It's like a curse? You get to transform, but you're always being hunted and always at risk of being controlled. [The pelt slips over his knee again, thick-furred and gleaming in the lamplight.]
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it's way bigger than that. he thinks about how he would be if the shithead cook disappeared β thinks about how he would probably rip trees out of the ground with his bare hands trying to find him, to fill the kitchen with the sounds of food cooking in the kitchen and the smell of clove cigarettes again. and nami β he can't even think about losing her without his chest aching, pulse racing, souls tied intrinsically together by their connection. wherever she is, she might feel him tug on it a little, even, just to calm himself down.
yeah. it was a stupid fucking question. but also β ) It sounds pretty stupid to me. ( he says it in his blasΓ© sort of way, nonchalant about it even if the thought of the little pink seal freezing in the river also sends a little pang of worry through him. huh. it's weird having friends. )
There are plenty of other warm places to stay. ( for example: the castle. also implied: here. ) At least until it gets warm out again.
( zoro's been mostly ignoring the sealskin that keeps sliding seemingly wherever it pleases β save for the flick of his tail beneath it before koby steals it back, gathering it up in his arms. it's a changeling thing, he thinks β a kind of mutual understanding. it'd be rude to point out zoro purring. it'd be rude to gawk at the soft fur beneath sanji's navel when he reaches up into a cabinet for something and his shirt comes untucked (hypothetically). it'd be rude to comment on koby's ... pelt. his nose wrinkles, though, and he sets his empty plate to the side, pointing at the silky smooth fur in koby's grasp. ) What's it trying to do?
( rude, maybe, but changing the subject seems more important. )
no subject
Unfortunately Koby isn't an animal, not at his heart. He's a person, a person who has somehow ended up caring very, very much about the people in this house. The potential of their loss -- all at once, which would somehow be more bearable than one at a time, two left here alone, delirious with loss, missing the third like a limb -- hangs over Koby constantly, keeping him tethered to humanity like an anchor. He feels it now, watching to make sure Zoro finishes the plate, leaves only a smear of blood on the smooth surface.
There's a huff of a laugh at the flat summary of his actions, a nudge of the glasses back up Koby's nose.] I don't feel the cold. I'm less...scrawny as a seal. [He's fairly cylindrical, actually. Aerodynamic.
The pelt pools in his lap, satiny between Koby's fingers as he finally loosens his grip. There aren't any wrinkles, the fur smoothing out immediately, pink-spotted and luxurious.] It wants to be taken, I think? Something like that, I've been doing some reading on legends and things, and the whole point of a skin is to be taken and held by someone else. It's like a curse? You get to transform, but you're always being hunted and always at risk of being controlled. [The pelt slips over his knee again, thick-furred and gleaming in the lamplight.]