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Jan. 4th, 2010 09:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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onepiece_300rating: G
media: fic
character: brook
word count: 226
prompt: anniversary
Three thousand six hundred fifty days, including leap years, is three thousand six hundred fifty-six days.
Brook absently adjusts the lapels of his suit and straightens his hat while he carefully adds another mark on the door that leads into the main cabin.
That would be... ten years to the day since he'd found his body again.
Or at least, he's pretty sure that was right. Brook had started the tally as soon as it became apparent that he was at the mercy of the currents, and he'd kept count every day since. There was a time between the sixth and seventh years that he'd stopped holding the numbers in his mind; partly because it scared him that he'd been adrift for so long but mostly because counting the days seemed so futile. He'd still faithfully added a mark every morning, though.
And he's actually not even sure if the count is exactly right-- there were days he's forgotten whether or not he had marked, and added one just to be safe, so the actual count might be lower than his count. He fervently hopes that this is the case.
After all, the less Laboon has to wait, the better.
Brook settles on the figurehead, sets his violin carefully on his shoulder, sweeps his bow grandly across the strings and waits for the day to pass.
media: fic
character: brook
word count: 226
prompt: anniversary
Three thousand six hundred fifty days, including leap years, is three thousand six hundred fifty-six days.
Brook absently adjusts the lapels of his suit and straightens his hat while he carefully adds another mark on the door that leads into the main cabin.
That would be... ten years to the day since he'd found his body again.
Or at least, he's pretty sure that was right. Brook had started the tally as soon as it became apparent that he was at the mercy of the currents, and he'd kept count every day since. There was a time between the sixth and seventh years that he'd stopped holding the numbers in his mind; partly because it scared him that he'd been adrift for so long but mostly because counting the days seemed so futile. He'd still faithfully added a mark every morning, though.
And he's actually not even sure if the count is exactly right-- there were days he's forgotten whether or not he had marked, and added one just to be safe, so the actual count might be lower than his count. He fervently hopes that this is the case.
After all, the less Laboon has to wait, the better.
Brook settles on the figurehead, sets his violin carefully on his shoulder, sweeps his bow grandly across the strings and waits for the day to pass.
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Date: 2010-01-05 02:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 02:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 04:48 am (UTC)I especially loved the beginning with Brooke straightening his clothes. It feels very in-character. :)
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Date: 2010-01-05 05:02 am (UTC)glad you liked! (:
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Date: 2010-01-06 06:50 pm (UTC)THIS was bloody depressing, in a brilliant kinda way. You've written Brook so in-character that I want to cry. I particularly adored the last line. Making the sweeping of his bow out to be 'grand' just feels right somehow.
The poignancy in this killed me. Just thought you'd like to know. Well done! ♥