whitehunter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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angryfistofgod2015-03-06 09:34 am
whitehunter) wrote in angryfistofgod2015-03-06 09:34 am
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[ He hadn't been at one of those fancy marine functions in a long time, especially after his promotion to Vice Admiral. The whole political situation just grated on his nerves even more after Garp finally stepped down and stopped being a marine. He doesn't even have that at them anymore. What he has is a rowdy group of idiot pyromaniacs waiting for him on his ship and his right hand.
Tashigi's good to him, she'll have his good whiskey ready and even more than that... She'll have a brave face and let the men run wild and use her as a distraction so by the time he gets back to their ship, he's alone and it's quiet.
The gel in his hair is worn down and he's already got the first three buttons of his under shirt undone and tie hanging loosely around his neck. He thinks he could go for some jazz, something mellow to go with the terror of dealing with the higher ups, as few as they are, and even more than that, the people who used to be his higher ups. They weren't too happy with his lack of giving a fuck when they questioned him about his choice to take post in the New World and the fact that he out right dodged it when they asked about Punk Hazard.
He really gives no fucks, but the peace is nice. It's why he's still on the deck with glass in his hand and a record playing in the back ground, letting his mind wander. He's leaning against the railing and thinks about the marinefold war. The War of Best. Mugiwara and generally everything in between. How hard he needs to work the idiots in his crew, to how he needs to make sure that Tashigi is standing on her own two feet and staying steady. No one can have weak legs here. Not in the New World. ]
Tashigi's good to him, she'll have his good whiskey ready and even more than that... She'll have a brave face and let the men run wild and use her as a distraction so by the time he gets back to their ship, he's alone and it's quiet.
The gel in his hair is worn down and he's already got the first three buttons of his under shirt undone and tie hanging loosely around his neck. He thinks he could go for some jazz, something mellow to go with the terror of dealing with the higher ups, as few as they are, and even more than that, the people who used to be his higher ups. They weren't too happy with his lack of giving a fuck when they questioned him about his choice to take post in the New World and the fact that he out right dodged it when they asked about Punk Hazard.
He really gives no fucks, but the peace is nice. It's why he's still on the deck with glass in his hand and a record playing in the back ground, letting his mind wander. He's leaning against the railing and thinks about the marinefold war. The War of Best. Mugiwara and generally everything in between. How hard he needs to work the idiots in his crew, to how he needs to make sure that Tashigi is standing on her own two feet and staying steady. No one can have weak legs here. Not in the New World. ]