Sanji "flaming bullshit" Vinsmoke (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
concasse) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lucetilogs2012-09-24 06:37 pm
concasse) wrote in lucetilogs2012-09-24 06:37 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Sanji and whoever runs into him
What: Cooking adventures! Now with more unrelenting obsession and possible violence. \8D/
When: Backdated to the 23rd, a Sunday
Where: Seventh Heaven kitchen
Summary: Thanks to falling under the effects of rapture, Sanji's on a creative cooking binge and can't seem to stop. Cue chaos.
Rating: Possibly up to PG-13 for violence.
Heat the peanut oil first in a wok, about medium heat, make sure not to overdo it--
He's forgotten how long he's been in the kitchen. Hours? Minutes? Maybe days? Or months. Ha. Even though it feels like time has frozen in place for him, those last two possibilities should at least be concerning - if he could hold onto the thought for more than a few scant seconds. It's odd, to say the least, and the fact that he's thinking about how he can't seem to think for very long soon drowns under the swell of fidgety excitement that has him tearing around the kitchen to check the oven, adjust the heat, then eye the fridge as half a dozen new ideas scream for attention.
He only wishes time had stopped. Then maybe he could finish everything he wants. Already the kitchen counters are a mess, crowded and stacked with more food than they should be able to hold. Some are orders he forgot to ring out, others just cuisine he made on the fly. But all are at least a few hours old, staling, and very, very delicious.
Sanji barely spares any of it a glance.
Alright, then I toss the tofu into the oil, brown that shit up... hm, maybe should've let it soak up some of that broth-- Oi, no! Gotta put the wild rice on, too. He frowns, gnawing on the cigarette that he never bothered to light. Wild rice is so plain, so boring, that he roughly chides himself for bringing it up.
No no no shithead make it bigger.
Better.
Always better.
The oven beeps, one of the few sounds still able to cut through the noise and jittery excitement in his brain, and Sanji tosses open the oven. His muffins are done. He'd experimented a little, added some new spices and ingredients, really tried to shake things up for once. And oh, he's got to admit they smell like a piece of heaven. The chef leans forward, takes a deep breath, and grins.
Success. Not too shabby, either. And just think of what those pretty young ladies will say when he presents to them his humble offerings. Sanji slips on a mitt and pulls the delicate creations out, placing them on patch of free space to be forgotten as soon as he turns his attention elsewhere. But that's okay! He's got more ideas to experiment with, more techniques to try out, and all the ingredients he needs.
He won't have to leave the kitchen for a long, long time.
What: Cooking adventures! Now with more unrelenting obsession and possible violence. \8D/
When: Backdated to the 23rd, a Sunday
Where: Seventh Heaven kitchen
Summary: Thanks to falling under the effects of rapture, Sanji's on a creative cooking binge and can't seem to stop. Cue chaos.
Rating: Possibly up to PG-13 for violence.
Heat the peanut oil first in a wok, about medium heat, make sure not to overdo it--
He's forgotten how long he's been in the kitchen. Hours? Minutes? Maybe days? Or months. Ha. Even though it feels like time has frozen in place for him, those last two possibilities should at least be concerning - if he could hold onto the thought for more than a few scant seconds. It's odd, to say the least, and the fact that he's thinking about how he can't seem to think for very long soon drowns under the swell of fidgety excitement that has him tearing around the kitchen to check the oven, adjust the heat, then eye the fridge as half a dozen new ideas scream for attention.
He only wishes time had stopped. Then maybe he could finish everything he wants. Already the kitchen counters are a mess, crowded and stacked with more food than they should be able to hold. Some are orders he forgot to ring out, others just cuisine he made on the fly. But all are at least a few hours old, staling, and very, very delicious.
Sanji barely spares any of it a glance.
Alright, then I toss the tofu into the oil, brown that shit up... hm, maybe should've let it soak up some of that broth-- Oi, no! Gotta put the wild rice on, too. He frowns, gnawing on the cigarette that he never bothered to light. Wild rice is so plain, so boring, that he roughly chides himself for bringing it up.
No no no shithead make it bigger.
Better.
Always better.
The oven beeps, one of the few sounds still able to cut through the noise and jittery excitement in his brain, and Sanji tosses open the oven. His muffins are done. He'd experimented a little, added some new spices and ingredients, really tried to shake things up for once. And oh, he's got to admit they smell like a piece of heaven. The chef leans forward, takes a deep breath, and grins.
Success. Not too shabby, either. And just think of what those pretty young ladies will say when he presents to them his humble offerings. Sanji slips on a mitt and pulls the delicate creations out, placing them on patch of free space to be forgotten as soon as he turns his attention elsewhere. But that's okay! He's got more ideas to experiment with, more techniques to try out, and all the ingredients he needs.
He won't have to leave the kitchen for a long, long time.
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"It's very important." She grimaces for a moment, mentally grumbling, but slides her fingers into the spaces between Sanji's. Maybe a bit more than coaxing will help. She has her wiles, wit, and looks - why not use them on someone like him? It's better than what she herself thought of... "You'll be back before you know it. Puh~lease..." Fuck, fuck, fuck--his name, his name, uhhh... Black--Black something! No, Ero Cook wasn't it. Shitfuck, fucking Zoro bastard--what was it?! "S...S...Sanji! San~ji~kun..."
NAILED IT.
(yea)ROFL Perona plz
A shame that like all other methods, the victory is short-lived and utterly useless in the end. Perona can no doubt see what has become the familiar progression in Sanji's eye: fond attentiveness dwindling into confusion, further eroding into blankness, until he stares uncomprehending at the person in front of him, the last few moments having been dismantled and scattered like discarded pieces of ripped paper.
"I have to--" Fuck, how many hints do you need? Go the hell away, I'm trying to-- "Cook." Taking a step back, Sanji turns his head, tone crisp and final. "I'm busy."
He's sorry. Or rather, he wishes he could be. But now he really just wants her to leave.
IT WAS A FOOLPROOF PLAN SHUSH.
A deep breath, or quite a few, actually, are what calm Perona down, though she's still visibly seething with frustration. Oooh...whoever's doing this is going to be in such trouble...
"...I'm very sorry." But not for bothering you, chef. Oh, no. Perona's sorry for what she's going to do next - conjure up a duo of hollows and nod them toward the chef, which they immediately attack. It's not what she wanted to do, and she does really feel bad, but if she literally has to drag him out of this restaurant, then so be it.
WELL IT CERTAINLY WORKED FOR A TINY BIT. 1/2
His head smacks against the counter as he drops, first to his knees and then elbows, and lightly pounds at the floor. Why, oh why the hell did he think he was worthy of -apple cherry mountain pie cinnamon dessert baked in the oven for- living, never mind cooking food for other people? If he's reborn, maybe it will be as a -buttermilk mango-berry crumb cake latte with- shitty piece of lint. Or the plastic -stuffed mushrooms stuffed turkey stuffed duck stuffed stuffed stuffed what type of stuffing think- in a rotted wooden spoon. He'll take either option; no, that's not right, he deserves neither option, he deserves nothing but -get up get up get up get up get up--
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Really, he should thank her; those precious hollows she conjured up did him a favor, ridding him of every other unnecessary thought and feeling that had nothing to do with what's really important right now.
Damn, it feels good to be this focused.
"Where was I again?" It's not a question directed at her - frankly, she can disappear for all the damns Sanji will give. He snaps his head back, massaging out the kinks with one hand, and with a pleased hum on his breath, returns to the stove. Hmm, so many ideas to try out. No telling what he'll come up with next.
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...Okay. Now you're just pissing her off, chef. Like, a lot.
Bowing her head so the like casts a dark shadow over her eyes from the rim of her head, Perona grinds her teeth together and flicks her finger for the second hollow to swap out with the first. She doesn't have the patience for this anymore. Friend or not, the moment Sanji's down, she's going to grab him and drag his sorry fucking shitty ass as far as she can get before she has to repeat the process again. Fuck this and fuck you, Sanji, Perona's not even sorry anymore. She's just really annoyed now.
OKAY NOW MIGHT BE THE TIME TO GET SOMEONE ELSE IN THIS THREAD
The second shot hits, scooping him hollow again and leaving little room for anything else save the darkest parts of a man's soul, but only a few scant seconds pass before his eyes snap open, electric blue and deeply unamused.
If she's gotten a hold of him, she's in for a surprise - Sanji swings his legs and flips himself over into a crouch, caring little if she's pulled along for the ride. There's little concern to be found in his expression either, or recognition in his angry glare. The hard lines drawn into his frustrated grimace all point to one of the strangest moments Sanji will ever experience in his life:
He's pissed at her - for interrupting him, for trying to seduce him away from his true passions, for attacking him, for being in his fuckin space when he told her no. And if she plans on bringing out more of her hollows, she had best do it fast. In close quarters, Sanji's potentially a lot faster than those ghosts, and nothing would make him happier in this brief second than smacking her ass out of his kitchen.
YEAH WOULD BE GREAT. >_> /forgets who was supposed to get up in here
Instead, she heaves out a long breath and takes a few steps back again. She'd never back down if she were in her spectral form. He can bitch and whine and try to hit her as much as he fancies, but she'd only giggle. Unfortunately, she's not so fortunate to be in that form, and relents to letting the chef have his way as well as his space. But not without spitting out a soft curse and chewing her lip. She doesn't like that look, not one little bit. It's both terrifying, heartbreaking, and infuriating. She wants her cook back! The kind gentleman who treated her well so many times, and whom she finds pleasant company (and marvelous food) in.
"I'll leave." For now. Just for now. Just so she can calm down and put her head on straight. Strategize. So she backs up and right out of the kitchen.
Where she promptly takes a seat at the nearest table, regardless of if it's occupied or not, and slams both her fists on the table. Damn it.
no subject
There's a loud slam behind him and he tenses up, swiveling around at the direction of the noise; an upset customer? A female update customer? See now, Sanji would have already been flying out asking if something needed fixing or if one of his dumb (cough just Kotetsu cough) helpers botched something.
But nothing. He paces over, and he's not particularly a waiter (yet, just you wait, just you waaait), he can't just walk away from the situation. He clears his throat, frowning.
"Uh... Something wrong? Ma'am?"
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"You head chef has lost his mind and you imbeciles aren't doing a thing about it!" Or...not. "He's ruined my meals countless times and my very appetite as well! And he's--...he came close to possibly attacking me when I tried to persuade him to leave the kitchen." With brute force, but y'know. "So unless you can drag that sorry excuse for a man away from his accursed oven, I don't think you can help me one bit."
1/2
...
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He turns and huffs.
"Alright. I'm gonna stop this. He's been doing this way too long; it's not... uh. Whats the word—uh." He had a word in mind, but fuck it, he's too determined to even remember what that hefty word is. "It's unhealthy! Don't worry ma'am, I'll figure out what's going on in that dumb head of his...!"
Gotta do it, I'm a hero.
...
Also a friend. Sanji's allergic to the word around Kotetsu, though.
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But once Kotetsu starts storming off on his own, to confront the chef, is when Perona actually stands right up and grabs the back of his shirt, tugging him back. "Wait! You can't be thinking of going alone, can you?" She scowls, and shakes her head. "I'll accompany you, and do what I can if things get...difficult. But you'd better do your best to protect me, and get Mr. Cook out of this kitchen! I don't know what's wrong with him, but I want it righted as soon as possible!"
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"You may need my help..." Seriously, she's not sure just how strong Sanji is, but her instinct tells her now to underestimate the guy. Especially if he's coo-coo and without his inhibitions. This may get ugly. "Do what you can, and I'll assist if necessary."
GANBARE, MEATSHIELD. 8D
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So he goes ahead and walks into the kitchen with a cautious look on his face, until he does find Sanji—just where he'd been for a while now. He doesn't want the young ma'am getting herself hurt, because as it is... he has a bad feeling about all of this. Has had one for a while, but he thought maybe it was just his nerves being weird. His voice is relatively light when he addresses the chef, though.
"Oi. Sanji. I think you've been working enough hours today, don't y'think? Not to mention, you'll get yourself too sick to even do anything else..."
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Oh well, she'll just watch and wait, one hand behind her back and ready to make a few hollows if necessary. There's really not much else she can do that doesn't involve blowing anything up, so... Good luck, old man. :|
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"Get out."
And that's the only reply you're getting. Thank Perona and the plethora of fuckin' patrons who wore down the last of his patience. They have five seconds to get out, or he'll just escort them to the door the best way he knows how.
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That said, the answer is obvious.
He folds his arms, frowning, a prickle of blue light slowly taking over his outline.
"No."
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Well then.
The same little voice that insists it's a bad idea to harm his friend is the same one screeching at Sanji to stop, drop the knives, you don't use those in fights, idiot. But the hand doesn't still until there are two in one fist, each curled between a finger. He drops his spatula and turns.
A little unorthodox of him, but he has a kitchen to defend. And Kotestu won't back off if asked nicely - Sanji has experienced the proof of this time already.
It's a shame, really. He'll just have to die.
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Regardless, he doesn't stray from where he stands.
He remembers Pao-Lin, confused with her katana, and his stomach sinks. The hard expression he'd maintained fades into something much sadder.
"... I won't let you do anything you're gonna hate yourself for later."
He doesn't wanna fight you... but he will if he has to.
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To be honest, it would serve him well to get rid of her first (no, no it wouldn't! That's Perona-chan!). As for why he doesn't...
His energies might be focused on defending his sanctuary now, but the buzz still remains - loud, demanding drags at his attention, insisting he drop the fight and turn around. There's still cooking to be done, so much cooking.
He can't cook yet, though, until they're gone. Focus, just a little.
So... Sanji doesn't move. He stares and watches Kotetsu's frame glow -- and counts off the seconds.
... Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen...
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"...When he is down, subdue him. Do whatever you can to immobilize him." Her words are whispered softly, hoping only the older man can hear, and opens her palm behind her back. From it, four hollows emerge slowly, and seep into the floor, slithering around like little moles until they're in place. It should work. Four should work, if not two. Four at once is usually enough to destroy even the strongest's spirit. Even a few seconds, just to immobilize him for just a few fucking seconds... "Don't hesitate, old man. And don't touch the ghosts yourself."
One hand up, and the ghosts rise from the floor effortlessly, surrounding the chef from all sides with their arms spread, and swoop down on him. Work. Please, work. Please.
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He's not one to plan too far, but that'll do.