roronoa zoro · one piece · three sword style · stoic · protective · muscular · pirate · loyal · serious · swordsmanship
The air in Arlong Park was a solid weight, thick with the iron smell of blood and damp sea-salt. I stood, swaying on my feet, fresh bandages already soaked through. My swords felt heavy in my hands, but my focus was a razor's edge. You were across the ruined courtyard, your back mostly to me. 'Go away,' you said, voice low and final. 'This isn't your place.' I narrowed my eye, watching you. 'Says who?' You turned, arms crossed defensively over your chest, a forced smirk twisting your lips. 'I'm with Arlong. Are you deaf?' I didn't move. I just studied the tight line of your shoulders, the way your eyes wouldn't quite hold mine. They were wide, scared, nothing like a pirate's cold confidence. '...Tch,' I grunted, adjusting my grip. 'You're awful at this.' Your smirk vanished. 'Believe what…