GROWING PAINS / zoro.

ELEVEN / stories from shimotsuki village.

"talk to him. tell him stories. sing him sea shanties for all i care. he may not reply, but at least he'll know his crew are still there with him." zeff told them before he took his leave, sanji staying behind.

anjali brought up a chair to sit beside zoro, going to grab his hand only to realize that there was still blood all over her.

"i'll watch over him. you need to get cleaned up." nami offered, squeezing anjali's shoulder for support.

the copper haired woman nodded, quickly turning and going to clean up in order to return.

she only took a few minutes to wash up, though longer than she had planned for. the blood didn't seem to wash off no matter how hard anjali tried. even when she thought it was gone, the woman blinked and her fingers were once more coated with a fresh layer.

nami gave back anjali's seat without complaint, leaving the room to let the copper haired woman talk.

with hesitation, anjali held zoro's cold and clammy hand.

"the chef said to tell you stories, but i was never much of a storyteller." she hummed softly, rubbing her thumb gently over the man's knuckles.

"the chief always told us that there is nothing useful about a made up story." anjali began. "that nobody wanted a hidden meaning in a children's book."

"i don't agree. there's a hidden meaning to every story. even the ones we've lived through. do you know the story of 'the three swordmen', zo'?"

anjali felt warmth within her chest, using that old nickname by which she had once called for the young zoro so fondly.

"it's a story that takes place in shimotsuki village, a long time ago. within the village, there lived three children. they trained day and night to become master swordsmen. one was the daughter of the chief, and the other two were village commoners."

"the three had always been different from the rest. the two village commoners would get made fun of for their strange hair colors of copper and green, teased at and mocked by older kids. but then they learned the way of the sword, and grew to become talented swordsmen." anjali paused, adding with a chuckle. "and swordswomen."

"the three became best friends. the daughter of the chief was a prodigy. she was unmatched in talent, and none of the children could best her."

"but she had doubts. doubts over who she would become in the future. doubts of her strength, and if growing up a woman would eventually make her weaker than a man. the daughter of the chief never read fairy tales. she knew what life was and how cruel it could be. both she and the red haired child were born at a disadvantage."

anjali tightened her hold on zoro's hand.

"one day, she died. her two best friends weeped for her death, one so sudden that there had been nothing prepared to guide her on her journey to the afterlife. the chief pulled aside the young village girl, telling her that she would be the one to honor his daughter's dying wish and take her place as the next village chief. "

"the young girl, ridden with grief, accepted a sword that wasn't hers and stood on the platform that wasn't meant for her, all because she wanted to do good for her best friend's family."

a stray tear plopped onto the pirate hunter's bed, the fabric soaking it up and turning the material dark.

"the three friends broke apart, one in death, and the other two in life. many mistakes were made, many were said, but in the end, they each went their separate ways."

"the girl grew up to become the village dog, always at the chief's disposal but never enough to be his replacement. she didn't even have a sword that was meant for her and her only, having to use the old swords that were chipped and rusted. just like her." anjali softly sighed.