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— SALTBURNT INBOX.
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME:
LOVECOOK
text ❖ audio ❖ video
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME:
LOVECOOK
text ❖ audio ❖ video
( adjusting to life at the mansion is — really hit or miss, depending on the day. the regularity of everything is fucking weird: breakfast, fucking around, lunch, fucking around, dinner, fucking around, then a seemingly agreed upon bedtime. zoro's used to staying up at odd hours when it's his turn to keep watch from the crow's nest, or waking up at the ass crack of dawn to hunt prey to bring back to the cabin so they don't starve. some days, he doesn't want to eat breakfast at 9 am on the dot. some days he doesn't want to see some shithead cook in the dining room trying to charm a maid or edge his way into the kitchen to prepare something special for someone special.
it's part why he spends a lot of nights in nami's room, honestly — and occasionally koby's, too, when zoro's feeling particularly pathetic and isn't in the mood to talk about his feelings because at least koby will listen when zoro tells him to shut the fuck up about it. it pisses him off to lay in his own offensively large bed at night thinking about the fact that there are only two walls and a bathroom separating him from some asshole that loves him but pretends that he doesn't. even though he's finally figured out a way to remember where his room is, it's better off this way — even if it means sometimes accidentally falling asleep on a pile of mats in the manor's huge gym at 3 am.
zoro leaves dinner early tonight, angrily tugging at the bow tie around his neck that feels like it's strangling him. it's one thing to stare at a certain blonde across the room for a little too long because the fancy, expensive clothes this place has suit him and he looks stupidly good — and it's another to get caught. he shucks off his clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor, stepping into the hot water he's drawn into the large claw-foot tub in the center of the bathroom and sinking into its pleasantly scented depths. nami says she likes bubble baths because they're relaxing. zoro needs to fucking relax.
— and he maybe does, for a little while, arms draped lazily over the lip of the tub, head tipping back, eyes closed. when the door opens, zoro tenses, brow furrowing even if he remains determined to keep his eyes closed and look serene and unfuckingbothered. )
If you have to piss, go piss and then fuck off.
it's part why he spends a lot of nights in nami's room, honestly — and occasionally koby's, too, when zoro's feeling particularly pathetic and isn't in the mood to talk about his feelings because at least koby will listen when zoro tells him to shut the fuck up about it. it pisses him off to lay in his own offensively large bed at night thinking about the fact that there are only two walls and a bathroom separating him from some asshole that loves him but pretends that he doesn't. even though he's finally figured out a way to remember where his room is, it's better off this way — even if it means sometimes accidentally falling asleep on a pile of mats in the manor's huge gym at 3 am.
zoro leaves dinner early tonight, angrily tugging at the bow tie around his neck that feels like it's strangling him. it's one thing to stare at a certain blonde across the room for a little too long because the fancy, expensive clothes this place has suit him and he looks stupidly good — and it's another to get caught. he shucks off his clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor, stepping into the hot water he's drawn into the large claw-foot tub in the center of the bathroom and sinking into its pleasantly scented depths. nami says she likes bubble baths because they're relaxing. zoro needs to fucking relax.
— and he maybe does, for a little while, arms draped lazily over the lip of the tub, head tipping back, eyes closed. when the door opens, zoro tenses, brow furrowing even if he remains determined to keep his eyes closed and look serene and unfuckingbothered. )
If you have to piss, go piss and then fuck off.
[ all the comforts of the mansion can't make him relax — not the soft beds, not the fine food (not as good as his), not the plush carpets beneath his feet or the priceless artwork adorning the walls. he feels like an impostor even as he fits in with criminal ease, flitting about with a flirtatious smile on his face when he's in the dining room, trying to weasel his way into the kitchen so he can secure a spot where he feels most comfortable.
because he is decidedly not comfortable in his suite, alone as he is, knowing zoro is one bathroom away. the bed feels too large, too cold, too empty after months of warm limbs crowding together. the sleek walls look unnatural after gazing at rough hewn wood that zoro had fitted with shelves and knobs so that sanji could hang his pots and store utensils. nothing feels right, not even his own body that he spends each night tracing with shaking fingertips, wondering how something that should be familiar could feel like such a betrayal. it's a return to normalcy, and yet it couldn't be more unwelcome.
long stretches of time pass where he doesn't hear zoro at all, usually because zoro gets lost wandering around the manor's shifting halls. good. sanji would rather have the entire suite to himself. he's not in a sociable mood unless the person who wants to socialize is nami (or some other pretty girl, because it's not like he can just ignore a lady when they bat eyes at him), so all the better when he can pretend that zoro doesn't exist entirely. the only other good thing about having zoro as a suitemate is that he never, ever has to wonder if the bathroom is occupied. it never is, because zoro doesn't believe in bathing.
he goes from pissy to downright vengeful when he walks in to see zoro lounging in the tub. ]
What the hell are you doing here?
[ sanji is already stripped bare, his towel wrapped around his waist, a plush, bunny-eared headband holding his bangs back, a pair of pink slippers on his feet. he immediately wishes he were clothed, which is a ludicrous thought considering the things he's done in bed with zoro, his nipples pebbling suddenly from the memory of a rough kitten tongue laving over his skin, milky droplets running down — shit. ]
Get out of the tub, you shithead. You don't even know what you're doing. Did you lose your way to the lake?
[ he stomps over, his eyes falling on the pearly drops of water slipping down the muscled planes of zoro's chest. slipping his towel from his waist, he seats himself on the edge of the tub, drawing one leg up in what might be considered comely for anyone else, but in this case holds a very specific threat for zoro's personhood. ]
because he is decidedly not comfortable in his suite, alone as he is, knowing zoro is one bathroom away. the bed feels too large, too cold, too empty after months of warm limbs crowding together. the sleek walls look unnatural after gazing at rough hewn wood that zoro had fitted with shelves and knobs so that sanji could hang his pots and store utensils. nothing feels right, not even his own body that he spends each night tracing with shaking fingertips, wondering how something that should be familiar could feel like such a betrayal. it's a return to normalcy, and yet it couldn't be more unwelcome.
long stretches of time pass where he doesn't hear zoro at all, usually because zoro gets lost wandering around the manor's shifting halls. good. sanji would rather have the entire suite to himself. he's not in a sociable mood unless the person who wants to socialize is nami (or some other pretty girl, because it's not like he can just ignore a lady when they bat eyes at him), so all the better when he can pretend that zoro doesn't exist entirely. the only other good thing about having zoro as a suitemate is that he never, ever has to wonder if the bathroom is occupied. it never is, because zoro doesn't believe in bathing.
he goes from pissy to downright vengeful when he walks in to see zoro lounging in the tub. ]
What the hell are you doing here?
[ sanji is already stripped bare, his towel wrapped around his waist, a plush, bunny-eared headband holding his bangs back, a pair of pink slippers on his feet. he immediately wishes he were clothed, which is a ludicrous thought considering the things he's done in bed with zoro, his nipples pebbling suddenly from the memory of a rough kitten tongue laving over his skin, milky droplets running down — shit. ]
Get out of the tub, you shithead. You don't even know what you're doing. Did you lose your way to the lake?
[ he stomps over, his eyes falling on the pearly drops of water slipping down the muscled planes of zoro's chest. slipping his towel from his waist, he seats himself on the edge of the tub, drawing one leg up in what might be considered comely for anyone else, but in this case holds a very specific threat for zoro's personhood. ]
[ !!! ]
i’ve charmed my way into the kitchen several times now. they have tangerines here, perfect for tarts.
not today. we should be celebrating you! don’t worry, the best chef in the east blue still has time to whip up a feast for your special day, nami-swan. ♥
i’ve charmed my way into the kitchen several times now. they have tangerines here, perfect for tarts.
not today. we should be celebrating you! don’t worry, the best chef in the east blue still has time to whip up a feast for your special day, nami-swan. ♥
Edited 2024-07-05 11:55 (UTC)
sanji. what do you think of this place?
( Someone is still trying to wrap their head around things it seems. Luffy has noticed that despite people saying there's no way out, not a lot of people appear to be looking for one either..... )
( Someone is still trying to wrap their head around things it seems. Luffy has noticed that despite people saying there's no way out, not a lot of people appear to be looking for one either..... )
(The next time Sanji leaves his room he'll find a small bag of rough-shaped sugar cookies in a bag on the ground by his door. The label says Sanji. Only fair as captain that I make you something! Luffy.
Said cookies look passable and probably would have been, had Luffy checked the ingredients and used sugar rather than salt. It's the thought that counts, right?)
Said cookies look passable and probably would have been, had Luffy checked the ingredients and used sugar rather than salt. It's the thought that counts, right?)
[ it's not the captain's job to feed him. and yet. ]
i find it's actually less work if you use cookie cutters, but i prefer the look of every single cookie being mismatched. makes for good, uneven baking, too.
i ate the whole bag!
[ he sends luffy a picture of the sugar and salt dispensers, which now have sanji's neat scrawl on the bottom in marker labeling which is which. ]
i've never seen you bake before. new hobby?
i find it's actually less work if you use cookie cutters, but i prefer the look of every single cookie being mismatched. makes for good, uneven baking, too.
i ate the whole bag!
[ he sends luffy a picture of the sugar and salt dispensers, which now have sanji's neat scrawl on the bottom in marker labeling which is which. ]
i've never seen you bake before. new hobby?
sanji my man
i know youre prob gonna be insanely busy with holiday cooking coming up
but if i needed a batch of eggnog for say
idk at least 200 people
do you think you could swing it
i know youre prob gonna be insanely busy with holiday cooking coming up
but if i needed a batch of eggnog for say
idk at least 200 people
do you think you could swing it
( left outside sanji's door on the 12th, sanji will find what might be a familiar bag, reminiscent of sol & scroll's paper bags. the items inside are folded in scant tissue paper, like their wrapper instinctively intended to keep the fragile items tucked inside safe, and decided — at the last second — not to bother. all of the items inside are handpainted, including: an ashtray for his cigarettes, drink coasters in the shapes of various colorful fruits, a set of four plates with floral designs, a decorated tray to hold his eggs as he bakes, and a kitschy set of measuring cups.
underneath the pile of gifts sits a hastily written note that appears jaggedly torn off from a journal page: )
I couldn't let these go to waste, and there's no other chef in the kitchen that would make use of them. I made these for you when I still thought we were friends — but friends don't let their other friends think badly of them, and then do nothing to defend them when they're being treated unfairly.
That's not your fault. It's mine, for thinking anyone in this place won't put their own people above everyone else.
We're even, now. I don't owe you anything more for what you did for me.
— Alina
underneath the pile of gifts sits a hastily written note that appears jaggedly torn off from a journal page: )
I couldn't let these go to waste, and there's no other chef in the kitchen that would make use of them. I made these for you when I still thought we were friends — but friends don't let their other friends think badly of them, and then do nothing to defend them when they're being treated unfairly.
That's not your fault. It's mine, for thinking anyone in this place won't put their own people above everyone else.
We're even, now. I don't owe you anything more for what you did for me.
— Alina
[The gift comes wrapped meticulously in paper that, while not strictly holiday-themed is nevertheless very appropriate, considering who it’s from. The gift is inside, nestled in pale blue tissue paper: An assortment of candied fruit, nuts and chocolates from the faire, for those of his friends who actually eat. For those who don’t, this portion of the gift is replaced with a simple calendar.
A jar of tea courtesy of Sol & Scroll, because everyone needs more relaxing sleep around here. (He took off the label for you, Sanji, shhh).
For Sanji, the earrings he'd lent him during the drag show, and a tie.
The note, on thick, cream-colored card stock, is in a somewhat wobbly, but earnest hand:]
The note, on thick, cream-colored card stock, is in a somewhat wobbly, but earnest hand:]
Sanji -
I miss her too. You have a knack for finding strange, uncomfortable, weird kids and making them feel safe. Like they have a family.
You did that for me. Whatever happens after this place, I'm always going to be grateful for that. Thank you.
I try not to spy, but if it helps: things aren't as bad as you think they are. Nobody who you've loved like that could ever hate you.
Merry Christmas
- Koby
my feet. they can kick you into outer space.
you're gonna have to do double duty. power's out, so the perishables have gotta be prepped and cooked before it goes bad. and pack half the meat up. i'm going outside to bury it so it'll stay frozen. we'll need it in two weeks if no other deliveries come.
[ he's trusting u to remember where the stash is ]
you're gonna have to do double duty. power's out, so the perishables have gotta be prepped and cooked before it goes bad. and pack half the meat up. i'm going outside to bury it so it'll stay frozen. we'll need it in two weeks if no other deliveries come.
[ he's trusting u to remember where the stash is ]
[shanks has done his part, nami is reeling and lost and dizzied, but she's not the only one who loved zoro. she's not the only one who needs to know. so:]
Zoro's gone.
I've looked everywhere, but I can't feel him and neither can Shanks.
I think he went home.
Zoro's gone.
I've looked everywhere, but I can't feel him and neither can Shanks.
I think he went home.
[ Having seen the network post responsible, it'd be a lie to say that Silco doesn't know why Sanji submits an application to work at the club, but— it's still baffling to see someone follow relatively idle instructions with absolutely no question. Given the house's state, it takes him a little longer to scrounge up the gold hexagon-shaped pin that finds its way, midway through the month, to Sanji's tent, safely tucked into an envelope along with a note: ]
Sanji,
Welcome to the Hex Club.
I look forward to working with you.
— Silco
* For clarity's sake: The pin is merely a gift, not an expected part of your daily dress when operations resume.
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