fierybluebird | [Video/Written] For Whom the Bell Tolls

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[Video/Written] For Whom the Bell Tolls

[Marco's a little wearier than normal, his voice is composed and deadpan, but his overall amusement is clearly worn a little thin today.]

Thanks to everyone who joined in the dodgeball tournament, eh? It was a lot of fun, and if you missed out, keep an eye on the next S.O.S. Brigade event, I'm sure it'll be a blast. [ooc: It's still going on! Feel free to join in!]

My littlest brother's been taken by the Malnosso, so if anyone's still looking for New Feathers, keep an eye out for Sabo too please. Hopefully he'll be returned soon.

It got me thinking though, about a poem I found by John Donne.

For Whom the Bell Tolls
by John Donne

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

The smartest woman I've ever known said once that we're all connected here. Friends, allies, or enemies, we do all have in common that we're trapped in this enclosure together, for better or worse. It's something to think about I guess.

It's nice having a lot of books from other worlds to read, eh. Does anyone else have a favorite poem they'd like to share?

[The following is filtered from Ace 75%:]
I have a favor to ask of all the cooks in the village. Or rather, of any of the cooks in the village, or anyone interested. Ace isn't alone in having a rough time here lately, so I'd like to do something to help cheer him and the others up. Sometime before Christmas if we could all throw a feast and come together, I think it'd be good for everyone, eh? We could have cooking contests for amateurs or try new recipes or anything. Anyways, if you think it's a good idea, and you're interested, let me know.

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[He does catch it and pauses.]

Something amiss?

[Part of him was ready to let it slide, to not call her out on it, but his instincts tell him not to do that this time. Not if he really cares, and he does.]

I'll see you when you get here, Marcchan.

[She ends the feed. She doesn't want to get into it. Not now. Not like this. Perhaps they can sort it out when he arrives but before then, this is for the best]

[He just nods solemnly and flies on over. It's after dinner, after he settled thing down with Leanne and Ace, so by this point he's good to go. He brought a book; the works of Edgar Allen Poe, he thought she might get a kick out of it, and an added blanket just in case.

Before long though, she'll hear a familiar tapping at her window.]

[Robin is tucked up in bed with two cups of tea steaming on the bedside table and a book on her lap. A pair of hands will open the window long enough for you to get inside and shut again to keep out the cold.]

Good evening, little bird. Did you bring me a present?

Aye, a book. Though I haven't actually finished reading it yet.

[He flies inside and gives her a phoenix hug and affectionate birdie nuzzle.]

It's a compilation of many stories and poems by the same author.

[She slips an arm around him, pulling him close and nuzzles him back, pressing her lips to the yellow flames before settling the book on her lap]

Edgar Allen Poe? [She traces his name on the cover] He lived a sad life from what I can remember. He died in the gutter. [What a horrible way to end up but she supposes everyone comes close now and again. After a moment she glances at him.]

Would you like some tea? It's chamomile. It's said to be very relaxing.

[He chirps happily at the kiss and snuggles a little closer into her lap. All the love for Robin forever... At the question about tea, he answers with a quick nod.]

Yes, please.

[Which reluctantly requires him to switch back to human, however. #Firstworld bird problems.]

I could use a bit of relaxation, eh.

And Poe's a bit... Well, I'm beginning to get a theory on poets, but I could be wrong at any rate.

Edited 2012-11-25 03:54 (UTC)

[She shifts a bit to accommodate his form and then hands him his tea, but keeps an arm resting lightly against his back. She takes her own tea and opens the book, glancing at the words. You might think I'm mad indeed]

He is a bit...

[She can tell just by looking at it]

What is your theory?

[And she'll rest her head against your shoulder and listen]

That they're all even more manic depressive than Ace.

[Wraps an arm around behind her waist and reads over her shoulder.]

That and their words a byproduct of it. [Sips his tea. He likes it burn-your-mouth-off hot.]

Firefist-san is manic-depressive?

[She's not entirely sure what that means exactly, other than a faint notion of the concept. As for his other statement...]

I suppose that would depend on how you define a poet. Anyone can write poetry after all. Do you mean all published poets? All poets of a certain type?

Nah, I'm just kidding about Ace. He's more... fiery. Hotheaded temper and all that. Which I'm sure you've seen.

Published poets and those that I can find books of. Robert Frost just seemed a little depressed, but Emily Dickinson... she was definitely manic depressive. I'm not even sure what was up with Lewis Carroll, eh.

It's strange how the best poets and stories are often the saddest. There is no joy without tragedy.

[Though that is part of life. Some people have an easier time finding the joy than others. Yet, in the end, everything ends in a tragedy. No one lives forever. Though Brook has the closest shot of anyone. She starts to read the tale of the madman who obviously killed someone and is obviously wracked with guilt. She says half to herself]

I can't tell if he was mad to begin with or driven to it.

I suppose so, eh. Or at least there's more depth to be had when things get sad as well. Nothing to learn from without dark times.

[Glances up at her.] You read Lewis Carroll too? [He might be a little off on who that was referring to.]

No, I was referring to this story. [She taps the page. Though she is not terribly in the mood for reading stories of madness and murder just now.]

Light can be found easier in the darkness, ne? [She slides down a little to rest her head on his shoulder, and briefly nuzzles his neck. He is her light. Even though he shouldn't be.]

Maybe only the mad survive.

[Which means all of her nakama are fine]

Ah... of course. Should have known. What's this one about, eh?

[Grins at the small snuggle and wraps both arms around her to hold her protectively close, before giving a small dark chuckle at her last comment.] Then my crew will all be safe. [Great minds think alike in this case?]

Something about a murder and a heart.

[she's not entirely sure. In any case she relaxes into Marco's warmth, closing her eyes. It's almost strange how good this feels. How nice it is just to be with someone]

My crew will be safe, too. Though, if nothing else, we'll make history, ne?

[Though unfortunately to make history usually required one to be dead first]

Tell me something about the New World...

Tell-tale heart by Edgar Allen Poe? I like that one.

Aye, history I can't wait to see, eh.

[He rubs his chin and then affectionately rubs the scruff lightly teasingly against her skin.] Have you and your crew seen Hand Island yet? It's one of the early ones in the New World.

[She chuckles a little and pushes his head away but teasingly. She doesn't really mind it.]

I haven't seen the New World yet. Not even Fishman Island. [She reaches up and lazily strokes her fingers along the back of his hand]

Tell me about it.

Like how Pineapple island looks like a pineapple from the sky, Hand island looks like a giant hand. I wonder who named those two. Maybe a giant. Or someone who flies. [Mischievous grin. Did he name them? HE WILL NEVER TELL. Just secretly allude to it. For funsies.]

The town is pretty damn friendly, even to most pirates -- so long as you don't create a ruckus, eh? It... was under Pop's protection at any rate. [Shakes his head and leans it a little on Robin's shoulder, trying not to think much of Foodvalten or the other islands to be lost.] The toyshop is pretty state of the art with tops and other things, and the town is good with booze, of course. Mah, but outside of the town, there's a wax sculptor. If you ever do go, Luffy should get a chance to see it. Diego did sculptures of a few of us. Me, Pops, Ace, Vista, Izou, hell even Shanks, Benn Beckman, and Lucky Roux, eh. He was a big fan of Pops though.

[She strokes his head as he leans on her shoulder. She wonders if he's thinking of how unprotected it is now. How much more chaotic the New World will become.

It doesn't even occur to her that he might have named them. There are many things which fly, not all of them birds. It's more likely, though, it was mapped by skilled cartographers and they noted the similarity]

I suppose Whitebeard inspires fanboys everywhere. I look forward to visiting.

[it seems like a likely place they will go. Maybe even claim like she hears happened with Fishman Island. It makes her proud in a way. To become the defender of the seas. What a strange thought]

I wonder if the sculptor would allow me to give you a mustache.

Fanboys, eh? [Swishes his tail back and forth at that, apparently he takes it as a very big compliment.]

Probably not unless you have a signed note and a Whitebeard tattoo, but you're more than welcome to try. If you mail me a request I'll send him the letter with permission personally.

I'll make sure to do that. Don't forget, ne?

[She captures a few strands of his tail and runs her fingers over them. It's so curiously beautiful]

What kind of mustache would you like? And how big?

I won't forget.

[He freezes at the touch to his tail. It's extremely sensitive, and what he uses to guide him, so it's like giving her complete control of his direction. Still, it's nice, so he just calms down with it.]

As big as possible without me falling over, eh. And a white one like Pops. Or you can go creative and surprise me. If it'll make me laugh that's always good.

[As if she doesn't have complete control of his direction already]

Maybe I'll make it look blue and flaming. It has to match, ne? [and she presses a kiss to his cheek.

she continues to smooth his tail in her hands]

Does it hurt you when I play with it?

I like it. The first and only mustache of its kind, eh?

[Shakes his head and leans in a little closer to her.] Ah, no... it's just very sensitive, eh? [He suppresses a shiver.] It's a little hard to explain...

[Blushing a little, yup, it's very sensitive indeed.]

Edited 2012-12-27 01:21 (UTC)

[Video/Written] For Whom the Bell Tolls

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