[ He'd kind of thought things would be different. Turning eighteen, hooking up, all that. But life's pretty much the same as usual. He feels more worldly, so there's that, but it's kind of crazy how business as always can keep a guy busy. He does have a farm and an inn to run, after all. A lot of people all across the continent are relying on him now—for supplies, food, and shelter. Sometimes protection, too, when he goes out and takes care of monsters, or when they need someone with a, uh, special touch to handle the particularly ornery carriage-pullers. And let's not forget about his classes a few times a week.
He's a busy dude.
Right now, he's got some rare downtime. "Downtime" for him is "just got finished shoeing spiracorns," something no one in their right mind would ever dare to do, but he's both learned how to do and done. Look, they get better mileage with some good horseshoes on, alright? The blacksmith makes 'em special. He got the order in over a week ago, and it sat around on his to-do list, so he finally got around to it. He's got his journal, his lunch, and some bits and bobs he's hoping to fashion into a makeshift bridle at the little table in his tiny house, the walls and foundations cracked after it'd fallen along with the city, but unlike the inn, it'd remained standing. Damaged but still whole, just like him.
When he spots his name appear on the latest page of his open journal, Law sets down the braided rope in his hands and picks up his pen. Outside, Fang the Fang is barking joyously as he "herds" the chickens out in the yard. Just chasing them around, mostly, but it gives them all some exercise. ]
(EYES BUT GAY)
Date: 2023-02-11 01:34 am (UTC)He's a busy dude.
Right now, he's got some rare downtime. "Downtime" for him is "just got finished shoeing spiracorns," something no one in their right mind would ever dare to do, but he's both learned how to do and done. Look, they get better mileage with some good horseshoes on, alright? The blacksmith makes 'em special. He got the order in over a week ago, and it sat around on his to-do list, so he finally got around to it. He's got his journal, his lunch, and some bits and bobs he's hoping to fashion into a makeshift bridle at the little table in his tiny house, the walls and foundations cracked after it'd fallen along with the city, but unlike the inn, it'd remained standing. Damaged but still whole, just like him.
When he spots his name appear on the latest page of his open journal, Law sets down the braided rope in his hands and picks up his pen. Outside, Fang the Fang is barking joyously as he "herds" the chickens out in the yard. Just chasing them around, mostly, but it gives them all some exercise. ]
gladio? yeah i'm at home
what's up? you ok?