[The Surgeon of Death reduced to treating paper cuts? Well, shit. Sanji is just going to snicker at that mental image the entire twenty minutes he has left to himself. That's like someone asking Sanji to microwave them chicken nuggets.
When Law arrives, Sanji kicks open the door with his toes, a steaming pot of creamy parmesan pasta in his hands. The smell of garlic is everywhere, and the table is set for two.]
no subject
When Law arrives, Sanji kicks open the door with his toes, a steaming pot of creamy parmesan pasta in his hands. The smell of garlic is everywhere, and the table is set for two.]
No more paper cuts then?