do... brook and zoro talking about swords (basic, i know)
“What’s your sword’s name?” Zoro asked.
The question threw Brook off. It was probably the most Zoro had spoke since Brook had joined the Strawhats, not so long ago.
Brook brandished his cane upright, close to his ribcage. “Her name is Soul Solid! A fine, distinguished lady!”
“May I see it?”
Brook hesitantly nodded, he felt like Zoro even asking was a tremendous matter. Zoro seemed to dislike anyone touching his swords, especially Wado Ichimonji that he held so close even while he slept.
Zoro murmured thoughtfully as he pulled the cane-sword out of its sheath, his steely grey eyes flicking up and down the metal work. Zoro put the sheath aside, ever so carefully onto the deck. “It’s a good blade, you must take great care of it.”
“She is rather stylish too, wouldn’t you say?” Brook would have waggled his eyebrows, if he had eyebrows that is.
Zoro shrugged, holding the sword up towards the sun so it could catch the light. “A sword’s worth is how well you wield it, not how it looks.”
Brook chuckled a small ‘yohoho’. Zoro’s blades were beautiful, moonlight white, blood red and black as oil, but he supposed he had a point. And Zoro absolutely wielding his - with fine grace and brute power. It often made Brook a little envious.
“Not any rust to be seen…” Zoro muttered, as if he were talking to himself.
“Yes, well. I wouldn’t be much of a swordsman if I allowed my dear lady to rust. If I saw even a speck on her edge I might just die of shame! Ah, though I am dead already!”
Zoro gave him his smile that wasn’t quite a smile and clicked Soul Solid back into her sheath. Brook accepted her back to the crook of his arm when Zoro offered it.
“Did you have any doubts?” Brook said.
“No, I’m impressed is all. For a sword over fifty years old, it looks brand new.”
Brook gave a humble little bow. “She and I are young at heart, there’s still some life left in us yet!”
