Chapter Text
Zoro opens his musty closet and faces one of the most frightening sights of his life. After wearing and discarding his three hundred and sixty five identical copies of the same button up white tee shirt, he had finally run out. Now he is left with no choice, he’ll have to find different clothes.
“Damn, if only I could have learned the mystical ways of the washer and dryer. Now it’s too late. I’ll have to find a new shirt to get a year's worth of.” He says to himself, stricken with pain at the loss of his consistently smelly clothes. Even before he wore any of them, he made sure to sweat on all of them so if he were to lose one in an inconvenient time, there would still be a chance to locate it by his distinctly awful smell.
He pushes the door to his room open, and enters the hall wearing only his sake themed boxers. He has never bothered to wash or find copies of them, as they are specifically his lucky pair. Instead, he just turns them inside out sometimes. He makes his way to the door, with no exact plan of where he will go. Even if he did have an idea of a destination, he’d probably just get lost on the way there. After leaving the house boat, he aimlessly begins to walk into town. He gets judgemental stares here and there, but most people figure it’s best not to confront a half naked man that reeks of alcohol. As he walks, he passes several clothing stores, but as he hasn’t gone in one in over a year he is unable to identify what kind of building they are. Thankfully, he eventually does find one store that sticks out to him. At the top of the large structure, there are bright bold letters that read ‘Farty Shitty’.
“Huh, well it’s certainly big. There has to be something here I can wear.” Once again, he feels the need to speak aloud to himself.
The store is cold inside, and he shivers at first. In his direct line of sight, he sees a counter with an employee slouched over it. They make eye contact, and Zoro- social genius he is-holds his glare long after the employee has turned away. The person at the counter clears their throat, trying to get Zoro to do something other than intensely staring into the distance. Zoro’s presence is already generally unfortunate, but his cold stare makes it far worse.
“Uh, can I help you?” The employee finally speaks, and snaps Zoro back into the present.
“Oh right. Yeah, I’m looking for clothes.” He says, refocusing his eyes but not his mind.
“I’m guessing you’re looking for,” the employee begins before catching sight of the swordsman’s massive tits, “a bra?” They ask, now intimidated by his giant breasts too.
“No, I don’t think they make any in my size. I’m here for clothes.” He states flatly.
“But those are clothes… Uh, well anyways, can you be more specific about what kind of clothes you want?” They request.
“Sure. I want the kind you wear.” He answers.
“You know what, how about I just tell you where our most normal clothes are, and you can pick some out?” They offer.
“Oh, yeah that works. Can you be specific with the directions though?” Zoro says, mentally preparing himself for the complicated journey ahead.
“Okay. Well, there’s an aisle right there that probably has something you’re looking for.” They point to an aisle directly to Zoro’s left.
“Thanks, I’ll start there.” He says, and takes a step towards the aisle. Then, he teleports to the back end of the store where there are only balloons and laxatives.
“Damn… Those instructions were just too confusing.” He mutters.
Figuring that standing around can do him no good, he starts walking again. There are plenty of costumes and individual items around him, but none of them come in packs of 365. As he wanders, he mostly just sees toilets and laxatives. Someone here really likes bad poop jokes, and it isn’t him. Still, at some point he does find another aisle with clothes in it. This time, there is a plethora of Hawaiin shirts and solid color shorts. Although they don’t fit into his sense of style- or lack thereof- he’ll take what he can get. He counts all the shirts, and finds that all of them fall short of his desired quantity. All except for one. It is a black shirt with alien print. Satisfied with the year round supply, he decides to take all of them. Then, he turns to the shorts, and counts them as well. He’s only half paying attention, but he’s pretty sure there are enough of the solid black ones to last as long as he wants them to. He takes the huge pile of shorts, and somehow manages to carry them around as well. He would be done, but something compels him to get more. He hasn’t actually bothered to choose clothes in slightly over a year, and although he doesn’t want to admit it, he’s kind of having fun trying to find things to wear. While he stumbles around he finds a pair of horrendous water shoes with defined toes that catch his interest. He is oddly fascinated by the toe slots, they make him picture his toes as small ineffective foot swords. He puts them on, and continues to walk around. In another aisle, he finds a pair of alien sunglasses and a product called ‘silly bandz’. He figures he can give the latter to Luffy, as he thinks he’ll appreciate their stretchiness. Then, with all those items, he is satisfied. He puts the horrifying sunglasses on, and begins to walk towards the front of the store. However, because he has an intended destination in mind, he does not get there. Instead, the floor cracks open and he falls into employee break room hell. There, he finds a can of beer and some spare change. He takes the beer for drinking, and the fifty cents to pay for the clothes. He scans the room, looking for a way out, and notices an escalator. He gets on it, idles for a few minutes while he ascends, and finds his way back to the counter in the front of the store.
“Got the clothes.” He says, looking the employee from earlier dead in the eye again.
“You certainly did…” They respond, confused to how one man can carry seven hundred and thirty two items with ease.
Zoro stands there, still staring into the employee's soul.
“So, you’re ready to check out then?” They ask.
“Yeah.” He says, walking to the register. He drops the fifty cents onto the counter, then he turns to leave the store.
“Really?!” They shout at him.
“What? Are you mad I didn’t leave a tip?” Zoro says, one hand on the door.
“No… what are you even talking about?” They ask, perplexed.
“If you’re fine with the lack of tip, then I don’t see the problem. I’m leaving.” He responds, and leaves as promised.
After about five hours of trying to get back to the houseboat- which is about fifteen minutes from Farty Shitty- Zoro finally makes it there. He makes his way to his room, and puts on a shirt, and a pair of shorts. Then, he dumps the rest in his stinky closet. Next, he takes the silly bandz, and puts them in Luffy’s room across the hall. After that, he returns to his room, dissatisfied though he’s unsure why. He thinks for a moment, and then it hits him. He opens the closet door, then shakes his sweat off in a circle like a sprinkler. With that, the clothes smell ideally horrid before he’s even put them on.
“There we go.” He says with a smile, then immediately passes out. Tomorrow, he will wake up to a full, equally disgusting, closet once more.