( from the moment that zoro steps out onto the grounds and into the elaborate — festival that the balfours have concocted this time, he knows that he's going to like it, even if every single rational part of him is absolutely yelling that he should keep his guard up, that this is just another trick of the house, leading to some inevitable bloody, fucked up conclusion.

except. the outfit they'd given him is comfortable, almost a touch familiar — and there's even a sheath for his sword at his side (there was a fake plastic one inside when he got his costume, but surely they couldn't expect zoro to do anything but throw it out the window of his bedroom in favor of the wado, right?). there's music and vendors and tournaments, a few of which he happily signs up for. the smell of meat hangs in the air precisely for zoro to follow like a man hypnotized, inevitably taking a picture of the abnormally large turkey legs on display and sending it to luffy with the addition of a selfie holding one in front of his face for scale before devouring it.

the part that really catches zoro, though? the bars. there are a few of them, each of them with their own little quirks and gimmicks, different styles of beer, and he's pretty god damned determined to sample them all. maybe it's because he's already tipsy that he doesn't read the name of this one: the naughty wench. he's barely through ordering a can of some kind of fruity beer before the barmaid has him reaching up and gripping the metal loops above his head so she can tip the can back and make him drink from it, talking about how he's so strong that she's sure he can take it, how he's such a good boy, keep sucking, keep sucking, keep sucking, good boy, oh, good kitty, and —

zoro finally chokes out a cough, sweet liquid dripping down his chin as he drops his arms and steals back his beer, face almost as red as his ears are. to whoever has the (mis?)fortune of standing beside him, whether waiting for their own turn or just sheepishly watching with morbid curiosity, zoro impolitely nudges them towards the barmaid, grumbling: ) Your turn.

( still a little drunk from this morning's revelry, zoro gets a flower crown dropped atop his already pretty leafy-colored head by some guy calling himself a wizard (which — yeah right; zoro knows the vibes that witches give, so surely this guy isn't real), a white lily in hand that eventually ends up tucked into the leather harness across his chest. you know, for safekeeping.

the forest is one of the things he still kind of misses from his time in the village, prowling through the underbrush as a tiger to catch a deer to help feed his little family for a few days, climbing up a tree and sleeping on a branch as a cat when sanji was pissing him off and he needed some peace and quiet, and sometimes just ... wandering, as himself. maybe it was the familiar, animalistic part of him that wanted to be in nature.

here? zoro doesn't really have any excuse for why he feels like wandering deeper and deeper, carefully stepping over errant branches, looking around for something, but — what? unfortunately for zoro, his sense of direction is still shitty, so even when he decides to turn back around and head back to the faire, he's absolutely fucking lost.

there's nothing else for him to do except take what is, in zoro's opinion, a well-deserved nap. and it's easy to, with how pretty the light filters through the trees, the way the breeze makes everything sway, birds singing a soothing song, the flowers and plants warm and inviting as he lays down amongst them and drifts off, dead to the world. sleeping beauty, anyone? )