#the Zolu doesn't feature heavily in this one at all really actually

[whirlybirdwhat]

hey there, space cowboy

There's a story to be found on an unnamed desert planet, without water and with three suns burning the sky red. There's a story to be found between drinks and gunfights, and the way friends call out to each other when there's nothing but sand in sight.

There's a story to be found with the Straw Hats, and red blood spilled across desert sands.

-

Or: Zolu Space Cowboy AU, drabble series featuring all of the strawhats. 

Read on AO3 For Better formatting!

PART 1

In another life, Zoro thinks they would have belonged on the sea. Endless depths beneath their feet, sun glinting off the waves, air full of sea spray and salt and adventure – the life of a pirate, an outlaw on the seas.

(Free.)

Who knows, perhaps they could still have that life someday.

But for now, Zoro makes his home in the endless stretch of the desert, where three suns shine dimmer than Luffy’s smile but hotter than a burning fire, and the horizon never seems to end. Where sand is as rolling as ocean waves, where the path he travels gets lost between shifting dunes, and where dirty cliffsides provide meager shade. Where, where, where Zoro is never anywhere but nowhere all the time.

(And still, people say he gets lost. How, when there isn’t anything on this blasted hell planet?)

The desert (the entirety) of this unnamed planet is a lawless land, one with few rules and fewer morals. People look at you and see your weapons before your face, assessing you before a fight can break out.

(Everyone has a gun, but it’s the people with shitty ones you have to look out for. Those people survive by other means (fists encased in black, swords slicing red blood across golden sand, kicks cracking mountains and slingshots flashing faster than a bullet) – and they are always so much more dangerous than those who import state of the art weapons from the only fucking port on the entire planet.)

(Those people – the people Zoro’s part of, the people that Zoro can defeat in moment if he tried because he’s he has to live – are survivors, victors, alive.)

Miles stretch between towns, cliffsides more common than a motel to lay your head, but Zoro’s used to it now. He never stays in town for long, the only thing it being good for is booze and bloody knuckles. He enjoys it when he can but –

The horizon holds more gleaming treasures than a seedy saloon in the middle of nowhere.

“Zoro.”

The name is said with the easygoing conviction of someone who knows he’ll listen. And really, the speaker is the only one Zoro would ever listen to.

(Well. There’s a bit of nuance to that, because Nami knows when the dust is kicking up into a devil, and Robin knows negotiations, and Usopp knows poison and Chopper knows medicine but - )

“Luffy.”

(He’s the only person that Zoro would listen to without question, without condition, without doubt, without the glimmering thought of mutiny.)

Luffy, smiling under a golden hat (crown) of straw, brightens at Zoro’s own tone, the way Zoro is now distracted from the cliffside he is hanging his feet off of. Luffy passes Zoro a bottle of whiskey, his own bottle dangling between two scarred fingers. “Nami says we should reach Devil’s Peak by daybreak.”

“Yeah? Think there will be a fight?”

Think there will be an adventure?

“It’s us.”

Of course.

“Nice.” Luffy takes a swig out of his own bottle, settling down beside Zoro so they can stare out at the setting sun together.

They’ve been heading towards Devil’s Peak for a while now, drawn by the promise of the best liquor this side of the Divide and a treasure hidden in the caverns of the cliffside town.

An adventure, Luffy had said, learning about it from a bloody bandit lying at his feet. A profit, Nami had said delighted, and mapped out a path immediately.

Zoro doesn’t think he’ll mind if there’s no adventure or treasure or even booze to be found there.

(Well, maybe not the last one.)

The ride there has been eventful enough – it was the usual standard of eventful at least.  Merry, their crystal powered wagon, outfitted to scale narrow cliffs, had half broken down before Usopp could fix her up, there had been no less than six bandit attacks, they had gotten off track for three days, booze had run out before they stumbled upon a suspicious treasure trove of it, and Luffy had befriended a giant lizard (who was now, under the new name of ‘Beans�� helping pull Merry as her jets sputtered and flickered to keep moving.)

The journey is all he really has now – what’s the point of getting from A to B, if A and B are just shitholes and busted lips and sorry people?

So, he enjoys it.

Though – privately, to hold up his façade, even as he tips his own sun worn hat closer to his face – he would like a bed to sleep in.

(This unnamed planet has three suns with burning rays. It’s dangerous to travel in the day during scorching season (which is most of the year, as the planet travels between all three suns), so naps are made in cramped tents and quarters during the day. Night is when they travel during the scorching season, when this planet turns away from the light for just a moment, meager hours to precious to waste on dawdling so the pace is deadly. But… Zoro misses the rising sun above his head sometimes – misses being able to sleep whenever and not just when the chance of dying is close to zero. But – it’s the desert.

A merciless, unforgiving place.

What can he do, but survive it? Enjoy it?)

Beside him, Luffy starts humming, some old campfire song that Zoro distantly remembers from last night.

Its peaceful, this quiet moment. The way the setting sun frames Luffy’s face and the brim of his hat casts shadows in all the right places. The chill that slowly settles over their skin like whispers, the breeze that ruffles the bandanas around both of their necks.

The bottles of whiskey are set aside for a moment as both of them lean in closer to each other. Shoulders brush and Luffy kicks Zoro’s ankles twice before Zoro mutters an angry quit it! only to be met with a Shishishi!They settle, the sounds of the camp, a party, really, fading in the background, leaving only them and the setting sun.

Luffy’s fingers brush Zoro’s, and he is quick to snatch his hand in a gentle hold.

Luffy’s hands are calloused as he traces them over Zoro’s. They aren’t like Zoro’s, which are hardened from swords made of desert steel and years of practice, but rather the kind one gets from living in the desert and the wilderness for years – the kind one gets when a strong grip is all that’s between you and falling off a cliff, between you and losing a fight, between you and your freedom.

Luffy snickers, a soft thing, as Zoro switches the hold so he can trace over them instead. His head lands against Zoro’s shoulder, straw hat bumping off, and letting black hairs tickle Zoro’s skin.

Zoro doesn’t mind.

(The desert is an unforgiving place, a nameless place where nothing that has meaning really survives, and Zoro does not know how long this easy going pace will last. They have six in their motley crew, their gang, right now, and every destination is more dangerous than the last as they make their way across the desert.

Eventually, one of them is going to fall.

(And the sorry bastards of this hideous planet will cry A Straw Hat is dead! with tears in their eyes as they read the scrap of paper they call news with one of his friends’ bodies on the cover They will cry and no one will know if it is joyful or terrified.

It’ll probably be both.)

But that is not now – now is peaceful moments under the setting sun, liquor warming his lips and a hand in his. Now is the gleaming gold of a hat and a familiar sloping scar, now is the warmth of a body pressed against his and the chatter of dear friends – family – in the background.

Now is not forever, but it is all that matters.

So no, Zoro does not mind. He doesn’t mind at all.)