memento vivere

The silver Mercedes with the heavily tinted windows turned off the highway and cruised into the suburbs, through the dimly-lit tree-lined neighbourhood, passing houses with their lawns and garages, houses in which families and children were winding down for the night. The Mercedes drove to the end of the street, circled back, and jerked to a halt in front of its intended address. Several seconds behind, a nondescript sedan reduced its speed to a crawl, detoured a few blocks, before pulling up on the opposite side of the road, one house down. From his vantage point in the sedan, Law watched as the driver, cigarette pinched between his lips, exited the Mercedes and swaggered up the driveway towards the door. The visitor paused. Rather than ring the doorbell or knock, he fished through his pockets, produced the key, and let himself in.

Take Mizuchi – nicknamed Snake, after the serpent tattooed on his neck, slithering up the side of his face – was one of Arlong’s most trusted men, loyal to a fault in the decades they’d known each other. In certain circles, the sight of him, with his coal black eyes and his slippery, scheming smile that revealed a shiny gold tooth, was said to be an ill omen. Take had recently been released from prison after a ten-year stint, and Law had had the pleasure of tailing him for a whole two days and a half. So far, Take had been on his best behaviour, as though prison had mellowed him out and flushed the bad out of him, though Law doubted it was mere coincidence that two women who’d been in Take’s company had vanished without a trace.

“Ahh, pandemics…..nasty things, seen and experienced quite a few of those “ she replied gently swaying the glass in her hand causing the liquid to swirl. Well now, she might have misjudged him a bit. There was some optimism in his dark and gloomy appearance it seems. ”Hope ain’t enough boy, skills, knowledge, and whole a lot of research is what matters…but ya know that don’t cha? “ she asked with a wrinkled grin.

He really had a habit to go into monologues, reminded her of another doctor who was just a bit more foolish than this young boy. To his toast, she can’t help but snicker amused with his ballsy approach. Still, she too rose her own glass and took a generous sip from it. ”Don’t flatter too much kid, I’m too old and not dumb enough to appreciate kind words “ which was half true. Action spoke far louder in the end. 

His inquiry about her age was not surprising, any scientist and medical expert was curious about that. Everyone had assumptions and guesses, despite many average day folks not showing any interest in learning her secret. For her, it was always fun to play mind games, using her secret as a bait. 

Still grinning wide she glances over at young boy gently tapping the edge of her glass with her fingertip. ”Ya are close kid, but there is more to it, ya can say that I and mister Grim Reaper had an agreement “ lie, of course, one of many tales she would tell to people merely to see their reactions to it.

“Ya are a doctor yourself kid, ya too should know what can extend ones lives no?”

His grip tightens on the stem of his glass and his brows furrow when Kureha not only addresses him as ‘boy’, but suggests he, of all people, could’ve possibly thought hope alone is sufficient to cure the world of all sickness, as though he were a babe in the woods, and has been bumbling about, with his head up his ass.

“Doctor,” Law stresses, hoping she’ll take the hint and address him as equals, “with all due respect, I think your hearing aid is malfunctioning.” Law keeps a straight face as he continues to run his mouth. “Because, it almost sounds to me for a second like you have a funny way of twisting my words, and misunderstanding what I meant to say.” A pointed look is cast her way. “Of course,” he says wryly, “hope alone cannot cure someone of anything, but despair. How absurd it would be, for me to assume otherwise.” With that clarified, Law settles back against his seat.

“And what’s wrong with offering kind words?” he asks, unable to resist challenging her. “World’s a big, bad place, with enough misery to go around.” Granted, he hadn’t intended to be kind but, as she guessed, to flatter archly. “Besides, I never flatter. I say it as it is, merely that. I am enjoying our time together,” he states tonelessly. “If I were to keel over right now, I’d still consider it time well spent. And you do look healthy and youthful, Miss Kureha. No need to be so humble now.”

As she goes on to call him ‘kid’ for the third time in the span of several minutes, a sour look creeps onto and takes over his face, though later, he would realise he has been acting childishly. He flashes her a disbelieving look when she mentions her agreement with Mister Grim Reaper. Then he feigns surprise.

The evening had grown dark with the approach of winter. Moisture collected in the air from the waterfront by the docks. It filled the atmosphere with a thick mist and only the barest hint of fog. On a night as quiet night like this, the soft of the slow waves sloping into the port could usually be heard. Yet sound sliced through the thick of the dark. It smothered the sound of water. Instead it filled the air of the warehouse district with distorted bass and the low buzz of talking through the walls of one of the warehouse.

This was not a good night. Exhaustion mixed with frustration and anger was a bitter combination. It soured a person’s good and frayed what was left of their nerves. The light flowing from the windows of the previously abandoned warehouse was unwelcome. It contrasted with the low light and shows that flooded the world outside the building’s walls. The parasites within didn’t belong. They were pests at best and vermin at worst. Removal was the course of action for the evening. 

Did they think they were sly enough to step into his territory and burrow in for the long winter?

Keep reading

Law stood his ground as the trio advanced. The threat washed over him without cracking his unfazed countenance, though his eyebrows quirked at Strawhat’s question, and a quizzical look flashed in his eyes. In his flimsy flip flops and battered hat, Luffy was hardly the image of a formidable gangster, and were it not for the dark, piercing look Law met in Luffy’s eyes, he’d have questioned if the other was the real deal. (Not that Law’s ensemble was much of an improvement, with his spotted hat and mustard yellow parka.)

With a level gaze, Law eyed the trio intently. The confident and undaunted air they exuded dispelled any doubts they were the Strawhat gang’s top three members; he should feel so honoured to be graced with their presence. And yet, if the rumours were to be believed, then it was of utmost importance he carefully weighed the consequences of the move he made.

“It would be careless of you to assume I am alone, Strawhat,” Law said, in the manner of one offering friendly advice. “I did mention a party, didn’t I? But…”

Law ambled to the side, and busied himself with tidying the stack of pizza boxes, all the while vigilant of the trio in his peripheral vision as he made a quick assessment of the advantages of winning versus the disadvantages of defeat.

@pilawforhire​ continued from here

It was five minutes to midnight when Ikkaku arrived at the cemetery, its wrought-iron fence casting long shadows in the moonlight. Most locals avoided the place – legend said that nearly a century ago the dead had started to come back to life due to tainted soil. She wasn’t sure if it was true, but it was the reason that people on Joras were cremated or buried at sea. The church itself wasn’t much more welcoming, its heavy doors and stained-glass windows boldly showcasing elaborate depictions of the Old Ones. While most were starting to pull away from the old religion, there were still devout followers who worshiped the likes of the Great Dreamer and the Nameless Fear-Eater.

Growing up on an island packed with those kinds of stories, plus the tales her grandfather loved to tell, made it so she didn’t even blink when a lanky figure stepped out of the shadows like a dark wraith.

“You’ve sure as hell got a flare for the dramatics, don’t ya, Captain Trafalgar Law?” Ikkaku asked, a bit of a wry smirk curling her lips. “I like that. Means our working relationship won’t be boring.”

Adri had been the one to provide her with the name. Once he’d said those three little words, all the other puzzle pieces fell into place. Though, she did feel justified in not recognizing the submarine as a pirate ship, especially since she’d always assumed a jolly roger had to be a skull and crossbones.

Upon realizing all this and just what he was offering, she had run home to the lighthouse, barely stopping to catch her breath before telling her grandfather everything. For his part, Gramps had listened quietly before giving her his blessing – while it wasn’t safe or perfect, a life of piracy would get her off the thrice-cursed island and let her live out her dream, and that was all he’d ever wanted for her.

Read more

At a quarter to midnight, a lone figure arrived at the graveyard, boots crunching on gravel, disrupting the quietude and desolation that abounded, and skulked outside the rusty iron gates, lurking in the shadows of the gnarled yew tree and its long twisting branches that outstretched across the dark cloudy night like thin, crooked claws. His tall sword propped against his shoulder, he leaned against the trunk, and waited.

Rare were the moments such delicious anticipation coursed through his veins. His head buzzed, had been buzzing, with thoughts of Narwhal since morning, throughout the afternoon, extending till evening, persisting through the night, anticipation growing and growing, bubbling up in him as he concocted a scheme to test Narwhal’s courage, determination, gumption, and her ability to stay composed under peril.

Those who became pirates usually had nothing left to lose, driven from poverty and ennui, towards riches and thrills, adventure and power. None of that mattered to him (though the thrills were an added bonus); it was simply the most propitious path towards his goal. Nonetheless, in Narwhal’s case, he wanted to know if she knew what she was getting herself into; that she wasn’t merely looking for any escape, but that her decision came with deliberation, and understanding of the associated risks, and that reality was hardly ever as kind as one’s imagination.

Her brow crinkles in confusion. “Eh?” She’s never touched an iphone in her life, those items are far removed from life in her shabby van, with old whirring laptop and even older phone without internet connection. She ought to invest in one, but, so long as she can manage without, she won’t. “Ciri, like – just, Ciri. With a C.” She points out as Law boards her vehicle, purely because people tend to believe it is written with an S, for whatever reason. Maybe the iphone thing has something to do with it.

A brow raises at the spontaneous, vague destination, but she’s not suspicious as Law assumes he sounds like. Backpackers are like that, aren’t they? Going wherever the wind brings them, or whatever. She likes the touristy traveller types, they’re full of stories and joy, they like to talk and though they are stingy with money, they are also fun company, for the most part. Her smile loosens, settles, as he tries to elaborate his intentions. He’s not the first of such adventurous types, though he certainly doesn’t look like one, not in the least. She nods at his words in affirmation – she can’t say her reason for travelling as she does is the same, but Ciri does experience a similar pull, a desire to explore new places. She can relate with that, somewhat.

 “Hn, yes. I know, what you mean. T-travelling?”

His finally question ( and the only non-rhetorical one, perhaps ), catches her off guard. It’s so suddenly thrown at her, that she has to pause pressing the gas pedal and depart, glancing at the man to read his expression, which she finds difficult. He’s not exactly the open-like-a-book-type ( which Ciri arguably does belong to ), so she’s left with mostly her own assumptions to form an opinion about the matter – it draws a chuckle from her, incredulous and amused – rare, for someone to make her laugh so quickly. It dissolves any lingering doubts she has left about the Law’s intentions.  “I, eh, have never been, asked t-that, question. I’ve, always been told it, is, uh, a pick-up line– is that what it is?” A half-teased question, half thoughts mused aloud – then; “I, eh, do suppose, I picked you up.” 

A joke her father would have been proud of, but she’s not laughing, nor is it delivered as a joke, she’s just stating it aloud as a fact. After that she finally hits the gas pedal and starts their trip into the unknown, or, for her; the nearest village where she can do some cheap grocery shopping. And she does grace the question, pick-up line or not, with an earnest answer;  “I hm, am not really, eh, philosophical. But, I do s-suppose, some things happen, for a reason. Then, it is, up to the person, t-to make their own choices, and write their own stories, from there on.” She purses her lips in thought, adding; “–So, t-there is fate, and, then there is, w-what someone makes of it? If that, eh, makes sense…”

“Ciri, with a C,” Law repeats, with a kind of studious contemplation. He’s glad his question had her confirming at least that; now, to uncover if her surname rhymed with Helen. Granted, an exact match of name and surname could be yet another coincidence, and while intuition stirs within, he can’t leap to assumptions without first amassing evidence.

He notes, with relief, since he expects their chance encounter will extend beyond the ride, if he’s to get to know her better, that Ciri has relaxed noticeably, her suspicions seemingly allayed by her impressions of him as a traveller.

“Yes, travelling,” he says. “It’s innate, isn’t it? A sense of wanderlust, arising within every man; the desire for exploration, adventure… And you could say I’ve been searching.” For someone, or something, he doesn’t clarify, as he glances sideways at Ciri. Despite his words about embracing the path laid out by fate, spontaneity was rarer an occurrence on the job – decisions had to be carefully weighed, supported by facts over gut feelings, and meticulous preparations were necessary. He needed to draw himself a map, with an end destination in mind.

His brows lift when his philosophical question has been interpreted as a pick-up line, and short of declaring it is not, he stares out the window in silence, and then he regards her with a quizzical look when she, he thinks, jokes that she did pick him up.

A drizzle starts to fall, raindrops spattering the windscreen, pattering on the roof of the van, monotonous.

“…I once heard a story about a father, searching for his long-lost daughter,” Law begins. “He has another family now, but any happiness he is to derive from their love and kinship is sullied by remorse, for he was not always a good father. He has a daughter with his first wife, and when his first wife passed on, he left his daughter in his brother’s care. For years, he’s been haunted by regret, before he caves, and tries to seek out his daughter, wanting to know if she’s alive and well. Yet, he’s apprehensive of meeting her, of losing what he currently has.” He pauses, leaning his head against his hand, his arm propped against the door. He’s aware it sounds like he was narrating his own story, though he hopes she wouldn’t peg him as quite as old to have married twice.

Emil poked Law's arm. "Can I have a hug?" They were alone - the last of Law's kids has just left the mess deck and she had promised to ask first while on board Polar Tang.

With narrowed eyes, Law parts his lips and gives Emil a look like he’s about to expound a hundred and one reasons why a hug was out of the question at that moment, followed up by a hundred and one alternatives for a hug, but instead he exhales a quiet breath, steps forward, and meets her milky eyes.

There are different kinds of hugs: the polite, loose hugs shared between acquaintances; the intimate or reassuring, tight hugs between couples; the hug and twirl; the big bear hugs that crushed the breath from one’s lungs; and the relaxed hug between friends, with or without a pat on the back.

Law moves to Emil’s side and puts an arm around her, pulling her close in a hug of the last kind. He holds her for a moment before he retracts his arm.

“If you want another, you’ll have to ask Bepo, because I’m at my limit,” he says dryly. And then, because he can’t fathom why she’d rather hug someone averse to hugs like cats to water, why she’d rather hug him, when there are over twenty other of his ‘kids’ she could’ve asked, with one pretty much certified as the most therapeutic hugger in all of time (if one didn’t mind the fishy breath), he says, “Help me understand something. It’s a mystery of the most intricate nature.” He looks at her with utter seriousness.

@pilawforhire​ asked:

Send 💝 to see what my muse would write as vows to your muse if they were to be wed right now. (For Aya, if you may like to!)

Send 💝 to see my muses’ wedding vows!

Trafalgar Law. The name carried a lot of weight to it, a lot of power behind it. The surgeon of death, most who heard the name ran in fear, regardless of if it were the man himself or someone connected to his Heart, his crew. His name alone could instill fear. So why not use it to instill protection? Much like when Whitebeard lay claim to an entire island to protect it, only with a singular person.

Because of her loose connection to the man, Aya found herself in an increasing amount of danger. Marines, pirates who thought her closer to him than she was, random passers-by who though her an easy target to get back at the surgeon. She had told Law of this, perhaps in the hopes of him leaving her alone for a time so rumors could fade.

Never in a million years did she think she’d end up here, hastily brought to a church in one of her white sundresses. Because clearly the correct response here was for him to go ‘marry me’.

She didn’t get it. Didn’t understand it. And she wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. Law was an attractive man, there was no denying that. And she was starting to see the layers under that gruff exterior. But that was exactly the problem - she was just starting to see. There was no romantic love between the two. Yet he seemed entirely serious about this. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d brought up marriage, but the last time had been nothing more than a joke.

Yet here they stood, before God and his crew, Law a solemn expression on his face. Gently she reached out to him, a soft hand touching his. “Law? I, um, … are you, um, are you sure?” She seemed confused that he was going through with his. Was this another elaborate prank? Marry the mermaid, then divorce her the next day?

When he waved off her concerns, Aya only nodded. The priest began to speak, Aya only half-listening to what the elderly man was saying.

He paused so that the two could recite their vows. “I, um, I’d like to say my own, please.” Aya says softly to the man, seemingly surprising both him and Law. Then, she looks up to Law. The man who so thoroughly confused and confounded her. “I, um, I know you don’t love me, Law. I, um, I don’t know why you’re doing this. If you’re, um, you’re serious, or, um, or if this is some sort of prank…” A sigh, then something shifts behind her gaze. “But, um, but if you are serious… I, um, I promise that I’ll be loyal to only you. I, um, I don’t know what you would expect of me, but, um, but I promise to be the best wife I can be. I, um, I can’t pretend to always understand you, or, um, or your motivations, but, um, if you’re serious about this I, um, I want to be there for you. You, um, you may not love me, but, um, but I think I could learn to love you.” 

Again she reached out and took his hands in her own. His were so much larger than hers, rougher. But she gathered them up all the same and gave a gentle squeeze, a soft reassurance that her words were earnest and true. She may not love him, but if this were true, if this were serious, then she could learn to.

Once, just once, attending a wedding as a child, watching the bride and groom stare into each other’s eyes with such intensity in their locked gazes, soft smiles on their lips, their hands joined in union, he’d wondered what it’d be like, to be wedded, to this special someone who wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her, till death did them apart. Aunt Lisa told me she’d met her soul mate, Lami had said, nudging him and giggling.

Marriage, soul mates, weddings – none of such topics had remotely crossed his mind since then, and neither would Law, ever in a million years, till death did him in, have thought he would find himself in front of the altar, about to consign himself to the weird librarian he’d both kidnapped and saved once. Yet, life had a funny way of turning unexpected scenarios into reality, and so there he was, on his big day, shined leather oxfords planted on the red carpeting, dressed to the nines in his finest black tuxedo, the only set of formal wear he owned, crisp bowtie on his collar, his hair gently tousled, hat and sword left in Bepo’s care, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t making a big mistake.

The Heart Pirates, seated around the pews, none the wiser to their captain’s wavering resolve, shed tears of exaggerated joy and sorrow in the background. It was unthinkable that their captain would be wed before them.

Law must’ve looked ambivalent, for Aya asked if he was sure. He frowned and touched her hand in return, reassuring her with a monosyllabic affirmation uttered in a tone as grave as his features. He ignored the priest, who had a ruffled, disgruntled look about him, having been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night to officiate their ceremony. The priest fumbled a little with his words, for it’d been years since he’d been called on to perform a wedding.

She had a vague idea that he was underestimating her, again. It didn’t really matter, since now that they have somewhat cleared the fog that was made out of misunderstanding and fear, she was eager to prove him she can be a stable little pillar if needed! Still, of course, he had to tease her, something was telling her that he missed doing that….so did she in all honesty. 

So when he plopped his hat upon her head she let out a soft gasp, her vision being obscured for a moment. Soon she pushed the brim of his hat to have a better look at him, or well in her case a glare. How dare he take her lightly after she poured her heart for him! Then again, she will stand by her words, no way she will let him run off now……that was until he actually began running. “Hey wait that’s not fair!! “ she called after him running in the pouring rain, her steps barely missing any puddle. They definitely catch a cold she knew that, but why not just live in the moment? 

The moment she was able to catch up with him she attempted to try and grasp his sleeve but he was already running ahead. Kicking the nearest puddle to her she followed after him, it was so unfair how her legs were much shorter in comparison to him! She huffed, the weight of wearing bigger clothing caused her pale cheeks to turn slightly reddish.

Yet it was so much fun to do this when was the last time she was this spontaneous by herself? Somehow he was capable to bring out this more brash side of her and she truly admired that about him. Finally when she did catch up to him, before saying anything she instantly clutched her hand with his own, squeezing it with all her might to not let him go!

Gasping for air, the rain was slowing down a bit finally, she looked up at him with a small grin across her face. “I’d love that…..but you better let me use your shower when we get there. “ she teased giving him a light kick to his butt with her knee.

“I bet your place is messy! Hey if I can find some dirt on you maybe  I can use that to blackmail if you try to ignore me again plebian~”

He took her playful kick to his butt and turned around, his face at once a scowl he shot her but also a faint smile, with the latter outlasting the former, though he soon reset his expression into one of solemnness with a slight, habitual crease of his brows. Inwardly, though, there was a lightness in his chest, her promise never to let him go ringing in his ears. He was glad she had chased him. Although he believed that someday they would part ways – it was the natural, inevitable order of things – for that night, he would take comfort in knowing she wouldn’t leave his side.

Law raised his brows and gave a half-shrug. “I have nothing to hide,” he said, putting his head to one side. “Apart from the skeletons in my closet.” A smirk began to creep its way onto his face before he wiped it off and cast her an incredulous look. “Seriously, just what kind of illicit activities do you think I get up to?” He snatched his hat from her head, grabbed his jacket off her shoulders, and eyed her hesitantly for a beat. Then he hooked his arm around hers and took her hand, interlacing their fingers.

The rain had let up to a sympathetic trickle, sparing them a second deluge throughout their walk back to his apartment. In twenty minutes, perhaps not as close by as he’d mentioned, they arrived in a quieter neighbourhood a few blocks out of the city centre. He led her upstairs to the third floor and fished out his keys. Law gestured for Nessa to enter, and he stepped in after her and locked the door.

His was a loft studio apartment, minimally furnished and decorated in various shades of colours of piano keys: black and white, and a blend of greys, with slate grey walls and ash grey carpeting over walnut wood flooring.

[In which Aya is dared to kiss a Roo] Aya approached Law, looking rather flustered and nervous. Truthfully, she seemed like she'd rather be anywhere but right there. Still, she approached, and motioned for Law to lean over. "I, um, Law? Could, um, could you come here?" Should he decide to indulge the librarian, he'd find his reward was likely unexpected - her lips pressing against his in a short kiss. When she pulls away, she quickly turns her head and makes a small noise. "It, um, it was a dare."

Law could count on one hand the number of times Aya had approached him of her own accord, and, watching her inch towards him, as though she’d something terrible to confess, such as perhaps she’d been coerced into leaking information about him, or perhaps it was that she needed his help but was hesitant to ask, he drew to a halt and diverted his undivided attention towards her.

Aya rarely made requests of him, and he figured this had to be serious, to warrant seeking him out and even motioning for him to get closer. He indulged her, out of curiosity, invading her personal space in two long strides. He leaned over, with a slight furrow in his brows and eyed her puzzledly, failed to understand why she had to whisper. With anyone else, he would’ve shot them a warning look, a suspicious glance, but he couldn’t imagine Aya trying anything of a duplicitous nature.

He would sooner have expected a slap, even from the seemingly meek little librarian, before the day came when she would kiss him voluntarily. And yet, her lips found his own, without any usage of force or intimidation on his part, and surprise flickered in his eyes that widened a fraction before reflexively he pulled away, just as she did. Law straightened up and pressed his lips together into a thin line, his brows crinkled as he scrutinised her grimly. What could’ve possessed Aya to do such a thing?

Ah, a dare. That quite explained things. He couldn’t help but feel a tad disappointed that it was external forces that driven her towards that – intimate? – gesture. But his disappointment was fleeting, replaced by surprise.

Aya did dares?

Was it an excuse?

Only one way to prove it, perhaps.

(( bro, I miss your HCs, give me something about Law & how he views the past, what are his big regrets, what are things he reflects on most? besides Corazon's death, what's something he would like to change? does he believe 'everything happens for a reason' or nah? ))

//Hey, Ane! Thank you so much for the ask. It really got me thinking, and I haven’t been thinking about such deeper topics in a long time. I don’t think I could express my thoughts well in this, so please excuse the rambling, if things don’t make sense, and the very disorganised everything.

Reflections:

“Death surrounds us. If there’s one thing you can count on in life, it’s the infallible, all-embracing hand of death, and the permanence and irreversibility of its fatal touch. Death is an old friend of mine, but also a teacher, a companion: lifelong, eternal.”

Given the death he’s witnessed, death lurking in every corner one turns, the ‘death’ tattooed on his fingers (a reminder, now), I think death and mortality would feature commonly in his reflections – not with pessimism, not necessarily with despair, but as a stimulus to live; reflecting on death in order to reflect on life, its impermanence (in the scope of an individual’s), its shortness of nature, ever-changing.

For instance, thoughts on: why death is generally feared, the lessons death has taught him, how he should like to die (by his own hand, ideally within his control, but not alone), what a good death would be like (facing death with courage, dying for a worthy cause; what is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying), when is it time to let go, and most importantly, why he should not die yet. Especially in his adolescence and/or young adulthood, owing to the losses he survived, and their ripples of anguish, it would’ve been crucial to ask, over and over, why he should live on – and how. How should he live. With strength, courage, dignity – exactly how he envisions he would die.

Of course, there’d also be reflections on the bigger decisions he’s made in life (with regards to his goals, the crew, etc.); reflections on his past (with a yearning, and a smidgen of loneliness), on how far he’s come (with incredulity; made it, after all), on his crew and Bepo’s friendship (with gratitude, appreciation); reflections on those he failed to save (I kind of headcanon that throughout his travels, in order to gain the experience as a doctor/surgeon, he would’ve helped civilians, either those who can’t afford to be treated in hospitals, or if he encounters someone who’s ill/hurt, or in clinics in smaller towns – granted, he could practise on corpses, but I doubt he’d turn down someone who needed help if it was within his means to treat them (‘bad’ guys aside; circumstances dependent); at least once he’d have failed to save a child, and the experience would’ve been humbling).

More in his younger years, he’d likely have reflected on numerous what-if scenarios, if Corazon had survived, etc.

It was not a party.

The night had finally arrived, and Law still refused to call it a party, even as he stood in the warehouse the Hearts had converted into one of their bases, surrounded by cartons of Heineken, platters of chips and wings, and towers and towers of pizza boxes (some containing warm pizzas of a considerable variety; others containing arms and ammunition), courtesy of their generous business partner, who ran a pizza parlour as a front for their less legal ventures, a gift to welcome the Hearts to the city. The interior and exterior walls of the warehouse were splashed with yellow paint, grafittied with the smiley face of their gang symbol, DEATH scrawled balefully in large block letters. Members old and newly initiated mingled, chattered, laughed, each dressed with yellow in part of their ensembles.

No, it was an official meeting – at least, that was the intention, to discuss and review their operations and plans for expansion into new territories. Ultimately, the evening was filled with good cheer and boisterous merrymaking, of which the only time Law joined in was to deliver a rousing speech and toast to new beginnings. To the end of Joker’s reign, to the demolition of his empire.

Stuffed with calories and grease, drunken from the beers, the liveliness eventually dwindled away and the crowd began to trickle out, till it was just Law and Bepo. Shachi and Penguin stayed behind to help with the clean-up. One glance around the place told them they would all be there a while. Piles of boxes of untouched pizzas cooled in a corner, the aroma of pizza lingering thickly in the air. You could help to eat some, Shachi suggested, shoving a slice of pizza in Law’s face. Law wrinkled his nose and declined. What was the saying – out of sight, out of mind? I’ll take them out to the car, Law said, thinking to bring the pizzas to a homeless shelter later. Half a dozen boxes carried in his arms, he stepped out into the night, and paused, tensing up slightly.

Sneaking onto pirate ships, especially well known ones, were always somewhat a difficult task. Enkodo was already surprised to see *this specific* shuttle here, but getting a chance to sneak on? *To record the layout--* Even if she didn't steal at first, it would be VERY beneficial in her mind. Thus, goggles on and a practically silent step, Ko set to sneaking on, of course night time was always the best time... - Enkodo; Inbox Call!

The yellow submarine floated calmly at the end of the dock, DEATH glinting off its hull under the wan moonlight. Past midnight, few were out and about, most of the crew huddled up in their beds, snoring and tossing, or recounting tales of the day till sleep claimed them. By chance, the duo on watch duty had a mini accident, a little prank resulting in salty and spicy coffee spilled over white boiler suits, and in their distraction wiping up the mess, missed the sight of the young ambitious thief creeping on-board.

Tiny as she was, quiet as she was, she would’ve had her opportunity to slip into the Tang unnoticed when the large steel door on the deck was pushed open, and a member of the crew, yawning wide, stepped out for fresh air. Inside, the little intruder would be left to wander freely, undetected, for a while, until the captain emerged from his room, and glimpsed a flicker of movement disappearing around the corner. Unlike the sleepyhead who had incidentally let Ko in, Law, running on cups of caffeine, fully awake and alert, frowned, silently shut his door, and stole down the passageway after the vanishing blur.

It was the most curious thing. He knew what his eyes had seen, but none of the crew would fit the description of the vague figure he’d glimpsed; last he recalled, none in the crew had height-manipulation abilities, and even the shortest member was over five feet tall. Then Law caught a better glance of their unexpected guest, and his confusion only grew. A small girl, couldn’t have been older than ten, by his rough estimation. Intrigued, he shadowed her with matched stealth throughout the Tang. Every time she might have turned around, Law ducked behind a corner. He felt silly – a captain shouldn’t have to sneak around his own vessel, but if she was sent a spy, it only reasoned he let her go about as she pleased, while he spied on her, until she showed him what she was looking for. Two could play the game. And they said he didn’t know how to interact with kids…

Of course, there was always the (unlikely) possibility she was lost, strayed too far from home, attracted to the big yellow duck sitting in the water. Perhaps she was mistaken, curious, harmless.

Law turned a corner just in time to see the door to one of the rooms shut. He trod quietly up to it, paused. The sign on the door read: BED LINEN STORAGE. Law placed his hand on the handle. The door opened without a sound. He ambled in, pretended he didn’t notice the flicker of motion as she hid behind the cupboard. Law took a step, and another, fixing a neutral expression on his face. He grabbed a pillow and a change of sheets. Hugging both to his chest, he stood in the centre of the room, lingering as his gaze swept over the area, briefly passing over the piles of pillows and blankets, and the single polar bear plushie resting on a shelf. A glimmer of amusement twinkled in his eyes, and then he turned, adjusted the brim of his fluffy hat, and exited the room, the door closing behind his departure. Outside, he waited patiently beside the door, his back against the wall, pillow and sheets held against his chest, hoping to take his unusual guest by surprise.

The most memorable of summers in Flevance had been the outdoor music festivals. They’d gone as a family, before the height of the amber lead outbreak, and the carnage that ensued. When their parents were occupied, Law took Lamie; he couldn’t recall a year they had missed it.

It had been years since Law had attended a music festival, and in the midst of wandering through the town, his feet had led him to Aton Park, with Bepo in his company. The green expanse of the lawn was speckled with a rainbow of colours, thronged with the townsfolk gathered for the Nolkan music festival. Families, friends, couples picnicked and danced, browsed the food and handicraft booths, while a line-up of local and travelling artists performed onstage. As daylight gradually dimmed, lights flickered and came on in the lanterns hanging from scattered trees. Bepo joined the queue at the cotton candy booth, and Law was left standing alone, soaking up the lively atmosphere, tumbling down the path of nostalgia.

Ahead of him, a boy was dragged by his younger sister to get ice cream. They couldn’t have been older than six or eight. The girl tugged the boy’s arm, and then she ran. Her brother swooped up his hat that had fallen, and he ran after her. Law watched as they fought over which flavour of ice cream to get - strawberry, chocolate, or vanilla?

Surrounded by the crowd, Law hadn’t noticed a tail, but he turned on his heel and narrowly avoided colliding with a young woman. He frowned, recognising her instantly. He’d seen her around town over the past few days, and had gotten the impression she had been shadowing him. Her stealth deserved praise, and he would’ve missed her had he been less observant. Yet, she hadn’t approached him, till then. For her boldness, he scrutinised her with suspicion. Had he mentioned her to Shachi or Penguin, they would’ve laughed in his face and told him he was too uncool to attract a stalker, and that if ever a woman was following him, he should be prepared for misfortune. As such, he never bothered with any pretence of gentlemanliness.

“Welcome to Calistoga Hot Springs Resort!” greeted the bubbly, doe-eyed receptionist. Her name tag read: Carlie. Her gaze skittered over the tattoos inked on Law’s fingers as he rested his arm on the counter, and in that instant, Carlie’s jaunty air and smile faded into a look of wariness.

Law pulled a slight lazy smile. Yes, death was visiting this weekend, Carlie. “Reservation under Donquixote,” he said, playfully drumming his fingers. “For a two-bedroom junior suite. Has my partner checked in yet?”

Carlie tugged her eyes away from the D-E-A-T-H letters that danced on his hand. She peered at her monitor, scrolled through, and told him that no, sir, no one else has checked in under that name. While Carlie checked him in, Law’s eyes strayed to the two men at the next counter, attended to by a male receptionist. Law noted their identical features, their charming smiles, and handsome faces. The twin brothers, Graham and Carter Boone: Law knew quite a bit about them, probably more than they knew about each other. The past few weeks Law had been doing some meticulous digging, amassing information he’d spent the previous days poring over and committing to memory. Carter and Graham: they would not be returning home from their little brotherly vacation that weekend. Law and his partner would make sure of it.

“Um…Excuse me, sir. Any premium spa and massage services for you?” Carlie’s soft voice diverted Law’s attention back to her. Law asked what they had to offer, and Carlie gave him a pamphlet.

Law skimmed through the packages, prices conveniently omitted, and he pointed to the deluxe deep-tissue massage. “My partner would like this. Will you make the arrangements?” Carlie nodded and handed him the room key. The extra key she would pass to the other guest sharing the room when he arrived, she told Law. An elderly porter offered to take Law’s luggage, but he declined. While reviews enthused the resort’s services across all booking websites, Law would rather not take his chances with misplaced bags. He couldn’t do his job without his scalpels, after all. The journey to Calistoga had been a long one, involving a ride to the airport, a domestic flight, a car ride to Mount Helliope. The driver had picked Law and provided his bag of tools, that would’ve otherwise triggered the airport security scanners.

Located at the foot of Mount Helliope, Calistoga Hot Springs Resort promised a luxurious and peaceful summer vacation, a healing atmosphere away from the bustle of the city, for restoring one’s sense of well-being, boasting natural hot spring baths and lagoons. What a heavenly place to die, Law mused, strolling through the massive 100-acre resort grounds. The Boone twins had been naughty, thinking they could swindle and exploit the Donquixote group. A pity, for such egregious display of disloyalty came at a hefty price. Of life, in their case; except it would not be quick. Orders demanded a slow, agonising procedure, once a confession had been extracted from their mouths.

Her eyebrows shot up at his non-answer. Did he collect skulls and use them as paperweights? Honestly, she could kind of see it; walk right into his office and boom, there was a skull casually resting on his desk. He probably had a blast watching people squirm, wondering if the skull grinning back at them was real or not. Definitely a morbid, mysterious guy, but she found herself liking that about him. He was interesting. And if that little gleam of amusement she caught flashing through his eye was anything to go by, the feeling was mutual.

Still, she tensed up instinctively when he pointed out that he could be a Marine in disguise. The tattoo shop had always been a safe, comfortable place, and she’d forgotten that not everyone was as open-minded as the owners. She could feel Ria pause behind her, wondering if she was about to see one of her clients get arrested. Adri seemed unbothered by the conversation, continuing on his client’s tattoo as if nothing was wrong, but she knew he was ready to step in if a fight broke out.

After a moment of staring at the enigmatic man suspiciously, Ikkaku relaxed. “You’re not a Marine,” she said with unwavering confidence. “First of all, you don’t have a massive stick up your ass. Second, if you were one of them in disguise, you wouldn’t have said anything; just pried for more information like where I live and work so you and your colleagues could show up and arrest me on trumped up charges.” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in Joras as of late. Especially when some rookie pirate crews were starting to make names for themselves in the North Blue. “Regular Marines will give you their name, rank, and list of exploits unprompted. Undercover Marines are trained to keep their mouths shut. So you’re definitely neither.”

To prove she had full faith in her deduction, she answered his follow-up questions without hesitation. “I’ve got no real love for pirates, but it’s hard to see them as the bad guys when the World Government’s just as corrupt.” Her expression soured slightly as she clenched her fists. “Plus, two of my brothers joined up. Hapushiru’s just an asshole, but Ushi’s a borderline sociopath. If I join the Navy, I risk being put under his control again. I don’t think I’d survive a second time.”

Taking a deep breath to push away the dark memories that always tried to surface when her oldest brother was involved, she continued, “Even if Ushi didn’t find a way to kill me, I’m not cut out for the Marines. I want freedom, and those asses seem determined to snuff it out. As for why I stick around, I guess there’s nothing really keeping me in Joras - Gramps is the only person I’d miss, and he’s the one who wants me to leave the most. Says I’m too smart and vibrant for a dreary place like this.“ The old lighthouse keeper always insisted that she needed to get the hell out of the Birowo Islands and make her own way in the world - to live a free life and show her brothers her worth. “What I need is a chance and the right ship. Like that submarine that pulled in yesterday,” she said with a dreamy sigh. “Now that’s a ship I’d gladly sail away on.”

Miss Narwhal was far more perceptive than he gave her credit for, Law mused inwardly. At her mention of the submarine, and the expression of her desire to voyage away on it, there was a slight twitch of his brows before he grew silent in thought, staring up at the ceiling. Neither Adri nor Ria chimed in with their thoughts, and for a moment, only the buzzing of the tattoo machines resounded through the room. Then a smile crept over Law’s face, and he met Adri’s gaze for an awkward second, detected a flicker of disconcertion on the man’s expression, before Adri frowned and broke the eye contact. Law wiped his smile off, his face settling into its habitual solemnness.

“You want the life of a pirate?” he asked, quizzical and intrigued. Since there was only one submarine in the harbour, and since they had arrived the day before, he had to assume she referred to the yellow submarine, and considering she took notice of it, she had to have seen the DEATH and Jolly Roger emblazoned on its hull. “Is that a trend now? Everyone wants to be a pirate; not everyone makes it. The sea itself is merciless, and there’s no turning back, is there, after embarking on a lawless life?” Despite his dissuasive words, his tone was merely neutral, contemplative.

“What about the price you’d pay in exchange for that freedom? You bid opportunities to start a family and lead a stable, secure lifestyle farewell. Always, you’ll be looking over your shoulder. Who can you trust? The Marines, the bounty hunters, the other pirates, mercenaries, all your enemies, all jostling for your head. Moments of peace, disrupted at any turn. Never know if you’ll survive the night. It’d cause further estrangement between you and your brothers... Is one truly free, if they cannot travel around without being on their guard, without being alert for the next attack?” He flicked her a glance.

“Pirates aren’t excluded from sociopathy or psychopathy, you know.” He offered a faint smile. “Wits and vibrancy can only carry you so far.” He turned his head to her, observing her reaction, wondering if, after all that he’d said, her interest had not wavered. “I might know something about it,” he added, after a beat, a gleam in his eye. “The submarine. If you haven’t been convinced otherwise, meet me behind the tavern- no, at the cemetery near the old church building at midnight. Be on time. I don’t wait for stragglers.” He gave her an enigmatic smile, and that was all he was willing to divulge about the matter. He didn’t get to linger longer in her delightful company, however, for Adri finished up his tattoo within minutes. Law sat up, took a glance in the mirror, as Adri put away his tools.

“Oh, if you make it tonight, wear comfortable clothes, and arm yourself,” Law said, rising to his feet. He donned his yellow hoodie, took hold of his sword that had been propped against the corner of the room, and started for the door, though he stopped in the doorway, looking back to Narwhal. “If you have lock-picking tools, you can bring those too. Any questions?”