✚✚✚ @circus-and-shenanigans // continued
Law followed the little clown throughout the sinuous insides of the big top, through the narrow alleys between seats, one heeled foot fitting at a time. He held Kikoku higher against his shoulder, almost as if a parent would carry a toddler in a crowded space for fear of losing them. It was the dirt floor he minded, to spare his sword the dishonour of meeting with some gluttonous child's half-licked, sticky-as-glue lolly. Law grimaced at the vision of paper wraps and unpopped kernels of corn sprawled under his feet. How had he allowed himself to get caught up in this mess, again?
Oh, yes. The funny (as in 'peculiar' rather than 'amusing') clown girl had lassoed him in with the promise not of entertainment, but of medicine.
She had said she was a doctor, a claim that earned her a studious gaze bundled up in doubt. This orange thing was a doctor? For all his brilliance, Law did lack the necessary amount of self-awareness to recognise that most civilians, too, would doubt him a doctor when he sported a loose shirt buttoned up with haste over his jeans and black polish over his fingernails so casually. Both he and the clown were as far removed from the semblance of a textbook doctor, with their one white coat and two rows of white teeth arranged into a reassuring smile as could be. All things considered, it was discerning of a circus to harbour a medical team, only not right next to the menagerie, he hoped, for a nomadic, strenuous lifestyle offered plenty of opportunities for injury. And the jolly roger lulling in the wind above the tarpaulin had not escaped Law's atttentive watch. Pirates required medical assistance more than the average person.
❝ Listen, Raggedy Ann...! ❞ he started, an edge of warning to his voice, her jab at his aquatic lifestyle returned in kind as he manoeuvred the space towards the reserved compound of doors and platforms the audience had no idea lay within and underneath the circus. ❝ I'll have you know submarines are lots of fun. ❞
What the hell did she know of his literary soirées? Of the crew's monthly talent shows? Of the most exciting, free-for-all race to the loo after every Tuesday's taco dinner? Why, she was but a simpleton, all too excited to watch some other idiot in oversized shoes juggle up some balls and deem it as entertainment. If there was a literal embodiment of the panem et circenses phrase, here it was.
❝ I am not a man to be toyed with. I did not come here, to the very depths of Satan's rectum, to discuss the concept of merriment over tea with a child. Where is the chlorophyte? ❞
She had said, and not just in passing, to be in possession of a rare species of algae Law had read about in his studies. Although, admittedly, phycology was a field of pharmaceutical interest he generally buried under other priorities. The species was said to be at least a hundred times more efficient than other maritime eukaryotes in boosting immunity and serving as an anticancerous agent, nothing short of a miracle if proven true. If he could get this alga into his laboratory and multiply it so he got enough specimens to sample from... Only the hypothesis of an unprecedented scientific breakthrough could have made him enter the circus tent.
Trafalgar Law hissed, catlike when the faux flower hit him with a surprise drizzle. Though hygienic, he would rather take his shower the conventional way. Just like he would like to keep his feet not stepped on by stupid miniature velocipedes! ❝ I really, really hate the circus! I'll take my clowns in the form of Ruggero Leoncavallo, thank you.❞
His eyes were daggers directed at this Doctor Patches character, but then the gold in them melted and glinted with mischief. Kikoku made another move on his shoulder, ready to lose her sheath. ❝ There is no fucking chance a clown can trick me. ❞
