#still rough

“I’ve got your sword and hat. Just wait. Hawkins will be back in a moment. The interrogated can become the interrogator.”

Law actually couldn’t get up just yet. Give him a few. A count to one hundred, and he’d be ready.

Drake returned and placed Kikoku near the chair on which they’d sat, the small stool, while one had questioned and one had winched the chains higher, his arms suspended over his head. About two metres away from Law.

He shambled them over.

Drake grew scales. His teeth lengthening.

“Interrogate him. Get your revenge. Then you can escape.”

Law tipped his head to ask why, but Drake had gone locking the door behind him. Law could have transported himself to the other side, but the tell-tale click of Hawkins’ shoes over the cobblestone let him know he was near and Law had questions. 

🦖

Law and Zoro, same world setting, but Law’s free of the prison

Law pulled his tengai over his bruised features. No need to bring attention. An underling outside the city got him to play the meditative song on his shakuhachi that only the mendicants knew and Law played a few notes before slicing him up.

He had no time for this, but wanted to regroup. Gather his thoughts before he saw his crew. Not to give the plan away. Shouldn’t have sliced him up, but clear thinking wasn’t high on the list.

____________________

Zoro came at him fast, and then the woman. He sidestepped them both, despite the bruises.

“Zoro-ya. What’re you doing?” Law let the back of his hands be seen.

Zoro lowered his sword. Law hadn’t drawn his own. The woman peered around him, curious. That oiran from the other day?

“A ninja was on our case before.” Zoro adjusted his obi.

Law wore the same haori, but Zoro’s senses were on another plane. He didn’t want to show the bruises. Zoro hadn’t been in Ebisu. Maybe he didn’t know Law had been taken, that his men had been. He’d run off after his sword before they’d even arrived.

“Too many shapeshifters around here, monk. Lift your covering.”

Even with that voice. With those tattoos. Why wouldn’t Law discard the straw bascinet if it was Law?

Law lifted it slightly, looking out, turning his head away. Zoro zeroed in on the nails. And the tats. Of course it was Law. But what the fuck had happened to his fingers. Where had he been? And bruises up and along his neck. Purpled and grey marks on his face, and was it blood he could smell? On Kikoku?

“Nails?”

Law’s fingers clenched and he let the covering drop over his face again. 

“Jack got you? Holdem? One of them?”

“I was careless. Hawkins. Drake.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He turned to go. His men needed him. Zoro grabbed at his haori.

“Let me see.”

“Hands off.” He pushed the Strawhat swordsman and Zoro tumbled to the ground, in the leaves, surprised both by the action and the strength. There must be a reason for it. Law wasn’t the cook.

Hyori drew in a breath and Law looked her way.

“Momo’s sister. She’s all right.