warnings. / violence, strangulation.
14.
PICK YOUR POISON
donquixote.
"So, are you going to tell me where you went?"
Lami's voice echoes through the field, the sky above them painted in soft pinks, purples, and blues. Crickets chirp and flocks of birds migrate from one red tree to another. It's cold at night on this island, their thin t-shirts inadequate to protect them against the seasonal islands.
It's been a week.
A week of relative silence and secrecy.
Law has yet to tell her where his bruises, bloodied nose, and scrapes came from, nor where he found the Doflamingo poster and the information of the Donquixote's current stronghold. He clearly got into a fight of some sort; he likely lost, given the state of his left eye.
Ordinarily, this wouldn't bother her. The siblings have always worked alone and convened when necessary; have the understanding that secrets are not a bad thing. They are individuals who are allowed agency, despite their young age and debatable maturity. But there are so many things that Lami is not thinking about that she finds it easy to fall into the circular, obsessive fixations of unanswered questions and theories. Lami's mind refuses to skirt away from the suspicions; worries; concerns, the inadvertent hypocrisy of irritation in the face of secrecy.
When he doesn't respond right away she adds, in case he forgot, "You know, how you found out about the Donquixote Pirates?"
Law hums, but it's purposely drawn out and mockingly contemplative.
When Lami spares a glance she sees that he is tapping his chin in a way that, if she weren't already suspecting him of it, leads her to believe that he is making fun of her.
"So, are you going to tell me what happened after—" his voice falters, but Law trudges on with a stubborn grit to his tone, "—Flevance?"
She quiets immediately.
( her hand sinks into bloated flesh; mud seems to grip at her ankles, dragging her down, down down, despite the green, green grass beneath her feet; the stench, the stench it burns, it refuses to leave— )
Lami says nothing. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
There is nothing to tell.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," Law mutters, not unkindly.
She is perfectly aware of the fact that she, of all people, has no right to hound Law for answers when she has spent her entire life with secrets up her sleeves. Her dreams reflect these fears, the daytime dramas of her thoughts as she envisions his reactions now that everything is said and done.
Lami will never tell him her secrets.
She knows this, understands that she has no right to expect honesty from him.
Despite this, she cannot help the curious, stubborn, needling part of her that wants— no, needs something to focus on, something tangible, and in front of her. It's simply unfortunate that he is the only thing of substance; the only thing she can bear to think about with the crawling; spiralling thoughts that are prone to overwhelming her.
/ / / / / / / / / /
Lami startles awake from a nightmare—
( dark; suffocating; bang bang; she can't breathe; cold cold cold col- )
—clutching her bag to her face, hands shaking, gasping for breath.
Frantically pushing the bag away, Lami curls over as her body locks and convulses with painful retching. She struggles to breathe; she can hardly connect two thoughts, trying to remember where she is and what she is doing and why she needs to go, go, go—Heart racing and hands wringing together, she presses her forehead to the wet grass as she squeezes her eyes shut.
Breathe, she reminds herself.
By the time she sits up and brushes the hair out of her face, Lami has forgotten what the dream was about. She can still feel the icy chill of a nightmare lingering as she stares blankly at the dirt beneath her. There is a space in her chest that she does not quite understand, but she knows the cold; the icy tendrils and the unspoken promises it keeps. Dull echoes of gunshots ghost at the periphery of her thoughts. The stench is back; rotting corpses and burning feces.
Lami never knew that smell could be a memory. She wishes, instead, for the lilac scent of shampoo, of rustic aftershave.
She wipes tears from her eyes, not knowing when they started to fall.
Static sharply encompasses in her mind and ears. She doesn't have the energy to feel humiliated when Law reaches over and takes her hand.
/ / / / / / / / / /
Lami jerks awake.
She presses her hands to her face as Law harshly sobs, his words muddled by the fabric of her shirt and falling on deaf ears.
Three weeks.
It's been three weeks.
Horrible, horrible, she feels horrible— that every morning, when Law wakes her up to the misbelief that she has died in her sleep, all she feels is frustration. Malignant and festering in her throat and gut; the type that simmers and refuses to dissipate, making every small inconvenience feel horrendous.
It's not fair, she knows it's not fair of her.
But she rarely gets any sleep. When was the last time she slept? Thanks to her broken thoughts and visceral nightmares Lami never makes it through the night, and then every morning before dawn Law frantically shakes her awake like it's clockwork. It's terrible, it's terrible that she is so self-centred that her first thought is about her and not about the pain that he is going through— the pain that she can feel; hear from him—
But, fuck.
Lami is tired, she's so fucking tired.
She just wants to crawl into the dirt and sleep for a few days, weeks. Wash out the thoughts and simply exist for a moment, without the past; present; future haunting her like a flock of vultures waiting for a moment of weakness. She wants the voices; lights to go away, to quiet, to give her a moment of peace.
Fingernails dig into her scalp, eyes shut, and trying to wait out the irrational thoughts and emotions. It's frustrating— it's all so frustrating.
She doesn't want to be like this.
/ / / / / / / / / /
"Sorry," Law says later that morning as they are walking around a lake.
He doesn't need to specify what for; Lami is aware of the fact that she has been grumpy and silent ever since he woke her up. She can't help it; there aren't any words worth saying. Her frustrations are not worth speaking out when they are both teetering the line of sanity and irritation.
More than this, she's starting to pity Law. He looks just as exhausted as she feels, but the red blotches of his face contrast starkly with his pale skin and the purple and green bruises. If she were in a better mood she might make a joke about how his face has turned into a rainbow.
But she's not, so instead, she kicks a rock into the lake.
Law looks awful. She's not sure how they are going to get into a town like this.
"It's okay."
Lami rubs at her face, ignoring the black dots and shapes that contort at the corners of her vision. She doesn't care anymore. She just wants to skip to the part where they get to the Donquixote's lair so she can finally get some sleep. Time isn't wrinkling like before; reality taking its root despite the static and the dull white noise that substitutes her thoughts and emotions.
They need to eat, they need to sleep, they need clean water.
The apples that Law managed to steal in town were good for the first two days, but now they are soft and bruised. Law doesn't seem to care; aimlessly biting into them without thought.
Lami can't stand to touch them. The soft, sinking flesh and the rubbery skin reminds her too much of The Pit—
( of bloated chests and the way that red and brown liquid would leak between her fingers— )
She stops walking.
Swallowing over the lump in her burning throat, she takes a moment to breathe. Lami can't afford to throw up again.
Maybe it's ridiculously vain of her, or maybe just stupid and irrational, but she would hate to degrade her teeth at this age and wind up without teeth when she is older— though, of course, this is with the assumption that teeth in this world function the same as the previous world, that they are made of the same mineral compounds, that bile affects the enamel similarly.
It's the questions about dentistry that manage to calm down her impeding spiral. Though, alternatively, she begins worrying and panicking over how expensive the industry might be.
/ / / / / / / / / /
A ferocious yell startles a flock of birds from a tree.
Law stands in a clearing, hefting rocks and logs much too large for him and throwing them into the lake with a startling amount of urgency and rage. His hands already look torn and scraped, yet he keeps going with another howl and a subdued splash as another rock meets its watery demise. It's been over a half an hour since he started and he is running out of material to throw.
Sitting on a rock not too far away, Lami watches dully. She doesn't think she has ever seen anyone go through such vicious mood swings before.
They are lost.
Law refuses to admit it, but they both know that they are lost on an island that they have never been to. They have walked eight days and they still haven't seen anyone, let alone a town. Law was bamboozled: fact. Whoever gave him the tip about Doflamingo's location had unmistakably messed with him, sending them both into the wild with a fake map and fake information.
Choosing to stay silent on the matter, Lami can't say that she is especially surprised.
Nothing is ever easy. It's naive to think otherwise.
"If I—" Law chokes out, his voice low and fraying after yelling for a half-hour after not speaking for days, "If I see that man ever again I'm going to—"
Lami sighs, chin in hand, and elbow on thigh. She has lost count to the number of things that Law is, allegedly, going to do to this man. Some of them seem impractical and even unrealistic, though most ultimately result in murder.
Maybe she should be worried, but instead, she's just tired.
"Stop throwing sticks and get over here," Lami huffs after another fifteen minutes. She's not sure how he has the energy to be so consistently angry like this. Just watching him makes her want to lay down and take a nap—
Fuck. Wait. Why didn't she just take a nap?
Pressing her hands to her face, Lami acknowledges the fact that she is not functioning at a normal— well, not functioning. Unfortunately, there is nothing she can do about this at the moment besides keep moving forward. One step at a time, and so forth.
Law stomps over, holding his hands out with an unfamiliar scowl.
Taking out the medical kit from her bag, Lami tries to distract herself from the thought that there is a stranger in front of her; a boy that she does not know.
/ / / / / / / / / /
After a day and a half, they deliriously find a petering fishing village.
Lami forces Law to wait outside of the town, only half-glad when he doesn't put up a fight and merely finds a bush to curl up under. She can hear him snoring before she takes a step to leave; something that inflicts both jealousy and relief.
She regrets the decision almost immediately.
Though the town is small, the voices that suddenly appear rake at her mind— it had been so, so, so quiet. It takes everything in her to beat past the rising migraine and paranoia, forcing herself further into the town with shaking hands and shuddering breaths.
There isn't a food market here like in the other towns; instead, Lami finds a small grocer of sorts and nearly cries when she sees all the ripe fruit and canned goods. The man at the counter offers her a questioning stare as she purchases an armful of various items, but says nothing when she hands over the cash. When she asks about a ferry or a boat that might take her to the next island, he merely laughs as he gives her a paper bag and directs her to the docks.
She understands his amusement. The "dock" is a single beam of wood, fishermen meandering with tiny wooden boats moored to small metal rings. The only good thing she can gather from her situation is that the people of this village look just as dirty and worn out as she does. Despite this, it takes her the better part of three hours before she finds anyone willing to take them to the next island, at the cost of helping the man with household chores. The bartering goes on for longer than she would like but Lami readily agrees when the prospect of chores comes into the picture, following the man to his house and setting aside her groceries.
Law will not be happy with it, she knows, but there's little to nothing that'll make him happy at the moment.
For the next four hours, she helps the fisherman clean out an unused room of his, pretending to listen to his long-winded stories as she finally puts her obsessive need to organize things to good use.
He offers her a place to stay for the night. She says no.
Lami is not naive.
/ / / / / / / / / /
The next day finds them back on the ocean; the wind cold but the sun hotly beating down on them. It's not too long after midday when the fisherman decides that it is time for a nap. He relaxes against the back of the boat and covers his face with his hat. Law and Lami exchange befuddled expressions, but when the man begins to snore they take the moment as an opportunity to eat the sandwiches Law prepared that morning.
"He's weird," Law mutters to her, eyeing the man darkly.
"Yeah."
"What if he throws us overboard?"
"Then I guess we swim."
Law sends her a look that clearly expresses that he is not amused.
Rolling her eyes, Lami turns to the side and lifts her shirt to expose the fishing knife that she has affixed around her ribs. The leather sheath is old and faded, but when she saw the option to take it last night... She did. She isn't going to take any chances with strangers, seemingly kind or otherwise.
Law makes a hand gesture and a face that glitters too excitedly to say anything other than give it.
Shaking her head, Lami jerks her shoulder towards the fisherman and lets her shirt drop. She doesn't want the fisherman to see, and honestly, there is a possibility that Law might try to stab the man before they get to shore. It's not something she is personally looking to deal with.
Sulkily taking a bite of his lunch, Law sends her a glare that says more than his words ever could.
Shaking her head at his dramatics, Lami settles into the uncomfortable wood of the boat. One of them is going to get a splinter at this rate, but they aren't in a position to complain about it.
"So…" she starts, deciding that a change in conversation is necessary, "I can feel people,"
"What?"
"You know, I can feel them."
Law sends her a rather convoluted look, "Anyone with a sense of touch can—"
"No, I mean—" Lami cuts in, minutely frustrated, "their emotions, their presence—"
"Lami, you're the least empathetic person I know."
Huffing and crossing her arms, Lami doesn't bother to try to argue his point. She's not sure how she can describe the lights; voices that seem to manifest whenever she is around people. Lami has gotten pretty good at tuning Law's out; or maybe she has simply become accustomed to its constant presence— but looking at the fisherman, she can hear his dull and quiet voice. See the light; impression of him, even when she isn't looking, even when her eyes are closed. The fisherman's voice; light is not saying anything, at the moment, simply there and existing.
"I can—" She plays with her bottom lip, wondering what words she needs, "I can sense people. Where they are. What they feel."
When she hazards a look towards Law, she sees that his face is scrunched up into one of confusion. It's almost cute, the way his nose wrinkles— if it weren't for the green and yellow bruises that ring his eye and cheeks.
Running a hand through her hair, Lami slumps backward, "You know what— Never mind. Let's just— Forget about it."
If Lami doesn't understand, how could Law ever understand it? Ever believe it? Ever want to talk about it? The fact that she even brought it up is silly, a thought that makes embarrassment simmer like steel in her chest and throat. She should have just... stayed silent, wait until she had evidence, and understood it more before saying anything. Why did she say it? What's the point of even bringing up the topic when neither of them has the chance of actually knowing what is going on with her?
Feeling pathetic, Lami chews on her lunch and makes the conscious choice to ignore the contemplative look that has fallen over her brother's face.
/ / / / / / / / / /
It's early evening by the time they reach land.
From the harbour, the town looks large and sprawling with many streams of heavy, grey smoke billowing from tall chimneys and a long, brick bridge that cuts through the gulf.
The fisherman tells them that the port town is known for its fisheries, which has led to quite the economic boom on the island but has taken away business from the surrounding area. Despite this, Spider Miles is primarily a hotspot for growing industries, which has left the island slowly degrading due to pollution and urban sprawl. Because of this, there is a limited agricultural emphasis for their food supplies and a heavy focus on the hunting scene- which is a popular sport among the nobles. He also informs them, in not so many words, that the town's fishery and hunting practices are unsustainable and will inevitably run the species into extinction at the rate they are going. She's not sure if this is an issue of overfishing, a result of pollution, or mere spite due to competition.
An interesting discussion, though Law sleeps through most of it.
Once the boat is tied to the pier, Law and Lami immediately scramble onto the dock. It's with mild reluctance that Law waits as Lami politely thanks the fisherman, though he grumbles his complaints once they have fled the busy waterfront.
"What's the point?" Law says as they make their way through cobbled streets, ducking out of the way of a tall man with immaculate clothing, "We're never going to see him again."
Lami shrugs, not understanding why he even cares, "Do I need a reason?"
He shoots her a look, mouth pulling into a frown. Clearly, he doesn't think they should have to say thank you at all. She understands, in the manner that everything and everyone sucks, but she doesn't understand why he feels so vehemently towards this.
"Whatever," he mutters after a beat of silence, "go find someplace to get medical supplies. I'll go look for information on Doflamingo. We can meet up by the pier."
Lami opens her mouth to refute his decision: Law's track record with information gathering is lacklustre at best and his visible injuries will not aid in his endeavour in the slightest—
She doesn't get the opportunity to speak; Law is already gone.
Huffing at his behaviour, Lami runs her hands through her hair. She's too tired to run after him, and figures that she may as well go along with his plan for the time being. The fishing knife is still strapped to her torso, so she won't have to worry about Law going on a murder spree— well, unless he finds a weapon, or unless he tries to attack someone with his tiny set of scissors. Or, worse, he tries to attack someone with nothing but his bare hands...
Lami stops walking.
Rubbing her nose, she quietly tells herself to stop worrying.
Law may be traumatized, erratic, volatile, and unpredictable at the moment but he still has some semblance of rationale at his disposal. A town as busy and posh as this will surely have some sort of security or infantry unless there is a Marine posting in or around town, and Law would definitely know better than to try anything illegal, right?
…
Groaning, Lami realizes that she is not going to make herself feel better by thinking about this. There is nothing that she can do, anyway, except wait and see how the dice fall.
/ / / / / / / / / /
The first three shops Lami tries are a bust.
One of them refuses to allow her entrance, due to her ratty and dirty attire. Lami tries to reason with the shopkeep but winds up with a fly swatter smacking her in the face. She doesn't bother to try again.
The second she spends less than three minutes in. Upon glancing over the merchandise, she immediately spins on her heel the moment she looks at the ridiculous price depicted on the tags. The amount of zeros has her sweating the entire time she searches for the next shop.
The third store, advertising pharmaceuticals, does not supply bandages, gauze, or disinfectant. She really shouldn't be surprised, but she is still disappointed upon leaving.
Slouching onto the ground outside of the shop, Lami heaves a sigh. The sun has already set and the longer she spends around people the more high-strung and irritated she finds herself.
There are so many people around, so many lights and voices that all seem to dance together in an unintelligible fashion, a swarm of mosquitoes buzzing in her ears. It's annoying. She can feel the frustration bubbling inside of her once more; the desire to cover her ears and cut off the rest of the world.
It's sort of pathetic, really, but Lami can't bring herself to care.
Regardless, Law most likely wants actual medical equipment, not the cheap stuff that comes with travelling packs. For all of Law's prattle about Lami wasting their money on vanity, he sure loves his expensive and mildly unrealistic requests. Swords? Medical equipment? Lami's money pouch is already feeling light, lately. There's no way two runaways can afford a sword.
She wonders if they'll even be able to afford food for the rest of their journey— who knows how long they'll be travelling for? Eventually, they will run out of money. Eventually, they will have to find alternative ways to find food, shelter, water. It's not that Lami has any real issue with stealing, per se, but she knows that there are better, safer ways to go about solving their problems. She's not sure it's worth taking a beating every time they try to steal something; their lives are more important.
The logic gets messier the more she thinks about it: eventually they'll be in the situation where every decision is risking their lives. To steal or not to steal— either choice could lead to their death; which is worse, brutality or starvation?
Sighing once more, Lami pushes herself back up.
When Law gets back she'll tell him there are no medical supplies within their price range. It doesn't matter that she hasn't checked every shop in town: the cold, hard truth is that they need to focus on the needs they have now and not in the future. They can deal with it when one of them gets hurt.
Fixing the strap of her bag, Lami makes her way towards the pier. She doubts that Law will be finished with his information gathering anytime soon, but she'd rather not hang around the shady side streets or the posh, cobblestoned main streets.
No matter where they go, Lami always feels as though she is a nail that sticks out.
This has never been a quality that bothered her, but now that it is actively working against her it is quite inconvenient.
It's as she is passing a dimly lit alley that her bag is suddenly pulled at, the strap jerking against her neck and minutely strangling her as she digs her feet into the dirt and stands her ground, refusing to be pulled.
A confused, frustrated sound grunts from behind.
Lami tries to tug herself free, but she is held firmly in place. Twisting in the strap, Lami scowls as she sees a man attempting to open the fastenings of her bag with a shaking hand.
Middle-aged with short, messy hair and pronounced eye bags. His clothing is wrinkled and filled with holes, though the track marks on the inside of his elbows say more to her than anything else. It's not something that she should be judgemental about, but it's a different matter when he is attempting to mug her.
Kicking out at him, Lami twists her body around to shake him off. He resists, grasping the bag in both hands and dragging her into the alley. A struggle ensues— Lami pushing backward, trying to make sure the straps of her bag don't snap. In her attempts to keep the integrity of her bag, the man continues to pull her in, eyes going wide and frantic as they are spotted by a wandering couple.
A flip flop is lost in the battle, and Lami inevitably loses with a scowl.
Her bag means too much to her. The food, the notebooks, the mementos, their clothes, their money, their everything— everything they own is in this bag; everything of their present and past. Their father's smile, the secrets of the once tale, the poor Den Den Mushi who still has no name. If she lets go— If she lets him take it—
No.
She refuses.
Lami digs her fingernails into the man's hands, prying them off as he gives a startled whine. They wrestle, then, for purchase.
From this proximity, she notices that the man is mumbling something under his breath. Wife? Money? Something about drugs? It doesn't matter. There are more pressing matters for her.
Determination isn't enough to win a battle like this— not when she is starving, exhausted, and trying to fight a grown man.
Head smacking against a rough brick wall, Lami chokes out a strangled growl as hands find their way to her throat. Instinctively reaching up, she tries to claw at his eyes— but she can't reach, nails digging long red lines down his forearms instead. The more she tries to fight against him, the harder it is for her to concentrate on anything but the way the world is zooming on the pain from her throat.
For some odd reason, panic only begins to set in now— her hands curling around his wrists, jerking at them in a silent demand to be let go.
He does not. Fingers tighten and she suddenly finds it very difficult to breathe.
Thoughts lose purchase— her vision starts to funnel. Time warps; then seconds, ten minutes, an hour spent suffocating and convulsing.
Lami is starting to see stars when the man gives a confused, dazed sound. His hands loosen, body sagging against her and dragging them both to the ground. She follows him, unable to do anything but, hands pressed to her throat and going through the desperate motions of regulated breathing.
"You're an idiot."
Law's voice is flat and judgemental, and Lami gives a quiet wince. She would defend herself if she were able to talk but decides to focus on breathing. The world is spinning, bile rising at the back of her throat. Her neck burns. Lami worries that she has torn something. In her past world, she would either be dead or have damaged her trachea. Somehow it is difficult for this to feel real, as though she is detached from herself.
"You have a knife, you- you—" His voice trails off with an aggravated growl, hands curling around her bicep and kicking the man off of her.
The man, she sees, has fallen to the dirt; blood spurting from a small incision made on the back of his leg. Law tries to direct her out of the alley, but she refuses to move. Her legs feel like mud is clinging to her feet; to her shins, stuck to the earth. Instead, she stares at the man; he's not conscious, but he's not dead yet. She can still hear his voice.
Lami waits until his light has petered out before letting Law escort her away.
She's not sure why, but it feels important.
Ignoring the lecture and suspicious looks from Law, they make their way a few blocks before he lets her rest against a grandiose water fountain. He tries to inspect her neck, but she flinches away whenever he tries to touch it. In the end, Law paces back and forth as Lami reorients herself.
"How do you feel?" Law says, apparently abandoning his grumblings as he cleans the blades of his tiny scissors with the bottom of his shirt, "Can you talk?"
The realization hits her— Law just killed a man.
She watches his indifferent motions, wonders if he even understands what has just happened. If it has sunk in, yet. Given the way he casually raises an eyebrow at her, there's a good chance that it hasn't. It's not the only possibility, though. What if this isn't the first time he has killed someone? What if he simply hasn't viewed it as something important to bring up? What if he genuinely doesn't care?
Law killed a man with a single cut. For some reason, she thought it would take much more than that.
Lami stares at her hands.
"Maybe," It doesn't hurt to say, thankfully.
"Good," Law huffs, "I know where The Donquixote's are."
His words fall on deaf ears; Lami's eyebrows furrowing with thought.
A man is dead.
Maybe she's in shock, but she can't find it in herself to care.
Instead, she's annoyed. Instead, she's worried about the state of her bag. Instead, she wants something cold to drink. Instead, she's relieved that she isn't dead.
A laugh bubbles in her throat. She raises a hand to cover her mouth to quiet herself. Is it odd that she isn't upset about the fact that they have killed someone? That she has always found it an inevitable outcome? What does it say about her that Lami is more upset about the fact that she isn't upset? That she is more upset by the fact that there is a blank space where she is supposed to judge Law for his actions, a blank space where she is supposed to feel angered or sad about the death of a family man who likely just needed money? It's funny, in a way, and isn't that sort of fucked up?
Blandly, she wonders what it says about her morality.
Lami's worry over Law's behaviour has never been about the moral consequences of killing; it's born out of logic, apathetic and uncaring for the actual actions and more about the repercussions that might happen to her if they get caught.
"I think something might be wrong with me," Lami says, voice as rough as sandpaper as she continues staring blankly at her hands.
She's always known that she is a little broken; a chipped cup, or a crack in a windowpane.
But this feels a little much.
The genocide was cruel. There's still a part of her in The Pit. But, looking back, Lami might have killed a man at St. Monroe's— had stabbed him without a doubt and has never wondered about her actions. Has never felt guilt. He might be dead. She never cared enough to even think about it, so wrapped up in her own thoughts and future.
Maybe Law was right, maybe she hasn't changed. Maybe she's always been like this— not just all talk; truly, honestly, selfish beyond redemption, stitched together guiltlessly by all her secrets and crimes. The patchwork person she needs to be to survive.
"There's something wrong with this world," is all Law says in response.
Her mouth quivers.
That is not the answer she is looking for.
/ / / / / / / / / /
They spend the night in an alleyway as far away from the crime scene as possible, huddled against an overflowing dumpster. It's cold at night, far colder than the mild daytime sun would suggest. The streets are bustling, even late into twilight, and at moments she can hear the distant sound of gunfire—
She doesn't sleep.
Rats and stray cats skitter past throughout the night, forcing Lami to curl up into a tight ball.
She hates it; she decides that she hates this. The blood and dirt underneath her nails. The familiar burn of hunger in her stomach. The way her shorts have somehow changed colour. The looks strangers give her as she passes by. The sopping soft flesh of rotting fruit. The fact that they ran out of toilet paper three days ago. The brush of fur against an ankle. The nightmares that torment her nights, the thoughts that haunt her days. The stench of rotting flesh that will not leave.
Or maybe that's the dumpster.
She hates this.
Law is asleep with his head on her shoulder, lightly snoring with a hand wrapped around her wrist and an arm cradling his hat. Maybe it's cute, but she can't help but think of the sight of him calmly cleaning his set of tiny scissors.
Lami looks vacantly at the ground.
For the first time in weeks, she's not sure if she wants to sleep.
/ / / / / / / / / /
( bang. bang.
two bodies hit the floor. )
/ / / / / / / / / /
For the first time in weeks, Law does not wake her up in the morning.
Instead, when she wakes, she finds him missing.
Lami waits, chews on stale bread, feeds the Den Den Mushi. Time drags on, her legs restless, worries multiplying by the minute.
It's not until late afternoon that he comes back, looking smug and accomplished as he declares that he has a lead on Doflamingo. In three days, they will have a meeting— what this means, she doesn't know, as Law leaves shortly after with a strict plea for her to stay put.
She does not stay put.
Silly of him to think Lami would listen.
/ / / / / / / / / /
Three days pass.
She wanders the town, snacks on spoiling food, watches the passerby with dull apathy.
One night Lami fights a rat for the food in her bag, which proves to be the most interesting and humiliating event she experiences during the time Law is gone. Given the fact that she is out of toilet paper, she thinks this is quite a feat.
/ / / / / / / / / /
"Are you sure they are… here?" Lami asks, squinting at the large dumpsite in front of them.
The sheer amount of junk is appalling; it's practically the size of a city itself and a heavy smog lingers like a blanket in the air. How much of the metal here could have been refurbished? What about the furniture? What is the purpose of needless waste to this scale? Especially so close to the town— eventually the worth of real estate will plummet, as the smell is too much for most people, and the wealthy will depart to cleaner passages. The city and land will have to deal with the toxic consequences of having a landfill so close to the civilians, water supply, and the ocean...
Amusement simmers as she idly touches her neck— they killed a man a few days ago and Lami is upset about the junkyard.
"That's what the guys at the bar said."
She turns her scrutiny towards Law, watching as he kicks a piece of debris with a scowl.
They've already been given false information before, and they are lucky that it was something as harmless as getting lost in the woods for a few days. What if they are led into a trap? Sure, theft would be horrible, but what if it leads to something more drastic— child trafficking, forced drug addictions, and slavery all being the first to come to mind. It's not like Law has the best track record and they can't afford to believe every schmuck they find in bars.
Law's face flushes when he catches her staring, "Shut up."
"I didn't say anything."
"No, but I can hear your judgement." He grumbles, pulling his hat over his face momentarily before whipping around to face her, "It's different this time."
"Right," she says, voice flat.
"No, really— see, there they are," he points in the distance towards the tallest building in the junkyard, "you'll see."
Crossing her arms, Lami offers him a frown.
Admittedly, the two men on the balcony they can see have some… strangely loud voices, their lights burning brighter than those she has heard; seen before. Unease wells in her stomach. Electricity tickles at the back of her neck.
They shouldn't waste their time here, especially when the ocean is filled with vagabonds who have little qualms killing children who annoy them. Lami doesn't want to place her bets on a random pirate crew or group of wannabe thugs. Being utterly insufferable in the best of circumstances is the young Trafalgar's curse, as well as their most defining traits. Nothing with this situation sits well with her— in fact, she's certain that the men are already aware of their presence, though she can't quite explain how.
"Are you sure—"
"Look, worst comes worst we run away, right?"
"There are definitely worse scenarios—"
"Give me your knife—"
"What, Law—"
"Come on it's just a test—"
"A test? For what—"
Lami and Law wrestle for a moment before she realizes that it doesn't matter. Law already killed someone. Why is she bothering to fight against it? If the town has authorities then they will already be looking for the culprit; given how much Lami managed to scratch up the man's arms and wrists, they will know that there were likely two individuals caught up in the murder...
Letting Law unwrap the knife from her torso, Lami stares at her fingernails. She'll have to wash them as soon as possible. Although ignorant of the advancements of forensic sciences in this world, she doesn't want to take any unnecessary chances here. Getting arrested for manslaughter would certainly be a damper in her plan. She could also be worrying over nothing. Maybe this town is just as corrupt as Flevance; maybe the authorities don't care about some no-name man.
Law carefully ties the knife to his side; clearly, he's not trying to hide it, but now that Lami is looking at him… It appears as though Law has something bulky under his shirt.
"Stay here," He says, placing his hands on her shoulders so he can stare her in the eyes properly. "I'll be right back, okay?"
Lami blinks.
( "we'll be back, alright sweetheart?" )
Eyes and throat burning, Lami's vision swims as panic cleaves her chest— loud, intrusive thoughts return; the inevitable, the known, the cloying dread. The urge to vomit rises, but she stamps it down as she rapidly blinks.
She's about to tell him, her thoughts, to fuck off when—
A surprised chirp is strangled out of her as Law jumps over a mound of garbage and rushes towards the two men in the distance. It's not subtle. She's worried. They'll know, they'll see. Go, go— she has to go. There is no way that Lami is going to let him go on his own this time.
( bang. ba— )
"Shut up, shut up, shut up—" Lami tells herself, grasping her head and struggling to breathe. Stop, she needs it to stop.
She needs to be in the here; in the now.
Lami tries to follow him but finds herself tripping over a piece of pipe and faceplants into a pile of scrap metal.
Rubbing at a sore spot, she scowls.
Grumbling under her breath as she picks herself up, she can hear the distant conversation as Law approaches the building. The two men are too quiet for her to hear what they are saying, though they descend from the wooden balcony into the junkyard. More lights emerge from the building; smaller and quieter, much quieter, though buzzing with energy.
Debating her options, Lami slinks low to the ground and tries to be as small as she possibly can while running through the labyrinth of worn furniture and garbage. The men's voices are loud, she doesn't think it would be smart to run at them headlong like Law, knows that she needs the element of surprise should things go south.
Another voice appears; lounging on the railing of the balcony. Loud and singing, difficult to ignore— though she actively pays them no mind. There are more important things.
When she peeks up from between a barrel and what used to be a fence, Lami sees that Law has already engaged the men in battle. Admittedly, he's not doing a bad job, per se. Better than she would expect. His knife swings around, however, it is consistently parried by a sword wielded by the thin, tall man. By Law's body language, she can tell that he is genuinely attempting to kill. The men, in turn, look; feel entertained by his efforts.
Shit, Lami thinks, hurrying to reach them faster—
A test; Law had said that this was a test of some kind. She's not sure of the validity of this, however, though she is certain that Law believes it to be true. There is a good chance that they are simply taking advantage of a boy in dire need.
Looking around, Lami picks up a piece of pipe. Hardly a good weapon, but it'll have to do. She carefully maneuvers around junk, sticking close to the ground. Squinting at the men, she does have to admit that the taller man looks rather familiar— though this doesn't necessarily mean that he is in the Donquixote crew. The other man, whom she can only describe as wet, seems to ring a more familiar bell. The man with the singing voice, perched on the balcony, is too far away to see properly.
Ducking behind a portion of a refrigerator, Lami gives the two children watching the test a side-eye. For some reason, they all start laughing.
Law looks from person to person, shoulders hunching in an all too familiar way.
Anger simmers in her chest.
She creeps closer so she can hear what they are saying, but ultimately catches the ringing of metal clashing as Law starts wildly swinging once more.
"You can't kill a person with spirit alone!" The man with the sword says, towering over Law. He sounds on the verge of laughing again.
"Then how about this!"
It's only when Law lifts his shirt and brandishes the collection of oddly circular shaped objects that Lami realizes why he had asked her to stay behind.
"I have bombs!"
Lami stares, deadpan.
"I'm going to die soon anyway—" he continues, "—so you're nothing to be afraid of!"
Eye twitching, Lami's fist tightens around the pipe in her hand. If Law survives this she's going to kill him herself—
A shift in the air.
The tall man's amusement sours into a frown, his voice tensing. His sword hand adjusts its grip.
( bang. bang.
two bodies hit the floor. )
"You shouldn't mess with—"
Lami doesn't think— all she knows is that this man is getting serious; that she needs to stop him, she needs to get them out of here, they need to go, go, go—
The pipe hits the side of the tall man's face harder than she expects; not that she expected much, but she certainly doesn't expect the man to stumble, nor for everyone in the vicinity to startle to attention.
She doesn't think— she grabs a piece of scrap metal and whips it at the tall man, using the anger and bubbling panic within her as fuel.
"Lami!" Law doesn't sound happy at all as he shouts, "This is my test! Stay out of it!"
His voice startles her out of— well, whatever it was.
"He was about to whoop you!" She tries to yell back, but her throat croaks due to misuse and a flare of residue pain.
Whatever.
She grabs a discarded dial mechanism and throws it at the tall man. He dodges this without issue, looking rather annoyed and confused as he adjusts his glasses. Exchanging a glance with the wet man, he kicks Law in the side— sending her brother flying through the junkyard.
Heart in her throat, Lami crawls over the mound of garbage between them. He's still alive, thank god, but her relief is short-lived.
A hand takes her by the back of her shirt, lifting her into the air. She knew the man is tall— however, it's not until she is raised higher and higher that she realizes just how tall. He is easily the largest man she has ever met, hoisting her at least three metres into the air. The fabric of her shirt cuts into the undersides of her arms and the spot where her neck and jaw meet, leaving her wriggling in the air and pulling at her neckline in efforts to push herself up and to breathe, breathe, breathe—
"Who's this brat?" The tall man, of course.
Lami tries to kick him. She misses.
"Put her down!" Law growls, trembling as he picks himself up from the ground and charging at the tall man with his knife brandished, "She's my sister!"
"Sister? Ne, ne, kid, you never said anything about a sister—" The wet man says, keeping a safe distance from the one-sided scuffle.
"It's a two for one deal!"
Her shirt pinches at a soft spot on her neck— the section she'd been strangled the other day, and she thrashes wildly. The conversation continues, falling away from her attention as she croaks out what is supposed to be a threat. The tall man smoothly avoids Law's attacks before using his sword to disarm him.
"Diamante!" The man with the singing voice calls out, "Don't kill them. This is just a test, after all."
The tall man, Diamante, seems to consider this for a moment as he hums, "If you say so, Doffy."
Lami drops.
She manages to land awkwardly on her feet, trying to balance on two separate pieces of scrap metal. Barely a second passes before Law is pressed to her side, fingers curling around her arm and harshly pressing onto her skin. She doesn't look at him, hands rubbing her aching neck and thickly coughing into her elbow. Why everyone seems to treat Lami like a ragdoll is a mystery to her, though she wishes that they would leave her neck alone.
The unfamiliar emotions coiling in her stomach sour and curdle as she glares at Diamante. She can tell from Law's voice that he is similarly, if not more so, murderous than she.
"Uah, so scary," Diamante drawls, seemingly amused once more as he beckons them forward with a hand.
He nor the wet man look back as they ascend the wooden stairs.
"Are you okay?"
Turning to Law, she ignores his question in favour of choking out, "Bombs, Law?"
Lami would have tackled him to the ground if it weren't for the fact he already looks at Death's door.
Face twisting into a scowl he mutters under his breath, "Well, if I said anything you would have told me not to."
"Bombs?" She says again, trying to stress her point as she grabs him by the front of his shirt and aggressively starts shaking him. At some point, he lost the grenades, which worries her. Now there are a bunch of bombs in the junkyard, which certainly is a recipe for disaster.
Lami stops.
They are being watched; she shouldn't be so shortsighted.
Unfurling her fingers from Law's shirt, she ignores his quiet ramblings and explanations as she turns towards the building.
The singing man perches still on the balcony, chin in hand. It's the oddest thing: though his voice shines; though his light sings— Lami cannot feel anything from him; there is no sound to his voice. Bright; demanding; loud, but the absence of sound does not feel… cold or calculative, like she would expect from a man like this. Just... silent.
From this distance, she cannot see his face, nor any distinguishable traits typically attributed to the leader of the Donquixote Pirates. Regardless, Lami no longer needs to see to know who this is;
Donquixote Doflamingo.
The back of her neck tingles, and she raises a hand instinctively to apply pressure to the electricity that's stuck under her skin.
Lami's body jerks, startling her from her reverie.
Law's hand firmly grips her wrist, dragging her over piles of metal debris and towards the building. A quiet, fierce expression has befallen his face, golden eyes sharp with his mouth pressed into a taut line.
When she looks up, Doflamingo is gone.
/ / / / / / / / / /
Feet dangling from between the posts of the balcony's railing, Lami waits.
"Where did Doflamingo go?" Law's voice muffles as the door closes, though their voices still carry from the open window.
"What, you think he hangs out with every recruit?"
Allegedly, Lami is supposed to wait while the Executives evaluate Law's performance. She doesn't particularly care about being left out of the conversation. So long as they are allowed into the crew, then there isn't anything for her to properly complain about.
Well, aside from the child abuse— but this is just something she will have to get used to. She signed up for this, persuaded Law into this knowing full well that their time with the Donquixote family will be difficult, painful, and traumatic. There are parts of Law and Lami that will break in the tutelage of the Donquixote, and they'll spend the rest of their lives running on this broken glass.
At this point, however, everything will be difficult and traumatic. At least this way they can get rid of the lead poisoning and garner themselves an actual future outside of hardship and disease.
Despite this, logical reasoning does little to soothe the crackling storm in her chest.
Years— they have years until they will have agency. Freedom.
Closing her eyes, Lami sighs and rests her head against the wooden beam. It'll be worth it. It has to be worth it.
A rapid set of footsteps drags Lami's attention to the stairs. Three lights are approaching, two that are familiar, small, and buzzing, while the other is bright and quiet. The two children from before peer at her from the edge of the stairs, as though animals waiting for an attack. A moment passes in silence before the hesitation breaks; the two rushing up the rest of the way. Though they favour Lami with curious looks, they pass by her and climb onto the windowsill.
"Trebol, Diamante!" The boy says.
"Cora's back!" The girl chirps, practically halfway through the window.
Recognition suddenly hits her: the man who Law will love, the man who will save them.
A heavy set of footsteps shortly follows. The man, Cora, is tall— nearly double her size and looming as he passes. The black, feathered coat is familiar, though the facepaint, sunglasses, and hat seem odd and mismatched. She can't help but hold her breath— feeling, feeling, feeling something; something small and burning, as though the world has clicked into place around her.
He says nothing. She watches as he silently enters the building.
It's a bit anti-climatic if she is being honest, and she spends a moment frowning at the junkyard.
A loud thud, a burst of laughter from the children.
Lami pulls herself up from her spot as a commotion startles from within the room. She positions herself by the open door so she can see what is going on, observing as the children pick themselves up from the floor. Cora goes and sits in a chair beside the executives while Law remains stoically standing by the door.
Moving to Law, she gently brushes her fingers against his elbow to notify him of her presence. He doesn't respond, merely watching with an unimpressed expression as Cora spits out hot tea and flips his chair backward.
Hm.
Lami squints, also judging the man for this show of clumsiness. It has to be faked, right? There is no way someone could be this…
Cora smoothly stands up, brushing his hands against the sides of his pants.
"It's Law, right?" Diamante says, leaning forward and gesturing towards her, "What's your name, kid?"
"Lami," Law answers for her.
"This is one of our other officers." He waves his hand toward Cora, "His name is Corazon, and he's a total klutz. But he's good at his job— he's Captain Doffy's little brother, so it shouldn't come as a surprise. Don't bother talkin' to him; he had a real bad shock in the past, so he can't talk no more."
As Diamante speaks, Lami watches as Corazon approaches them. She nudges herself and Law out of the way, in case he is trying to get out of the door, but he follows her path. It's not until he's reaching out a hand that she pulls Law away, unease once again settling over her.
"Also, he hates kids."
There's a moment where they simply stare at one another— or, at least, she assumes so, given his sunglasses —before a leg shoots out and manages to catch both Law and Lami in his attack; launching them backward. There's no time to react, no time to think, as they crash through a window and are sent hurling over the balcony and into the junkyard.
Law screams, Lami curls herself around her bag.
The descent happens faster than she expects, body slamming into a pile of scrap metal with a loud, painful crack as she lands on her side with her head smacking against a hard surface. Releasing a choked, guttural sound, Lami struggles to find her breath for what feels like the third time that day. The place where Corazon kicked her is burning with pain, as though hot embers have poured into her chest.
It takes her a long moment before she can roll over, vaguely aware of the fact that Law is practically yelling her name. She goes rigid at the movement, nausea rising in her throat as she closes her eyes and swallows around it. Pressing a hand to her back, Lami coughs out and shakily inhales. Her other hand goes to her head, and she winces when she feels blood seeping down over her cheeks and neck.
Her hands tremble as she unfastens her bag and reaches in, pulling out the Den Den Mushi with simmering dread.
Fortunately, it's alive.
Falling back down, Lami releases a heavy groan, bloodied hand pressing against the side of her head. She can't focus on anything except for how her body seems to pulse and burn; this is worse, she thinks, than the pains she experienced in the pit. It hurts to move, it hurts to breathe, it hurts to think.
Law finds her, huffing loudly as he collapses beside her. Despite the blood smearing his face and arms, his voice is loud and buzzing with energy. It feels inappropriate to their circumstances, but she finds herself surprised that he managed to keep his hat on.
"Lami! Are you okay?"
Lami grunts, slightly worried when her mouth tastes metallic, "How many times have you said that since we got here?"
"How many times have you almost died?"
"You seem to think that's on me," she mutters, sniffling as she brushes the hair from her face.
Law has almost died just as much as her, anyway.
He fiddles with her bag, dragging out their medical kit before sending a harsh look towards the Donquixote building, "What the fuck is wrong with him? Who just... does that? I swear I'm going to—"
Her thumb traces the lines of the Den Den Mushi's shell, stuck in her thoughts as Law inspects her head and continues to viciously whisper. Lami says nothing as her mouth pulls into a frown, merely staring at the sky as Law manhandles her.
Something must be wrong.
She thought Corazon was nice.
i'm trying out a new format, though i might go back to the dots. i'm slowly going through revisions and edits of older chapters! nothing majour, mostly grammatical errors and paragraph rephrasing.
thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, and following! I know that times are rough right now and the subject matter is a little close to home, so I really appreciate each and every one of you. To those of you who I haven't gotten around to answering to— just know that all of your support means a lot and that each comment makes my day!
additionally, if you are interested in updates/questions/art, you can find me at my tumblr blog for this story at fic-pickyourpoison!
[date: 2O2O/O5/31] [wordcount: 9435]