warnings. / shrugs.
18.
PICK YOUR POISON
northview.
Angry bruises coat her arms, a dozen wounds sutured shut with black thread. Lami's arms shake from the weight of the box in her hands, her teeth gritting together as the cardboard edge digs into the sewed patchwork of her skin. At least three of the stitches have snapped. In the brief moments that she looks down, she can see a glimpse of red starting to colour the white bandages wrapped tightly around her arms. Lami tries her best to ignore it as the siblings traverse through the snowy woods leading to the Donquixote's new base of operations, but it's difficult. It hurts. She's getting dizzy, holding her breath in some misguided attempt to direct her attention elsewhere—but it's not working. Her arms continue to shake, mouth beginning to taste metallic.
Law is going to be so mad at her.
They had arrived at Northview earlier that morning, Numancia Flamingo docked on the rocky southern shore of the island away from any port towns that might spy the notorious flamingo-shaped ship. While the Donquixote Executives and Officers left to scout out their new haunt, the children were left behind with the lower ranking pirates to help pack the ship and prepare everything for transport. This menial task is easy enough, leaving Lami to her own devices as she stacks cups and kitchenware into boxes for the multiple chefs and kitchen staff of the crew.
The simple labour is a relief, but the walk to the new base feels ridiculously drawn out. From the coastline, the base is at least a thirty-minute walk through a snow-covered forest. Ordinarily, this wouldn't be an issue, but Lami had the brilliant idea of carrying all of her belongings in her bulging backpack and a box of plates so that she wouldn't have to take a second trip.
What an idiot.
Lami stumbles on a rock, barely stopping herself from tripping. She can feel another stitch snap. Teeth clenching together, she continues her trek.
Fuck Diamante. She hopes he goes to hell.
"You okay?" Law says from in front of her, though she can barely see him over the edge of the box—only the very tip of his white hat speaks of how far away he is.
"Yes," and, even to her ears, her voice sounds strained. Lami grimaces, especially as Law comes to a sudden halt.
"Drop the box."
There is no room for arguments with that tone of voice. Lami grumbles under her breath as she slowly—very slowly—lowers the box to the snowy ground. Law says nothing as he puts his box on top of hers and then takes her by the hands. When he sees the bloodied bandages he heaves a heavy sigh and lets go. Shrugging off his backpack, he rummages around before he drags out his new and improved medical kit. Slamming the large white plastic case onto the boxes of dishes—with more intensity than she, personally, thinks is warranted for the situation—he opens the lid with dramatic, pointed flair.
Law turns and stares at her, arms crossed.
Mouth pressing together, Lami stares back with petulance. It's not her fault.
"This is why you should have had Buffalo carry your stuff to base and why you should have worn your coat. He's so easy to bribe, you could have just gotten a flight!" Law lectures, taking her arms back in hand as he unfurls the bandages with careful precision. "We spent all morning convincing Baby 5 to ride with Buffalo so her injuries wouldn't get worse—now look at you! You should know better than this, Lami."
Law is doing his best impression of their mother in an attempt to guilt-trip her. Lami knows it. She can feel it in her soul.
She hates that it's working.
"That's different," Lami huffs, purposely ignoring his glare as he starts to fix her stitches, "Baby 5 was nearly gutted. Pick a box up wrong and suddenly her intestines would be falling out!"
"It wasn't that bad." Law's flat look implies that he is not amused by Lami's attempts to swindle herself out of his guilt trip.
He's not wrong, though. Baby 5 should have been gutted, at least partially, by her past world's logic—but there's something different about the makeup of organic material here. Hell, even the gashes on her arms should have bled out more, she should have needed transfusions and a week of rest. But even now, less than a week after their torture, she can see the red lines of her injuries starting to close up. Experience tells her that it should take weeks to months to recover from her wounds, that some of the gashes are too close to major arteries, that it should be dangerous.
Injuries heal differently here.
However, whatever healing factor they have is generally obsolete in the wake of the Donquixote's. Most of their injuries end up persisting and opening up time and time again due to the nature of their training sessions. There is no pause or reprieve. Not even the large, angry line across Baby 5's abdomen can stop Gladius from exploding when she is "slacking" from her shots or Diamante from thrashing her around the deck for his amusement.
It's cruel.
( Corazon, though, Lami has noticed—
No, no. Lami will wait and see. There is no point in jumping to conclusions. )
There's something about it all that leaves a bad taste in Lami's mouth. Baby 5 is as annoying as they come, with eyes that are heavy with expectations and desire. But, still. A little girl—or anyone for that matter—should not be expected to work or train to the degree of the Donquixote when they are injured like that. Lami's injuries are child's play in comparison.
Lami has already had this conversation with Law, so instead, she just scowls and says, "It's still bad."
"Just because it's bad for her doesn't mean you should dismiss how bad your injuries are," Law looks up at her, golden eyes flashing from beneath the brim of his hat. "Especially for something as silly as pride."
There's a lot that Lami can say about this, whole arguments about how pride could save her life and how little the scratches on her arms are—but instead, she sulks and says, "I don't like it when you do that."
"Don't like what?"
"When you read my mind like that. It's disturbing."
Law's only response is to laugh, nose wrinkling as he leans away.
She doesn't particularly like this response. Lami wrinkles her nose back at him, moving her arms slightly up and down in a way to encourage him to hurry.
"Stop that!" Law snaps, though Lami isn't convinced by this show of anger.
"You're taking forever."
In all honesty, Law's almost done. His stitching has always been very precise and careful, picture-perfect. Steady hands. But, in the past few weeks, he has improved his efficiency immensely. Law doesn't even need to think while suturing the skin back together, anymore, as though the movements have imprinted into muscle memory. He should be thankful that Lami is the perfect specimen for practicing his first aid and general medical skills.
With this thought in mind, Lami says, "You know, you should actually be thankful that I—"
She doesn't get to finish.
"Don't even start with me." Law clicks his tongue and glares at her before applying a few more plucks to her skin and a neatly tied knot. "Now, tilt your head up so I can see your eye. The stitches look fine but I don't want to find out that it's gotten infected because you're being dumb again."
"You say that like I have any control over whether or not I get hurt," Lami mutters, wincing quietly as he thumbs gently at her eyebrow.
"Maybe not," though he says this, Law's tone is decidedly unconvinced, "but you do have control over whether or not you brain yourself on a ceiling."
Well.
Well, maybe he has a point.
Lami had been quite startled the other morning to find that her pillow was coated in dried blood, but she still doesn't particularly like his judging tone of voice. Uncalled for, in all honesty. She hadn't meant to do it on purpose—the jolt of joy she had felt in that moment had simply been too empowering. No control whatsoever. The dark bruises around her eye and brow look worse than it feels, anyway.
"Rude," she whispers, trying her best to squint at him. This is a mistake.
"I am going to be a fucking amazing doctor after dealing with the likes of you," he mutters back, smearing a clear paste over the wound. "My patience will be limitless. No audacity will falter my resolve."
"What did I say?" She tries to waggle her eyebrows but ends up wincing. "I'm inspiring your genius."
"You're not allowed to say it." Law snaps the medical kit closed. "My genius is my own, you're just stubborn."
Lami sticks out her tongue at him.
There's this odd moment where they glare at each other before small grins start to grow, expressions softening with quiet laughter.
Odd. It's odd. Nostalgic, but odd. She can't quite place the feeling, but it's reminiscent of days spent in quiet libraries or huddled beneath blanket forts that span the household. It's nice; a silent warmth that has been absent in them for some time. She likes it. She wants more of this than the silent, angry brother that had taken its place. Is that wrong? Lami has always accepted her selfishness at face value, but now she finds even the simplest of truths to be meandering and confusing to take in.
"When I take over the medical department for the Donquixote's, none of this shit is going to be allowed."
Lami blinks.
The utter determination to Law's voice takes her off guard, and she is left staring at him blankly as he puts the medical kit back into his bag and slings it over his shoulders, "I don't care if I have to fight Doflamingo himself about it, the malpractice in this crew is absolutely abhorrent. Someone's gotta do something about it."
When. Lami continues to stare, quiet as he picks up both of their boxes with a grunt.
"They're pirates," she says after a moment too long.
Law merely scoffs, "If they can dress themselves up in extravagances and preach about family values then they sure as hell can have some common sense about taking care of their own. Treating people like this is absurdly detrimental. It's astounding that they have so many people in their crew."
When. The word won't leave her mind. Fracturing and spiralling; when, when, when. Since when has Law been thinking about a future?
Since when has Law been thinking about a future with Doflamingo?
"Come on," he huffs, already walking away, "let's hurry before we get yelled at by the moving crews."
Lami stares at her bare hands, at the newly wrapped bandages, and at the spot where her box once was. For a moment, she feels lost. She doesn't quite know how to feel. She wants to say something. She needs to say something. But—now's not the time.
But—it's never going to be the time, is it? How many times will she push things off? How many misaligned expectations until she finally speaks up about them? Now may not be the time, but it never will be at this rate. Lami almost wants to laugh as she brushes snowflakes from her cheeks. She's stuck in a cycle that she doesn't know how to break. Moreover, she doubts she even wants to break it because doing so might risk her relationship with her brother and—
She can't.
Lami heaves a shaking, heavy breath. Tucking the thought away for nighttime contemplation, Lami chases after her brother with a loud, quivering complaint about his babying.
/ / / / / / / / / /
"Law! Lami! We're living in a castle!"
Baby 5's exuberant voice is the first to greet the siblings as they enter the courtyard around their newfound, temporary home.
( law's when i— echoes in her ear.
it's temporary. it's all just temporary. )
The yard itself is big, paths dug through the white, white, white snow to expose broken, old cobblestone. Some bushes suggest a garden near the entrance and something that might have once been a fence. The building itself is made of grey stone, with a tall peaked ceiling and two tower-like corners with long, large windows that encompass octangular sides. Two balconies mirror each other on the second floor, with Doflamingo predictably lounging on top of the stone railings as the hustle and bustle of the crew continue below him. There are several windows shattered and cracked, a few that even look like stain glass from her position on the ground but—
It's a house. A very large house, big enough to be considered a mansion, but it's a house.
Lami looks towards Baby 5, who continues to gush about the castle they will get to live in. There are practically stars twinkling around her eyes. Somehow, despite herself, Lami doesn't quite have it in her to correct Baby 5 on her incorrect assessment of the house.
Which…
Lami ignores.
Regardless, Law doesn't seem to have anything to say on the matter as he marches into the building, Lami following closely behind.
/ / / / / / / / / /
No one talks about the bloodstains on the ground of the main floor.
Everyone walks around the drying red patches until the mops are brought and the wood is carefully scrubbed with cold soapy water. The furniture is too well-kept to be convincingly old or abandoned. Lami isn't sure where the bodies went, but she's absolutely certain that the acquisition of this building was done through physical means rather than finding it in a state of disrepair and left to rot as she had initially assumed. The building is in too bad condition for a family to be living here, nothing in the decor that might indicate children or even practical hobbies, but it's still food for thought when Lami is faced with the task of sweeping up the various bullet casings in the grand hall.
Weeks are spent cleaning the base— weeks.
Bloodstains aside, the place is a mess. Dust coats the corners like a thick blanket, cobwebs lining the high ceilings and the unused portions of the second floor. Doors hang off of their hinges and there is significant water damage on the left side of the second floor. Nothing that some drywall and a new paint job won't fix, apparently, but it's an ugly sight to behold.
Her hands wrinkle with cleaning solvent, even with the plastic gloves that Law forces her to wear. No matter where she is, dust remains situated in her nose and reduces her into uncomfortable sneezing fits. A cloth around her mouth becomes a semi-permanent fixture, which quickly becomes a trend with the other kids and a few of the younger Donquixote crew members. The walls are painted anew with bright, royal colours—the kids stumble over each other to tape up the floorboards and ceilings so the older members can make haste with the primer and flat colours. New furniture is brought into the building; anything old or too damaged from the unspoken fight ends up torn apart and used for the raging fires that constantly burn in the multiple fireplaces in the building.
With the Donquixote's silk curtains, their impressively large collection of art pieces, and lavish candlesticks adorning the walls of the building, Lami can't help but think that this place was made for the likes of Doflamingo.
From the way he stalks the halls with a curled-up grin, he must think the same.
/ / / / / / / / / /
The kids are given a large room with expansive, open windows and a walk-in closet to share.
Buffalo had flown in their furniture that morning, making multiple rounds from "the city" and back with Baby 5 while Law and Lami had carried the boxes up to the room. Their collective efficiency had been uncharacteristic, but none of them could dismiss the fact that they are all excited by the change of scenery. Regardless of whether or not this house had been "bought" through bloodshed, it cannot be denied that it is a nice property that is perfectly concealed by the large forests around them. There have already been talks about exploring the grounds, though Lami's very clear about Buffalo and Baby 5 not being allowed to join her and Law.
She is, unfortunately, outvoted on the matter.
Lami sulks in the corner, betrayal burning deep into her chest, as she pieces together a desk while the other kids work together to put up their brand new bunk beds.
The furniture matches—all dark wood with slight red undertones. Black and red curtains are chosen for their windows, a plush grey carpet to roll out over the hardwood floor. The mattresses are all new, propped up on the wall while the bunk beds are put together. The abundance of blankets to choose from is excessive, nearly three per child—though Lami quickly claims any of the soft, fuzzy ones while Buffalo heartily demands the thick comforters. They have chairs, moon-shaped and carefully placed in a corner by Baby 5. Pillows are thrown all over the place, along with their personal belongings. Lami picks out a hard pillow with squishy foam, while Baby 5 surrounds herself with soft, fluffy ones—as though creating a nest out of her bed.
It's ridiculous, it's odd.
Lami cannot deny the fact that the Donquixote have a certain flair for style that she is honestly inspired by.
However, she is certain that they must have completely robbed a few stores in the process of acquiring all this. There is no way that they would have purchased enough furnishings to fill an entire house… right?
Probably.
Her eyebrows furrow as she hefts the desk from its laid position on the floor to a stand-up position along the wall. Looking over her shoulder, she squints at Buffalo and Baby 5—the secrets that they keep. Maybe it's better not to think about the misery that came at the price of their comfort, but isn't that also how the Trafalgar's met their end? Flevance? Maybe she's making mountains out of molehills, maybe she's comparing apples to oranges.
Even still, discomfort finds itself home inside her chest.
/ / / / / / / / / /
Haki.
The word stays at the forefront of her mind; thoughts swirling and occupied by the expansive what if's that dance at this newfound opportunity. What can she do? What should she do? How does one expand their strength in an ability that feels almost innate to themselves? Questions spiral, fracturing and multiplying. Even as her skin starts to blister from all the cleaning and moving, even as Law fixes the injuries that she opens—her thoughts refuse to cease their spinning.
Haki.
She wants to experiment.
She wants to play.
But every evening when Lami finally finds the time for herself, her eyes shut close with leaded exhaustion; body languid and unresponsive to the desperate plights that beg for just a moment of exploration. Suddenly, there is so much to do. Suddenly, her days are filled to the rim with tasks and chores and training—and Lami is left waiting, waiting, waiting for a moment of reprieve as anticipation and excitement fizzles underneath her skin. Wound up, fidgeting, breath held.
It's not a bad feeling.
For once, the waiting almost feels nice. For once, there is something to look forward to instead of something to dread. The difference between clear skies and the ocean before her—possibilities endless—and the act of freezing up to prepare for an impact. She's unsure what to make of this electric energy, of the eclectic stasis that she finds herself in.
But, for once, she's not upset about it.
/ / / / / / / / / /
No one ends up mentioning the bloodstains on the floorboards.
There are moments when she passes by the kitchen, broom and cloth in hand, as she pauses by the threshold; moments where she freezes, shoulders stiff and mouth pressed together into a line. The blood is gone, but the memory is still imprinted in her mind; the shape the pool of red made, the lines of blood seeping through the cracks of wood, the drag of the mess elongating down the hallway. It's not like she cares that someone died here. There is a silence in her that's apathetic to whatever showdown had occurred before the children arrived. But there's just something about it that—
( bang. bang.
two bodies hit the floor. )
No one mentions the conspicuous absence of the Elite Officers. Diamante's training is put on pause while the children help put things in order. The troops of lower-tier pirates also remain missing, the base largely inhabited by the other officers and the Donquixote pirates with skill sets that make the moving easier. It's busy in the Donquixote HQ, but dinner times seem so empty without the older members around to fuss and yell and screech. She doesn't miss them, but there's a distinct feeling of unease at their absence; at the implications that it might have.
Not that it matters.
Not that it should matter. It won't affect the siblings in any way. And yet—
Lami perches on the windowsill of the children's bedroom window at night, like clockwork, watching with a quiet scowl as lights; voices rush to and from the house late into the night.
They do not go in the direction of the ship.
She wonders, but no one mentions their absence.
/ / / / / / / / / /
Ink stains her fingers in an all too familiar way as she crouches on the floor, the quiet candlelight hovering close by as she carefully marks the hallway down on her makeshift map.
Law and Baby 5 kneel on either side of her, eyes wide and bright as they watch Lami. Ordinarily, she would have offered a snappy response to their hovering, but the childlike glee and anticipation in their expressions are contagious and validating. It feels like she's holding her breath, a quiet burn simmering in her chest; a giddiness that makes her hands tremble and mouth twitch into quiet, unbidden smiles. It feels like a secret; the knowing looks the three exchange to each other, the unrivalled excitement they share as they sneak out of their bedroom during the dead of night. The palpitations in her chest when a floorboard squeaks louder than intended, the gush of air that releases her relief when there is a false alarm.
Their days are too busy for exploration, so they decide to explore at night.
It's more atmospheric, in Lami's opinion, but if Giolla found them out of bed at night she'd have a fit. With the potential for more torture, if Baby 5 is to be believed. And, given how things have gone in the past… Honestly, Lami has no reason to distrust this assumption.
( Buffalo had moaned and groaned for hours when he found out they were intent on exploring that night, begging them to wait until he came back from his mission before they investigated the grounds for secrets.
He was outvoted.
Lami may or may not have been smug about it, too. )
The kids start with the first floor. Lami leads them through the halls, avoiding the stray Donquixote members that stalk through the halls. Most of the overnight crew stay stationed in the kitchen, drinking old wine bottles found in the basement as they play cards and whisper among themselves. Doflamingo's room is on the top floor, the largest in the building, meaning that there is more leeway for the workers to slack off when he has gone to bed.
Which makes it easier for the kids to sneak around.
It's not going to be an exciting night. This is a sentiment that she shares with the other kids, but they ignore her warning. Lami just wants to get a decent blueprint of the place before they start poking and prodding at the walls and grounds. If there are secret rooms and whatnot, then a decent floor plan should give them some indication of where they might be. However, Law's and Baby 5's excitement is incredibly enabling. She can't help but want to tap at every wood floor, feel the cold slab of every stone, to find whatever mysteries lay dormant in the old home. Lami was spoilt by St. Monroe's. She can't help but think that a building this large must have some secrets, right? But it's just a house, it's just as likely that they are getting their hopes up for some childish follies.
Lami pauses her thoughts— a light; voice is approaching. She gives the two kids a hurried look, quickly putting away her supplies as Law blows out the candle.
They hide behind furniture, thankful for the fact that Buffalo isn't around. His figure would be much more difficult to hide than the small frames of Law, Baby 5, and Lami. The moment of waiting is long and excruciating, the footsteps seeming to linger in the room for far longer than necessary. However, the three heave quiet sighs when the patrol passes by without issue. They continue into a storage room with boxes still unpacked and stacked in a corner, quietly closing the door behind them and relighting their candlestick.
"I keep thinking that we are going to be found," Baby 5 softly whispers, sliding down the door to the floor. Her face is pale now, fingers curling into her dress as she pants quietly. "How can you tell when people are coming, Lami?"
"Uh, good ears," is Lami's half-assed response.
Baby 5 vaguely oh's—but, more noticeably, holds a hand to her ribcage.
Law and Lami exchange a look. He grimaces and looks away. She doesn't even need to ask him what he's thinking, his sulking posture says more than enough for him. To think he had claimed that she is bad at this stuff. Not that it's important. Baby 5's concern for getting caught is understandable, however, it's becoming clear that she is struggling to keep up with them because of her injuries. Which is more of a hindrance to them now than just letting her trail along like a beaten, limping puppy.
Lami sighs.
"Let's call it a night," she says, her voice only somewhat reluctant.
Baby 5 looks up, dark eyes widening as she shakes her head and waves her hands in tandem, "No, no! We can keep going."
"We need to get up early, anyway," Lami continues, ignoring Baby 5's reassurances as she starts to pack up their supplies. More importantly, if Baby 5's intestines fall out then Lami doesn't want to be the one responsible for cleaning up the mess. "We've gotten a good head start, at least."
Law says nothing. Baby 5's lip trembles. Lami rubs at her temples.
/ / / / / / / / / /
The kids wake up the next morning to find out that Diamante has returned from his (unspoken) mission and wants to meet them on the roof for training. What they actually end up doing is spending over an hour shovelling the damned thing only to get kicked and thrown off the side. The bastard's laugh is loud enough to be heard from the snowy banks of the front courtyard.
"Fuck Diamante," Lami grouses, pushing herself up from the ground.
Her fingers shake from the cold, body aching with hot flashes of pain. One would think that snow would be a softer landing point than a junkyard, but there's just something about the chill that strikes her to the bone and leaves her winded. In all fairness, Lami was just pushed off of a building three stories tall so she considers it a minor victory that she is more annoyed than she is hurt by what happened.
Compared to how things had been with the junkyard and Corazon—well. Small victories.
It has been a gruelling few days with the officer's training back in session. It's as though the new terrain has rejuvenated Gladius and Lao G. The absolute brutality of their training wouldn't feel so bad if the kids weren't expected to help out around the base with the renovations and chores. But, together, it leaves the kids too weary and beaten to continue with their nighttime exploring-much to Buffalo's ire.
Now that Diamante is back, the kids are guaranteed to suffer far more considering the man has solid ground and a considerable amount of space to work with. Lami does not look forward to his future sessions or the pain that he will undoubtedly dole upon them.
Baby 5 grunts to her left but doesn't scold Lami for her rude words. The girl just silently lays in the hole her body made in the snow, breathing quietly and leaving white tufts of mist in the air.
Something close to concern colours Lami's gut, but she stamps it out before it can fully take form.
/ / / / / / / / / /
With the Elite Officers back there is new life in the Donquixote headquarters.
The dinner that night is bustling with activity and celebration—putting the Trafalgars introduction to the family to shame with the utter luxury put into the food dishes, alcohol, and the decorations that adorn the table and the expansive dining room walls. Before they eat, Doflamingo gives a long speech dedicated to their new home, to the future of their families. His light is so bright and loud that it's almost searing and painful—somehow different from the piercing pain he had drilled into her head before—his words lost in translation as she clutches onto the fabric tablecloth and waits for him to finish.
Of course, the other Donquixote decide to make speeches of their own. Doflamingo allows them with an almost amused smile adorning his features, loosely playing with a fork in one hand.
Alcohol kicks in, food is finally allowed to be eaten, and the kids at the end of the table devour with urgent glee. Lami, this time, is adamant about asking beforehand about the ingredients in her food, ignoring the ill-hidden looks and giggles that the other children send her way.
It's about halfway through the meal when Lami realizes that Buffalo is acting weird. He stares at her from across the table, his face severe and eyes focused. There is silence between them, though the light from his voice seems to suggest otherwise.
Lami stares back.
The Donquixote are loud around them, but their voices are ignored in favour of the silent showdown. The fact that Buffalo ignores his food for this should be enough to signify how important this is.
His face shifts from severe to goofy—mouth pulled at either side, face scrunched up.
Lami flatly stares.
His face shifts again—cheeks puffed out, eyebrows tilted, eyes rolled back and showing whites.
Again, Lami flatly stares at him.
Once more his expression shifts—mouth pursed, shoulders raised and neck scrunched down, eyebrows raised and eyes wide and bulging forward.
A little gross, she's not sure how he does that with his eyes, but otherwise, she doesn't react.
Buffalo falls back into his seat, frowning with his eyes narrowed. She can practically hear the gears turning around in his head, the steam that exits his ears. He doesn't seem too pleased with the results of this interaction, much to Lami's veiled delight.
Lami huffs and makes a bite to eat—only to be interrupted by Doflamingo's casual but demanding voice.
"With a new chapter before the Donquixote Pirates, I think it is time that we finally bring our newest members into the fold." He sits at the head of the table with his fingers steepled together, plate polished and glass half-drunk at his side. A smile begins to bloom on his face, slow and methodical, as he gazes around the table at the other Donquixote members, "Thoughts?"
Lami sinks into her seat. She doubts that Doflamingo would bring this up out of the blue without purpose. What is his angle? Why bring this up at dinner instead of during a meeting? Does it have something to do with alcohol and loose lips, or is it a way to get a read on the children's reactions to this?
"They've barely been with us for two months," Giolla says with a huff, rubbing at her temple. "They're hardly ready, Young Master."
"Oh? Is that so?" Doflamingo hums, "Diamante?"
"Arrogant little twirps," is all the man says, downing another glass of wine. Lami has to look away from the horrendous sight of liquid slipping past his lips and dripping down his chin. Disgusting.
Doflamingo turns, "Lao G?"
Lao G, with his arms crossed over his broad chest, scoffs, "Their whininG would make a corpse roll in its Grave. But they Got spirit, even if they have no interest in learninG from their elders. Tch."
"Gladius?"
"Adequate," his voice is neutral, pausing from eating as he stares at Doflamingo behind the goggles that stay perched on his nose, mask hanging around his neck. "They learn quickly. I believe that they will learn more efficiently on the field in tandem with our training sessions."
Law stands up on his chair, fed up with listening to the Officers talk about them as though the siblings weren't there. His hands slam down on the table hard enough to make his plate shake and clatter against the cutlery, "We're ready! For anything—anything at all."
"Oh? Well, I believe that settles it then, fufu fufu~" Now that he has fished out the answer that he desires, Doflamingo leans back in his seat with a satisfied smile. "Diamante, Senor Pink. They'll come with us for the mission next week. Give them a briefing and bring them up to speed. It'll be a... proper learning opportunity for our budding pirates, fufu fufu~"
His laughter, as oily as ever, seems to linger in the air after that, even as deserts are brought out onto the table.
Lami finds that she has lost her appetite.
/ / / / / / / / / /
"Did you hear that Lami?!" The words burst out of Law the moment they return to their room for the night. Excitement and malicious glee seep off of his voice; light, nearly trembling in an odd way that has Lami staring at him with vague interest. She's never seen them move before. Not even Doflamingo—his voice is always bright and stationary. Law doesn't pay her looks any mind, tossing his hat onto his bed as he stalks around the room, ignoring Baby 5's request for him to take off his shoes before walking on the carpet, "A mission!"
Lami shakes her head, shuffling into the room quietly. She doesn't feel the same excitement as him, but also doesn't want to rain on his parade and tries for a very neutral, "Yes, I heard, I was there."
It doesn't seem to matter.
"What do you think he's going to have us do? A bank heist? Business deals? Good acquisitions? Do you think we will get to go back on the boat? I only just got used to walking on land again but I do kind of miss—"
Lami tunes him out as she dresses into her pyjamas. Law, seeing her, starts to dress into his nightwear as well.
She's happy that he is excited and sounding a little more like his old self. It's good to see him like this. Excited. Childlike. But— well. She can't imagine that Donquixote Doflamingo has anything good in store for them. At least, nothing like he is envisioning.
Or, maybe, Lami and Law have misaligned expectations again.
"Something with a lesson," Lami says when he cools down his rambling, "backwards as they may be."
"Like a test?" He sounds a bit concerned, "I haven't taken any notes."
Lami huffs a quiet laugh. Law is smart enough that he doesn't often need notes in the first place, but the fact that it's something that he is concerned about is—cute. "I'm thinking something more like… a trust fall, you know? Jump off a building to see if we trust Diamante or whatever." Which she doesn't. She wouldn't trust Diamante with a pet rock, let alone with either of their lives.
"We've been pushed, kicked, and punched off of many buildings," Law says dryly, "I don't think jumping off of a building is going to cut it."
Lami slowly crawls up the ladder to her bunk as he speaks, saying nothing when Law chooses to follow.
"One can dream," Lami sighs, making it purposely dramatic.
Law laughs, just the response she was looking for, and flops down onto the bed beside her, "Dream? I don't know if I can even sleep."
"Yeah, well, don't keep me up this time." Lami rolls over onto her stomach, pressing her face into her pillow, "I feel like I could sleep for weeks."
"Sure, so long as you try not to snore," Law snickers as he wraps himself up in one of his blankets.
"I don't snore."
"Ha. You have no proof."
Lami pauses, turning slightly to look at him over her shoulder.
Law says nothing, just grins.
/ / / / / / / / / /
"Find a place that brinGs peace of mind and quiet to you. Sit. Focus on your body, the thrum of your blood, the ebb and flow of your breath leaving and entering your lungs. Stay with this focus; leave your wandering mind behind. Familiarize yourself with your body." Lao G's gravelly voice intones from his position on the staircase, "Once the ten minutes is up, ease back into the sensations of the environment around you. In time, you'll find this practice Gratifying and will expand your perception of the world inside you and the world around you. Now, Go! Find a place of calm."
He leaves Law and Lami at the bottom of the staircase, quietly grumbling about a hangover.
Law looks towards her with an eye roll as he says, "Well, I guess I'm going to the library, then."
"For your place of calm?" Tilting her head to the side for a moment, Lami considers the library for herself as well. The library at St Monroe's had always felt like a home to her, likewise for the one in the Trafalgar household. A safe place. A place to herself.
But the library here isn't secluded. It's where Doflamingo lurks.
That won't do.
"Oh please," he scoffs, "I have books on tactics and ship management to read."
Lami blinks, understanding him to some degree. Books are nice and the library has always been a home for them. She's just surprised that Law would rather use his free time reading than using it to explore like instructed—but, then again, he has a particular dislike for Lao G that she cannot relate with. "I see. I'll see you later, then."
Law takes one step before he pauses, as though expecting her to follow, and then turns back, "You're not actually going to do this, right?"
Lami shrugs, bland and impassive as she says, "Why not?"
Frankly, this exercise could go alongside her attempts at Haki training. Lami's not sure about the whole 'finding your inner peace' aspect, but the heightened awareness of her surroundings could certainly be advantageous. If Lami could somehow start to... feel her haki then maybe she could start making progress towards controlling and channelling it in more productive ways. Meditation could be the first step. Plus, the free reign that Lao G is allowing them is invaluable when their time is such a sparse commodity these days. She'll gladly find her 'calm place' if it means that she can escape the eyes and ears of the house for even a few minutes a day to meditate.
"Do you want me to make a list for you?" is Law's dry response, though he follows it up with, "Well. Have fun exploring our inner self or whatever."
"You might benefit from taking a moment to breathe, Law," Lami murmurs, voice a tad quieter than she had intended.
He scoffs again, this time more pointed as he turns away and marches up the steps. There's a complicated emotion that simmers in her gut at the sight—concern, maybe? Grief? She's uncertain.
Ultimately, Lami is no better. She just uses different types of distractions.
Shaking her head, Lami sighs and heads towards the children's bedroom.
The sight of Law's back lingers in Lami's mind as she puts on her snow gear and escapes through the kitchen door to the backyard. She tries to push the thought away from her mind—he's just doing what he needs to survive, she knows—as she hops down from one step to another. Light flurries fall from the sky, slow in their descent, as grey clouds coat the wide expanse of the sky. The backyard is blanketed with a new layer of snow that had fallen the night before, making Lami's footsteps into the forest horribly conspicuous. Not that it matters, since she's just doing what Lao G instructed her to.
Tall trees coated with snow reach up towards the afternoon sky as Lami picks a random direction to go in, the sun peeking in through the foliage in brief glimpses. The trees and sky give the environment an odd blue-green hue, fallen leaves and pine needles strewn over the white, white, white of the rough, uneven trek before her. There are no beaten paths to follow or tracks to guide her way, so Lami simply moves to where her body wills it to go in a vague attempt to follow Lao G's advice.
She walks and walks and walks, until the lights; voices of the Donquixote have eased away from her vision.
Alone.
Finally, finally alone.
Lami quietly, slowly sinks to the ground. For a long, long moment—she simply closes her eyes and breathes.
This isn't her calm place, as Lao G had called it, but it's close enough to a reprieve; close enough to a place where she can finally let loose the breath that she has held. She presses the palms of her hands into the soft layer of snow, her knees and nails digging into the deeper layers that have hardened into a block of near-ice. Hands shake from something that isn't just the cold, throat burning with quiet emotion. Even still, she breathes. In and out. Focusing on the way her body moves as air fills her lungs and the soft catharsis of letting it go; focusing on the rhythmic thumping of her heartbeat, the steady reminder of life.
Of her life.
Snow has started to sprinkle and accumulate on her shoulders and hair by the time Lami starts the arduous task of standing up. Her hands sting angry and red from the biting cold. The pain and subsequent numbness are grounding.
There is comfort here; in the quiet and cold.
Something familiar.
She takes a deep breath; takes in the sharp scent of pine and ozone, the cutting cold that chills her throat and lungs, the sounds of wind rustling against branches and the distant sounds of life, the soft caress of wind against her face.
In the quiet a soft silence; static finds itself making home in the cavity of her chest—away from the prying ears, the watching eyes, and the weight of a future pressing down on her. Lami's not sure if this is what Lao G intended when he sent them on their way to find peace. But she likes it. And she'll continue doing it, again and again, even if Law has snarky comments to give. She's not sure if she'll ever truly have a calm, quiet place. Lami wants to, though. Wants to find a quiet, calm place where she can rid herself of the thoughts that relentlessly leave scathing lacerations in the halls of her mind—at least, none that don't mimic the cold, quiet, numbness of the forest around her.
However—
Apathy isn't peace.
Apathy is tragedy taking form.
Lami releases a breath, the white cloud exhaled lingers in the air as dark eyes stare into the ground below her. She sniffs, rubs her eyes and cheeks, and then turns to follow her footsteps back towards the Donquixote headquarters.
/ / / / / / / / / /
A soft; quiet voice colours nearby as she treks through the snow, causing her to jerk to a pause. She looks up instinctively, snowflakes catching in her eyelashes and flyaways.
Pink feathers perched on a tree in the distance contrasts so starkly with the white, white, white of the snow around them.
Lami looks away.
She continues walking.
And yet—she can't help but notice the slick, foreign feeling of satisfaction that seems to tickle at the back of her neck. Nausea curdles in her stomach, mouth acidic and uncomfortable. Her shoulders stiffen and she pulls her scarf closer tighter around her neck.
He knows, he knows, he knows—and yet, that has never been in question, has it?
Maybe it's scarier to think—he wants her to know now.
He's not hiding.
/ / / / / / / / / /
She needs to talk to Law.
It's a silent mantra that repeats in her mind, again and again. There are so many things they need to discuss. Lami needs clarification so she doesn't spiral into a sea of what-ifs. She needs to know what he's thinking, needs to find some sort of understanding. It feels like they are trying to pull each other into separate directions, even though she had thought they were on the same page. What happened? Why the change? Where did their intentions start to differ?
Is there a change or is Lami thinking too deeply into a shallow subject?
But she worries about the walls that have eyes and ears; the persistent, electric feeling of being watched that scratches at the back of her eyelids.
The siblings are rarely allowed to be alone. She doesn't need the dreams of eyes that follow her or the sudden, intrusive understanding that something is watching to know this. Baby 5 and Buffalo stick to their sides like unwanted sores. If the other children aren't around then there is someone—Giolla, Diamante, the endless stream of Donquixote pirates that swap in and out of place like a well-oiled machine. They are being followed, watched, constantly at all hours of the day. There's nothing hidden about it; nothing covert. Anyone with two eyes and a thought process could see it. Lami's not convinced that Baby 5 has kept their nighttime escapades a secret—but is certain that Buffalo would have no qualms ratting on them for not bringing him along.
But, ultimately, she's not sure and the paranoia eats away at her.
Lami needs to talk to Law—but not like this; not when strings and smiles and promises follow along in their wake.
/ / / / / / / / / /
The mission briefing happens moments before the Donquixote leaves the house.
"The coastal town of Ciro is largely known for its ancient ruins and the cultural upkeep of their traditions and way of life." Senor Pink, the handsome man in sunglasses, explains as he pins up a map of the town on a wall. "Little do the surrounding authorities realize, or care, that there is a bustling criminal underbelly hosted in the city. There is a man, Don Cristo, that leads a fairly small organization that operates in the ruins of a religious temple that once was stationed there. This—" he sticks a pin into the map "—is where we will be assigned for today's mission."
Lami's mind is stuck on the ancient ruins part of the man's spiel, listening fervently as he gestures to the map.
Diamante, to the side, sits with his chair leaned back, feet on the table, and hat covering his eyes. He is, allegedly, nursing a hangover and has no input for the conversation.
"What does Don Cristo specialize in?" Law asks with his mouth pulled into a frown.
"Drugs, primarily. He does, however, have ownership over a brothel and a medical clinic in the town as well. The organization has connections with the surrounding islands, but our operators on site have only noticed transactions and trade with Don Cristo so far. Most of his business is split between the temple, brothel, and clinic in Ciro—but word is he intends on expanding his empire soon."
"Doesn't sound like a small operation," Lami murmurs, trying to memorize the map in front of her.
"It's a big world, little girl," Diamante speaks up, voice thick and deep, "any crew that only works within a small string of islands like this are considered 'small' by our standards. You'll find twerps like him walkin' around with his head held high and trippin' on their ego wherever you go."
Lami side-eyes him but says nothing. She'd rather avoid instigating an impromptu torture session for the time being.
"So what's the mission?" Law questions, fingers interlocking on the table, "Are we going to go bursting in, all guns blazing?"
Diamante laughs, but it's Senor Pink that says, "No. Don Cristo has invited the Donquixote for a discussion. They have heard talk of our takeover and acquisition of trade lines in the area and wish to discuss business with us. You two will guard the area. Your duty is to blend in with the locals and inform me, and only me, if word of the Marines or the rivalling gangs catch your ears. Being children, you will be less suspect than any of our other operatives."
"But won't random children make the locals suspicious?" Lami says, leaning back in her chair.
"Our reputation dissuades the concept of children entering our ranks," Senor Pink's tone remains even, "just make sure to cover your spots. Given the cold nature of the island, you should be fine wearing your winter gear without drawing attention. If anyone asks who you are or where you came from, tell them that you come from the town of Rochire."
Lami looks down to her arms, to the growing white patch that has appeared on her wrist. Her mouth thins together and she nods.
"That's it?" Law sounds vaguely disappointed.
"That's it," Senor Pink affirms. "You are our eyes and ears on the outside. Take care to keep a vigilant eye."
While Law deflates, Lami can't help but notice the silence from Diamante. She would expect him to laugh at Law for this—but instead, silence. He remains still, fingers tapping to a silent rhythm.
Something ominous seeps into her gut as Senor Pink ushers them out of the room.
Something tells her:
Nothing is ever that easy.
/ / / / / / / / / /
True to form, Lami pauses outside of the door, quietly making herself as small as possible as she listens to Diamante and Senor Pink talk.
"Do you think they can do it?" Senor Pink asks, although it somehow sounds more dry and sardonic than an actual question. She can hear the shuffling of paper and the squeaking of a chair being pushed back. "Most recruits wait until the fourth month of the probation period before getting put on an invitational like this."
Diamante huffs, "Doffy wouldn't have them here if he thought they couldn't."
Senior Pink doesn't say anything for a moment. She thinks it might be the end of the conversation until he speaks up, "Hm. The young master certainly has a knack for finding talent."
The quiet flick of a lighter being lit, the sizzle of flame meeting the end of a cigarette.
"Give me one, would'ya?" a pause, a notable inhale, "Well. There's more than meets the eye. It's Doffy we're talkin' about."
"No doubt. Young master is always two steps ahead."
Diamante laughs, private as though he's laughing at an inside joke, "Yeah, well, you'll see."
"You know?"
"Of course I know, I'm an Elite Officer. What'd'ya expect?"
"Shouldn't expect anything less."
"Damn right." Diamante's voice moves, moving towards the door and Lami begins to skitter away-but not before she hears: "Now come on, let's get the brats and get a move on. We've got a show to get to."
drops this and peace's
[date: 2O21/O6/27] [wordcount: 8755]