warnings. / none, for now. mind the tags.

tags. / tragedy. slow build. adventure & exploration. mental illness. for want of a nail. lgbt themes. will contain explicit depictions of canon-typical violence and dark themes (including, but not limited to death, genocide, childhood trauma, slavery, human trafficking, torture... overall the less freedom-seeking side of piracy).


OO.

PICK YOUR POISON

prologue.


It's at seven o'clock in the afternoon of an otherwise fine day when things suddenly, horrifyingly, click into place.

She remembers.

Not of this life, but of another.

She is not from here. She is not from a world where pirates rein havoc over the oceans, or where fruit grants magical abilities. Her world is not divided into four seas and a belt, her world is not governed by a single entity. Technology in this world is not lacking in the slightest, but it is so so different. She is not from here but she knows where this is, knows who she is.

Trafalgar D. Water Lami is all of three years old, and this young decaying vessel is bound to die within the next six years.

More than that— she is not Lami, and she is not from a world depicted in a comic book.


/ / / / / / / / / /


Lami has always known that she is peculiar.

How could she not?

( she simply hadn't known how perilous the situation was— until now. )

She has never felt quite right in this body; as if she is wearing a suit too small, as if her limbs don't quite move like she is used to. She has memories that Lami has never experienced before; of flying metal automobiles, handheld devices with a world's worth of knowledge neatly tucked inside, and city lights that span across miles. Recalls languages and information that Lami, in all of her youth, has no chance of understanding let alone the opportunity to know. There are people in her dreams whom she knows she once loved, but can never remember— as if their memory is but a figment in a fog that coats her mind. Faces and names blur together in an illegible fashion, almost tangible in thought but just out of reach.

She's far more intelligent than her peers... but far too mature to be quite right. The language of the land comes to her easily, as though putting together pieces of a puzzle. However, the usage of the language is careful, deliberate, and cognitive.

She supposes that she is lucky.

Her parents, rather than abhor or remain suspicious over her oddities, find delight in her intelligence. Her brother is likewise a genius in his own right- a genuine genius with a mind that soaks up knowledge more proficiently than her, who has already begun his medical training at age four. It's wonderful, it's lovely, it makes everything so much easier; it makes Lami's oddities seem so innocent in comparison.

Two for two, her father likes to say with pride. How delightful.

If only they knew the extent of what their daughter is, then maybe they would not feel so blessed by her presence.


/ / / / / / / / / /


The next day she wakes to the realization that she is still here.

( she wonders when i̶f̶ this nightmare will end. )


/ / / / / / / / / /


Lami loves her brother, Law, but ever since her memories clicked back into place she cannot stand to treat him with the same loving devotion she used to. When she didn't remember; when she didn't know.

It fills her with guilt. He is a good, honest kid. Law doesn't deserve this treatment, he doesn't deserve her. She has stolen his precious little sister from him and he doesn't even know it. She doesn't know what to do. She can't act like the ray of sunshine and love that he is worthy of- she isn't capable of it, not anymore. Not in her last life, not in this life. Not when she has looked death in the eyes, not when she can still feel it's very imprint on the crux of her soul. When she looks at him all she can see is the pain and suffering he will go through later on in life. How she will die, how their parents will perish, how the world around them will burn to the ground thanks to the greed and gluttony of those in higher power.

She wants to be a good sister. To give him a version of Lami that he deserves.

But.

Every time she looks at him her chest and gut ache. Like she can't breathe; like she's struggling below the waves of a past she cannot recall. She can almost pretend like she isn't in a world riddled with corruption, slaughter, and evil if it wasn't for him. Law is a constant reminder that she is in a world far from her own. A reminder of the past and the people she was forced to leave behind. A reminder that she is doomed to die within the next few years of her already short life.

She loves her brother dearly, too, but she can't stand to look at him without thinking about what she has lost and what she is going to lose.


/ / / / / / / / / /


Lami's parents worry about her change in personality.

It's understandable. She is much more introverted and morose than before, preferring to shy away from this newfound family with a stack of books in hand. She can't help it. She is not Lami and she can't bother to pretend to be, can't stand the looks they give their darling little daughter. It's nearly nauseating, exhausting. Every moment spent in the company of others is riddled with fear and apprehension— if one looks closely enough, they might see the calculation that weighs down every word on her tongue; the moment of bubbling panic when she uses a word that should not be in her repertoire.

Even still, the Lami she was before these memories appeared is not the Lami that she remembers— not the bubbly, soft, kind young girl who would hold Law's hand and grin and grin and grin

Not to say that she remembers a lot; admittedly, her memory of a show she watched as a pastime is hazy and smudge with time and death. But she remembers enough about the odd cartoon about pirates and the gray moralities of those with power to know that she is absolutely fucked.

Regardless, Lami's parents worry... until they stop.

She catches them whispering to one another one night, tittering in Lami's father's office; how adorable, she's imitating her older brother!

how precious!

She loves these parents, but she can't help but be glad that they are doctors and not psychologists. Maybe then they would understand the extent of the problem.

She revels in their ignorance.


/ / / / / / / / / /


In her spare time, she writes in her journals.

Reincarnation, she thinks, would be a lot more interesting if she were not predestined to die.

( from fire, genocide, amber lead— take your pick. )

This world is much different than her last. It's as though all the rules of her past world simply do not apply to this one. Humans are much more durable, have a higher capacity for strength, speed, and pain. The bodies themselves seem almost… built differently, though extremely similar. Humans, in general, differ so drastically in shape and size that she cannot even begin to fathom the scientific implications, let alone the other multitude of humanoid species that inhabit the world (and the moon!). The animals and creatures of this world are completely different than her… past one. They hold abilities and intelligence that those of her last world could hardly comprehend. Willpower is enough to break the flimsy rules that govern how this universe works; all of which completely baffle her.

As bizarre and seemingly impossible as this world is, she finds herself fascinated as she reads through books, or listens to her parents tell her stories of this world. Similar, but so different that she can't help but marvel.

( it would have been nice, to be reborn in a fascinating place like this; had she not been shackled with a futile fate. )

She was never a scientist or a doctor, or anything of the sort. She was an intellectual who enjoyed reading and theory— but she was never very involved with physics or biology aside from basic courses she attended in her youth. As such, she struggles to understand the changes that viciously whiplash her senses. The environment had been her domain of interest, food security, and advocating for helping those in need. None of... this... had been her specialty, and she feels awfully out of place. Bitterness clings at her rib cage. She is a bad candidate to stop things, to save herself— if that is even her purpose for being here.

It's laughable if anything.

The issues at hand are far more than what she alone can deal with.

In theory, the fire that would lick at the flesh of Lami's poison-leaden body would be easy to avoid, however, the war that was bound to irrupt? The centuries worth of accumulating poison exposure and inherited low life expectancy rate? The corrupt government and the royal family that willingly subjected their people to a slow and antagonizing death? These are not things that she can fix. She can't... cure a disease that even the best doctors on the island won't achieve. She can't parade herself around a war wrecked land and not expect to get injured or caught. She can't just stand up to the nation and world government without expecting a retaliation that will flatten the island as a whole.

The frustrating part is that there is no point in the war bound to erupt; her generation is fated to be that last one, anyway. The world government would willingly allow the nation of Flevance to be slaughtered and discriminated against... for nothing. For a cover-up, lest anyone find out that they allowed the country to wallow in exposed poison for monetary gain.

( it's awfully cruel to offer a second chance, only at the expense of being pushed into an impossible situation. )

Everything she thinks, everything she remembers— she writes it all down.

The language of this world is one she cannot recall from her old one. She supposes that she should have expected this; they are completely different worlds, what are the chances of universal languages? It might also be a blessing in disguise. It means she can write in her journals without the peeping eyes of her parents or her brother. Not that she thinks they would do such a thing as impede on her privacy—but she can't help but be vigilant in a world destined to burn.

She writes as much as she can remember about One Piece, about the characters—people, now—of goals and arcs.

But Lami cannot remember much, spends hours trying to call forth the information... only to be left aggravated by the holes in her memory. It had been a pastime, something she enjoyed doing on the side of classes and work. The adventures of Luffy and his friends had ultimately meant nothing to her except an entertainment when there was little else.

She tries, though, and fills her books with as much useless information as she can, lest it… somehow, be useful in the future.

But this is not all she writes about.

Lami writes stories, nursery rhymes, songs, anything from her past life— anything that can allow her to believe that yes, that life had been real. It isn't a figment of her imagination, it isn't just a dream she had. These languages she knows, these stories and knowledge have to have come from somewhere, right?

Her parents encourage this behaviour. Lami thinks that they enjoy the thought that both of their children are ridiculously smart, leagues above their peers. She takes advantage of their leniency as much as possible.

( she tries not to think about how she has stolen their daughter;

how she is a changeling in disguise;

how she has desecrated the idea of lami— )


/ / / / / / / / / /


Lami starts to loathe the colour white.

Flevance is stunning; the story had this right, at least. It glitters and sparkles with the sort of beauty that is aesthetically pleasing and radiates with wealth and marvel. Pretty ivory painted across the grass and sky, like a canvas waiting to be sketched on. Walking around the town itself feels as though she is walking through a fairytale - though, she supposes she is - with its mystical and gaudy white semblance. It's understandable why people would be attracted to this country, to the kingdom that she lives in. Gorgeous, splendid, breathtaking.

It reeks with a sort of holiness that begs for devotion.

The people of this country have yet to learn that the most beautiful things, oftentimes, are the most dangerous.

Bitterness bears its teeth within her: they'll all find out soon enough.

The longer she stays the more acidic her throat and stomach feel; the heavier the pressure on her chest and ribs. Every breath taken is ripped through her throat with force and effort. Every bite of food is shoved, pushed, persuaded past her teeth. The happiness of others, their carefree unknowing smiles cast sharp pains into her heart and gut, knowing, knowing, that this beauty they hold in reverence is bound to kill them. Everything here is white, white, white— and isn't ironic how the white in this country is symbolic of death?

Sometimes she laughs at this thought, sometimes she is wrecked motionless.

( she doesn't want to die. )


/ / / / / / / / / /


Lami's parents stare at her oddly when she leaves her room wearing plastic gloves tucked into her sleeves and a medical mask covering her face.

"Dear…" Her mother says with a tone of concern, exchanging a look with her father, "What are you wearing?"

Honestly, she hasn't thought much of how she should explain this. Saying, 'our nation is plagued with poison exposure, and the only way I can think to stop it is to cut it off' would not do. Best case scenario they wouldn't believe her. Worst case, they would.

She takes a moment before mumbling, "... germs."

Her mother simply stares for a moment while her father gives an amused laugh. He turns to his wife and motions in her direction with an obvious sense of pride, "This one is going to be a doctor."

They laugh, and Lami continues to thank the heavens for their obliviousness.

Law, on the other hand, looks contemplative.


/ / / / / / / / / /


( the next day she finds law wearing gloves and a mask as well, and she preens.

she loves him.

her chest bursts with a fondness for her older little brother and she feels glad that maybe this might help him later on, maybe it'll do something…

but she can't help the tiny tinge of resentment that lingers in her gut and says; he doesn't need this, i do. he's not going to die. i am— )


/ / / / / / / / / /


It takes a few months, but she somehow manages to crawl her way out of the wallowing depression that has hung over her head like a guillotine. It remains, still, and she doubts that it'll ever pass, but it becomes manageable. Functional. Easier to ignore—

Flevance, in all its brilliant glory, is a pit of festering disease.

She knows that she will not get any better if she stays here. She knows that she will die, should she sit by and abide by what story dictates. Remaining passive and allowing this to continue would sully whatever... being gave her this new chance at life. Those who stand still do not recognize the chains that cling to their feet; but she has the gift, the opportunity, to do something about the fate that has been tethered onto her. There are very few who are given this choice, even if her hurdles are seemingly impossible to overcome.

No longer can she act docile and wait for a saviour to come and extract her from this destiny.

( there is no one listening. )

It doesn't matter if she is Lami or... Whoever she was, in her past life. Now she is neither of them. She is someone entirely different, something entirely different. Made of lead and death; tethered together by an unknown source. But it doesn't matter.

Whoever she is— she doesn't want to die.

And in a world that bends and breaks over the strength of one's will, maybe—just maybe—she can garner her freedom, release herself from her chains that bind her wrists and ankles, and change her story.


/ / / / / / / / / /


( she has a plan. )