Doctor Death (Doula)

"Who we forgiving today, Kokoro?"

Law adjusted his client's pillows a little and pulled out the seafarer deck she liked to cheat with. Worn and slightly sticky from use, white streaks scoured the color from the mirrored octopuses on the back of some of the cards.

"Not a damn one of them."

He smiled.

She pushed back on her pillows. It took some doing. Even to wear her rings was painful at times. The ones she treasured she wore on a soft leather thong around her neck alongside a mermaid pendant, a greenish tint to its gold tail.

"Maybe tomorrow," she said.

"Sure, take your time."

"Don't have any damn time."

"Yeah." He extracted the Joker and shuffled. She watched the letters rise and fall.

"Was it a job requisite? Inking your fingers like that?"

Law looked down at his moving hands.

"It's kinda something I'm used to seeing."

"Death?"

He dealt three for her and two for himself, then two for her and three for himself.

"Yeah. I think that was the prerequisite."

In the snow, arms wide, bullets pumped into his chest, Law's guardian made front page news.

Law didn't know when Cora drew his last. Was it as soon as the lead got a little too close to his heart or his lungs or his spleen or his stomach? Or did he linger in the snow wanting just a little someone, just a little something of the life he'd lived to stay with him, to hold his cold icy hand and tell him he'd been loved, that he was good, people were good, despite all he'd done and had done to him?

The soft slide of Cora's body to the ground as the gang lifted the container he'd shoved Law into, that he'd slumped against, lingered. Law's sister had died in a fire, and his parents. He'd pushed her into a room out of the way of the flames, closing the door to cut off the air.

He'd gone back to her room to fetch Edward, the teddy bear she slept with. Except her refuge wasn't out of the way. A gust of wind, a changed course, the fire was quick, searing. She was sick. Too weak to open the door or climb out a window. He wondered if she'd felt trapped too, if the skin had lifted off her eight-year-old palms as she tried to wrap them around the door knob.

But, he had been lucky, then and now. The gang ditched their car near the airport after a tyre burst. The screech of jet engines and vehicles fishtailing (in the snow and in bravado) on the nearby highway hid Law's cries.

The gang's driver—Diamante—had popped the boot to remove the stuff they'd lifted from the storage facility, but sirens drew him and the others, guns ready, to a mesh-wire fence separating tarmac from road.

Law clambered from the container Cora had hidden him in—jumping from the car's silver bumper to the ground, Oxfords cracking the surface.

Buzzing power lines, drifts of snow, a volley of shots, focused and blurred around the sobs that shook his body. The sounds grew crisper, clearer, the longer he walked. Did Cora inhale his final breath as the wind snapped at Law's bare legs?

He slipped away safely. The gang wasn't searching for him. Cora had said Law was far from the crime scene, and their own intel confirmed it. Someone, something had been looking out for him.

But not for Cora.

"The roots of the old tree protect souls."

"The one out back?"

Kokoro's house was on a huge block of land some way out of town. A poorer part of the district. She sat on the side of the bed and Law bent and offered his shoulders. Kokoro put out her arms and Law lifted from her waist as she pressed down. She was still a hefty lady. He lowered her into the wheelchair.

Marco's company sought workers trained in care and also trained them in the basics for their main job. Kokoro's granddaughter and friends helped with clothing and showers.

"You're not from here?" Kokoro asked.

"Nup."

Law's words had a backspin like a bite from a tart Northern apple. Nothing strange about it. Wasn't that noticeable. Water Seven was full of blow-ins, including Kokoro's own clan once upon a time.

"That old tree's from the Banyan family. Banyan seeds land on some poor other tree and their roots grow down." She placed her feet on the rests and Law wheeled the chair across the room. "They seek ways to the ground, but the new tree needs the support of the original one first."

In front of her vanity, Law picked up a comb. Kokoro liked the scalloped mother-of-pearl inlay. He teased at the sides of her hair, loosening a few knots in the thinning strands. It was curly and didn't need combing too often, especially not in this humidity. If it was a bad day, she didn't want anyone near any hair follicle or patch of skin.

"But that one out back grew from the ground. It's a Moreton Bay Fig Tree. They usually grow upwards from seedlings."

Law placed a box of clips in front of her. "Which ones today?"

Kokoro sorted through the colours and shapes and styles and picked two dark-green steam train engine barrettes. "Tom and I bought this house from a woman who wanted something smaller."

She placed the clips on the dresser.

"Some great-great-great auntie of hers planted the tree."

Law eased the clips into her hair, careful of her scalp. They kept a few strands out of her eyes. "Stationmaster?" he asked, holding the cap.

She nodded and he positioned a hard glossy black engine-driver's cap on her head, hiding all but the edge of the barrettes.

"The branches are so heavy that even when the tree grows from the ground, it still drops roots from those branches like bolsters once they reach the earth. And you've seen the folds and pleats at the base?"

Law looked up, bobby pin in his mouth. "Of the hat?" he asked the mirror.

"Tree, silly."

Law nodded. Secured the hat with two pins.

"The buttress roots—we used to hide in them as kids. In the big park in town. Climbed them. Played around them. They're comforting."

"That's how it protects?" Law asked.

"Mmm." Kokoro pulled a silver flask engraved with seahorses from one of the vanity's drawers.

"Some of the hollowed spaces left by roots of the larger trees shelter folks in the tougher cyclones. Even after the tree's been pulled from the earth. Uproots 'em whole, y'see?"

Law eyed Kokoro's reflection as she took her first nip of the day. "The first tree doesn't get anything out of it?" he asked. "The host?"

She stared back at him, fingers around the flask, nail polish chipped. What was he going to say? It'd shorten her lifespan? She tipped the flask again.

"It survives until the Banyan, or the Moreton Bay, strangles it. Same family. It's not a parasite, but the original tree rots inside the fig as it cuts off its sun. The ones that grow that way have a hollow."

"Life cycle, I guess." Law wiped the mouth of the flask that Kokoro offered him and sipped.

Law ruled a red line down the middle of a page in a notebook he kept for Kokoro. He switched pens and wrote his name and Kokoro's in black ink on either side. Doulas listened. Kokoro had said she wanted peace.

He doodled flamingo caricatures and scratched Doflamingo at the top of his list. "On your side?"

"Put Franky there, dammit. Hasn't visited me in years."

"Gambling? You said he owed some."

"Got nothing to do with it. Paid it off." She slipped a finger under her necklace, let it resettle. "Saved his can more times than I packed his school lunch. Be a miracle if we ever got thanks from him."

Kokoro took the notebook from Law's side of the overbed table. "I'm an old, dying lady, Mister Death Doula. Gotta employ you instead of having him by my side."

"He helps with my salary," Law said.

She tapped at the page with the red pen. "It's not the same." She waved a finger at the right column. "How 'bout you and that thug?" She underlined Doflamingo a few times for emphasis.

The pen almost ripped the paper. Law was impressed. Both at the pressure and the shared sentiment. "Killed my guardian. Pretty hard to forgive."

Kokoro looked out the window at the clear sky, the season not too warm yet. The kid was carrying a lot. "Go to that file cabinet." She pointed across the room.

Law's gaze fell on the metal cabinet embossed with Adam Wood Shipbuilding.

"Bottom drawer."

Law stood, walked over and squatted. The drawer jammed. He jerked it on its runners and it jolted open. A slater scuttled from underneath and dust took to the air.

"The ledger on top. It's got the accounts."

"There's about ten of them," Law said.

"The one on top, numbskull."

Law pulled out the first hardback notebook and wiped the dust with the corner of his shirt. Rising, he crossed the room and handed it to her, then sat on the chair adjacent to the bed, leg over his knee, one arm slung behind the backrest.

Opening to the first page of profit and loss, income and expenses, she turned the ledger Law's way, resting it on the overbed tray. He leant forward and scanned the numbers. Pretty healthy.

"Look at it his way." Kokoro said. "What's your return in continuing to hate the man? You gotta know when to cut your losses."

"Keeps me kinda safe."

The empty spaces between the old boat and storage houses along the bay lent themselves to jazz. Law's apartment block was crowded and this area was hushed and unpopulated when the ships weren't being unloaded, although a popular tourist area sat just to its side.

Fireworks—launched in a boat some way offshore—were common. Not every reason for celebration was known. Even the cruise ships with a daytime departure were farewelled with a volley of diluted colour against the blue sky.

The staccato pop didn't affect Law much. He set up along the rows of loading docks quiet with the evening and no incoming ships. Quiet once the fireworks ran their course. Blocked by buildings, he couldn't see the festivities. The port wasn't as busy as it used to be. Ivy grew over the shuttered, numbered faces of half the older docks.

The acoustics were good. He easily lifted a portable amp from the back of his car and hooked it up. The best artist in the seven seas, Soul King Brook, had tweaked a new intro to a popular standard and Law wanted to master the changes. He opened his trumpet case.

"D" for direct but not too tight, his left thumb folded around his trumpet's valve casing. "T", his fourth digit, slipped into the finger-ring and the entire casing rested against his palm. His wrist needed to be relaxed both for caring and playing.

"H" for hold. His right thumb rested under the leadpipe near the piston valves. The song used a mute and he'd practice with one later, but for now he positioned his fingers, T, A, E, near the first, second and third valve caps. "D", his pinky sat loose so the other digits had more freedom.

It was hell of a lot more interesting learning notes and scales this way (H for Happy and T for Trumpet) than Every Good Boy Deserves Fruit. Getting more letters tattooed was an idea. He licked his lips, placed them against the mouthpiece, and articulated. Empty cans and seagulls rattled and called and the horn wheeled above, accompanying the tinny standard.

On weekends, if they had time, Law and his co-workers jammed. Ikkaku—a local—assembled her kit and Shachi, a North Blue blow-in like Law, plugged his guitar into his own portable amp. Penguin, also from the North, pushed his double bass ahead of him onto the semi-deserted street, lifting it off a trolley that converted into a seat, even though he generally stood.

Law usually played alone though. Kokoro didn't really give him stress, nor Marco, the head of the doula company. He didn't play to shrug off any pressures that way. But the smudged, dusky corners of the warehouses wouldn't thicken into shadows if he didn't practice, even if performing didn't guarantee that they would appear.

Cora had died alone. Law's family too. In fear and shock and pain. If Law could be there for someone as they passed over, he would be. Midwife to another transition, his fingers teased the line separating the living and not, shaded the regions between.

When the smudges merged and emerged, he slept well. The callus on his lip was getting ugly. He wished they'd materialise more often.

"So Franky's at the top of the list." Law took a sip of the lemon and mint drink he'd mixed. The garden had plenty of both. "Who's next?"

"Chimney." Kokoro sniffed her drink.

"Your granddaughter?"

"Bepo's on your list." She sampled the drink and grimaced, placing the tumbler on the table.

"But I already forgave him for frying the fish instead of grilling it."

Bepo's name was crossed out. Law reached for Kokoro's flask, and splashed a drop into her drink and then his own. They clinked glasses, fingers pressed into the diamond patterning, and Kokoro lost her pout.

"Seems like he should be forgiving you."

"And he was right at the bottom of the page," Law said. Smoker, a cop reeking of cigars, had pulled him over for a faulty rear light. His name sat just above his friend's and hadn't been removed yet.

Chimney was second to Franky, still stubbornly at the top, right next to Doflamingo.

Law had only entered Bepo's name because Kokoro said Law needed more people to be mad at.

Her list was packed full. From Law himself (he'd put the wrong clip in her hair), to her granddaughter's cat (misrepresenting itself as a rabbit), to Blackleg Sanji (how dare he?), to Tom, her all-but-husband (long deceased by World Government means), to Spandine—a volatile dangerous old-man-cranky-bastard. Right down the bottom of the list.

Not everyone knew of him, but anyone who'd been of interest to the World Government had some idea. Law's parents' research had gone up in the flames.

Water Seven was Water Dry for three years of some time ago. Booze went underground. Dives masqueraded as newsstands and hairdressers and laundromats. Musicians filled them with life. That's where the money was.

Kokoro listened sad but sang happy of spring parades and Easter bunnies and love. She had a lot to give. Shakky hired her to croon to the patrons most nights in her bar, Swindle. Tom, owner of the local shipyard, had shares.

Entry to the bar was a crawl through a front loading tumble-dryer facade. The ladies didn't keep their skirts too short or their heels too sharp. The musos and other employees used the back entrance.

Kokoro's signature was a number that really packed a boom. Ferris wheels prettied the lands of the Celestial Dragons and humans a few islands across. The playgrounds of the upper echelons of society.

Customers drummed their fingers in time on the rounded table edges and called and whistled for more as she outlined the pleasures of the Sabaody carnival town. But Tom, usually the life of the party, sat still through the song. One of his workers, Yokozuna, a massive frog, ribbited quietly by his side.

It roused the punters so Shakky asked Kokoro to play it often, but the simmer feeding the snazz and pizazz was all too familiar to Tom. There was a key change, a volta. Subtle. Folks missed it or didn't want to hear. It was a breezy number but curled Tom's tongue like eating a kumquat whole.

In Sabaody, neighbour to his and Kokoro's birthplace, the Celestial Dragons viewed the wonders of the world from the carriages of the Ferris wheel. But Merfolk and Fishfolk only viewed the same from up in trees at the end of a rope. Their scales shone too brightly. When Mer and Fishfolk said they had a fear of heights, that's what they meant.

Kokoro passed so the fun of the amusement grounds was open to her but she'd never tried.

There wasn't a better shipwright in all of Water 7 than Tom. His workers hung out in the bar, but so did government goons with access to documents of birth, origins, and criminal records.

Kokoro, warm of mind and heart, was a looker and one high-up was sweet on her. Spandine. Arrogant, flashy and loud, his henchmen simpered and all of the girls and some of the boys dreaded going to his corner table.

Especially reserved for him, it granted a view of the whole room. The chanteuse, the showgirls, the burlesque, the musicians, the barhops, the chumps Shakky ripped off one after another.

Shakky had a word because Spandine expected Swindle's workers to go with him for the price of a tipple. If he paid more, they came back with cuts and bruises, but he said that's what they were worth, it was the life they'd chosen, and why was a woman questioning him anyway? Didn't she know how quickly he could shut the place down?

Tom invited Kokoro to work for him and provided lodgings and one thing led to the next. No marriage certificate (ID slowed ya' down, and it was just a piece of paper after all. They knew they were partners for life).

They teamed and shacked up and took care of a couple of kids caught picking the pockets of Shakky's clients. She dropped Iceburg and Franky at Tom's after she'd given them a few pointers and warnings not to fleece Kokoro or her partner, and to stay clear of her marks.

Spandine wasn't happy.

Kokoro was fanatical about the ledgers. Law was employed to ease her through so he didn't complain. She wanted the yellow-striped one, third out of the stack. How she remembered which was which, he didn't know. She hadn't worked at the shipping company for years.

He freed it from the pile and a scrap of paper fell to the ground as he lifted the ledger. He scooped it from the floor—sheet music, the lead sheet. His eyes skipped over the notes on the page reading the melody. Head down, humming the composition, he walked across the room to pass the notebook to Kokoro.

"I went down to the sea one day,

to see the fish jump around and play,

Law looked up mid-step.

watch the mermaid singin' sweet,

to the music of the sea."

Kokoro sang along.

A waver and a key a little more blunt and blurred than usual underscored the sequence but her song filled the room and the house in the way the fig tree in the garden spread its roots across the soil and earth. All the way to the pavement and plumbing.

Law itched for his trumpet. The front door slammed open and the rabbit, no cat, pushed into the room and Law scooped it up to stop it from jumping on Kokoro. It bared its teeth and claws, but Law hefted it into the crook of his arm and teased it behind its ears and it melted against him.

I went down to the sea one day,

to see the sun drive the clouds away,

Another voice joined the first.

Chimney worked part-time at the shipping yard, almost ran it with Icebeurg's son, even while she juggled school and building model trains. She often sought advice from Kokoro, and ignored that dialled-in from Franky. She followed the cat into the room and paused her accompaniment.

"Granny!" She knew not to jump on the bed, but sat on its edge.

watch the sailboats rock and roll,

to the music of the sea.

The duet resumed. Mid-teen, nothing got Chimney down. Her voice seasoned Kokoro's tones like salt cracked into a delta. Law scanned the notes as they sang. The vocal verses were basically the same, but there were variants and a separate refrain for the horns.

Chimney pulled the book of forgiveness towards her and idly struck out her name while singing, poking her tongue at her granny for a second, and scratched another name in there instead. Iceburg's son, Moronki. He'd not given her enough hours that week. She circled Law's too, and grinned at him. Bad doula. Imagine giving her granny the wrong clips.

Visiting Swindle wasn't as good for Spandine once Kokoro stepped off the stage but exposing Tom and Shakky and Kokoro meant exposing himself and shutting down the speakeasy. And if he was in need of anything after a long day it was a drop of top-shelf whiskey. Shakky knew her stuff, and pretty girls were a dime a dozen. The new songbird was more accommodating than the old. He brushed it off.

Then prohibition was repealed and Spandine swung into action. A bar popped up a block from Swindle. Funk 'n' Freed. Studded red leather booths, polished hardwood floors, and rows of stiff drinks were stiff competition for Shakky's business, particularly when her opening hours were cut right back by municipal order.

It wasn't enough. Spandine limited Tom's access to his shipyard, stating that Fishmen weren't really allowed in that part of town even if they made up a third of the dockers. A pen-pusher took his place. Workers ran behind the stooge's back seeking advice and instruction from Tom. He was the best there was.

One night, clear sky, stars bright, the front gate of the house that Kokoro currently lived in creaked open and Spandine weaselled his way into the yard. For the price of a kiss, how 'bout it? restrictions could be lifted. Tom chased him off the property, and Kokoro, armed with a shotgun, stood nearby.

But the government needed expertise on a track they wanted to lay between Water 7 and a nearby penal colony where rebels were sent to die. Spandine brokered the proposal. Shipwright, brilliant engineer, Tom's railway would cross the ocean.

They weren't snitches or government dogs, Kokoro said. But the pay-off was her freedom and Tom's own, and a better life for Iceburg and Franky.

She trained up. If they were going to do this, they were gonna do it right, and—as Shakky said—knowledge was power. The train driver's exam was a breeze, and she passed it first attempt. She scrutinized the blueprints for the rail, and sighted the ones that Tom kept under lock and key.

The boys learnt the mechanics and physics of laying the track and building the engine, and Puffing Tom was ready to go.

On the first day the train delivered government officials to the colony and nine men were hung. On the second, just one.

Spandine reneged.

A round of blanks shot at close range hurts well enough. Spandine sought a reward for allowing Kokoro and Tom to create government infrastructure and had come knocking. Snivelling too close to Kokoro and the boys, she released the safety and fired.

Tom took the rap. Spandine was terrified of Kokoro and didn't step foot in her yard after that, but made sure that she paid. And she did. Spandine's lackeys bandaged the thigh-wound and he said that the cartridges were lead.

Cyclone season greyed the skies a week after the execution. The banyans were uprooted on some of the smaller islands but, as they did year after year, century after century, people used the trees' cavities for protection and survived. So did Spandine, and the track laid for Puffing Tom. Both rail and train had barely a scratch, just as their creator intended.

Franky punched everything and everyone (except Kokoro), and ran away. Thought to be dead for years. The keys to the special drawer disappeared. Into Iceburg's pocket, Kokoro suspected. She turned to the bottle.

"It's a cat," Bepo said, "Cats and jazz don't mix."

Yet another of the North Blue crew, the Mink helped Ikkaku set up her kit. Why was a cat coming to watch them play? It was gonna wreak havoc with his allergies.

"Sure they do, Beps." Shachi patted Bepo's upper arm. Bepo put the be-bop in Bepo-pop. They might let him scat later. "Jazz cats, cool for cats, hep-cats."

"Autocrats," Penguin volunteered, righting his bass, plucking a few notes, tuning. The cars on the major road, a few blocks over, rumbled in the background.

"Cats, not crats, Pen," Ikkaku said, tapping a cymbal then pinching it lightly to mute the sound.

Law's work van, phoenix tail feathers detailed in blue and yellow along the side and curling around the back, pulled up. Bepo approached the opened side door. Law exited from the driver's side and secured the wheelchair lift.

Bepo stepped back and that girl—a meteor of energy—tumbled out, pigtails vertical. A rabbit hopped after her, then away towards the loading docks on the other side of the road to sniff at the ivy. Bepo sneezed.

"Gonbe!" The girl ran after her pet. "Stupid cat." Figured, Bepo thought, and wiped the back of his paw across his nose.

Kokoro's laughter filled the van, and Bepo usually heard it directed his way for being a bear (Kokoro's words). If Law wasn't available, Bepo went in his place. She didn't have anything against Minks, which was cool because Bepo had nothing against mermaids.

Kokoro, (flask tucked into her bag), regally navigated the wheelchair down the ramp and Bepo pushed her to their set-up.

Law removed his gear from the vehicle, dumped it, then parked further up the road. Walking back, hands in pockets, the breeze lifted Law's black shirt, swelling the bronze heart that flanked the side seam.

Chimney raced over just as Penguin counted them in, Gonbe on her shoulders. Ikkaku picked up the bassline, Shachi introed the melody and Law led from it. A big band tune without the big band, the song was brass-heavy at the start.

The weekend was empty. Swing filled the street. Eight bars in, everyone dropped a decibel or two or stopped playing altogether.

Kokoro sang. Gonbe jumped off Chimney's shoulders and onto her lap, and the quick flare of pain Law saw in her eyes over the pistons of the trumpet didn't hide her joy. Chimney sat on Penguin's foldout seat and swung her legs.

Ikkaku and Penguin shared glances. Kokoro's pitch and phrasing tugged smiles from their faces—she sure had a set of pipes on her. Shachi, head down, concentrated on his fretwork. Chimney joined Kokoro on the second verse. Ikkaku kicked in on the third. Some songs were universal.

And I met a lovely maiden,

on that midday afternoon,

she promised she would wed me,

on a summer day next June.

Penguin, now in the groove, chimed in on the last few words of each line, and all three members, plus Bepo the observer, and even the cat (buzzing and clucking), completed the fourth verse.

Law, back to his crew, stared out at the buildings across from them. Smoke smudged into shadows like fresh bullet casings in the snow. The pop of fireworks burst in the distance, and on the roof a girl stood close to two larger figures in the same kind of way that Gonbe followed Chimney.

The girl glanced up at the shadows by her, and the taller of the two patted her head. She looked out at the street and musicians and waved at Law, ice cream in hand, strawberry for him, matcha for her.

But it was only a dream that day,

her old man met to came up to say,

flap your fins and swim away,

you belong back in the sea.

Only Bepo saw Law's smile. Cora sat so confidently on the roof's sloped surface. Something that wasn't wise when he was alive. He shot the peace sign Law's way and if Law's fingers hadn't been pressing the trumpet's valves, flipping the bird would've been his reply, but matched with a grin that he couldn't really show. Bepo recognised the indent of his dimples.

Next to Cora, Lami—the shadow girl—cuddled between their mother and father, and Law knew he'd have to play My Favourite Things before the night was through. That was no hardship even though the piece wasn't easy. Seltzer tight, Ikkaku's hi-hat and cymbal work was a whistle and clack of rail across the ocean. Penguin's bass didn't just show the way, it cut the path, and maybe Lami and Shachi wouldn't mind if Kokoro led the melody.

Spandine's kidneys failed, a victim of E. Coli. after eating Yellowfin tuna from a joint claiming full Marie Geoise endorsement. Proprietors: Silvers and Peony.

Law leafed through the notebook when he returned to Kokoro's house to collect his gear. Franky, Chimney, Gonbe, Law himself—all had been struck from the investment ledger. Smoker's name was erased (maybe she'd paid the fine, although Marco had said he would).

She'd read about Spandine's death, and hoped that Shakky and her man would be alright.

The room was empty, Kokoro's bed made up, as if waiting for someone to fold down its covers and crawl beneath. The Moreton Bay Fig shaded the yard.

Chimney, Gonbe, Iceburg, and Moronki Jr. had been there. Law too. They witnessed her last breath. Franky on the video cam.

He turned a page. An ever-expanding and changing record of people to let go of accentuated Kokoro's last few weeks. Only Spandine's name remained constant and without a strike, circled and underlined a few hundred times. Even at the end. And Doflamingo's. Fuck them. What had they ever done to deserve forgiveness?

That evening, Law took to the loading docks and the shadows gathered as he played and Kokoro wasn't among them and Law was happy for that. He'd done a good job.

He hit a light, laidback note, and a belly-clutching ghoul crawled from the alley between two warehouses. It attempted to climb the rooftop where Law serenaded his families, both of them. Maybe it mistook the cheer for safety. Cora, Lami, his mother and father didn't notice. They couldn't hear Spandine's calls for help. His demand for assistance.

Keen ears. Gonbe could. Cats enjoyed toying with their prey, and this one hopped across the rooftops at speed, and sank its incisors into Spandine in the way that it had tried to with Law.

Law blat out a note, as graceful as an elephant on ice, when a giant frog sprang from a nearby warehouse to the one opposite, and pushed Spandine to the ground. The bastard-ghost clattered and scrambled on a row of tin cans before fading away, and the frog struck a pose. Law guessed it was a friend of Franky's.

He hoped Spandine's appearance was a one-off and not a nightly thing. He did not want to midwife that to any place of calm.

Law jumped at a tap on his elbow, and Chimney stood by his side, eyes red and she lifted the mermaid pendant that Kokoro had worn until earlier that week.

Law nodded and changed tunes, and hoped that Chimney hadn't heard his misplay. She picked up the lead and sang of her grandmother and the mythical feats and kindness and struggles of Merfolk and Fishfolk, and Cora's smile widened and his mother and father looked happy. Law had made friends. Mythical friends even.

Then Chimney's eyes lit up and Law—looking down at her then out—saw that her gaze landed a bit beyond his own family. Speckling into sight, Kokoro and a large round guy, two horns on top of his head, sat behind Law's shadows, arms entwined. Gonbe sat to her side, and the frog next to the dude. Kokoro, smiling broadly, sang when she wasn't swigging from a flask.

The setting sun spread pink, then orange, then dappled through the smoky shapes. They faded before the song was out. The animals, or lesser Minks?, sprang away. Law and Chimney finished up together with a nod from Law and the teen's grin was warm like a recess sheltering folks from storms.

"Are they gone?"

"I think so," Law said.

Chimney and Kokoro, his parents and Cora's smiles crossed his mind as he closed his eyes that night. The earthy aroma of roots buttressing souls from one plane to another rose to greet him.

A/N: This was written as part of the opreversebang2021. If you want to check out the beautiful art that goes with it, please check out my AO3. My partner was alegnace. This is a one shot on AO3 with the same title. Thanks for reading!