Taroticum: The Hermit
Eventually they tolerated her at the edge of their gatherings again in the evenings. Sometimes Arlong would beckon her to his side and share his drink with her, indulge her, make much of her.
After a while, she became their mascot again. She was as much a piece of the scenery as the old skulls that decorated the gateway.
Eventually they were even proud of her. "Our Nami," they said. "Our cartographer. The best in the world," they boasted.
Her skin grew dry as her mapping paper, as wrinkled as sharkskin.
But they never, never let her near the water.