plenilunium - "full moon"
(The skiff floundered in the icy sea. Blizzard flurries in one beat and torrential rains the next. The starboard half had three ragged talon marks ripped down its side. A sea king which had mistook it for prey.
Men whispered and swore. They eyed the needle of the log pose as it spun, again and again in panicked circles, like a cornered beast without escape.
The New World was not an ocean one could afford to be lost in.)
xxx
It would occur to Rosinante later that Sengoku had sent him the message about Barrels as headway to help avoid him. The old man still hadn't known of the whole situation then or the truth of what Rosinante was trying to do. He'd intended the message as a warning.
He had wanted him to run.
"Cora-san?" Law walked over. "Wha—" He yelped as Rosinante spun around and drew him up into his arms, laughing, the Den Den Mushi laying in the grass with all the cords tangled up.
"What the—Cora-san, you idiot, let go!"
He didn't let go. And the child didn't struggle for long. He blinked up at Rosinante, at his breathless, foolish grin beneath the white-washed sun.
"The Ope Ope's been found, Law." He squeezed gently, fiercely. "Kid, you're going to live."
It came as a whisper when he really wanted to shout, wanted to announce it across the valleys until even the most ancient earthen roots shook from the sound. The boy was going to live. He'd get to grow up and god, Rosinante already knew he was going to be something special.
Something extraordinary.
"Get ready," he said, setting Law back down, as he rushed over to the campsite and kicked dirt over the fire, "We're heading to the North Blue tonight." They would need to hurry. Take advantage of present circumstances however they could. The nexus of a plan was forming in his head.
Small footsteps pattered to a stop behind him. Law crouched down, sliding their supplies back into the giant knapsack Rosinante had swiped at one of a myriad of ports. His brow was furrowed, like he was trying to unsnarl a huge and terrible knot.
"I thought the Ope Ope was gone."
"It'd been taken," Rosinante said, gathering up the Den Den Mushi and tucking it into his coat, "You remember the man I've been looking for? Diez Barrels?"
Law's eyes widened. "That's why you were—so he beat us there then? To the island?"
Rosinante nodded. "He must've been the one the map had been en route to in the first place. Word probably made it back to him somehow and he got there first."
"Even when he knew Doflamingo was after it too?"
Rosinante flinched. It was only for a second. "He's an arrogant old man. And the Ope Ope's one of the rarest devil fruits in the world. The map alone must've cost a fortune."
Bitterness too, Rosinante didn't doubt, was lurking in the swill of those reasons. Over the past few months, he'd come to realize why the Barrels name sounded so familiar to him. The man had been a marine, defecting years ago when Rosinante had been just a cadet.
He'd tried to grab turf in the North Blue and collided head-on, as had so many pirate crews in that sea, with the spike-riddled ceiling that was his brother.
The man probably thought Doffy had robbed him. Not only of the fruit, but everything.
He was wrong.
The North Blue was too quick and wild and mercurial for someone like Barrels to have ever conquered anyway.
And Rosinante was the one who was actually going to rob him.
"Come on," he said, stooping to hoist the heavy knapsack and swing it over one shoulder, "He'll be selling it to the marines in another two weeks. We need to reach the rendezvous point before them."
Law stood, padding over to the fireplace where Rosinante's hat sat half-crumpled on a rock. "Where is it?"
A pause.
"Rubeck," he said, quietly, still taken a bit aback by it in truth. What odds they'd be meeting there of all places and Rosinante's chest creaked just at the idea of return. It was going to be…so fucking unpleasant.
But that didn't matter. None of it mattered. He'd been seeing then only what he'd wanted to see. It hadn't been real.
And he was so close….
"Cora-san, you still haven't finished this." Law was hugging Rosinante's hat in one hand, holding a wrapped sweet potato in the other. For a moment, Rosinante didn't recognize it, before remembering it was the last meal he'd bought them with the remainder of their beri. Half of the potato was gone, offered to a curious stray dog, while the second half was still untouched.
Rosinante waved his hand. "You can have it, kiddo."
"I already ate mine."
"Well, you can eat mine too."
Maybe that'd been the wrong thing to say. Law's mouth pulled into a sudden and distraught frown.
"No, I want you to eat it."
"'m not hungry."
"Too bad."
"Law," Rosinante said, half-stern, but the kid wasn't having it, shoving the potato up at him with lips stubbornly pursed. He didn't look like he'd stand for going anywhere until Rosinante took it and so he conceded with a sigh. There wasn't time for this.
"Fine," he said, picking the boy up too while he was at it, "Troublesome brat."
Law smirked, leaning against Rosinante's shoulder. His arms crossed in smarmy victory and it was so unbelievably cute, Rosinante crammed down three-fourths of the sweet potato to stop from squishing him senseless.
He had no true description actually for his relief then, as if he were taking that first long breath after a lifetime of drowning. He was scared and he was weak and he was nothing, nothing, nothing. Just as Vergo had said all those years ago. Born for one purpose only. Rosinante had never stopped thinking so, deep down.
But if he could save this child, this one final child above all else, then maybe this life of his had not been so pointless in the end.
Maybe it'd been worth something after all.
Rosinante stepped onto the trail snaking down from the hills and gathered himself one final time.
xxx
Barrels was a dead old man. This was already so in Doflamingo's mind, even before he'd fully cut the call. The geezer was walking and breathing on borrowed time alone.
And Doflamingo wasn't just going to kill him either, oh no.
He was going to eviscerate him and make balloon animals out of his entrails.
It was an execution Barrels had bought for himself. Thinking he could steal from him, fancying what was his. The bastard had ruined goddamn everything and Doflamingo whole-heartedly intended to hold him accountable.
Anyone else too, who'd thought to try and interfere with his affairs. Who'd made things turn into this giant, insufferable mess. The Government. The Marines.
They were all about to get what was coming in a very not fun way. Every single one.
He'd had a plan brewing for some time. A very special one to keep them awake and shuddering at night. Doflamingo's lips turned at the thought.
Just how many years had he left Dressrosa dancing anyway?
Far longer than its fill.
Doffy. Rosi shook his head, vaporish hair brushing over his eyes, and the beginnings of Doflamingo's smile vanished. Why do you still not understand?
His brother was sitting at the edge of the desk, that one corner which his strings had sliced off entirely. His legs were tucked up, his arms hugging his knees. The way they use to sit together at the sill after Mother died, watching the world turn outside.
Doflamingo stared at him until a footstep clicked at his left, a sequin purple along the peripherals of his vision. Jora. She was still here. Edging closer. Anxious.
"…Young Master?"
He turned slightly, offering the snail back in distraction.
Why did I leave, Doffy? Rosi rested a dirt-smudged cheek on his scabbed knee. Really, why did I leave?
Because you were angry. Doflamingo thought, the same blank and automatic path he kept turning onto. And you wanted to hurt me.
Because you stopped being mine a long time ago and now you're—
He stood.
xxx
(The Young Master did not speak to Vergo for long. Maybe five or so minutes at the most. Jora didn't even feel miffed at the man anymore for hanging up so rudely with her before. Wherever Vergo was now, she just hoped he had listened to her and gone to ship more of that wine.
Because the Young Master was getting worse. Had started walking in strange winding patterns down the halls and avoiding certain corners, rooms, and perfectly empty chairs. She was almost certain now he'd been talking to thin air when she and Pink had tried to reason with him previously.
Pink said he'd seen it once before too, years ago, and that all of this was nothing new. Jora couldn't fathom how. She had some recollection of a few eccentricities back then, but never to such an extent.
To her, the Young Master had been then at least a thousand feet higher than the rest of them put together. Like some speck of glittering light in the stellar distance. More presence than person. Perhaps that's why she hadn't noticed.
But it was only a person who could look the way he did now. That strange, troubled expression on his face—a brief respite from all that raging frustration. Jora took a ginger step forward.
"…Young Master?"
He barely looked at her, extending the snail back in one spidery hand, which she hurriedly accepted. Then in the silence she fidgeted, unsure if she was dismissed or not, until the Young Master rose suddenly. The destroyed floor boards crunched beneath his weight. His vast shadow consumed her. Something clammy and pale wavered in his expression, before it was gone.
"Jora, we're returning to North Blue."
She blinked and then nodded without asking why, because the Family did not ever ask him why. "Of course. I'll go tell the crew."
He didn't respond. She turned to leave and was right at the door, before his voice stopped her again in her tracks.
"It wasn't supposed to be this way."
The Young Master loomed in front of his desk, stiller than stone. Scattered light filtered through the porthole window, refracting off his earrings, glittering upon the ceiling and floor.
"I was doing my job."
"Young Master?"
"I had to teach him the truth."
She turned around, her expression falling. "Sir—"
"Why did he leave me, Jora? I wasn't wrong. It wasn't my fault." He stared down at her, brows knotted.
"…it wasn't, right?"
A long moment passed before she realized he was being serious. No trick questions. No tests of devotion. He was honest-to-god confused and he was asking for real. Jora gazed up with panicked, hesitant eyes. Those children aside, she could not have pretended to care about the fates of those island people. Softness to that degree was beyond the nature of the Donquixote Family.
But Corazón…his look on the beach, his eyes at the end.
For the first time, Jora wondered what he must have thought that day. Whether he had managed to take it as a lesson, or a kindness, or the simple course of things.
Jora bit her lip. It was not the Family's place to ever say their master was wrong. Trebol had always made sure they understood this well. Theirs was to agree and to follow, venerating anything and everything their captain chose to do. And they would keep their mouths shut if they were grateful, Trebol had said, if they were loyal.
Even though sometimes, when Pink was musing especially, Jora wondered if that was what loyalty was supposed to be. She wondered about a lot of things now, ever since Dellinger had been taken away.
Maybe that's why Jora told him what she did in the end too. Softly and nervously. What she believed.
"I don't know, Young Master. I-I don't know if any of us know and I think…I think you need to ask Corazón himself. About what happened. And why."
Her heart skipped several beats in a row soon as the words departed her tongue, a reflexive fear bore from a thousand of Trebol's hissed warnings against insolence.
But the Young Master didn't seem angry then, not even remotely. There wasn't much emotion at all upon his young ageless face, colder and stiller than the vacuum of space. That unfathomable emptiness which made him so hard to look at sometimes.
And so furious and beautiful.
And terrifying, terrifying, terrifying.
No drop of pity in him. Not the slightest whit of a heart.
Not in him anyway.
A troubling, but vital distinction that none of them would really understand until the end.
The Young Master straightened, hand falling from the corner of his desk.
"I see," he muttered and drifted past.)
xxx
It took three days to reach the channel. Rosinante was amazed he still remembered the way, following only the haphazard path of the stars, guided by the scar-riddled hand of a ghost.
Law sat almost exclusively in his lap now, huddled close for warmth, dozing on and off against his own will. The boy developed fevers on most nights and a burning pain that radiated throughout his body, which made normal sleep impossible.
To distract him from his misery, Rosinante taught Law the constellations, tracing shapes out of the pinhole lights, the way he remembered it taught to him. Somehow, the boy mustered up the energy to be fascinated.
He spoke a lot more in general now. Maybe Law couldn't stand the gaping silence Baby and Buffalo had left behind any more than he could (And the kid never did ask about them again. Rosinante wasn't looking that particular horse in the mouth.)
It was nice though. Law was full of observations and ideas and could go on and on about something if it sparked his interest. Rosinante enjoyed listening to him. Enjoyed his bright-eyed cleverness, his ability at times to motor on enough for two.
"Have you been there before, Cora-san?" Law murmured on the third night, "Rubeck, I mean."
He was looking into the waters of the channel, at the barnacled sterns and concave hulls, the figurehead of a lion with its open maw towards the surface, still roaring out from the depths. Law coughed into his elbow, a shredded sound that made Rosinante's jaw screw tight.
The urge rose in him again to unfurl the sails, force the boat faster around the rocks and reefs. Only immense effort tamped it down once more. Here, he knew, the current reigned. That it was going to take lead and wouldn't suffer otherwise.
So he handed over the canteen instead, which Law took gratefully, and rubbed the child's back as he struggled to calm down.
"Only once."
"Really?" The boy glanced up at him, mouth still pressed against the canteen's nozzle.
"What was it like?"
Such an innocently posed question that Rosinante could not answer for a long time, unable to find the proper words. For years, he had stashed that month on Rubeck somewhere deep in his heart, enfolded like a note beneath plaited seams. It was a moment out of time, each liquid second crystallized. So desperately fragile that Rosinante shielded it from all blood and truth and reality.
Rubeck had been…smoke rings. And cards and dumb jokes about bananawanis. It had been a windowless sill and the coat sitting heavy on his shoulders. The moon, the beach, a bag of dried plums and a made-up happy ending.
It had been his brother, frozen there forever at twenty-four. At ten. At eight. His crooked grin, his bare and vivid eyes.
It had been a lie.
What was it like.
xxx
("It was," Cora-san told him, "an island without trees. Mostly desert and decay. Bled completely dry by the Celestial Dragons. It had a tribe of people that had surrendered it up without struggle, and left it to its ruin. They had long-divined its fate in the stars and never believed they could win against destiny."
Cora-san sighed. "And maybe," he said, "that really is the only way things can be."
He drew a hand down his face, down his deep and bruise-ringed eyes that made Law's own widen and something hurt inside. He reached out without thinking, or even understanding what Cora-san was talking about, to touch his hand. Small fingers against long and calloused ones. The size difference as ridiculous as ever.
At least it made Cora-san smile again, if only a little.
The boat made another stilted turn and edged closer to the channel's opening.)
xxx
(There was a radio crackling of static. Fragmented words over poorly connected lines. Through the area of a keyhole, she could hear them. Someone worried and half-yelling. The skiff leaned.
Where are you?
You're late.)
xxx
They were very deep in the Grand Line and would not reach North Blue for another week and a half. It took the helmsman three days to work up the nerve to report this.
Doflamingo thought about gutting him and then refrained. As it were currently, he didn't mind a few extra days. The deal wouldn't be going down until the first lick of winter anyway, which was almost two weeks away.
And it gave him more time now to finish compiling that list in his head. Every name and mug due soon to expire. Officials and officers and all the woeful members of Barrels' crew. (Guilt by association.)
Doflamingo had given it a lot of thought. He did not change his mind once it was made.
It was unfortunate, but Dressrosa would need to wait.
He had to get Rosi back first. Straighten out whatever the hell had happened. And then he figured afterwards they would be a little too busy.
"Wait, what?"
Diamante's voice was sudden and loud, long face yellowish pale and full of new lines.
Doflamingo's patience was so paper-thin these days that he probably would've lost it at him for the inattention. But he felt better now, knowing he'd have the Ope Ope soon. Much better.
So he folded his legs, ankle on knee, and explained, "I've been thinking on it for some time. About Corazón, that is. Going in circles, around and around, wondering why he'd think to do this to me. Why why why why why." He paused, the edges of his mouth falling, before he shoved it back into a grin.
"Until I realized he wouldn't do this to me. He wouldn't put me through all this hell of his own free will. Someone must've forced him into this. Someone to be dead very, very soon. A rival crew, you know. Must've been. So I've got to leave some space on this little list of ours. I'm sure he'll have plenty of names he'll want to put down himself."
Diamante didn't respond. He half-collapsed actually against the lounge's sill and would have toppled onto his ass if Pica hadn't been standing there, eyes wide as trembling saucers.
Doflamingo stared at them. "What's wrong?"
But it was Trebol who replied, slithering around his chair and out of the shadows like a slug. He was sweating as well, streaks down his wide forehead and temples, a damp mound of clay drooping upon the wood.
"Nothing, Doffy. Behehe, nothing's wrong. Just one question. How are you sure the Ope Ope's gonna bring Corazón back?"
Doflamingo's brow arched. "Amazing you have to ask. What month do you think it is, hm? Law's final days must be in the double-digits by now. The Ope Ope's the only chance he has left. Corazón knows that. Once we waste Barrels and take the fruit, we'll just send out word."
And then Rosi would come back. Speak to him again. Look at him. He'd come back and yes, perhaps Doflamingo was still the teensiest bit cross with him for snatching up his brats and leaving the world's shittiest note, but that wasn't the point here. It wasn't the point.
"Law," Trebol said, very slowly, like he'd forgotten all about the child, "Right." He grinned.
"Nene, Doffy, do you really think Corazón's gonna be on board with what you're planning for that kiddie?" He oozed closer to the chair. "The right-hand man aside, what do you think he'll say about the Perennial Youth Surgery? He likes little Law so very much, he's gonna get in your way."
Doflamingo looked at him, expressionless.
A beat of silence went by.
Then his foot rose. "What are you blathering about?" And he nudged Trebol several hard paces away from him. "I don't want the Perennial Youth Surgery."
Trebol stood where he'd been moved, globs of mucus left behind in a moist trail.
"…what?"
"You heard me, Trebol."
"B-But that meeting we had," Trebol gestured, gloppy sleeves swishing like wet bags of mulch, "That meeting, Doffy, where you were talking about the Ope Ope's abilities! A-And you never told Corazón—"
"What meeting?" Doflamingo frowned, regarding the older man. He had to shuffle through his memories a moment, before he managed to scrounge it up. Oh.
It'd been that late afternoon almost half a year ago, when Law had agreed to becoming the third successor of the Heart Seat. Probably the last time he had ever spoken to the boy. Doflamingo remembered walking Law back to his room afterwards, spending too long staring at Rosi's closed door again and then…
"You mean that night all three of you followed me down to the bar?" Doflamingo's laugh was more of a bark. "That was a meeting to you?"
Trebol was staring at him. "…it wasn't?"
"No, you fool. You asked about what else Law could do with the fruit, right? I just gave you an answer." He'd have explained it to Rosi as well, if they hadn't been fighting at the time. In any case, Doflamingo had never thought the conversation had been especially important. Trebol could be so ridiculous.
He also didn't speak or really even move again. His snot dripped in a puddle on the floor. A few feet away, Diamante groped for a chair and eased himself down. They'd been full of these random peculiarities ever since he was a boy though, so Doflamingo paid them little mind. He was just about to tell the three of them to run along when Pica spoke into the silence again.
"Doffy, wasn't the boy going to make you immortal?"
Doflamingo blinked. With a measure of thoughtfulness, he leaned his chin against his hand, rolling the question over. As a subject, he wouldn't deny immortality often interested him—a state of being not even the celestial swine up high could obtain. And what finer way to punish this world, than to punish it endlessly?
The surgery had certainly intrigued him, that was true, along with all the implications attached. Perhaps, if the holder didn't perish as penalty, he'd have done exactly as Pica said. Crossed that line out of this realm and set about destroying all of existence in perpetuity.
But the fact of the matter was that Law would perish. Painfully. Horribly. And regardless of what Doflamingo thought of that, his personal reluctance, his own fondness for the child, there was only one thing at the heart of it all which dictated the issue about Law. Always had.
Rosi would never ever forgive him.
And therefore, he could not.
"It's not what I need," Doflamingo said to them, "And it isn't what I want."
xxx
(The Den Den Mushi would not stop.
Vergo stared at it with a faint scowl, having been forced to step into a sparse hall of Sabaody headquarters to address it.
Sengoku's terrible habit of keeping his office door ajar had just been proving convenient too. The man was in the middle of a hushed conversation with Tsuru. Something about two vessels getting separated in the New World. One having radioed in and due to arrive in a couple more days. The other lost. ("Where are you?" "You're late.")
It was curious and Vergo had wanted to learn more. His annoyance only multiplied when he was greeted with Diamante's incoherent deluge of swearing and hysteria the second he answered.
"You've fucked us, Vergo." "We're all dead." "Why did you do it, you goddamn fool?"
So it went.
It took at least nine and a half minutes for Vergo to understand what Diamante was talking about. Then he was perturbed. What on earth was happening with Doffy?
"We do what he wants," said Pica, quietly, "And if what Doffy wants will be for us to die then—"
"Speak for yourself," Diamante spat, "I'm not getting fucking filleted just because Vergo couldn't control his jealous little crush."
Someone was muttering to themselves in the background. Trebol, he assumed. He doesn't want the surgery, Vergo heard, He doesn't want…I thought…I told Corazón…oh god—
The speaker was snatched suddenly on the other side. Trebol's voice oozed out into the empty, echoing passageway.
"Kill him."
The snail was sweating. "Wherever you are, whatever you're doing. Drop it now, Vergo, and find Corazón. Doffy's going after the Ope Ope no Mi. You'll have time. He needs to die, Vergo. The brats too. Burn all the bodies. Do you understand?"
"Trebol, that's—" Pica started, but Diamante cut in, "Fuck it, we've got no choice."
Vergo stared at the snail for a stint of silence. He blinked once slowly, brow lifting half an inch.
Then said, "Doffy wants him alive."
And continued into the ensuing stillness flatly. "I thought I made this clear to you years ago, Trebol. You're not my boss anymore."
"Are you crazy?" Diamante said, almost with awe, "Have you actually gone fucking crazy?"
Vergo did wish he was not so loud. The mess hall was due to empty in another six minutes.
"I know you've been wanting to kill him for a while now," Trebol snapped, "And if you don't, then Doffy's gonna kill all four of us later."
Vergo almost scoffed. "He wouldn't do that."
"Yes, he would, you blind loon." The snail hissed, Diamante's slit eyes glinting. "Let me finally disabuse you of that fucking deluded notion. Doffy has never forgotten Corazón. Not when he was seventeen or fifteen or ten years old. Not when all of us thought Corazón was dead. Not even when Doffy said he was dead too, because it's pretty damn clear now that he hadn't actually believed it deep down. They…something extremely fucked up must have happened to them. Before we met 'em or even before all that business with their old man."
Behind his glasses, Vergo's eyes narrowed. His mind's eye flashed to the dark cabin room of Spider Miles. Doffy's scar-laced back facing him, his voice low and colorless. It's my job.
A vein sprouted along his brow, though Vergo still said nothing. His role had only been to point Doffy towards the truth surrounding his brother. Judgment itself was not his call.
And with some reflection, Vergo supposed he also wanted Doffy to recognize who his true family was for himself. That Rosinante had been nothing but a traitor all along. Not worth the concern or the stress or even really another second thought. He wanted, once he got back on the trail and hunted Rosinante down, for Doffy to stop making exceptions. For him to finally realize that searching for and agonizing over and trying to please his weak, soft-hearted brother was beneath him.
And once such realization came to pass, Vergo wanted to watch Doffy plug Rosinante full of holes. A thing long overdue. So what if it made him a tad petty?
No, he'd not rob his king of that satisfaction.
Diamante was still speaking. "You can't break whatever chains—"
The mouth piece was yanked away again, the sound of someone being violently shoved aside. Trebol's voice returned.
"Nene, you're reeaaally letting jealousy get the better of you, Vergo," he said, and went on before Vergo could respond, "But fine, you don't want to kill Corazón. Reserved the right for Doffy already, is that it? Want to give him some proper closure? Want him to be free?"
"Of course," Vergo said simply.
"Behehe, noble. Well, you know we feel the same way. You know all I've ever wanted was for Doffy to reach his full potential and give this world the master it deserves." The snail sneered, missing teeth bare. "And it does pain me to admit, but…at this rate he won't be making it there on his own."
"What are you talking about?" Vergo said, voice slightly edged, "He—"
"—is getting confused," Trebol said, "Wandering off trail. It's been five and a half months and he's still convincing himself that Corazón got forced into it or blackmailed by a rival crew. Doesn't quite queue up with your own hunches, does it?"
Silence. The vein pulsed again.
"So, we need to find out the truth for him. And not only that, we need to present him with proof. No more hinting or nudging. No more waiting for him to realize it on his own. For your king, Vergo."
The Den Den Mushi stared holes.
"Are you with us?"
The mess hall doors opened, young cadets flooding out.
They walked in chattering groups, lamenting over mop duty or extra drills, and strolled by the dead-end hall where Vergo had been standing and was already gone.)
xxx
("A rival crew," Lao G mused, nodding, "Yes, that would make sense. We've made a lot of enemies over the years, haven't we?"
"Ah, I'm glad," Machvise said, twiddling his fingers, "I like Corazón. And I miss the little kiddies. Baby girl always made the best cupcakes."
Gladius brandished a righteous fist. "What a pitiful man Corazón is. Coerced against his own blood. We'll set the record straight, Young Master. I bet it was those shitbags from Rakesh again. Oh, or maybe Barrels had a hand in this too…"
He went on conjecturing with Lao G, Machvise throwing in the occasional and immediately rejected comment. The underlying relief was palpable. They were glad the Young Master was in a calmer mindset now. That he seemed to be thinking clearly again.
The man himself was at the lounge's window, giant silhouette framed against the glow of the full moon. Pink regarded his pensive expression silently, before walking over.
"Haven't been back to Rubeck in half a decade now," he said, halting a few feet away, "Wonder if it's still a wreck."
The Young Master tilted his head. Something wordless was in his features at the mention of Rubeck. Made them a little softer than usual. "Hm, we'll have to see," he said, and added pointedly, "Maybe all of you can clean up the base for once too."
Pink decided not to hear that last part. He pulled out his cigarette pack, realized with some irony that it was the same brand he'd bummed off of Corazón more than once before, and lit up. He took a thoughtful drag and for several slow beats, they were quiet.
Then the Young Master said, "I believe…I really should talk to him this time."
Pink plucked the cigarette from his mouth.
"Wouldn't hurt, Captain," he said, blowing a languid ring of smoke, "Just my two cents.")
xxx
There had been multiple instances in Rosinante's life where he'd questioned the reality of his own eyes. Those first few missions out with the navy for example, or what became of his old man and Vice Admiral Garp after ten bottles of soju. Things like waking up in a real bed and meals every day and not needing to run for his life at a moment's notice. Things that given time, he could compute and accept as real.
This wasn't one of them.
Law tugged on his sleeve, utterly puzzled. "Are we in the right spot?"
Rosinante gave a dumb nod, though he did glance at the sky again anyway. At the white circular moon and the rocky formations of a bird, settled in the distance. Swallow Island right where he remembered it to be.
If you face the moon while on the water, then Swallow will always be to the west. And Rubeck to…
There was no mistake.
"Cora-san," Law sighed, "I thought you said this place was desert and ruin."
The boy muttered something else about over-dramatics, that he wouldn't be happy at all if everything earlier had been some annoying joke. Rosinante barely heard him.
An ocean breeze streamed past the boat and rustled across shore, rising like a breath over the island.
Over the shadowed tops of young trees, which chirred and swayed, with their slender branches touching. Their leaves winking in the jade-sheened dark.
The rest of the island came into focus for Rosinante only gradually and later, when they had stepped onto the shapeless, heat-soaked sand.
Increments of wildflowers and whispering runnels. Small darting forms that sang and flew towards the moon on white-gray wings.
Inconceivably and impossibly.
Rubeck Island.