Thank you's to M-M-M-MELLORINES~: KagehanaTsukio, xXxWolvesInTheNightxXx, Alkitty, Katharonie, Blue, Velonica14, Girl-luvs-manga, Portgas D. Paula, Shiningheart of ThunderClan, butterflyfreak, Perpetual Concern, Nazo-san, Mai Kusakabe, Karasu-LaoHu, 10th Squad 3rd Seat, InkDragoness, KittyWillCutYou, Bleachfan462, Rumu, annaADDICTED, Guest13, Sheep, LittleMissUnknown, Sharky Shark, TurtlesAreFast, and Zubatattack.
—
methyl nitrate pineapples
hypothesis #6
vox populi, vox dei
—
Kureha watched the full moon glisten silver over Drum Castle. She raised the sake bottle to her mouth as the footsteps stopped beside her, on the edge of the snowy cliff.
"I heard you met with the pirates in Bighorn. The Surgeon of Death. Apparently he set Crawfish Island on fire."
"Heeheehee! Are you going blind, Dalton? The World Government's fingerprints were all over that story!"
"That's a relief," Dalton chuckled, sitting down beside her. "I thought I was only one who saw that."
"He asked me where to buy ammunition and medical supplies, and went off again. I thought nothing of it. Then he was back half an hour later, asking to buy some of my chemicals—said something about breaking into Cat's Eye Island."
"To liberate the Sunflower Kingdom?"
"As if I understand the way pirates think! He just better put my five percent discount to good use." She drank deeply, wiped her mouth, and said, "I've had enough of shitty kings."
Dalton looked up at the moon. "We've had our fair share of odd pirates recently."
"Isn't that the truth!" Kureha cackled.
Somewhere on a certain desert island, a pirate sneezed so hard his straw hat blew off his head.
—(a few hours earlier)—
In the past three months, Sophie had stared Death in the eye more times she'd ever thought was physically possible. But now, as she met his glare evenly, she refused to cower. It didn't matter that Trafalgar Law had effectively trapped her in a corner, it didn't matter that one of his hands was pressed beside her head and the other clenched the scruff of her shirt, and it certainly didn't matter that Sophie was close enough to know that he smelled like cold steel and winter.
Nope, it didn't matter at all.
Sophie stuck her chin up. "Return—my—hair!"
"I'll lend you my time-traveling device as soon as you hold out your hands." Law shook Sophie a little bit to get the point across. The cigarette almost fell from her lips.
"I had my hair cut exactly six inches down from here." She pointed to her bushy eyebrows. "Did you think I wouldn't n-notice? How long d-did you think it'd be before I'd see my reflection?"
Irritation rippled across his features. "If this bothers you so much, why don't you just shave your head?"
"You don't think I h-haven't tried? It's just…" Sophie hesitated, "well… it isn't… symmetrical. There's a…" She struggled agonizingly and finally wheezed in horrendous emotional pain, "bump."
"…I have some medication—"
"No, thank you!"
"Fine. You want symmetry?" He flipped a familiar scalpel between his fingers. With a flick of his wrist and a sharp tug from the other side of her head, curly black strands drifted onto the floor. "There. Now be quiet or I won't be bothered to help you when the opposite is so much more tempting."
He tapped the blade against the tender skin beneath her jaw.
Sophie swallowed, glared a little, and held out her hands.
A few seconds later, Law was dabbing ointment on the burns. The scent was fresh and clean, like peppermint. Still made Sophie wince, though she did her best not to show it. His fingers were cool against her own… and pretty soothing against her flushed skin… she did her best not to show that, either.
"How are your hands feelings?"
"Itches a little. I can move all my fingers fine enough."
Law began wrapping fresh bandages around her hands with practiced swiftness. "Good. Because for the safety of my crew, I can't allow someone lacking motor control handling chemicals of mass destruction."
"I'm a professional," Sophie returned flatly.
"I can see the World Government settling for less."
The slow simmer of rage in her chest was back. "Are you insinuating that I am below par?"
"You'll just have to prove me wrong, won't you?"
A vein bulged in Sophie's forehead. She'd prove him wrong all the way to the end of the Grand Line, and hand him One Piece while she was at it!
He beckoned her forward. "Your laboratory is waiting." Law flashed her a barely threatening smile. "You must pay the boat fare if you want to cross to hell."
Her so-called laboratory had served as an anything-goes storage room that'd been crammed with broken anatomical models to rusting frying pans. And a few spiders which, Sophie was happy to see, had been cleared out with the rest of the junk. All that was left inside was a table the pirates had scrounged up, a few of Law's beakers and test tubes, and half a dozen cardboard boxes. The room was quite a bit more spacious than she remembered.
Shachi hopped down from the table. "I checked the air ducts. The ventilation system should be able to remove any fumes from the sub. What was all that shouting about? You two have a spat?"
Sophie scowled. "He stole my hair without my permission."
"I don't need permission; I am a pirate." Law's chilling gaze shifted a fraction and landed on Shachi.
The pirate coughed. "Ah… um, wow, it's pretty cold in here… I should, uh, check the temperature, um, system thing—bye!" With that, he hurried away.
Sophie strode around the room, inspecting the various instruments. Gloves, goggles, pipettes, a raggedy white coat that was most likely one of Law's. Of course, this was nothing like her laboratory, with all of its state-of-the-art equipment… but it'd do. It was actually quite a bit better than what she'd been expecting. She'd need about three hours for the smaller C4 bombs, but the big one…
Sophie ground the cigarette on the heel of her boot. "How long until we reach Cat's Eye?"
"Eight hours. More or less."
That was good, symmetrical number. And it'd work. "Gotcha." She snapped on the goggles, which gave her a rather disjointed, bug-eyed look. "This'll be child's play." She peered at the chemicals. "Literally, I used to play with this stuff when I was a kid."
"Where did the Marines find someone like you?" Law leaned against the door, looking interested despite himself.
"World Government. And on their doorstep." She shrugged. "Tell the rest of your crew to not disturb me. If anyone does, I can't guarantee your sub won't be blown sky high and we won't all turn into bits of ash." She let that sink in and beamed cheerfully. "This is going to be fun!"
—
Penguin checked over the auxiliary engine one last time. Shachi was resting against the wall behind him, munching on a piece of takoyaki. Hai Xing had also wanted to deliver an early dinner to their hitchhiking chemist, but Law immediately shot that down with a 'Under no circumstances short of the end of the world would Chemist-ya be distracted'. Naturally, Hai Xing didn't take that very well, as he usually never did with anything.
"Okay," the pirate had sighed. "Bets on when we're gonna die. I call five thousand beli on four hours. Let's go. Put 'em up."
Shachi whacked him. "Have some trust in Sophie-chan! And all of us!"
"Please write 'killed by trust' on my tombstone."
"Don't be so gloomy!"
"You know that tingly feeling you get on the back of your neck whenever you're in mortal peril? That's happening to me right now."
Shachi pinched his cheek. "ARE YOU TRYING TO JINX IT."
"I don't jinx anything," Hai Xing said glumly. "Life jinxes me."
"If you don't wanna distract the little lady, you can start by not yellin' outside her room," Manta drawled as he passed by.
Shachi and Hai Xing dwelled on that.
"…Ten thousand beli. Two hours."
"I am going to punch you now."
Penguin chuckled as he recounted the past few hours. For a crew that had a World Government chemist boiling away on their submarine, they were surprisingly relaxed. Then again, the Heart Pirates were quite used to the screams coming from the Captain's fun room to be worried. He supposed it was systematic desensitization.
Shachi began whistling Bink's Sake. Penguin almost joined in, but his mind drifted to the stranger onboard.
If Law acknowledged her talent as a chemist, so would he. However, his captain had almost killed her barely a week ago. Penguin liked her well enough, but that was before the current circumstances. She had a perfect motive to blow up the submarine, and Strangways Sophie was smart. Penguin just wasn't sure if she was the stupid kind of smart or the cowardly kind of smart.
…And what was with all those 'pineapples' and 'mangoes', anyway?'
"Wanna piece? I'm stuffed." Shachi waved his plate of takoyaki at him. "Y' got that stupid look like you're thinking too hard about something again."
"You could do with more thinking sometimes," Penguin retorted, but kicked back anyway.
The other pirate snickered. "People this handsome don't need to rely on their brains."
"Shut up, tomato."
"Shan't be talking, man. I might feed you to Bepo one day."
Penguin finally cracked a grin. "I'll kick your ass to the Red Line and back first. Oi, are you gonna give me one of those things or not? Damn shame if you wasted the rest."
A resounding crash threw them to the floor. The takoyaki splattered against the auxiliary engine as alarms began blaring wildly throughout the submarine. The great cabin door slammed open as Law skidded out into the hallway, just in time for another thud against metal. In her makeshift laboratory Sophie hugged the table for dear life, screaming about her unhealthy life choices as empty beakers smashed across the floor.
Anko's voice roared from the speaking tubes, "We're surrounded by mines! BRACE YOURSELVES!"
—
His words were still echoing through Sophie's ears when she careened into the control room. She clutched four small packets wrapped in a thick, waterproof material, each with a black device attached to the top.
Anko and Bepo sat in front of the massive control station, and Law, standing at their backs, turned sharply. The soft red light of the navigation sensors washed over him and—she wasn't sure if it was just the light, but—the corners of his mouth were crooked up. The man was grinning faintly. Actually grinning.
"The bombs are all f-finished and st-stabilized. They won't be set off by s-shaking or p-physical force."
"We're not actually getting hit by the mines," Bepo interrupted while examining the multiple screens. "If we were, half the sub would be gone already. It's the shockwaves we're feeling."
"Most likely the sensors aren't working right because they're so old," Law muttered.
"Oh," Sophie said faintly. She was overcome with the conflicting urges to hide under a desk in terror and attach herself to Bepo's back like a koala. Nope. Resisting the cute.
Bepo studied the water current. "There should be an underwater cave around here, underling."
"I'm not your—I thought we agreed you'd stop—why do you never—oh, screw it. Seven degrees down bubble, heading north by northeast." Anko flicked a few gauges lining the control board. "Taking her down to three-zero-zero meters."
He spun the wheel hard. Law and Bepo braced themselves, but Sophie nearly lost her balance again. "C-careful! The m-mines—"
"Hey, have some confidence," Anko interjected. "This is a world-class submarine, and I'm her helmsman."
After steady maneuvering, the submarine found a path through the mines and entered a small cave half-hidden by kelp. The lights illuminated enormous stalagmites and silhouettes of strange fish nestled in its crannies. Sophie drank it all in, like a sponge absorbing water. She'd probably have a better view through a porthole…
"There's a giant rock ahead of us," Bepo alerted. "Judging by the currents, there should be more water behind it, probably leading to an air pocket. We could try using a torpedo, but that might bring down the whole cavern…"
"I have a better idea," Law cut in. "Chemist-ya here swims quite well."
Sophie paused, halfway out the door. Her nose scrunched up in bewilderment. "…Eh?"
Five minutes later, she suited up in a bigger, bulkier version of the Heart Pirates' boiler suits. The pirate in the newsboy hat fixed cylindrical tanks on Pescado Manta's back as Law relentlessly plowed through instructions. They were all gathered in the diving chamber, and Sophie wasn't exactly sure when she fell through an alternate dimension portal into Crazy World.
"This is a bad idea," she said firmly.
Law ignored her. "The cable holds you to the sub and also serves as a communication device in your helmet."
"This is a really bad idea."
"There are various ways you could die, it's true," Newsboy Hat supplied. "Asphyxiation, drowning, arterial gas embolisms…"
"The diving tanks will last for at least one hour, and it's durable in case of impact," Law continued impassively, spinning her around and checking for defects.
"Just because I swim well doesn't mean I regularly go deep-sea diving!" Sophie protested as she waddled in a circle like an oversized duck.
"…animal stings, animal bites, animals swallowing you whole…"
"The suit protects you from the pressure. The gloves are made with a special material that will give you dexterity underwater. All you need to do is attach the explosives." He tapped the bag on Sophie's shoulder.
"…the bends, differential pressure, immersion pulmonary ed—"
Manta flung his wide-brimmed hat into the pirate's face. "Take care of that for me, Hai Xing." As he attached on his helmet, he said to her, "Little lady, you're the only one who knows how to work those things—and not explode in the process. But fear not; I've dived hundreds of times before! You'll be safe with me!" A glint appeared beside his shiny white teeth.
"This is s-such a bad i-idea, I'm already stu-stuttering."
"Sub rigged for dive, increasing pressure to outside environment," Anko's voice announced from the ceiling.
"Have fun." Smirking, Law closed the door, effectively trapping her and Manta in a small section of the diving chamber.
"Just follow my lead!" Manta boomed encouragingly as the airlock slowly filled up with water. "This'll be as easy as reloading a short-barreled shotgun with your feet in the middle of a bar shootout with twelve guns pointed at your head!"
Sophie was suddenly, frighteningly assured that she was going to die.
As the floor opened up beneath them, she took a deep, steadying breath. There was nowhere to go but down. With a strong kick, Sophie followed Manta into the black depths.
The lights from their suits flickered on, casting shadows across scuttling crabs, mounds of coral, fleeting silhouettes on the ocean floor. Her breath misted on the thick glass of her helmet. She swam down to a swaying anemone, and a bizarre sea creature with tiny little fins peeked out. She stretched out a finger, but it fled back into the anemone. Sophie nearly had a nosebleed then and there.
"Check, check," Anko's voice appeared in her helmet. "Sophie, can you hear me?"
"Wha—oh, uh, yep. Loud and clear."
"Good, because from the way you're breathing, you're going to use up all your air in ten minutes."
Sophie immediately sucked in a breath and held it.
"Don't do that either! Holding your breath just increases the need to breathe and builds up carbon dioxide in your body. I learned that the hard way, unfortunately…"
She exhaled shakily. Right. Cool. She was cool. She could totally do that.
The light from the submarine cast an eerie blue-green glow over everything. Sophie swam between two stalagmites, tall and ominous. Glowing crystals rippled along the ceiling, a startling contrast of blue and black, light and dark.
Sophie hadn't realized how close she was to the cave's end until the wall emerged from the darkness, looming over her. The Manta guy had floated off somewhere, but she didn't need his help. She dug out her small C4 explosives; they were already wired to a detonator in the submarine, good to go.
Once finished, she touched her helmet to the bombs and pressed her lips to the glass. Precious little things. They weren't so dangerous, not really, not if you handled them right. Like children. Volatile and set for temper tantrums, but acted real sweet if you were nice enough. This was going to be a small, concentrated, precise explosion.
So fixated, she didn't notice a shade in the corner, coiled tight and ready to spring. In the split second when a cold chill ran down her back, she whirled just as the monster lunged and—
—shrieked—an explosion of static in her ear—
The bite never came.
She peeked through her fingers to see Manta floating over her, clutching the creature with one big, beefy hand and steadily choking the life out of it. He carted along two enormous, horrifying fish, red mist clouding the water behind them.
"Already got it, Captain," he reported in. "How does frilled shark for dinner sound?"
Sophie gaped at him as he gave her a thumbs-up. Alright, so there had been a real reason why he had ventured out with her. And that was because Pescado Manta was able to throttle a seven foot shark with one hand, while the other held two sea creatures that probably weighed over three hundred pounds combined.
He was so cool.
They swam back to the submarine, and as the water drained out from the diving chamber and the pressure stabilized, Sophie clumsily yanked off her helmet with a big grin. "Let's do that again!"
Manta took one look at her and started laughing.
—
The pirates sloshed through the shallow lake, their steps echoing loudly. Uneasy, Sophie appraised the cavern. Under the submarine lights, craggy rocks stood out in jagged relief. The air was unsettlingly stagnant, as though nothing had moved for hundreds of years.
Law stepped up beside her. Without turning, without expression, he said, "Going forward means you don't look back. This is your last chance to get out."
Sophie thought about that for a moment.
Then she gripped the railing and leaped into the water. She slipped a little—shakily caught her balance, brush it off, brush it off—and glared at Law over her shoulder with a determined set to her chin. Sophie stalked over to the rest of the pirates. If she had looked for just an instant longer, she would've seen his lips curl up in a small grin.
"There should be tunnels or whatever leading us out of here, right?" Sophie asked as she neared the other pirates.
Shachi rubbed his chin. "Mmmmyeah, should be… SOPHIE-CHAN, LOOK OUT!"
An eight-legged shadow on the wall jumped at her. Screaming, she stumbled back—and then the shadow was doing a little jig, then morphed into a bird and flew away into the darkness. Shachi and the rest doubled over, laughing.
Irritated, Sophie raised an eyebrow. Shadow puppets, really. Right after almost being eaten alive by a frilled shark. These pirates needed to be taught something about not being butts. She bent down, clenched a small pebble, and waited until the noise died down.
The pebble splashed by their feet.
"SNAKE!" Sophie bellowed.
The shrieks were disproportionately high-pitched.
Chuckling to herself, she turned and nearly bumped into Hai Xing. The dour pirate seemed a bit… reminiscent. "My father was bit by a snake once. He died."
Sophie squinted. "Sorry… for, uh… bringing back… pained memories?"
"It wasn't painful… at least, not for me." With an enigmatic look, he shuffled away.
Nodachi and medical bag gripped tight in his paws, Bepo walked out onto the deck. Law scanned his surroundings; mossy rocks proliferated higher up than there were on ground-level. Moss only proliferated near water. "Do you hear that?"
Bepo tilted his head, listening. "…Sounds like a river."
A cold droplet splashed on Sophie's cheek. She craned her neck all the way up to the black ceiling of rocks.
Shachi held up his arm, opening and closing his fist. "Kinda looks like a hand."
"Maybe a giant lived here," Bepo snickered.
The king's might grew so much in his rage that he picked the island up and strode fearlessly into the Sea of Terrors, Sophie remembered. Or maybe someone as strong as a giant…
"There's our way out," Law declared.
"Captain! We'll be leaving now!" Manta called.
He nodded shortly. "We'll contact you with the Baby Den Den Mushi if we learn anything new. Until then, stay hidden!"
The big man saluted. "Aye, Captain! Stay safe, little lady! Anko, don't get beat up by any more grannies!"
"Screw you, asshole!"
Sophie rubbed her neck. "So… how exactly are we going to get up there?"
A blue-green dome enveloped Law and Bepo on the submarine deck, and the other five standing out in the lake. "Room."
Sophie was immersed in freezing water. Mother of pineapples! She swam furiously and emerged, gasping, in the middle of a shimmering river. Heart pirates were surfacing all around her, breaking apart the reflections of clouds. Shachi and Penguin hoisted a coughing Law up.
Anko kicked a large rock over the gap, stopping the river flow downwards into the cavern. That must be how Law's powers operated, like how he teleported her (and her head) to the galley the other night. Free Modification meant he could manipulate anything within his sphere of influence, such as replacing the rocks along the river bottom with his crewmates. From what Sophie had observed, that seemed to be the gist of the Ope Ope no Mi… splicing, teleportation, substitution… the theoretical possibilities were fascinating…
Still, the rotten plum tossed her into a river.
"How about a w-warning n-next time?" Sophie demanded, glowering behind strands of wet hair.
Her only answer was a mocking laugh, if a little out of breath.
Bepo surfaced with a splash and shook himself dry, to the loud dismay of his crewmates. They all looked ridiculous, with their wet, sagging boiler suits. Silt rose up around her ankles as she glided toward the riverbank. Dragonflies skimmed the water. The sounds of nature were back—bees humming, birds cawing, the ripple of grass in the wind. Just like Crawfish Island. She took a moment to bask in it.
Her boots squished as she climbed up the riverbank. She wrung her hair out, wiped the water from her lashes, and opened her eyes.
Rolling fields of sunflowers stretched into the golden-orange horizon. It was as if all her life she'd been wearing blurry glasses and only now, after wiping them clean, she could see how yellow the petals were, how green the grass was, what eternity looked like. The night air was thankfully warm—summertime, most likely. A whisper of a breeze caressed her eyelids and cupped her face.
Something smacked her round the head.
Sophie glared at the rough brown cloak—lots of irregular patches, she was going to have to fix that later—and said very deliberately, "Ow."
"Might as well put that on, you're not getting any drier," Penguin called.
Sophie stuck her tongue out at his back. Nevertheless, she knew it was better to stick with uniformity than look like the odd pineapple out.
Seven cloaked figures trooped onto a dirt path. In the distance, a castle spire poked into the belly of the sky. Sophie pointed. "That's where we're heading?"
"The capital of Cat's Eye." Law threw his hood up. "Anatole."
—
The city had secrets tucked away in her sharp corners and smooth cobblestones, all dimly-lit darkness.
Occasionally Sophie passed men in their fancy hats and women in their airy dresses. Carts rolled beside them, big, fluffy animals plodding sleepily, chickens squawking in the coop. The moon had vanished behind clouds, leaving Anatole a labyrinth of flickering lanterns. Small, burnished, dancing flames, smelling of kerosene. She held up a hand in front of her and studied how her fingers were outlined in orange-gold. She could count the cobblestones before they melted away into the darkness. She could see the rusty brown of the lantern. Light was a glorious thing.
On the way here, the pirates had laid down the plan. They had two days to infiltrate the castle. If they weren't out by then, Manta and the others would assume the worst. Instant code red. If everything went smoothly, they'd be off the island with an Eternal Pose to Ruluka Island and Bepo's weight in gold. And from there she'd take a ship straight to G-13.
"This is a good place," Law announced, stopping.
The Tournesol was everything its name was not. Boarded-up windows, slathered with rusting, peeling paint, creaking under its own weight. There even was something suspicious about the customers; a little too cautious, glancing over their shoulders a little too much.
But the pirates (sans Bepo) threw down their hoods and followed their captain through the doors, and she had no choice but to do the same.
The tavern was packed, buzzing with shouts and the bang of beer mugs against wood. Smells flooded over her, rich and subtle: wood, wine, smoke, warmth. The pirates leered at pretty serving girls, and turned red when they laughed and winked back. Sophie stared intensely at her surroundings, as though trying to burn it into her mind. One door. Thirteen windows, seven unboarded. She began sniffing the wall and only stopped when Penguin squinted at her.
A puckered old woman with a wooden leg came thumping forward. Her right cheek was marred with scars and her right eye was milk-white. Sophie shuddered internally. How unsymmetrical. "Seven o' you? Like this place ain't crowded enough."
Crawfish Island accent, wiry grey hair, sun-browned wrinkles… and a pistol strapped to her hip, Sophie noticed. Old lady was a badass.
"Two rooms," Law said. "Two nights."
She considered Bepo, who was the biggest and most suspicious out of the group. He nervously sidled behind Anko, who was grinning at a rosy-cheeked lady drinking her companions under the table.
"What've you got to trade?"
They had surmised Cat's Eye's only source of economy was bartering. Thank pineapples they'd guessed right. From his medical bag Law pulled out one bottle of painkillers and one bottle of rubbing alcohol. The less they gave, he'd reasoned, the less suspicion they'd raise.
The woman's face lit up. "Done," she said immediately. A minute later, she came back with two large keys, but before handing it over, asked, "Which part of Anatole did ya say y' were from?"
"The hamlets, not the city," Law lied with ease. He had his most disarmingly polite mask on, Sophie could tell just by his voice. It still gave her nightmares sometimes. "Came out from the fields because we're interested in what this fine establishment will provide tonight."
That was new. Sophie stared at the back of his hood, willing him to explain.
The old woman nodded. "Stick 'round, then. Dinner's served, so eat quickly 'fore all the good bread's gone." With that, she bustled away.
Law tossed a key to Sophie, who caught it out of reflex. At their captain's nod, the pirates began dispersing around the tavern (Anko made a beeline for the rosy-cheeked lady), but she stayed where she was. There were people with lots of guns, sitting in the corners. Closed expressions. Pacing. Textbook secrecy, right there.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She knew, she knew, and even worse he'd known it all along.
The stupid pirate doctor was just beginning to walk away when Sophie swatted him on the arm and forced him to stop. "This—is—a—rebel—hideout," she snarled through clenched teeth.
Law shrugged off her grip and brushed his cloak. "Of course. How else will we find information?"
Sophie was seized by a massive, almost insane sense of disloyalty to the World Government. This was so wrong, it felt so—she was standing on enemy territory—if her platoon knew she was taking refuge alongside rebels of any sort, she could never face them again!
"You couldn't have picked someplace a bit more—" she flailed a little, hissing, "not dangerous?"
"Danger makes life interesting," he confided with a smirk.
"Why didn't you tell me beforehand?"
Other tavern-goers glanced over, startled. The amusement vanished in an instant. She was jerked back by a claw on her shoulder, his lips too close to her ear. The door was seven paces behind her and all of Sophie's instincts screamed to run. Or stomp on his foot, which was just so invitingly there.
"Let me remind you that you are the one who struck a deal with me. The treasure doesn't take a backseat to your indignation. Unless you want to blow our cover and suffer a very gruesome death, I suggest you be more…" the claw dug painfully into her skin, "flexible."
She jerked away, rubbing her shoulder. "You don't… trust me." Sophie didn't know why she sounded so—she'd built him a weapon of moderate destruction, stayed the night on his submarine with an unlocked door, let him send her down into the depths of the ocean. She couldn't have done that without at least a shred of confidence he wouldn't murder her where she stood.
Law shrugged. "And you don't trust me either," his grin was small and sly, "remember?"
And yet it felt like he was saying either way, you're too weak to do anything about it.
—
Her room was on the second floor, fourth to the right. She glared at the small and sparse contents—rebel bed. Rebel candle. Rebel bathtub.
Her resolve dented.
The water warmed up quickly and Sophie leaned back with a sigh. Steam rose up in thick, heavy wafts around her. She sat there for a few minutes, staring up at the dark rafters, and then crossly splashed the water. The other pirates were all right (for pirates, anyway), but their captain, holy mangoes, how could someone be so genuinely insufferable?
(But it wasn't like he didn't know what he was doing, which maybe-possibly-sort of irritated her more.)
Pain jolted through her shoulder. She craned her neck and examined the sensitive welt. It'd be purple and blue tomorrow, but on the one to ten scale of Suffering at the Hands of Trafalgar Law, bruises rated pretty low.
Being around him seemed to always bring her pain. And the things he'd saved her from were usually caused by him anyway.
The candle flame cast long shadows across the water. Droplets glistened dimly on her skin.
Sophie touched her shoulder and remembered that grin, washed over in red light and delighting in the possibility of death. He seemed to have no fear. She closed her eyes and thought, Heretic. Such elation is akin to blasphemy. No one man should claim so much power. She hadn't realized then, but he'd given her a glimpse of his fangs. The nodachi swinging by his hip wasn't the scariest part of Law, nor even his Devil Fruit.
Her fingers tightened briefly. She ducked underwater and rose up again, slicking her hair back.
Though pain was no stranger to her, it'd still be a waste if she'd endured everything that had happened for a two-day adventure in an isolationist kingdom hanging around pirates (especially the hanging around pirates). Strangways Sophie never risked her life for nothing. But her ideas were her own business, and it's not as though Law trusted her with his plans.
Sophie sunk lower and steamed quietly.
—
After the tavern owner locked the doors and lit the candles, the conspiring began.
Lurking in a shadowed corner, Law propped one foot up on an empty chair and listened. It was a tiresome thing: a list of grievances, accounts of horrors, reminders of past brutalities. The old tavern owner raised her cup when freedom of press was mentioned. He refrained from yawning; he still felt a few gazes on him across the room. They were on guard. Distractions would be necessary when the time arrived.
A young man leaped on a table, scattering plates and cups about his tattered shoes. Couldn't have been older than Shachi or Anko, but there was a feverish glint that made Law look twice. He was no stranger to charismatic insanity.
"It's true not all of us want a rebellion!" he shouted as silence settled over the crowd. "The youngest who've never seen the world outside, and the oldest who want to live out their last days in relative peace. But for us, at least, we will never stop struggling for freedom. We will never be content living in a cage! We will not have our paths laid out for us! We should be able to mark our own destinies upon the world!"
They roared and stamped their feet.
"I would ask you, what is royalty without the people!? Khanwari would not even exist if there is no one to call him king!" He held up his hands, a conductor tuning the orchestra. "The principle of all sovereignty should reside with us!"
"Liberty, equality, fraternity!" the tavern bellowed in response.
"Women, will you have your rights taken from you!? Or will you be free and equal, to choose where to go and who to love!?"
"Freedom or death!" the serving girls hollered. Anko was yelling with them, looking delighted by his present company.
A shadow on the staircase shifted, drawing his attention. Half-cloaked in darkness, the chemist watched the proceedings through the banisters. Her mouth had a displeased twitch to it.
The chair screeched. Penguin paused in his efforts to fend off a drunk Shachi trying to use his shoulder as a pillow. "Cap?"
"Let him sleep it off. I'll be back soon. Bepo, you're in charge."
The hooded figure preened. Penguin looked scandalized as Shachi began drooling on his arm.
Law creaked up the stairs. Her expression hardened when she saw him and gripped the quilt tighter. The anger was meaningless; they both knew if she made a fuss he would rip out her tongue. She'd looked so wounded when she snapped at him… it was almost impressive how the girl wanted her trust to be reciprocated over one non-binding agreement they'd made on Drum.
Law dropped the tin plate on her knees, balanced with a cup of wine. "Dinner."
The chemist poked the steaming fried bread as if she expected a severed hand to pop out, sniffed it, licked it, side-eyed him with the greatest suspicion, and then nibbled a crumb.
The transformation was instant. Ravenous, she bit off a great hunk of bread and ripped into the chicken leg dripping in fat, hissing when it burned her fingers. The bandages were damp, ah, that explained the smell of soap.
Mouth smeared with grease, she grabbed the wine and took a big gulp. Her expression immediately pinched and she swallowed with agonizing difficulty, glaring wide-eyed at him.
"I don't waste poison. It's actually that bad." Law took a drink from his own cup. Revolting. Granted, not the worst he's ever tasted.
"I'd rather drink black coffee than this," she muttered, and laughed, sudden and cutting as fragments of glass. "Hippo-sensei used to—" The chemist broke off as instantly as she started and frowned. "Don't get comfortable with me, pirate."
Law leaned closer—she pressed herself against the banisters—and divulged, "I'd never. Now hold out your hands and let me treat your wounds."
Her gaze flitted left and right, as though searching for an escape route. "I—I'll go along with it, but under p-protest."
Naturally. He unwrapped the bandages and dabbed ointment on her burns. The scars would never fade away, but they were all superficial and had no effect on her nerve system. The oldest ones were still visible, light brown marks streaking across her palms. It was an ugly sight, but Law found the deformities interesting. Three fingernails had grown back misshapen, and two more were still in the process of reforming. A dark, peeling scar stretched over her scaphoid and trapezium bones. There was a tiny burn right in the middle of her ring finger's distal phalange, shaped like an asterisk.
As he finished bandaging, the tavern floor was getting louder.
"Is it true some o' the king's men are comin' to our side?"
"Our inside informant tells us the soldiers are restless. They're tired of this just as we are! She says with confidence that half their number will throw off the yoke of tyranny and join the cause!" Jacques Straw thrust his fist in the air and the orchestra shuddered. Cymbals crashed, violins trembling.
"There should be a better way to deal with their anger," the chemist said, and the music was instantly drowned out. "Like having a piñata in the shape of Khanwari's face and battering it to death. Much more therapeutic. Also, candy." She belched and covered her mouth. "'Scuse me."
There was something rather solid about her complete lack of sympathy. He might've grinned a little. "I highly doubt the effectiveness of that idea."
She shot him a glare that was eerily reminiscent of an angry goose. "You're supposed to go along with these things."
"Ah, my apologies."
Huffing, she wrapped herself in her quilt and squished closer to the banisters. She took well to the dim candlelight; it outlined her sharper and melted away everything that kept her soft. Darkness suited this girl.
"There's nothing you can do," Law said as she kept watching at the crowd, "Get some sleep. They will have their war one way or another."
After several long, motionless seconds, she replied, "The rebels shouldn't be angry with their king. He gave them land and shelter and food for many years. They live reasonably good lives. How dare they be so ungrateful?" A pause. "Did you expect me to say that? The king is terrible. He's performed appalling acts of violence; he should be punished for it." She waved at the tavern below. "But what they're doing is still treason."
Spoken truly like the World Government. He ran his tongue along his teeth. "And what about Vira?"
She stiffened. "What about it."
They were dancing on a tightrope now. "The former king actively participated in the slave trade and had sixteen mistresses. He fled Vira when the war began, probably around the time you were shipped in. The World Government granted him amnesty for his black market dealings and gave his family political asylum in Mariejois." Law rested his cheek on his knuckles. "But you'd be aware of this already."
She spun her cup between her hands and said nothing.
"Is it treasonous to revolt against oppression that is already violent?" he asked mildly, more out a whim to continue the conversation than any real sympathy for the rebels. On a personal level, he didn't care either way. "Would you rather them be sheep, blindly doing whatever they're told?"
"It is universally accepted that sheep are one of the cutest animals ever, so I wouldn't actually mind that." She slowly took another drink and grimaced only a little. "Freedom is also a responsibility. Listen to what they're saying. It has nothing to do with how they plan to run the kingdom. Have they even thought about the government system? Will it still be—"
She turned away as a hooded woman stepped between them, murmuring an apology. They waited until the footsteps faded up the stairs.
"Will it still be a monarchy? A democratic republic? And who will be the leader? It takes one rigged election for everything to collapse. They say pretty words now, but these people will descend into anarchy, fighting for power like wild animals, if no one is there to guide them. That's how humans are; we're savage. We need order to survive."
"And here I thought you believed in the goodness of humanity," Law mocked.
"How could I believe that when there are men like you?"
His own chuckle caught him by surprise. She could not have possibly heard the bitterness. "You've never met anyone like me."
"I know a fair number of callous buttwipes back home who can give you a run for your money," she murmured, then paused. "Though to put things in perspective, I'm the first one on that list, so. The Vice Admiral, definitely… his annoying secretary who I may or may not have poured acid on when I was younger… those dweebs from the maintenance division…"
Her fingers tapped like a metronome. There was scientist in the way she touched and smelled and examined. Her eyes spoke military, constantly darting looks at him—not him, but where he kept his hands, how near they were to his bag. The burns on her hands would've said negligence, had he not known her. Now they whisper wildness. Love of fire.
"Right. What do you have to say to people who've acquired peace without a monarchy or the World Government?"
They were back to that, which visibly threw her off. Her legs shifted under his gaze. "I know. I know, but—they're the easiest ideas to trust in because they've been done before, hundreds of times throughout history. It's safe. Reasonable. Don't go against the flow. Don't ask questions. Just obey."
The chemist scrunched up her nose and took another drink. Wiping her mouth, she muttered, "Look, I don't even like talking about government. Can't understand most of it, all the stupid politics and whatever. Science is easier. Do what you're told, get it done with, and go back your lab. Why should I disagree with them if they're financing everything I do?" She rested her head against the banisters. Her eyes were red and watery, but that was probably because of the shitty wine. "Make bombs, make chemicals, make poison. So long as I get to do what I want, why should I care?"
This was an interesting turn of events.
Her tone had no trace of bitterness or self-pity—only bland indifference. How illuminating. For all the justice and responsibility she spoke of, this girl wasn't a good person. She seemed to recognize that… and yet still remained desperately devoted. Well. The World Government was doing something right.
"You didn't," he said at last, because sincerity was a harsh weapon. "That's why you made me those explosives and didn't even ask if I was planning to hurt civilians. That wasn't based on trust. That was a decision based on practicality."
She remained still. A quiet whisper came from the quilt: "No one in this world would weep for the deaths of a few ants."
Law froze. He knew those words, how did the fuck did she—
She tucked her face into her tortoise shell. "Go away. Please."
The nape of her neck curved gently. He remembered how the fine tendons fluttered at every stroke, how skinny her wrists were compared to her tough callused hands, not unlike his own. Law was a man of many wants and desires, and they floated through his mind as fleeting as the next: he wanted to touch the intimate soft flesh behind her ear. He wanted to curl a strand of clumpy wet hair around his finger and yank her head back. He wanted to laugh as she squawked and squirmed and snarled.
But later; maybe. Because right now he was sure that if he forced her to look, she would not snarl. She would not even see him. And he didn't want that; of this Law was certain.
He stood and walked away.
Though he wasn't yet aware of it, it was precisely this moment Trafalgar Law stopped thinking of Sophie as 'the chemist'.
—
"A storm is coming," Penguin said. "Late afternoon or early evening."
"NOOOOO," Sophie wailed, "OOOOooooooooo," she flopped on the table, "ooooooooooooo," the pirate watched her blankly, "oooooooooo," she clawed the air, "ooooooooooooo…"
Penguin chewed on another slice of bacon and went back to studying the map of Anatole.
It was just the two of them sitting in the back corner of the tavern; the other pirates had gone out to scope the castle. Penguin informed her that he was to stay at the Tournesol and learn any new information (not part of the conversation, Sophie had conveniently appeared the second after a certain fuzzy white hat disappeared out the door).
"Anko's here, too." He'd looked at her meaningfully as she tripped over and began inhaling food. "Didn't sleep in his room last night."
At that very moment, Anko sneezed. He rubbed his arms, shivering. He'd actually slept on the rooftop because the woman he tried to woo kicked him out on his ass. Well, what else did he expect?
She laughed-spat chunks of carbohydrate and saliva into Penguin's face.
"Sophie! Gross!"
"Ah'm sowwy!"
"Stop talking!"
(He kept a careful distance after that.)
"How do you know it's gonna rain today?" Sophie dipped her bread in honey and munched. Her hair was frizzier/more bird-nest-like than normal, but she'd attributed that to her chaotic sleeping habits rather than humidity. "The Universe could be pointing a giant middle finger at you. It does that to me a lot."
The shadow of a bird flapped past the window, wings beating like sheets of rustling paper. Crows cawed in the distance.
"See those clouds? They're signs of an oncoming cold front—basically one giant mass of cold air," he explained to her perplexed look. "It forces warm air higher because of the difference in volume."
Weak sunlight reflected off the knife blade. Sophie played with the angles, aiming it at the floor and then up at the corner of a customer's face. After a few seconds, the man flinched and glanced around. She quickly tilted the knife away and went back to eating her bread. For being surrounded by a bunch of rebels, Sophie felt she was handling herself rather well. Especially considering she had approximately twelve seconds of sleep and spent the rest of the very early morning doing curl-ups.
"I only know the basics, though. Bepo's the real expert. I'm more old school. The salt shaker, for example," he pointed as she was beating the shaker with her palm, "Moisture makes salt clump and wood swell." He patted the table. "See? Feels a little damp. No condensation on the windows or grass this morning, either. It's these little things that tell you the big picture."
"Hmmmm yes STP and hydrogen molecules, yes good." Sophie stroked her invisible beard.
"…You didn't understand any of that, did you."
"You lost me at 'clouds'."
Penguin gaped. "But it's so basic!"
She instantly became defensive. "You're basic. You're so basic you're practically drain cleaner—shut up."
"Do you really work for the World Government?"
"I will spit food on you again," Sophie warned. Penguin started laughing. She flung bread crumbs at his face.
"Ow, my eye!"
She could synthesize sunlight in a heartbeat, but others areas of science were so annoyingly difficult to grasp. Her platoon had tried to teach her something similar back in the war… when the storms first arrived… aughh think happy thoughts! Happy! Thoughts! Oooh kitty…
Dozens of stray cats prowled along the street outside (she made a mental note to hide one in her satchel before leaving. There was something very Old Beauty about Anatole, with her red-roofed houses crammed tightly together and labyrinth of skinny cobbled alleys. In a younger time, she would have been magnificent. Sophie really wished she could have seen it then, when the streets were bustling instead of tumbleweed silent, punctured only by the call of crows.
A burly ox covered in white wool clopped by. Sophie plastered herself against the window. There may have been drool and heavy breathing involved.
"Fluffy Oxen. Draft animals native to this island," Penguin muttered distractedly over the map.
"Can we steal one please."
He gave a long-suffering sigh. "Is there a point to it?"
"CUTE."
"…Is there any other point to it?"
She mimicked his exhausted drawl and dialed it to ten thousand levels of obnoxiousness, "Does there haaaaave to be?"
He ignored her after that, but let her steal his leftover bread. Smearing sunflower butter over it, Sophie watched the tavern owner fuss behind the counter. It reminded her of a different woman on a different island with burned legs and scarlet lips and purple eyes.
She licked the buttery knife and examined her reflection. Something fluttered on the edge, right above her in the corner of the window. In her blind spot.
"Wait," Penguin said suddenly, "you shouldn't—"
Stark against the cold grey sky, three corpses swayed in the breeze. Kingswhores had been carved across their red bellies. Crows circled around them, cawing and pecking. She'd been listening to those birds the whole time.
"Kingswhores," Sophie repeated. "They were swinging right o-over me this whole time, and you d-d-didn't even—" she didn't know how her voice sounded so calm when all she wanted to do was punch Penguin in the throat, "I was laughing—"
She broke off, breathing hard.
"I'm—sorry, I didn't think you needed to see… or even… wanted to."
The knife rested over the table, point first. She twirled it with the tips of her fingers. "If th—" She took another breath to calm down. "If this was the World Government, they'll received a court martial. After that, a long rope and a short drop." The light curved along the blade. When I come back with G-13, I'll make them all pay. Everyone on this island will get what they deserve.
"There is no court martial out here in the wild," Penguin said after a deliberate pause. "No rules at all, in fact." He coughed, then reminded, "Our priority is the gold. Whatever you plan to do, it comes second."
Her jaw clenched. She covered that up with a snort. "Don't worry. I follow orders for a living. Besides, if I do anything to compromise your crew, Law-san will have my head. Again."
"True enough." Penguin rolled up the map and stood. "I'm going to contact the sub. I'll be back later."
A part of Sophie wondered if Law ordered him to stay not to gather information, but to keep tabs on her. "You trust me here all on my lonesome?"
"I trust you," he said firmly, "not to do anything stupid."
"Because your captain will kill me," she concluded.
"No." Penguin pressed his palm flat on the table and leaned over. "Because I will. If I have to."
Why did conversations with pirates always end so seriously? And… badly-sounding for her? Sophie was not liking this recurring theme. "You walk like a hyperventilating dinosaur!" she called after him.
His back became noticeably straighter and stiffer as he climbed the stairs. She sunk low in her seat.
To think she was so nearly on the road to the valley that led to the river by the path towards trusting a pirate. The very thought was as terrifying as mismatched socks. A flick of her lighter later and Sophie exhaled smoke, looking around the room. The tavern owner seemed to be having difficulty cracking open the lid of a barrel labeled salted pork. This would make a decent conversation opener.
"Hi!" Sophie popped up, smiling brightly. "Want some help there?"
The tiny old woman wiped her brow. "That'd be 'ppreciated." She handed Sophie the crowbar. The scars on her cheek wiggled when she smiled.
Sophie pretended to push. "Any estimates on the king's army? Numbers and weapons and all that? I know I should probably know, but… I… don't know." Pineapples, Sophie, if you were any smoother you'd be a row of metal spikes.
"They're numberin' nearly ten thousand, not includin' the loyalists. Our informant listed at least two hundred cannons, though 'bouts fifty are in disrepair. They have 'em muskets, too, an' the guard towers."
"And our side?"
"Ten thousand as well. Still, it's about a sixth of Anatole's overall population. We have a road of brambles ahead of us, hm?"
Ten thousand wasn't bad at all. Four, maybe five G-13 warships could handle that. This was going to be way simpler than she'd expected. Sophie pushed once on the crowbar and the lid immediately popped off. "Was salted pork always this black and… gunpowder-y?"
The old woman merely laughed like she'd told a particularly amusing joke. "Put that behind the counter, will ya? We'll need that for later."
"One last question," Sophie huffed, tugging the barrel over. "What happened to those women outside? The ones…" She examined the fleshy, vulnerable back of the old woman's neck. Her hands curled. "…Strung up."
"Terrible business. Terrible for business! Those stupid lugs would hang 'em right out my tavern! I dunno who did it, but if I did, I'd kick their asses straight into the river. Have a nice cold bath t' clear their damned tiny brains. The soldiers will be on us like a pack o' bloodhounds. I keep on tellin' 'em, we ain't ready yet!"
"It's vulgar," Sophie muttered
"'Course it is, " she said briskly. "Just as vulgar as when the king chopped off my husband's head an' paraded it on a spike. Ah, I forgot—y' were probably too young to remember. We ran a newspaper, him and I. Got pretty popular, too. The king didn't like that so much."
Sophie made a noncommittal noise which could be taken for sympathy or awe (tip four of Hippo's etiquette lectures). The old woman patted her with the handle of the broom and craned her neck as five men walked in the tavern. "Welcome! Grab a seat wherever ya like, we got a breakfast special of duck eggs, warm bread, an' ale."
"I hope it's not laced with poison." Sophie recognized that lean stature and needle-sharp smile—he was the orator last night, Jacques Straw. He'd be served the rope, naturally.
"Ah, hush, with you sayin' that it ain't a joke. My alcohol's just as cheap an' disgustin' as the next inn over."
Sophie tuned out their laughter as she watched the men proceed past her. They all wore the same sunflower-shaped cockades on their hats and pistols on their belts, and were greeted loudly by the other rebels. Ringleaders, she saw instantly, and memorized their faces and marked them for death row.
"Could they have done it?" Sophie asked after they left. "Killed those women, I mean."
The old woman glanced at her, then went back to sweeping. "Jacques Straw? No. But the others… Danton, Brissot, Roux, Couthon… I can't be certain. Don't dwell on it," she said as Sophie's expression darkened. "Think of the future instead. Soon, you'll be free to go anywhere in the world. You'd like Crawfish Island. Quiet, kinda sleepy place. Great big swamps everywhere, though; y' should seem 'em at least once in your life."
Not after Doflamingo burned them down. Sophie kept her lips pressed around the cigarette and smiled.
"Most nights y' can see some strange glowing lights bobbin' through the trees," she said wistfully. "Lost spirits, I used t' call 'em."
"That's… pretty cool…" Sophie's brow furrowed, her memory itching.
Before she could place exactly what had felt so off, the floor knocked. Three long, three short, three long. It came from right underneath her feet. Sophie stumbled aside as the old woman brushed past her and thumped the broom handle. A second later, a small trapdoor opened up and a freckled, sweaty face shadowed by a purple hood peeked out, a burning torch in one hand.
The old woman gaped. "What're you doin' here? If the king found out—"
"Is that a smuggling tunnel?" Sophie broke in. It was a short drop into the darkness, and the stone walls glistened with cobwebs. There was a faint whisper of a breeze she wasn't sure was imagined.
"The soldiers are advancing." The girl gulped for breath, glancing at Sophie. "Their arrival is imminent; we have been compromised. You and Jacques Straw must leave for a safe house."
"Tha—that's imposs—how did they know?"
"They must have their own informant, I am unsure, I rushed over immediately when I heard!"
The old woman looked as though she'd been forced to swallow a barrelful of her own cheap ale. "But last night you told us there were soldiers who wanted to come to our side—"
"A falsity," she whispered hoarsely. "Jacques Straw asked me to. No soldier will forsake the king. It was—it was to boost morale, you see. To give hope in a desperate hour. I must return before anyone discovers I am missing, please, you must leave at once!"
She fled back into the darkness with her flaming torch and the old woman slammed down the hatch.
Sophie drummed her fingers against her elbows. She needed to warn Penguin and Anko, but first…
"So whatcha gonna do?"
"There's no time to run," she murmured. "We must fight." Her face twisted like the bark of an ancient swamp tree. "Jacques Straw! Citizens! Khanwari's soldiers are plannin' to smoke us out! This is the time to stand!"
As if she flipped a switch, the rebels instantly stood up and drew their weapons, shouting at each other. "Olympe, begin the evacuation!" Jacques Straw was ordering as he loaded his pistol, "Danton, send out a third of our troops to the guard towers! We'll take those closest to the city; they have cannons! Invaluable cannons!"
The havoc became a blur of noise to Sophie as she wrenched the old woman aside, screaming, "Not yet, you said you weren't ready yet!" She needed more time for G-13 to get here, she could fix this if they just let her!
She shoved Sophie away with much more strength than a half-blind old lady should have. "Are you the spy!?"
Sophie stumbled into the wall, horrified. "N-no… No!"
Faster than she could blink, the old woman pulled out a shotgun from underneath the counter and pointed the black tunnel of the barrel straight at Sophie. The darkness was infinite, like the ocean current dragging her down down down and Doflamingo's laughter turned into pink crows peckpeckpecking out her lungs.
Her vision swam dizzyingly. Her breath came out in short, frantic spurts and her heartbeat wouldn't stop racing. Oh god, Sophie thought faintly, what's happening to me?
"From the hamlets, my ass. You won't stop me from goin' home. I don't even remember what my daughter looks like, they took me away from her so long ago." Those scars seemed to come alive, like writhing, furious snakes. Her white eye blew open in rage. "They left Helene to burn!"
The doors blasted apart, roaring swears, and—
She was back in a trench, laden with heavy medical supplies. A cacophony of exploding mortar shells, blazing pistols, and garbled yells rang through the smoky haze. She wasn't Sophie the hitchhiking chemist, but Sophie the combat medic who had never been anywhere but—
And then she was back in the Tournesol, on her feet, ashen-faced.
The green-armored soldiers aimed their muskets at the rebels, who responded in turn by pointing their weapons, the old woman included. Forgotten in the corner, knees trembling, Sophie slid down the wall and discovered how to breathe again.
"YOU ARE HARBORING TRAITORS IN THIS TAVERN," a soldier bellowed gratingly. "IF YOU DON'T RELEASE THEM, WE WILL BE FORCED TO FIRE. WE ARE THE KING'S MEN, WE SPEAK WITH THE KING'S VOICE, AND YOU ARE REQUIRED BY LAW TO OBEY THE KING."
"The king sure has an annoying voice," someone near her muttered.
This was it. She had to escape. Get the gold and sail to G-13 as soon as possible. One door. Thirteen windows, seven unboarded. She could make a run for it. Penguin and Anko could find their own way out; they were both stronger and faster than her. She gripped her satchel, where she'd snuck in a few small bombs made with the witch doctor's leftover chemicals… if she timed it just right…
"OUR PURPOSE HERE IS TO BRING THE REBEL JACQUES STRAW AND HIS CO-CONSPIRATOR, ROMARIN, TO THE KING."
Romarin.
Why did that sound so—
Her bike. Sid—Sid gave her a bike. Roma-chan. It burned down in Crawfish Island, but Romarin was still alive and Romarin was—
Sophie felt the world open up beneath her feet. The old woman's right eye was milk-white, but her left… purple.
—
"Manta, you have the ships in sight!?"
"Just barely; they're still a long ways from the island." The Baby Den Den Mushi was calm, unlike its sibling which must already be dried up from all the sweat pouring down its little snail body.
"And the colors they're flying?" Penguin demanded, restlessly smoothing out his hat brim.
"Hold on, I'm adjusting the periscope… it looks like… something blue on a white field… I think it's—"
Footsteps thundered down the hallway; the Tournesol seemed to be shaking on its very foundation. In the street below, people were coming out of their houses with pitchforks raised.
And Penguin's mouth curled in a slow, dangerous grin.
—
Romarin.
She pulled a gun on her and was very nearly about to kill her and she was Romarin. But Nellie thought her parents were both dead. Oh, pineapples, Nellie. She should know. Right? Right!? (Sophie was sawing off her fingernails with her teeth at this point.) What were the chances the Heart Pirates would say yes to her kidnapping a violent old lady and bringing her onboard?
"The hell's going on?"
Sophie peeked over the counter. Anko stepped off the stairs, right in the middle of the stare-down. The whole tavern seemed to blink as one.
And then a gunshot ripped through the silence and people were shouting and there was white on red on white. Anko curled up on the floor, his stomach bleeding and his mouth violently scarlet, gasping, "Shit—what the motherfucking fuck is going on—"
Sophie immediately dropped to the floor and crawled past the counter. Think, Sophie, think! She could drag him away by the feet if they were all looking the other way. Good plan. If Law knew she'd tried to help his stupid crewmate before he died, he might not totally kill her.
Jacques Straw jumped on the table just in front of her (stop being so dramatic! she wanted to scream). She stopped short and bit out all the fruits in the Rutaceae family. Anko was bleeding out just barely two yards from her.
"You can kill one person, but we'll never die!"
The tavern bellowed in agreement.
"I'm still alive, morons," Anko gargled weakly from the floor.
"…Never mind that! We are all prepared to give our lives to this cause! Brothers and sisters, we stand together!" He cocked his pistol and there was some otherworldly light glowing above him, shining down from the heavens. "The voice of the people is the voice of god! We are the kingdom and the kingdom is us!"
A soldier shot point-blank.
Jacques Straw fell with a thump. His eyes, widened in surprise, bore straight into Sophie's—passionate, charming, dead.
That was when the screaming began.
She still heard everything, the gunfire, the panicked voices, the running, but it all blurred slowly together like colored dye spreading through water. The corpse wouldn't stop staring at her. A pool of red and bits of grey spread across the wood. A little more acne and lowered cheekbones, and he would've looked a bit like one of the junior scientists back at the lab. What was that scientist's name again? She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything, suddenly.
Something wrapped around her waist and the world jerked. The face above hers was streaked in crimson. Penguin. He hoisted her up; her legs were shaking nearly as hard as her hands. "I'll hold them back!" he shouted, "Find Captain!"
"A-Anko-san—he was h-h-hur—hur—"
The smell of singed flesh and blood was overwhelming. There were still people fighting through the haze. She glanced down at the corpse of Jacques Straw and had to force down her breakfast.
He looked at her warily. "Are you going to throw food in my face again?"
She pushed away from him, biting back the urge to vomit over his boots out of spite. A fire was starting in the back corner. Ah, snap, the gunpowder.
"I'll take care of Anko! Go!"
"B-b-but—"
Penguin gripped her shoulders. "I thought you said you could follow orders!?"
All the molecules in the universe realigned. She had an objective. A purpose. Everything else could come later.
Going forward means you don't look back.
Sophie snapped to attention. "U-understood. Watch out for the g-gunpowder!"
And she was running past the swinging corpses and dodging around panicked crowds. Penguin said the pirates were scoping the castle, but as she narrowly escaped the third riot (and a flying bloodied saucepan), Sophie realized it'd be too dangerous to go by ground.
Square numbers. Detergent. Bleach. Soap. The cloak would get tangled up in her feet, so she unlaced it and let it blow off into the howling wind. Freshly-cut fingernails. The smell of antiseptic.Leaped on the wall and grabbed the edge of a windowsill, knees scraping. Just like a training exercise. Four. Nine. Sixteen. Twenty-five. Swayed to the side and found an overhanging beam (don't look down don't look down), muscles stretched taut. Climbed higher and higher. Thirty-six. Forty-nine. Sixty-four. Eighty-one.
Sophie pulled herself up with a grunt and balanced on the ridge, surrounded by a sea of gritty red roofs against an iron-grey sky.
Half the city was in flames.
Everywhere she turned, it was the same: furniture tossed out of windows to form barricades and soldiers and rebels gunning each other down on the streets. Smoke billowed out over the southern end of the city. Distant booms heralded the cannonades. Just one block away, a ramshackle building was swallowed by fire and collapsed with a mighty groan.
A tile creaked behind her.
Sophie spun, grabbed the outstretched forearm and slammed him into the roof, digging her knee into his back. Her messy ugly livid snarl vanished as she took in the brown cloak and newsboy hat.
Expression bland as always, Hai Xing glanced over his shoulder. "If you're planning on killing me, might as well hurry it up. I warned Captain you were going to double-cross us."
She grabbed the scruff of his cloak and slammed him back down, screaming, "Your comrades are back there f-f-fighting alone! Anko-san m-may be dead!"
He stared down at her bloodied bandages. Their gazes met—wait, she was about to say, not their blood, but he shoved her aside with enough force to send her stumbling. "Come on!" he shouted, sliding down the tiles and disappearing off the edge.
Those freaking pirates, honestly! Sophie took a half-second to catch her breath and slid down after him.
Her feet slipped against the tiles and in a gut-wrenching tug, she was thrown into the wind. For one horrifying moment she thought she must've tripped, but then pain ripped through her scalp as her head jerked back, a gasp catching in her throat.
Oh, pineapples.
I would've preferred tripping, thanks.
Then nothing.
—
There were no footsteps behind him. Hai Xing skidded to a stop. "Strangways?"
A huge blast rocked the buildings around him. Thick black trails of smoke came from the direction of the Tournesol.
—
Sophie woke up with a strained wheeze, heartbeat thundering frantically. A shadow flickered over her, enemy alert! She was moving in a split-second: shot up, kicked away the weapon, and dug her hand into the soft flesh of a mouth.
The girl's whimpers were muffled as Sophie lifted her up easily with one arm. Soft slippered feet swayed over the rug.
She couldn't have been but two or three years older than Sophie, draped in a loose white dress. Long nose, small chin, eyes as dark as auburgines… the girl from the Tournesol. Anko getting shot, Jacqes Straw dead, the old lady with the name Romarin—it was all coming back. Her fingers tightened viciously.
"Name, location, motive," Sophie snarled.
"Odin," the girl rasped, "stop."
A slow, cold shiver ran up her spine. Sophie looked up.
A hulking beast of a man loomed over her, so massive his head brushed the tapestry on the ceiling. Scars crisscrossed his arms, neck, and what little of his misshapen head the iron mask couldn't cover. Even though he filled up practically a third of the room, she hadn't noticed his presence at all. Even though his enormous fist was frozen in the air—right over her head.
The girl tapped her. "It would be advisable to release me."
Sophie did.
Her back hit the bookcase. The mask had two pitch-black holes to see and a jagged slit to breathe. Dog tags glinted on his chest. He somehow reminded her of a bull—like he could bulldoze her over any second. Sophie clutched her arms to stop herself from trembling.
"This is Odin. He is not exactly garrulous, but he will not harm you. He brought you here on my orders." She patted him as though he were some grotesque pet, and cleared her throat. "I am Lisbeth, daughter of King Khanwari and heir to the Sunflower Kingdom." She picked up the damp cloth Sophie had kicked away earlier. Her voice was as soft as crushed velvet. "This is my bedchamber in the castle. You are safe here."
"...You're kidding, right?"
Lisbeth shrugged her small shoulders.
Sophie backed away, catching her breath. "Okay. So. We have a rebellious princess spying for rebels and her…" Odin remained silent. She rubbed her forehead. "I should inform you I know e-eighteen ways of k-killing myself," she set her tongue between her teeth, "tho you may wanna ma' this quichk."
"Unnecessary! Abundantly, capaciously, uh, uh, u-undividedly unnecessary!" She clutched her braid like it was an anchor. "I know you found a way inside Cat's Eye! And I know you are from the World Government."
"You're… wrong?" Sophie tried.
"I was at the Tournesol yesterday. I traversed up the length of the staircase and we were in close proximity for a short moment, and I… overheard your colloquy with the gentleman in the white hat. There will be no torture or harm or any egregious action of any sort, you have my word."
At least she didn't know said gentleman was actually a cutthroat pirate out for her gold. But here was the real kicker: Khanwari and Lisbeth were both World Government-affiliated royalty she had taken oaths to obey. They were both legitimate and had formidable powers backing them up. And from the… minute or so she'd known her, it was glaringly obvious this princess was an ocean saner than her father.
Sophie crossed her arms. "Fine. You know who I am. What now?"
Things were falling apart faster than she expected.
to be continued
trivia
vox populi, vox dei: 'the voice of the people is the voice of god', which is completely antithesis to everything the world government believes.
romarin: nellie's mom. french for rosemary, which denotes faithfulness, love, and remembrance.
jacques straw: named after jack straw, who was one of the leaders of the peasants revolt of 1381. see also: the jacquerie.
anatole: sunrise in greek. the capital (and only city) of cat's eye.
the tournesol: sunflower in french.
fluffy oxen: durable yet passive animals, a hybrid of sheep and oxen. native to cat's eye island.
"you must pay the boat fare if you want to cross to hell": an ominous comparison to charon, who ferried deceased souls across the river styx. law's so dramatic.