PICK YOUR POISON - ShadedEclipse (2025)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

OO.

PICK YOUR POISON

prologue.

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

Sheremembers.

Not of this life, but of another.

She is notfromhere. She is not from aworldwhere pirates rein havoc over the oceans, or wherefruitgrants magical abilities.Herworld is not divided into four seas and a belt,herworld is not governed by a single entity. Technology inthisworld is not lacking in the slightest, but it is so sodifferent. She is not fromherebut sheknowswherethis is, knowswhoshe is.

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

More than that—sheis not Lami, andsheis not from a world depicted in a comic book.

Lami has always known that she is peculiar.

How could she not?

( she simply hadn't known howperilousthe situation was— untilnow. )

She has never felt quiterightin this body; as if she is wearing a suit too small, as if her limbs don't quite move like she is used to. She hasmemoriesthatLamihas never experienced before; of flying metal automobiles, handheld devices with aworld'sworth of knowledge neatly tucked inside, and city lights that span acrossmiles. Recalls languages andinformationthat Lami, in all of her youth, has no chance of understanding let alone the opportunity toknow. There arepeoplein her dreams whom sheknowsshe once loved, but can never remember—as if their memory is but a figment in a fog that coats her mind. Faces and names blur together in an illegible fashion, almost tangible in thought butjustout of reach.

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

Shesupposes that she is lucky.

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

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

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

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

( she wonders when i̶f̶ this nightmare will end. )

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

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

Shewantsto be a good sister. To give him a version of Lami that he deserves.

But.

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

Sheloves her brother dearly, too, but she can't stand to look at him without thinking about what she haslostand what she is going tolose.

Lami's parents worry about her change in personality.

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

Even still, the Lami she was before thesememoriesappeared is not the Lami that sheremembers—not the bubbly, soft, kind young girl who would hold Law's hand and grin and grin andgrin—

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

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

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

how precious!

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

She revels in their ignorance.

In her spare time, she writes in her journals.

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

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

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

As bizarre and seeminglyimpossibleas this world is, she finds herselffascinatedas she reads through books, or listens to her parents tell her stories of this world. Similar, butsodifferent that she can't help but marvel.

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

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

It's laughable if anything.

The issues at hand are far more than whatshealone can deal with.

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

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

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

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

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

She writes as much as she can remember aboutOne Piece, about the characters—people, now—of goals andarcs.

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

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

But this is not all she writes about.

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

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

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

how she is a changeling in disguise;

how she has desecrated theideaoflami—)

Lami starts to loathe the colour white.

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

Itreekswith a sort ofholinessthat begs for devotion.

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

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

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

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

( she doesn't want to die. )

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

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

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

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

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

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

Law, on the other hand, looks contemplative.

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

she loves him.

her chest bursts with a fondness for her older little brother and she feelsgladthatmaybethis might help him later on, maybe it'lldosomething…

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

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

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

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

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

( there is no one listening. )

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

Whoever she is—shedoesn'twantto die.

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

( she has a plan. )

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

O1.

PICK YOUR POISON

changeling .

All it takes is a few subtly placed fliers and pamphlets to catch the attention of her parents.

St. Monroe's Girls School Of Excellence.

A guaranteed path to a child's success, the brochure promises, along with the companionship of other like-minded girls whose ambition and connections would forever remain in their care. From ages four to sixteen St. Monroe's is isolated on the island of Briar North where students can focus solely on their studies and self-discovery. With courses such as Etiquette , Music, and the Fine Arts, St Monroe's dedicates itself to upholding the best qualities in a woman while also offering the highest quality in knowledge in regards to the Sciences and Maths. Boasting an approval rate of 98% from students, St. Monroe's vows to create a worthwhile and successful environment for any girl wishing to do great things.

Lami is certain that it is all a ruse, a scam for money and an everlasting power trip, but she has stopped caring. Her standards are low, now that she is growing desperate.

All she can see is white, white, white— she's not sure she can take it anymore.

She'd rather submit herself to the dictatorship of a private school in attempts of cutting herself from the source of her poisoning than watch in complacent silence as she dies. Every touch, every bit of food, every breath is done painstakingly; wondering, wondering, if this is the minuscule amount of poison that dictates whether she is past the point of no return or not. How much amber lead is in her writing utensils? In the paint on her walls? In the water supply that she drinks from?

How is she to know if her life is redeemable yet? How is she to know how much more of her life is left before it is a race towards death? Has she already crossed the halfway point? Was she born with the intention and destiny of failing?

Hope can only last so far, she tells herself before remembering where she is, who she is.

Hope, determination,will, can make or break the universe—

Only in trying will she get her answers. Only through trying can she succeed.

Sometimes she forgets— fake or not, Lami is aD . in the making.

And she will make the world tremble in her effort to take back what is left of the fragments of her life.

Her parents are hesitant to consider the idea of sending their child to an all-girls private school in a far-off island.

It makes sense, she supposes. They are doctors of great esteem with two intelligent children— of course they have their minds set on sending her to the same medical school as Law. But Lami remains relentless in her passive-aggressive reminders. Brochure here. Comment there. Newspaper articles littered across the floor. She wishes she had more female friends, she hopes to one day be an influential woman in society—

She will not be ignored; she will not remain here.

Lami's plan will take time to execute; will require money and supplies that she can not obtain just yet. At the age of four, she is too young to be taken seriously by anyone of importance. Too inexperienced in the world and it's ways to go out into it safe and sound. She cannot stop a war, she cannot stop genetic diseases. However, she can't allow herself to believe it's hopeless; and maybe it truly is a hopeless effort, but that is a hurdle that she can overcome later. For now, she needs to study, she needs to strengthen. There is so much that she needs and she's not sure if she can procure it, and yet the only way she can know for sure is if she relentlessly and hazardously reaches and reaches—

Because at the end of the day, in the secluded and gorgeous walls of Flevance, she has—is—nothing but a rotting corpse of a body.

She needs to leave, soon—

Now.

The sense of urgency that claws at her chest is not one that she can express out loud without questions arising, but she can feel it pulling and tugging at her sanity. Fragile cracks splintering across her mind, a spider web ready to shatter. There's a countdown floating over her head,tick-tock, and it's only a matter of time before it all falls away into nothing.

"There are pirates," Lami overhears her mother saying one night.

Sinking low to the ground as she listens by the kitchen door, Lami stares sullenly at the ground. She gets the impression her parents have been arguing for some time now, given how exhaustedher mother sounds.

"Statistically speaking—"

"Don't." Her mother warns, "With the Donquixote's, Vinsmokes, and Ryerson's running amok there are no safe places in the North Blue regardless of your statistics. Do you want to take that risk? With our daughter?"

"She has a keen mind, a will to explore! If we smother it now, she may lose her creative potential, or worse, come to resent us for limiting her freedom. Briar North is only three islands away, we could travel there in two days at most."

"She's only four—"

"She is human, is she not? Does she not have dreams, ambitions, goals? We of all people should know that the human mind is malleable at all ages. Lami is in her development period! These years will shape her personality, mindset—"

"Even still, we are talking about a two-day gap where anything can happen without us even knowing! At least we can make sure she is safe, taken care of properly. Pirates don't come here for a reason. Thugs, bandits, vagabonds— they are nonexistent."

"Do you know what else will be nonexistent? Her curiosity. Her ambition. She has a flame inside of her, and if left undeveloped she will wilt. If we let her explore, just a little bit, in a controlled environment then perhaps she won't become one of those thugs or vagabonds that you fear so much."

Lami can justbarely hear a soft sigh.

"I don't like it. She's only four."

"You say this like she's a normal four-year-old."

"... Fine."

Law spends most of his time studying, which makes it all the more special when he takes the time to sneak Lami out of the house to play or buy snacks. It's... adorable how he has naturally gained this… feeling of responsibility for her, wanting to make sure that she is happy but not being especially good at conveying his thoughts and emotions. The effort is more than enough, though a part of her feels… morose.

(she is not lami)

He's not the most sociable kid. Kind of shy, if not a bit uninterested in interacting with kids their age who do not hold the same esteem as him. More content to be with his books or listening to their father's lectures than in the presence of strangers.

Sometimes he tries for Lami, though.

It's just unfortunate that she's not exactly a friendly individual either. Or, at all. Trying to play with the other kids at the playground can be… tedious.

She's glad that Law shares this mindset. It means that they can avoid kids their age without her looking suspicious to onlookers because it's the two of them. They're simply... like this, nothing more to question. Singularly they stand out, but together it must be in their genetics.

Sometimes she rallies kids to play, just in case, when the fear of being lax threatens to overcome her.

Sometimes Law and Lami just sit in silence. These are the best times, simply enjoying the company of the other.

(she tries not to think;

shadows lurk in the corners of her mind; resentment, guilt, anger, fear.

so long as she runs she can pretend that everything is okay )

In the privacy of her mind, she calls herself a changeling; a ravenous beast of a child playing house in the empty shambles of an innocent taken away before it was her time.

There is nothing that can be done about it now, she knows this. Lami has run the logistics through her head many nights, debated with herself, argued. Lami, the child within the story, does not possess this body anymore. It's her, the changeling, that can feel. That can speak. That can think. She has made this body her own, has taken over Lami's life, has felt the warmth and love of her parents and brother.

And with the knowledge of the future, she intends on keeping it this way.

She does not know where Lami has gone or if she was ever an existence in the first place. While the guilt festers like an open woundshe knows that she cannot falter in her steps. Hesitance, doubt, indecision— the first steps to complacency, a feeling she cannot afford when every moment counts.

( it doesn't stop the growing cavern in her chest; may as well call her Tartarus .)

She knows that she has to cut herself some slack. Perhaps she too was a child taken before it was her time; taken unwittingly in the dark where no eyes could witness it.

In folklore changelings are said to be hungry ; plagued with insatiable appetites that tear families apart with their unsustainable cravings. It's believed that families in poverty during the middle century needed reasons to excuse a child's need for food, labelling them as changelings as a way to explain the phenomena. Lami thinks that she too needs to be hungry — needs to ache, to allow desire and survival to tear at her flesh and bone. The type of hunger nothing in this world could satisfy;

Only through this, she thinks, will she unlock mysteries of this strange universe.

"The Void Century is rather evident in its name; any and all events that occurred during this time is… unknown. Missing from history."

Lami watches as Law continues to breathe out a snot bubble as he sleeps, head propped up on a fist in a bad attempt of faux awareness. One of the many phenomena that baffle her about his world; there is a literal bubble of snot growing and decreasing in size as he slumbers. Does phlegm in this world have a different… molecular makeup, or consistency, in this world? Lami was not a very science-driven individual in her past life, but she can't help but admit that she is fascinated by this. It's like watching a balloon.

"No historical records have been found in the past eight hundred years that can give insight into what happened, and no one knows the truth of what the Void Century is…"

It's not unusual for Law to fall asleep in their father's history lectures, especially if it has nothing to do with science. While especially intelligent and dedicated, not even Law can remain with a steady heart in the face of their father's monotonous one-sided dialogue. History in itself is an interesting topic. However, their father has the habit of… tenaciously and passionately rambling about various points of history that both Law and Lami find themselves rolling their eyes at.

Honestly, who cares about Noland the Liar and the social consequences of this children's story? Or Valentine Alys, the man who took siege of a city by himself nearly three hundred years ago.

"There are plenty of theories as to why the Void Century happened. One such theory is the Great World War theory, which claims that history, literature, and art were destroyed amid a large war. Another theory claims that a devil fruit was the cause of the missing century..."

Their father hasn't noticed that Law is still asleep, and she doubts that he will until after the lecture is over. Sometimes she wonders why her father is a doctor, and not a professor. He certainly likes to talk and she's confident that there must be some overlap. Doctors need to be taught, after all.

Lami picks up a pencil and quietly reaches over the desk to poke at the newly forming bubble. It remains stubborn for a moment and then pops.

Law remains asleep.

There's guck on her pencil, so she reaches over and snags Law's. He's clearly not going to use it.

"...of course, most academics believe that history wasn't recorded simply because there was nothing to record. While uncommon, it is not unheard of. In fact, many islands don't believe in the written form of history and prefer spoken word and story-telling. The fact that it was an entire century spanning from all corners of the known world, however, is certainly a thought to mull over."

She wonders what her father would think about The Ancient Kingdom. There.. isn't a lot that she remembers about it, other than it's fall in the Void Century by those who would later form the Celestial Dragons, the Poneglyphs, and the Ancient Weapons. But it was underlined multiple times in her notebook so it must be something veryimportant. She doubts it's a detail she needs for the time being, but twenty years down the line she's pretty sure she will be cursing herself over her missing fragments of memory.

Lami notes down a few things in her book, mostly theories.

"What we doknow, however, is that the World Government was formed after the Void Century, along with the Council of Kings; both institutions are still standing and thriving to this day. As of our current knowledge, they are the longest-running political parties that the world has seen..."

Lami mulls.

She pokes Law in the cheek and his head plunks down onto the desk.

Her father doesn't notice and continues.

"It's quite remarkable, really, how long the government has managed to maintain peace and control over the world, especially considering the slave rebellions that happened 200 years ago. Since then slavery has been abolished, proving that social movements can change—"

Lami yawns. Propaganda. Also, incredibly wrong. She's not certain what her father would think if he ever found out that slavery is still a very prominent practice in the Grand Line; particularly with the Celestial Dragons.

"What if the people who created the World Government caused the Void Century," Lami drawls, not wanting to listen to the "good deeds" that the lapdogs of their overlords have done.

The World Government knows about the poisonslowly building in their bodies—how they will all die in time—and are doing nothing about it for financial gain. They will turn their backs on Flevance in their time of need ; they will make the world fear their existence despite knowing the harmlessness of their disease to those who aren't born with it. They will allow the genocide of Flevance's citizens while freeing their nobility.

She tries not to think about it. Thinking about what is happening, what is going to happen, makes her blood boil and her stomach drop as though she is plummeting from a mountain top.

No, no, she can't think about it not when her dad is going to —

"Oh sweetheart," He says with a fondness that drips from his voice, despite her blatant treachery. Her father has always adored curious minds, those willing to ask difficult questions to achieve understanding. "The World Government brings order to our world, why would they ever do such a thing?"

She wants to be sick.

For Lami's enrollment, there are papers to fill out and tests that need to be taken— but Lami knows that she passes with flying colours. She is no four-year-old, and the questions asked are child's play even if the school boasts excellence and superiority over schools within their island string.

She watches with her father as the carrier bird flies off with all of her documents.

It's only a matter of time, now.

Law doesn't take the news well.

It happens at dinner, their parents casually bring up the subject; Lami will be attending St. Monroe's Girls School of Excellence in two months.

For the first time in a while, Lami feels like she has a real chance— like she isn't just reaching out into the dark in hopes of grabbing something . Maybe her theories will be correct. Maybe she can do the impossible in a way that no one, including herself, thought possible. There is nothing more that she craves than the opportunity to breath in untainted air, toeat without wanting to vomit, to sleepwithout dreading that this is it, this is what will lead me to my death .

It doesn't occur to her that Law might.. feel something about her decision. That he might become upset or lash out.

Why would he?

But she watches as he stops mid-way through a bite and simply stares.

"What ?!"

There's something to his voice; an emotion close to anger but with too much heartacheto be considered as such. As if his voice is too fragile to perfectly convey the torrent of emotion that he feels, and it's… shocking. Lami had never thought, could never fathom, that he would disagree.

She forgot; he is a person, he is a child.

Law looks from his parents to Lami and— his face twists into a look of pure, wrenching, betrayalbefore he pushes his chair backward with fervour and storms out of the room.

Lami stares, bewildered, and her mother sighs.

"Don't worry," Her father says with reassurance. "He'll come around."

The look her mother sends to her father does not settle the unease that has settled in her stomach.

( she does not regret her decision; it is her life on the line, and she will not regret doing what is necessary to survive. she holds no ill-will towards law, loves him, even. but he doesn't need to worry, not now, not for another twenty years. he will not die anytime soon, and maybe it's selfish but she cannot allow herself guilt or hesitance over the steps she must make to be there at his side when he needs it most.

however, when she hears the quiet sobbing in the room next to hers later that night she—

feels.

her fingers curl into the fabric of her sheets as she presses her face into her mattress.

breathe. one step at a time. this heartache is minuscule in comparison to the ones yet to come. breathe. )

For the next few weeks, Law refuses to talk to Lami or their parents. He eats, he sleeps, he studies. Otherwise, he ignores their presence and runs into his room whenever the opportunity arises.

Lami pretends not to care.

( breathe. )

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

O2.

PICK YOUR POISON

departure .

Rain pitter-patters against the window of her parent's library, the weather as gloomy and disparaging as her mood. Flevance is blessed with a near-constant state of good weather, but not today. Winds rocks at the glass of the window, water falling from the sky in sheets. A nearby rumbling of thunder startles Lami from her reverie and she rubs her eyes.

A book ('Sora, Warrior of the Sea: How children's stories shape perception') lay face up in front of her, all but neglected for the past hour.

It's not that the documentary is boring. Far from it, in fact. She likes picking at points of history that are obviously muddled with the interference of the World Government. Although Sora is merely a fictional character, the comic is rampant with propaganda. Which is to be expected from the Marines, at this point. Any source of wide-scale media is targeted towards possible recruits, the comic calling towards youth. Interestingly, North News runs the comic in the North Blue, which one might think is a risky decision considering that most inhabitantsknowthat the "secret" army is run and comprised of the Vinsmokes and their kingdom.

But there are more important things on her mind than how the world perceives Germa 66 as a folk story.

She leaves Flevance in five days. Anticipation coils like a snake in her gut. She doesn't know if she's ready, doesn't know if she can wait any longer. Stuck in suspension, watching the clock as ittick, tick, ticks.

The door to the library creaks and Lami lazily slides her gaze over to inspect. Her breath catches, seeing that Law stands frozen and half-hidden in the doorway. His hand tightens on the doorknob as their eyes meet, their stare down only lasting a few seconds before he cooly backs off as if he'd never been there in the first place.

"Wait—" She starts, and then stops.

The retreating footsteps are quiet and soft. She stares at the place he had stood for a few moments too long.

Six weeks. It's been six weeks and Law still refuses to talk to her.

In all honesty, Lami hadn't expected her brother to last so long in his silence. She always knew that he is stubborn, but... Children typically recover faster, right? She can't remember— not that it really matters,neither of them are typical children. Law shows no signs of giving up his cold war of his, adamant in his avoidance and cold shoulder. A part of Lami hopes that once she leaves he will forget that it hurt to see her go in the first place, but she knows that it's a selfish desire. Lami wants her brother back but doesn't want to deal with the consequences of her actions. As it is, she won't be in Flevance to witness the effects of her departure, will come back after the wound has scabbed over. It's selfish of her to want things to smooth over already,now.

She hadn't realized how dependent on Law she has become. Whenshehad first awoken,shehad regarded Law as the thing that held her back from ignorant bliss. Now, though, he is a source ofhope—proof that shecansurvive if she plays her cards right. If she iscareful. If she issmart.

Hope is a dangerous word, she's smart enough to realize this too. It means she has something to lose, it means that the world can tear her down even further than it already has.

But sheneedsit—the hope; the determination.

SheneedsLaw.

There's no getting around the fact that she isselfish. The letters are strung across her chest and heart, carved into the very meat of her soul. It's not a trait to be proud of, she knows. However, maybe she should wear it like pride, like armour. She's going to let an entire country fall and perish for her convenience. Law is going to suffer for her convenience. Wouldn't it be better to embrace the cold truth now, before it rots away at her conscience any more than it already has?

Let her be selfish andhungry.Grasping for straws and clawing at any flickering light of hope that she can procure.

She has a growing suspicion that Law will not forgive her anytime soon. The more desperate she grows, the more hazardous she'll tear at the world around her. It's only inevitable for Law to get caught in the crossfire of her recklessness. The unease that settled in her stomach at the time of Law's outburst has all but solidified like a rock, sinking lower and lower andlower.

"It's almost like lead in my stomach," Lami says to herself with dull amusement in a language not from this world, her chin propped in a palm and gazing out the rain-fogged window.

Lately, her humour has taken a dark turn. Lami can't help but laugh at the helplessness of her situation, can only watch as things start to unravel and fall apart. She wonders if she'll be stuck swaying between numbing existential dread and hysterics forever.

One day, maybe, Law will forgive her.

A mirthless smile smears her face at the thought. She knowsshedoes not deserve his forgiveness.

"I think that's enough sulking from you." Her father tells Law one day at breakfast, voice firm but kind, "Your sister has a bright future ahead of her at Briar North."

Her mother sighs as if she already knows how this conversation is going to end. Which is most likely true. Lami certainly does.

When Law doesn't say anything, their father continues.

"It might be good for the two of you, anyway! Make some friends and mingle with others. It'll be healthy for both of you. I know your studies are doing just fine as it is, but it wouldn't hurt to get to know your classmates. Or go outside every once in awhile—both of you are sopale."

Lami picks at her eggs with a silver fork, already despondent and detached from the conversation. She's not sure why their father is even trying anymore, despite her brother's stubborn silence. It's not as though shehasn'ttried to reach out to Law.

But.

It's difficult. She fundamentallyknowsthatleavingFlevance is what she has to do for her survival. Leave her parents, leave her brother—leave all the fucking amber lead and all itssplendour. The rationalization seeps into every conversation that she tries to start, and she has learnt that the moment she tries to bring logic into the mix she has already lost Law's interest in the conversation. Her brother doesn't care about what islogical.Not now, at least. Only that hefeelslike she is abandoning him. That his family is ignoring his emotions. Lami knows that ithurtsLaw to be silenced in this way, that it's not healthy for a growing boy to think that he's not allowed to voice his emotions, that he's not allowed to behurtandsad—

But she can't stop, and it frustrates her. Sheneedshim to understand; needs him to know that she isn't leavinghim.

Flevance can rot in its holy amber, but Law—sheneedshim.

"I don't wantfriends." Lawhisses, which is the most she has heard from him in weeks, "I don't want peers. The only friend I want is leaving mebehind!"

His voice cracks.

A hush falls over the dining room. Lami stares at her eggs, static filling her ears until the silence begins to feel like a weight on her shoulders. When she looks up, she sees that Law isgloweringat her. The heat to his gaze doesn't fool anyone in the room, she can see the heartbreak and the wetness of his eyes. Theybegfor her to do something, saysomething—

Lami scrambles, mind turning. Her thoughts come together and then fall away like ash in the wind; unattainable and impossible to contain.

Before she can say anything, a wet laugh escapes Law. He stares angrily at the table, mouth thinning into a severe line before he pushes his chair back and flees despite their parent's exclamations.

Lami says nothing. She can only stare.

( the horrid truth is—

she isn't trying to be cruel, but that does not mean she's being kind. )

Her nighttime thoughts replay over and over again like a broken record.

Guilt, fear, desperation, determination—

Her choices weigh heavily on her chest. She does not regret them but there is acknowledgment in the fact that she is leaving a country to die. And though the hole in her soul grows larger yet, her eyes remain dry; months of building panic and dread has drained her ability to weep, replacing her mind with a steady static.

She should be happy; she is leaving, she has a chance.

But instead, Lami stares blankly at the wall separating her room from Law's. Ten feet separate them but never before has she ever felt their distance quite likethis. She stares and stares, half hoping for a void to open upon the flat surface. For Law to emerge with one of his smirk smiles, asking if shereallythought that he would despair over her like this. Or for a black hole to whirl and grow and swallow her whole—

No—

This isn't what she wants. She can't allow herself to fall into this trap of desperation and sorrow.

Breathe. Survive. Will can shape your universe.

Lami has run the scenarios in her head, has spent endless nights scheming and theorizing. It borders on insanity—the futile and erratic way her thoughts claw their way back to the subject. Her mind is set on self-preservation, on survival, butsomethingin her aches for the agony of false hope, the torment of her circular thoughts. It doesn't matter, in the end. There is nothing she can do to help Flevance, nothing can she do to help her parents, nothing she can do to help Law, nothing she can do to set aside the thoughts that bombard her in the dead of night.

Not until the nightmares of her future have passed.

The knowledge aches. Of course, it does, it always has. But now… Now she has been slapped with a small dose of reality. Law, sheltered and young, has not yet faced heartbreak. He has not met any kind of genuine hardship, aside from his social ineptness. The thought that he would react so vehemently to her temporarily moving away likethis—it rips an ugly laugh from her before she can muffle it with her pillow.

Oh,oh, there is so much more left in store for Law. The knowledge burns. Life is not done with him, hasn't evenbegunto pull out the earth-shaking revelations, upheavals, tragedies soshatteringthat the world is forever tinged in a gray monotone. There is so much left of him for the world tobreak, slowly crushing pieces of his heart and soul until he's nothing but a spider web of cracks and fractures. Law isn't ready for this, she knows this intrinsically. He is too soft and young. But whowouldbe ready? She can't even imagine how he'll react for what is yet to come, and her gut twists at the mere thought.

( maybe one day he'll look in the mirror and recognize the shade that hallows his eyes, think back to his younger sister, and wonderwhatshe had lost to acquire such a consuming sorrow at this age.

the answer: everything, nothing—

yet. )

Hands drag down her face. There is nothing she can do.There is nothing she can do.

Flevance's tragedy is set in stone. Everyone is going to die: fact. She can't change this, she can't undo what is already in motion: fact. The World Government has already counted them as lost causes, or at the very least believes that they aren't worth saving. Attempting to bring her knowledge to the larger masses would likely lead to death, regardless. Any small amount of mercy at this stage could lead to life-altering results, none of which she (her plan) can afford. Law's (Lami's) only chance for survival past the age of thirteen is for him to join the Donquixote pirates, for him to find the devil fruit that will cut away the built-up poison in his body. For this to happen—

For this to happen—

(breatheinbreatheout)

On and on the record plays, though she does not regret.

The day of her departure is bright and clear.

"Don't worry, your mother and Law will meet us there." Her father says as he collects her things, readjusting the strap of her bag on his shoulder, and turns to Lami with a worried frown, "Are you sure this is all you want to take with you? You'll be gone all year…"

Honestly, she doesn't want to risk any further exposure. If amber lead is a metal that is poisonous upon exposure to air, then anything containing the metal will be a contagion of sorts, right? Sheknowsthat most products made in Flevance have some of the mineral built-in—mostly for aesthetics, of course. But this means that there are hundreds of different items that could facilitate and encourage her innate disease.

Lami cannot afford to take anything but the bare minimum with her.

Regardless, she doesn't have any particular attachment to her belongings. Everything she owns will be taken away from her at some point— it's better to adjustherself into a minimalist lifestyle in hopes of tempering future heartache. Better to cut her losses short. So long as she has money and her notebooks she should be... fine.

It's not like she can tell him allthis, though.

"The school has uniforms and a library. They'll feed us and house us..." Lami says instead, staring up at her father, "What else could I need?"

"Alright, alright." Properly endeared by her behaviour, her father laughs and gestures for her to get moving with a playful wave of his hand, "But if you need anything just remember to let us know. Briar North isn't too far away, and if you ever get homesick it won't be too much of a hassle for us to come and see you."

Lami offers her father a sad sort of smile. Nothing she can offer him in response will satisfy or make him happy.

She's momentarily startled when her father takes her hand. When she looks up, she sees that he's staring at her with soft fondness. Lami flexes her fingers but doesn't pull them away. Upon her apparent approval, he gently tugs her along the sidewalk.

Lami says nothing, though a quiet unease settles over her chest and throat.

Affection is… difficult.

There's not much she remembers from her timebeforeLami. Not anymore, at least. She thinks she wasn't as scared back then, wasn't as careful with how she offers her affection. Her parents are busy people so it's not typically a concern for her, but there are moments where she freezes when sheshouldn't;hugs too sudden and kisses given too freely. She can't help but feel lost when her parents give her their devotion, her mind sent into an unrelenting spiral. She doesn't deserve it, their love, handles Law's quiet affection much easier.

She almost laughs at herself.

Law's affection is simply easier to ignore, easier to turn a blind eye to.

Lami loves them all, but—a small part of her thinks:

Perhaps she should acknowledge hersurpriseover Law's feelings of betrayal over her departure; why she has never thought that Law mightcarefor her in a way that would result in such a passionate reaction. Lami has always thought his adoration over her iscute,but has she ever believed that helovesher? Has she ever viewed him as a human being with emotions felt forher? Perhaps she should inspect the source of her constant shying away from affection—why is it that she has discounted the feelings of her family, continuously dismissing them and pushing them away? Does she honestly believe that because she is achangelingthat her family views her with the same monotonous static she feels for herself?

Does she honestly think that pushing them away now will do anything to stop her future heartaches?

"Don't worry," her father says, dragging her out of her thoughts.

"Hn?"

"Everything is going to be fine." Confidence seeps through his tone, fingers tightening around her own.

Dread pools in her gut.

He is going to die in a few years—

"Tell me about Lvneel," she says, instead, eager to change the subject.

The rest of their walk is spent with her listening to him ramble about the climate, the culture, the politics of the nearby kingdom. Lami throws herself into the topic, ignores the things better thought about in the dead of night when no one is around to witness.

"They're late..." Her father says, tapping at his watch with ill-contained worry. When he catches her stare he fiddles with his glasses, an obvious nervous tick, and smiles, "I'm sure that they will be here at any moment."

"...Right."

The boat leaves in ten minutes.

They spend a long moment in silence, her father staring at the road leading to the docks while Lami stares out to the sea. To her freedom. To clean air. Months ofwaitinghave led to this moment and her hands shake with anticipation, heart thundering in her chest. Soon, soon,soon.

Lami almost laughs. She has never thought herself as a sea goer, can barely fathom herself as someone who would wait with bated breath to sail the ocean blue to her freedom. It's the most pirate-like behaviour she has ever exhibited and she almost grins with childish glee. Almost. There is still so much left for her to do, so many more obstacles for her to crawl over. Celebrations should be rewarded when she is thirteen andalive.

There's no what-if's allowed in this discussion; shewillget there. But she shouldn't tempt fate by celebrating too early.

Her father is pacing now, quietly muttering under his breath. A look is spared in her direction before he gives her a smile that is too stiff to be genuine, "I'll be right back. Stay right here, okay? I'm going to go call your mother."

Lami barely has the time to nod before he is backpedalling towards one of the buildings on the dock.

Staring after him, a quiet somberness falls over her.

He's going to be so disappointed when they don't show up.

True to form, her father returns downtrodden. He runs his hands through his hair as he approaches, and kneels in front of her. "I've got some bad news kiddo… Law... isn't feeling too good, so it's just going to be me seeing you off. But, don't worry! I'm sure you'll have fun on your adventure, and I'll make sure that your mother and brother write to you as often as possible."

Lies don't suit her father, she thinks, as she listens to him ramble. Though, he handles it smoothly. He is a doctor, she supposes, so he must be quite used to relaying bad news. Whatever the case, Lami can't say she is all too surprised. This doesn't mean she isn't disappointed, however, and she merely gives her father a subdued smile in response.

Ruffling her hair, he stands up. "Alright! Let's get you settled before they take off without you!"

More for her father's benefit than her own, Lami gives a loud groan and tugs at his arm, "Nooo!"

"Better get moving then, kid!"

Goodbyes are rough, she realizes.

Once her bag is settled in her temporary cabin on the ship, there is nothing left to do but give their farewells.

There is an awkward moment where neither knows what to do, standing on the dock of the ship fumbling over words. Then, in a flurry of movement, her father holds her close and Lami pretends like she doesn't feel him gently shaking. She doesn't know why— doesn'twant to. Some things are better left alone, she thinks, as she wraps her arms around his neck.

"I'm sorry," He whispers thickly, arms tightening around her. "I wish I could come with you—that your mother was here—"

"It's okay. You have people to fix." Her father triesso hardto be both a good doctor and a good father, she thinks. "You're trying your best. That's what matters."

"Smart girl," He says thickly, though he doesn't sound like he has the same confidence in her words as she does.

They stand there for a few moments, leaning against each other until the captain of the ship yells over the patio, "Hate to ruin a family moment but we're heading out!"

"That's our signal to part…" He gives a quiet laugh, "I love you, Lami. Be safe and take care."

But he doesn't let go.

"I—Bye, dad." She murmurs, unsure what else to say. "I'll write to you, okay?"

When he pulls back his smile is large and his eyes are wet, "I look forward to each and every letter."

Lami gives a small wave as he gets off the ship, feeling slightly displaced and unaware of where she is. She stands at the edge of the deck watching as the boat pulls away from the dock, swaying quietly from side to side to the rhythm of the waves that slap against the hull. Waving at him once again when he raises a hand in farewell, she watches and waits until the shore is a small spec in the distance.

"Don't worry kid," The captain says, patting the ledge beside her, "You'll be back in no time."

Goodbyes are rough, but that sounds less like a promise and more like a threat.

That night she lay in her cabin, too busy sick and vomiting into a barrel to be sad.

"Oh, there's our little princess!" The captain exclaims the next day when she arrives in the kitchen for dinner, "Sea not treating you well, then? Ha! Give it time."

Just listening to the woman's loud voice makes her stomach queasy. Lami thinks that it's best to not think about the sea or its waves or the rocking motion of the boat—Nausea burns through her chest as she slaps a hand onto the nearest surface, swallowing down the bile that threatens to creep up her throat.

This isnotwhat she had anticipated when she had planned for this trip, had not takenseasicknessinto account when envisioning her escape from Flevance. It certainly makes the trip less endearing, now that the rose-coloured glasses are off and she is exposed to the realities of seasickness and latrines.

"Don't worry, kid. You'll get used to it!" One of the crewmates assures her, though his laughter betrays his amusement towards her ailment. "Grab some grub and water, that'll fix ya right up."

"Or send her straight back below deck!" Another chirps.

Their lack of empathy for her plight rubs her the wrong way, but she begrudgingly accepts the food that is offered to her from the cook. She sits apart from the crew or other passengers, settling in a corner where she can keep an eye on everyone. Since she was in her cabin all night, Lami can't say that she has gotten a read on anyone on board. Her general impression is that it's not unsafe. Or, at the very least, it doesn'tappearto be run by pirates… Even if they laugh in the face of her ailment.

Staring at her food, Lami is hit with the sudden realization thatthiswill be her first meal outside of Flevance. Her first meal without fear of further contamination.

Bread and beans.

It could almost make her cry, inspecting the silver cutlery. No more amber lead, just... Regular ole silver that probably won't kill her in the future.

"It's not gonna poison yeah if that's what you're thinkin'."

Lami startles when she realizes that the captain has settled into the seat across from her, but otherwise just stares. The words hit too close to home, and she struggles to come up with something to say.

In all honesty, the woman doesn't look like a captain of a ship. With her long red hair and manicured nails, she looks better suited for anything other than seafaring. But then again she's not a marineora pirate, so Lami supposes thatanyonecan be a "captain" so long as they own a ship. With Dolflamingo's pirates and the like floating around, she isn't sure why anyone would be pleasure cruising across the North Blue or how they manage to do so without getting plundered and robbed regularly.

"I.. No, that's not..." Lami murmurs, mind trying to come up with a valid reason for her hesitation.

"Don't worry, princess," The captain says with a large smile, "not a food you're used to, right?"

Lami, thankful for the excuse, simply nods.

Golden eyes examine her for a long moment, and Lami nervously rips apart her bread and dips it in the beans. She doesn't understand the woman's reason for sitting with her, and she looks like she isexpectingsomething. Well, whatever. Lami isn't here to appease the expectations of random people.

The captain gives a soft huff of amusement when Lami continues to eat in silence.

"Shy little thing, aren't you?" She muses and then extends a hand. "The name's Barlow, though you can call me Captain."

Lami is already calling her captain, but she supposes it doesn't matter.

"I'm... Lami." She reaches out and gives Barlow a quick handshake before ducking her head to return to her meal.

"Alright, alright, I can tell when I'm not wanted," Barlow says with a loud laugh, getting up from her seat. She reaches over and ruffles Lami's hair with exaggeration, "Don't be scared to come up to the desk, none of us are going to bite!"

Lami grumbles and watches as Barlow and her men exit the dining room with a critical eye.

The trip to Briar North is only two days and Lami spends most of that time reading in her cabin.

Geography of the North Blueis her recent conquest for knowledge, learning about the North Blue's specific climate and oceanography after having readThe Geology of the North Blue. The titles are as dry as the content of the books themselves, but she figures that it'll be useful knowledge in the future even if the books are a few decades old and no doubt need to be updated. It's the price of information, however. Sometimes you just have to soak in dull passages so you can stumble across an interesting piece.

Occasionally one of the crew members will come by to make sure that she is doing alright before retreating to their jobs. She appreciates the sentiment, but Lami is unused to the way they treat her— like a child.

Her parents have always viewed her as a child, of course, but there is freedom in their management with her. They think her a genius and as such, they don't mince their words or hold her back from any of her knowledge-seeking. They encourage the behaviour. Lami's maturity is praised, but with the underlying belief that there is plenty more for her to learn from life and lecture.

It's stifling on the boat.Kid, princess, they call her, like it's an endearment instead of an insult.

Perhaps it's an omen for Briar North, she thinks. Lami doubts that an all-girls boarding school will be any better, though she tells herself not to complain. Flevance promises an inevitable death, an early onset of amber lead poisoning. Pompous girls and strict rules are nothing in comparison.

( the only time lami ventures above deck is when it is hours past twilight. the moon's light softens the features of the expensive wood, giving the ship a fairytale-like appearance. it's beautiful, awe-inspiring.

she allows herself a moment to simplybreathe—

breathe in unpolluted air. breathe without the fear thatthiswill make her sick, thatthiswill kill her, thatthiswill be what tips the balance of whether she will have enough time to execute her plan.

and for this moment, thereliefthat floods through her is the greatest burden she has ever felt. tears threaten to fall and she has to muffle her mouth to keep the sob tucked in her throat, hands, and body shaking in the extreme effort to keep thereliefinside of her. fear of it bubbling out, for others to see her like this, she curls up into a ball with her back against the sides of the ship.

lamibreathesandbreathes. never has anything tasted so sweet. )

By the time the ship docks at Briar North, Lami is practically buzzing to get off the boat.

A nearby crew member laughs when she emerges from below deck with her bag in tow, shouting out a light-hearted, "Lookie here, princess finally sees the light of day! Guess she won't be a permanent fissure to our boat after all."

Laughs all around, though Lami merely gives a tired sigh and a half-lidded stare. She wishes they would stop making fun of her. For all the complaints about them treating her like a child, it doesn't change the fact that sheisphysically a child. Adults shouldn't just… make fun of children. It's inherently wrong.

"Now, now." Barlow says, waving her hands as if to sayease off, "Geoff, Parkland; go collect some food and water from the port. I'll be dropping off princess here, though I should be back in an hour."

Confirmations are given.

Ushered off the boat, Lami has a moment of bliss as she takes inland. Pure, unpoisoned land that doesn't sway at every moment! Closing her eyes, she breathes in and exhales.

"Take it in while you can, princess," Barlow warns, already walking away from the dock. "This is the last bout of freedom you're gonna taste for awhile. All that's waiting for you behind these pristine pink walls are teachers, books, and prissy little girls with rich daddy's who will inevitably sell them off to the highest bidder. You'll be lucky if they let you outside to play a little lacrosse or handball."

Lami couldn't ask for anything better.

Then again, her standards are slightly skewed. Anything thatdoesn'tresult in her death is, by her accounts, great.

"I like books. And teachers." Lami says, instead, hurrying to catch up to Barlow's brisk pace and choosing to ignore the latter part of her statement. "Mostly books, though, less so teachers."

The captain scoffs and it's not a pretty sound. "With parents like yours, that's all but expected of you."

It sounds like a backhanded compliment. Squinting after her, Lami's purses her mouth and decides to say nothing.The rest of their walk is spent with a stiff silence while Lami tries to keep up.

It doesn't take too long for St. Monroe's to come into view: Briar North is by no means a large island, as it was purchased with the sole purpose of the school being the only form of civilization. (Sans the docks, evidently.) So not to distract the girls, the pamphlet had said.

Lami gaps quietly at the large building: beautiful, in the way that old Victorian buildings were. Long stain glass windows adorn the brick walls, four towers marking the corners of the massive structure. It reminds her of a university, of sorts— the building is evidentlyoldbut well cared for.She startles when she realizes that she has stopped walking and hustles to catch up to Barlow, who has already started to open the dark wooden door.

Entering through the large arched doorway, Lami takes in the bustling interior: a large room, filled to the brim with children and adults. While busy appreciating the architecture of the room, she doesn't notice Barlow's impatience until she starts to drag Lami into a side office.

Giving the captain an annoyed stare, Lami leans around the captain and idly listens as Barlow and the secretary talk.

"Akane! It's been so long, it'swo~nderfulto see you!" The woman at the desk chirps, tone dripping with honey.

It's so unbelievable fake, and Barlow gives a sharp laugh. "Can't say I'm glad to be back, Ruth, but luckily enough I'm just here to drop this kid off. I'll be out of your hide in no time."

"Oh, why do you always have to be soso~urall the time, Akane?"Ruth clicks her tongue disapprovingly before leaning over the desk to get a look at Lami, "Oo~h, who do we have here? Excited to start your path to excellence?"

"Trafalgar Lami…" She introduces herself, feeling put off by the woman's behaviour. "I'm... excited."

"Don't look so down, sweet cheeks! St.Mo~nroe'swill be home inno~otime!"

"Oh, give her a break." Barlow scoffs, "She's just shy."

"Sounds like someone I used to know!" Ruth says sweetly, and Barlow sneers.

"Well. That's all I have the energy to do today-"

"You'veo~onlybeen here for about thirty seconds!"

"Thirty seconds too much, if you ask me." The captain claps, "See ya around, kid. Good luck in this prison."

And just like that, Barlow leaves.

Lami blinks, expecting the captain to at least wait until the registration was done.

"What a bitter woman," Ruth remarks with a wistful sigh, staring off after the captain. After a moment she looks back to Lami and asks, "So~o, do you have your papers?"

Lami's first night is spent in a near-empty room, moonlight filtering in through the windows. Having brought little belongings of her own, her walls lay bare and the only furniture that adorns her room is the bed, a desk, and a drawer. Her bag sits at the end of her bed, packed, and her uniforms sit folded on the desk. The floor creaks, and she's pretty sure she can hear mice scratching in the walls. At least there are no bugs—it's the first thing for her to check upon entering the room.

She can hear excited girls scurrying down the hallways, bouncing around in the room above hers, and fooling around in the room next to her. There's a distance screech of laughter and a series of gigglingshhhsthat follow.

It's... odd, being in such a busy place. Her own house is very subdued. Law is a quiet neighbour, reading under candlelight until their parents had to blow it out…

Law...

Rolling over in her bed, Lami shuts her eyes.

Best not let her thoughts linger for too long, and she begs for sleep to drag her into unconsciousness.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

warnings. / none, for now.

O3.

PICK YOUR POISON

excellence.

The following weeks pass by like molasses.

It's not as though Lami anticipated her time at boarding school to be smooth sailing; if anything she expected insults, condescending teachers, and a strict set of ridiculous rules. The brochure itself had promised to make all the children into posh,excellentyoung ladies; it reeks of nobility and those striving to throw their kids into the social ladder of sovereignty while shrugging off the responsibilities of raising a child (or having a governess) as they sip on cocktails and kiss each other's feet.

Of her assumptions, only the ridiculous set of rules has proven to have merits, however.

The first couple of days had breezed past her as she attempted to acclimate with the busy and strict schedule dictated by her teachers, along with exploring the school and flipping through her workbooks for the year.

At first glance, the school had looked like one large and sprawling building, maybe three of four stories in height. However, Lami found that the structure is that of six buildings, connected in a rectangle by open-windowed hallways. The hollow center hosts a large courtyard where benches lined the windows of the dining hall and a student-run garden occupying one of the corners. The four tall towers that Lami had first seen were explained to be the student dorms- and was where she spent most of her time during her first week.

But once attuned to the pace of the St. Monroe lifestyle... Lami's interests dwindled and the hours inched forward with excruciating languish.

Boredom is an expectation, especially given how rudimentary schoolwork forchildrenis. Assheis.. technically not a child, though also not an adult, Lami has little hope for mental stimulation from the material taught at St. Monroe's.

But... who would have known that it would be the main contender for her grief at St. Monroes? Lami certainly had not anticipated the boredom to hit so soon.

After a year of freedom with her parent's tutelage, the sudden rigidity of St. Monroe's is.. startling.

It's not that they treat her like a child, as she had expected. No, in fact, theyanticipatethat the children have a mark of maturity (with mixed results, obviously, given the nobility) and educate with the intention of not babying their students.

What throws Lami off about St. Monroe's is the lack of one on one teaching; everyone is taught together or not at all. Independent studies or time for students to learn on their own are practically nonexistent to those in the younger bracket of the school. The library is inaccessible to the younger students due to past experiences of children defacing the books and taking advantage of time dictated towards the library to play around. Their daily time schedules are planned by the hour, which yields little room for Lami and her peers to have their own choice of activities.

The lack of agency given to the students proves to be suffocating, leaving her twitching and aching to run out of the classroom and hole up in the library. Or, hell, run around the island for a lap or two to relieve the restless electricity buzzing through her veins. Lami struggles to focus on the basic concepts taught in class- subjects she has known foryears- and is instead distracted by her pent up energy and utter lack of interest in benign and easy concepts.

Or course, there are topics that Lami has little knowledge of. The basics of what is culturally acceptable by high-class ladies in the North Blue, some sprinklings of history, flora and fauna, some explanations of the four seas.

However new content is absorbed into her brain without much hassle, leaving her starving formore.

Shedoesn't remember being especially intelligent or academic in her past life- or, at the very least, was by no means a genius. Lami, or whoever cumulation the past and present has created, picks up information with the same sort of accuracy that Law does. She wonders if this is a byproduct of her genetics in this world or if it simply a symptom of her desperation for survival; whether it be in surviving the tragedies of Flevance, or stimulation in an environment barren of free-will or excitement...

It could very well be both. Even still, the thought gives her.. something positive to ponder in the dead of night. Something to look forward to, once she gets herself to a place where she can further stretch out the boundaries of her intellect.

Aside from the weariness that weighs on her; the ache in her bones for independence and individuality- boarding school is… alright.

Children will be children. None of the other girls are particularly cruel to her, but none of them showcase the same sort of familiarity or friendliness that they show each other. It's not completely because of her upbringing; she's the daughter of two well-accomplished doctors, one heralded as The Best doctor inFlevance, the beautiful city of white.Thatholds some sort of respect and pedigree that appeals to the eyes of five-year-olds, though she is still rather low on the totem pole of social rankings in comparison to the children that boast being the nieces of kings.

However, what minuscule of reputation her parents might afford to her is gone to waste. Lami's reserved behaviour isn't well suited to the likes of children who have been given nearly everything in life. Their wide-eyed attempts to gush over how beautiful Flevance issaidto be is met with exasperation and veiled hostility. While much more accommodating in talking about her parents and their occupation, Lami observes that her vernacular and bluntness intimidates or insults the other children.

She doesn't hold any resentment for the inevitable ostracization. If anything, it makes things easier for her. The other girls in her class aren't as snobby as she had initially expected, but it doesn't change the fact that they are not at the same intellectual level as her. To them, she is weird; eerie; anoddity. She doesn't expect any of them to understand.

(none of them are law-)

Luckily enough, students are separated by age bracket.. for obvious reasons. Classes are separated in buildings by ages 5-11 and 12-17, facing each other in the courtyard; the dining hall and main building are the only connecting points. The dorms are sectioned off similarly; 5-8 to the direct left of the main building, 9-11 at the corner between the younger bracket classroom and the dining hall, 12-14 at the corner between the dining hall and the older age bracket classrooms, and 15-17 between their classrooms and the main building.

St. Monroe's has a fairly strict no-bullying clause- noladyshould resort to such pedestrian means, after all. Although not taught, Lami suspects that trickery and cunning social politics are free game- particularly in regards to the older students pushing their later teens. Nothing is a crime if you don't get caught. None of the girls in the younger bracket are at the age where rebellion and superiority go hand in hand, thankfully, and most are simply spoilt and arrogant. Lami's sure that this will be quick to change, given the fishbowl environment of St. Monroes. The girls will learn and adapt to the politics of the school, shave off parts of themselves to fit in better to the cutthroat realities of high-class women.

But- well, Lami doesn't plan on sticking around long enough to reach that point of useless social politics.

.

.

Lami receives her first letter from her father five days after arriving on Briar North.

She almost laughs when the secretary, Ruth, hands her the letter. Of course, her father would send her mail as soon as humanly possible. Thanking the older woman, Lami scurries through the halls to her room and gathers her supplies. Lami puts on a pair of gloves and a medical mask before she opens up the letter.

(better safe than sorry)

Dear Lami,

Though the weather is clear, my world is dark and stormy without you by my side! It has

only been a week and already I find myself missing you dearly. Are you ready to come home yet? Haha! That is a joke, I assure you.

I hope that St. Monroe's is treating you well. How are your classes? I know that you were quite worried, though you tried your best to hide it. But a father knows best, and I could sniff out your worries from a mile away! If need be I'm sure it can be arranged for you to skip to a grade more suited for your intellect, though I understand why such a suggestion might not appeal in an environment like this.

Have you made any friends? Do you have any interesting stories you would like to share? I am more than open to hearing all about your schooling experience!

Your mother will be sending a letter shortly, but I fret that I have lost Law's letter to you! I will make sure that he writes up a new one for you, sometime in the near future! He misses you dearly, I promise.

I know you said you didn't want to bring anything else along with you, but I couldn't help but send this photo along with this letter! Do you remember when we took this? Your mother was quite exasperated that I let Law and you get ice cream all over yourselves! Though I'm certain you can read from your mother's expression, haha. When you are back for the break wemustattend a festival! As your father, I am ordering a mandatory family event!

I wish I could give you a hug, but alas, as I am bound by paper I will simply have to make do with this: I love you. Please take care, and enjoy your time abroad!

Love, Dad.

Turning over the photo in her hand, Lami heaves a quiet sigh. She remembers when the photo was taken quite clearly: during a festival, Lami and Law had ice cream coating their chin and shirts due to how fast it melted. In the photo, their mother is caught between scolding and laughing at them while their father's face grins from the corner of the scene while taking the picture.

This photo was taken before Lami had been approved to go to St. Monroe's; before Law stopped talking to her. She does not doubt that her father is lying about the misplaced letter. He doesn't want to hurt her feelings, she suspects, but doesn't understand why he keeps trying to cover up Law's behaviour like this.

Oh well.

Taking out a piece of paper and a quill, she begins writing out a letter in response; how she is doing well, that the girls are nicer than expected, the subjects are rather rudimentary for her tastes but she doesn't want to be a hassle. Maybe she will sneak into the library, she jokes. She would love to go to a festival, and that she hears that the fireworks festival on North Shore island are notorious. She finishes the letter off by expressing her love for him, her mother, and her brother. It's a short but efficient letter, and she hopes that it is enough to satisfy her father.

.

.

Although Lami typically keeps to herself, there are times where she'll sit down with one of the other girl's and ask about her hometown; what it's like, the food, the people, the climate, the economy-

For the most part, the girls are happy to ramble about their homes. Lami takes their words with a grain of salt; the other girl's worldviews are notably small, comments inarticulate and shallow. Usually, there isn't much to gain from the conversation, as the girls typically only talk about their households- who are almost entirely higher class individuals and certainly cannot be used as standard examples of the lifestyles on said islands. Despite this, she can usually grasp a general idea of what the reigning seat of power is like through their second-hand observations. Anything pertaining to the logistics of the islands or their main exports flies over their heads, however, but-

Lami, in turn, is content enough to... simply listen. Gleans whatever grains of knowledge she can from the girls, tucking the information away for later contemplation and understanding of the North Blue's environment and social climate. Even if the talk is short and she gathers nothing from it, watching the children brighten and get more excited while they talk is.. almost as satisfying.

More than once Lami ends up awkwardly having to console a classmate once the homesickness starts to set in with tears streaming down their rosy cheeks.

Perhaps it's not kind of Lami to poke at the sore spots of the other girls, but she thinks that they appreciate the chance to rant and babble about the places that they love. And though their sorrow upon missing their families rubs on Lami the wrong way, it's... profitable for her to know her limitations and do her best to work around them.

She has always privately joked aboutLaw'ssocial ineptitude, but it'd never occurred to Lami thatsheis no better.

Looking back, it's almost laughable. Of course, she's awful at social situations. Of course, she's awful at communicating. How could she ever think otherwise? Lami can think of a dozen examples where her social ineptness has caused her more trouble than good. However, it isn't until she interacts with girls her own age, watches them cry while struggling to empathize and console, that she understands the weight of her deviance. Homesickness doesn't pool in her gut the same way, words don't come to her mouth as easily, emotions stagnant but stuck in a pendulum swing of static and hysterics. But always quiet, always withdrawn.

Self-realization hitting, Lami analyzes her shortcomings and... attempts to improve on her incompetence.

Consoling little girls might not be a skill that dictates whether or not she survives past age twelve, but through trial and error she figures out that sometimes the best thing you can do for another is to simplylistenand offer a hug.

.

.

Slowly but surely the other girls in her age bracket warm up to her; greeting her in the mornings, walking with her to and from breakfast and dinner, sharing little looks that saywe have a secret.

It's still painfully obvious that Lami does not belong in this setting, but.

Life becomes… easier at Briar North.

.

.

Dear Law.

I know that I hurt you and that you probably don't want to talk to me.

But I just wanted- no, needed, to let you know that... I love you.

I miss you.

Briar North is fine, but I miss having you by my side. Is that selfish?

Lots of love, Lami.

.

.

( he doesn't respond, but she doesn't expect him to. )

.

.

The broken record of her nighttime thoughts never stop or pause.

Yet without the constant reminders of what life has in store, Lami finds herself… relaxing in the tiniest degree.

Food is easier to eat, no longer feeling like she has to convince herself to take every bite, every sip.Breathingis easier without the worries that suffocate her. Exercise is gladly accepted and Lami finds herself joining an intramurals group where she can run and play without worry that it'll ruin her health.

The anxieties of worsening her condition are kept at bay by the agitation caused by the lack of stimuli. The restlessness that aches in her bones, thehungershe feels for a good book- oranythingthat can keep her interest for longer than ten minutes. Deconstructing newspapers only works for so long, despite her growing collection of bounty posters and scrapbooks filled with interesting pieces of articles. But it's not enough- wanting, noneeding, something moresubstantialand imperative than articles riddled with the World Government's influences and blatant propaganda.

And though these feelings distract her, it doesn't stop the nighttime thoughts. Doesn't change what is going to happen to Flevance, to her family, to Law, to Lami.

Bitterness still clings to her waking thoughts, eyeing the children that parade around her. Their parents are rich influencers, some of whom hold seats of nobility- people who coulddo somethingabout the tragedies of the world (of Flevence). Though none of the girls in the school are Celestial Dragons, Lami can't help but watch them with quiet contempt. The rich profit off of the poor, and while the girls in her grade are still disillusioned to the world, she knows that one day they too will sit pretty in their grand estates playing mind games with the other ladies while children weep and bleed on the streets below them.

Maybe it's a generalization, maybe she's so resentful towards the nobility of her own country that it bleeds into her logic; it doesn't change the fact that there is something inherentlyunfairwith how the world is run, how easily monarchies are taken advantage of when given no repercussions by those who should be doling out punishment to thoseworthyof it. How schools likethisexist for raising the rich to be the ruthlessexcellentgirls that will twirl their hair while dictating whether or not to increase taxes.

The worries that plague her mind don't go away, she doubts they will for some time: but something in hercementsduring her time at Briar North.

.

.

Six months into the school year and her uniform is already getting too small, she observes one morning while inspecting herself in the mirror.

Picking at the hem of her sweater vest, she contemplates the pros and cons of requesting a new set of button-up tops and vests. The skirtshouldbe fine, at least for a little while, as it's onlyjustskimming above her knee. But the garments adorning her torso are notably starting to stretch at the shoulders and are inching up her wrist and waist.

Her father's past comments about howpaleLami and Law were had all but been ignored by Lami, believing his concerns to be from that of a parent. However, after months of nourishment at St. Monroes, she's starting to realize the validity of his statement. Never had she noticed how...thinshe'd been, even despite the baby fat that clung to her bones. Now there iscolourto her cheeks and weight added to her slim structure and shewonders-

Logically, she knows that the amber lead poisoning has nothing to do with any of this.

( not yet, at least. )

To be honest, it hadn't been the smartest choice of action to withhold from eating in Flevance... to the degree that she had.Fearingthat each bite would inch her a little closer to death, accumulating more and more to the lead already weighing down her body. But, in retrospect,not eatingwouldn't help her in the grand scheme. It's with a feeling of unease that she wonders if her forced diet aided in a poorer constitution. Has abstaining from eating during her time in Flevance caused her to become more susceptible to the disease? Or has it garnered her more time to implement her plans?

Lami sighs while dragging a hand down her face.

Briar North is supposed to be a quick getaway from the tribulation of Flevance. Instead, she finds the closed walls stifling and even more difficult to escape her own head. How is she to ease her mind when the schoolwork offers her no challenge, the girls are allchildren, and there's little chance to explore or let herself loose in any capacity?

It's better than Flevance, she reminds herself. Complaining will get her nowhere, only sink her further into the unforgiving pit of self-pity.

Straightening out her vest, Lami stares herself in the eyes and tilts her chin up. Shewillmake the best of this opportunity. Shewilltake what the world throws at her andmakesomething from it. Shewillcrawl through the tragedies stitched into her destiny, and come out winning. Alive.Strong.

Survival relies on those ostentatious enough to make demands of the universe. Where better to learn how to do so than by observing and adapting to the filthy rich youth that litter the halls of Briar North?

.

.

After seven months of playing the little school girl, Lami concocts a plan to ease the boredom that has haunted her day and night.

Admittedly, it's an awfully simple plan, that goes ridiculously smoothly.

"My uniform is too small." Lami complains in a soft tone, clothing bundled in her arms, "Can I get a new one?"

"Ofco~ourseyou can, little lady!" Ruth says with a chirp, reaching over her desk to grab her uniforms, "Give me a moment, dear. What are you, a six? Yup. I'll be back in no time. Sit tight!"

With that the secretary goes into the room behind the desk, muttering to herself absently. Lami waits a moment, looks around to make sure that no one is watching, and sneaks behind the half-door.

Lami has observed the secretaries desk for some time now: for the most part, Ruth simply does paperwork, deals with mail, and hands out visitor passes.But- she is also in charge of the extrakeysfor the school. Ruth, from what Lami has gathered, has aterriblehabit of leaving the extra key cabinet unlocked. Terrible, but alsoawfully convenient.

Having seen the opportunity some time ago, Lami has bide her time wisely.

Opening the cabinet door, Lami takes one of the keys labelled as theLibraryand shoves it up her sleeve. She then slides a false key made of modeling dough that has been painted a dull gold colour and places it in the back of theLibrarysection of the cabinet case. She made the false key in class weeks ago, their art teacher praising Lami for the detailed markings of the teeth. It's not a perfect copy, seeing the library keys now, but she doesn't need a perfect copy so long as the decoy can distract the secretary long enough to absolve Lami of blame.

This world doesn't have access to video cameras in the same way that her old world had and with no Den Den Mushi in sight she considers this an easy win.

When Ruth returns with a few sets of new uniforms, Lami is waiting patiently in one of the chairs situated by the doorway.

"I've got your uniforms right here." Ruth slides them onto the desk and gives her a little wink, "Not up to anythingsneakyare we?"

Something cold plummets to the bottom of her stomach, but she blinks up at Ruth with her best impression of casual confusion as she gathers her new clothes, "..no?"

Ruth giggles, and for a horrid second Lami thinks she's beencaught.

"Course not, I'm justjo~oking." Ruth laughs again, and it puts Lami at ease. "I added something real special for yeah; the old winter uniform! Not a big fan of skirts, are yea? I can just tell by looking; we've had our fair share of little ladies just like you. But don't worry dear, if anyone asks about them trousers just tell them that good ole Ruth made a little oopsie."

The secretary winks again and Lami can't help but give the woman a little smile.

.

.

( she doesn't regret stealing the key though; or the consequences that will undoubtedly fall on the secretary should the false key be found. )

.

.

Lamitriesto be smart with her newly acquired key.

The library is large and beautiful; the first time Lami set foot in the high-ceiling room with books lining the walls she had nearlyswooned. It was, quite clearly, love at first sight. In her experience, only the library at Flevance University had a collection as large as the one at St. Monroe's and she nearly salivated at the sight. Lami ached to run her fingers over the bindings of the books, spend hours sitting in the sunlight, getting lost in the information while she filled out her notebooks. Her visit at the time had been short, as it was merely her teacher introducing them to the librarian, but since that moment Lami has vowed that she would return.

Unfortunately, not long afterward, she found out that the younger years aren't allowed library access unless attended by a teacher. Which was, obviously, unacceptable.

Hence Lami stealing the key.

It's only a matter of time before someone notes the missing key, but she suspects that she hassome timebefore suspicions arise.

Alas, it's difficult to bewisewhen every waking memory of the past six months has greyed with boredom. If anything, Lami should be consideredstrongfor holding on for so long!

Despite her better judgement saying that she should pace herself, that she should bestrategicabout this opportunity- Lami finds herself sneaking into the library almost every night, tucked away in a corner where her candle isn't as noticeable for those simply passing by.

Hours and hours are spent going through titles and flipping through the pages, eating up every single word available to her. Books about the North Blue, South Blue, even logbooks from merchants who dared to sail to the West Blue. History books pertaining to Flevance, Lvneel, the World Government, and practically every island dotting the North Blue. Fiction novels depicting Marines who solve crimes, bounty hunters that chase after the deadliest men on the sea, ridiculous romance novels that shoulddefinitelynot be at school but have Lami quietly huffing with amusement. Dissertations about the validity of Devil fruits, theories of the Grand Line and the trustworthiness of the accounts describing unpredictable weather patterns, andso much more.

Understandably, most of the books and scrolls are not academic-level. The majority of the collection are children's or teen's books, but every once in a while she will stumble across a document that reads too advanced for teenagers, books that inch closer to heresy than obedience, fiction novels that question morality and explore the gray areas of piracy and the government. She thrills in these small finds, but wonderswhois putting these titles within the hundreds and hundreds of books pertaining to math, geography, and (censored) history?

She's not sure if she will ever find out; most of them are dated and old, but she appreciates each and every one of them.

.

.

Lami experiences snow for the first time, in this world, at Briar North.

The brisk breeze that could be felt in the morning, slipping through the cracks of her bedroom window should have been a hint. As should the goldening leaves and the striped briar. The days grew shorter and the nights longer, skies turning grey more often than not.

Years in Flevance's neutral and beautiful weather had spoiled her, made her forget thatseasonsare still phenomena that occur in some places of the North Blue. Lami had spent so long reading about the observed climates of various regions of the North Blue that it had all but occurred to her that the weather might change in Briar North, despite how close the island is to her own home country.

When the children in her class start squealing about snow, Lami can only blankly stare out the window.

Their art teacher allows them outside the next day, and the girls in her class run rampant through the freshly fallen snow. The task for their class period is to make a snow sculpture, though most of the students squander their time making snow angels and loudly giggling while their cheeks turn rosier and rosier. None of them are bold enough to start a snowball fight, not with the teacher watching, but some of the girls throws tufts of snow in the air and weather the sharp scolding.

Lami sits on the steps of the courtyard, body shivering and hands bright red and tingling from the snow.

Oh, the world is nowwhite, white, white,just like Flevance; just like how she will be in a few measly years, skin and hair a patchwork of amber lead-

A shudder wrecks its way through her body. It's enough to shake off the memories.Not Flevance, she reminds herself dully, staring atred, redhands. She can't feel them, even as she curls her fingers, just numb and tingly. Proof. It's too cold for Flevance, despite the purewhitethat coats the ground, trees, and roofs of the buildings surrounding the courtyard. There's no snow in Flevance.There's no snow in Flevance.

Wiping her hands on the knees of her trousers, Lami inhales deeply then out.

(breathe)

This is a surefire way to get sick, she thinks as she observes the children, though her mind is a million miles away. (whitewhitewhite). None of the students are wearing proper snow gear. (whitewhitewhite). Mother's lecture about taking proper care of oneself would be ruthless; the risks of the common cold, hypothermia,frostbite.

But, whatever.

(breathe)

Kids will be kids.

.

.

( time goes on but the chill remains )

.

.

The thought strikes her one afternoon while she's washing her hands in the bathroom;

Is my hair lighter than before?

Fingers brush through the short strands of her hair. Had it been this pale when she arrived in Briar North? Or even as far back as whenshefirst woke up in Lami? Is it a recent development, trick of the eye? The questions hover over her and the longer she thinks about it the more distressing the thought becomes, like a growing raincloud she can't look away from. Lami is painfully aware of the fact that she has no answers. Her fingers start to shake as the implications start to settle, quietly tugging on her locks. Coal-black eyes stare back at her in the mirror, trepidation quaking and threatening to bubble over.

The door opens and a set of older students prance their way in, barely glancing at Lami as they continue to chatter. Their voices sound like static against her ears, laughter echoing emptily.

Mechanically wiping her hands on a hand towel, Lami gives herself a second look in the mirror.

Just the lighting, she tells herself, jawline firm in her conviction.

.

.

( if lami's nighttime escapades to the library become more obsessive, more intensive, then she certainly won't mention it or entertain the thought.

nor will she mention the notebooks hazardously filled with as much information as possible stuffed underneath her bed. or the english commentaries frantically sprawled around the text. or the booklet's full of english translations; all for the future, for the future.

in her mind, there's a clock;tick tock tick tock-

her time is getting shorter. )

.

.

At eight months Lami is directed towards the President's office.

They know, is her immediate thought, but logic settles over her mind. How could they know? What is there to know?

If it is about the key; it's been two months, and though there have been a few close calls with teachers roaming the halls, Lami has never encountered anyone during her late-night escapades. Only Ruth could attempt to blame her for the crime, but the woman is absent-minded enough that Lami doubts that she would even knowwhenthe key went missing- which was the entire purpose of making a fake key.

There was a slim chance of anyone blaming Lami for the theft.

( If it's about the Amber Lead- well, not even Flevance knows, yet. )

Fiddling with the key hidden underneath her shirt Lami ponders the possibility thatperhapsshe is too paranoid to be a thief.

Or, at least, a successful one.

Breathing in and then out, Lami calms herself. Worse thing that can happen is expulsion. Which would be unfortunate, but wouldn't be the end of the world. Nowhere near it. Best case scenario she would just go home to Flevance and find another island where she can wait things out until the war is over and done with.

( Worst case scenario she is forced to stay in Flevance, wherein she ultimately dies. )

This is the easy part, she reminds herself.Nothing here matters.

One day she is going to be a fugitive on the run; this is a fact. Her status as a Flevance citizen will be seen as a threat. She needs toeliminateher inherent fear of authority here andnowbefore it is detrimental for her survival.

Pausing outside of the door, she breathes in and out once more.Be audacious. Be unflinching and impudent.

Chin held high, Lami knocks on the door. There's a long moment where the only thing she can hear is her own heavy heartbeat, before a voice inside says, "Enter."

Steeling herself, she marches.

The office is large, and the paintings that frame the walls are the first to catch her interest. A bust sculpture rests on a platform in the corner, the white of the mineral contrasting starkly with the burgundy walls. She wonders if it's made of Amber Lead. Bookcases stand between the copious number of art pieces, novels, and textbooks wedged on the shelves with numerous stacks sitting on the floor. A large desk is arranged at the center; two chairs in front of it, one behind. Despite the cluttered feeling of the room, the desk itself is clear of any knickknacks or decorations.

A woman with her hair pulled into a severe bun stands by the desk, flipping through a file. She regards Lami with cool eyes, her stare too long to be anything but calculated. The moment passes when the old woman gestures towards one of the chairs.

"Sit." She says, and then snaps the file closed.

No, is her first instinct,tell me now.

However, Lami knows what is expected of her. Knows that if she intends on playing the Long Game she must adhere to adults and their high horses... when it proves useful to her. Swallowing her words, Lami simply nods and settles herself into the chair to the left. It is only then that the President of St. Monroe's rounds the desk and sits down in her own plush throne while placing the file in front of her.

"There is no reason to drag this longer than it needs to." The woman says, opening the file. "You are here to take a placement test."

…

For a moment Lami's mind trips over itself.

She opens her mouth-

"No questions." The woman says curtly, pulling a stack of papers from the file, "You have three hours to do as much of this test as you can. If you cheat or hold yourself back, I will know. Here is a pencil."

Lami stares, not expectingthis, but somewhat relieved that she'sprobablynot getting kicked out of school so soon. Taking the pencil, she spins it around in her hand as the President neatly places down four stapled tests in front of her.

"Literature, math, science, history." The president explains, pointing to each. "You may begin."

The woman does not get up, simply watches as Lami reaches out to the nearest stack of papers (math) and flips the cover page over. Examining the first couple of questions, Lami gathers that the test arranges itself from the easiest to the hardest questions. She diligently reads through the booklet and realizes that it goes past the younger bracket school work and into the upper-year work.

Oh. She thinks, understanding suddenly clicking.

When Lami spares the president an uneasy look, the woman merely says, "Don't mind me."

"Right," she mutters.

"No speaking."

Words tickle her tongue but Lami keeps her mouth closed even as the corners pull into a frown. Right, cool. Whatever. Returning to the beginning of the test, she starts the slow and tedious task of answering the first-year questions. Very easy material. Once getting into the second year equations, she pauses and wonders if she should flunk some of the questions on purpose. She dismisses it as soon as the thought arrives; her teachers likely already suspect that her intellect is higher than her peers and it would be too obvious if she started making mistakes at this stage.

It's not until she's in the fifth year material that she purposely makes a mistake, and she is about to move to the next question when the president speaks up.

"What did I say about withholding? Do not think you can fool me."

Lami startles, staring up at the president and her cool, apathetic gaze. She erases the mistake and writes down the correct answer before moving on.

The tests continue like this. Every time Lami attempts to make mistakes the president intercepts, reminding Lami not to play dumb, that her continued efforts is patronizing. Yet somehow sheknowswhen Lami is making a mistake versus when she genuinely doesn't know the answer to a question. While she can't help but wonderhowthe woman is doing this, feeling oddly vulnerable and ruffled by the experience, most of her is diligently focused on the task at hand. Admittedly, it's the first real challenge she's had to face at St. Monroe's and she revels at the chance to stretch her underutilized mind.

It's only when she is halfway through the final test (literature) that she is told to stop, that time is up. The president says nothing for a long while, only humming on occasion. She had been reading through the completed tests already and has started on the literature segment.

Conflicting emotions swirling inside Lami, torn between excitement and agitation by the President's curt behaviour.

The silence stretches on, until "You may leave."

Lami stares, uncomprehending that she would be put through an impromptu exam only to then be told to leave before explaining the reasonwhy. Stubbornness steels her spine, and Lami sits still in her chair while working her jaw.

"Have your ears stopped working?" The President says, thin eyebrow raising. "We do not humour insolence here."

Gritting her teeth, Lami feels as though she is wedged between a rock and a hard place. St Monroe's is convenient; but not necessary. There are barbed comments on her tongue, ready to spill, but she holds them back. She does not need St. Monroe's, but it's the best compromise that Lami has. It's the best place for her to be, without breaking her family's heart.

She leaves the office and ignores the derogatory remark about the trousers of her uniform.

.

.

Maybe the president can read minds, she theorizes that night while staring intently at her bedroom ceiling.

Only the mice are up at this hour and Lami doesn't have the composure to sneak into the library after, what felt like, the presidentstaring into her soul.

But no, it can't be telepathy. If she could read Lami's thoughts, then the head of the school would undoubtedly have asked to reclaim the key that Lami stole.

Maybe it's haki, she ponders- but, no. That doesn't quite fit the descriptions or examples of haki, most likelyobservation haki, that she had once written in her notebooks. It's more... likely that the woman isreally goodat reading people, or was using a devil fruit. But there would be no chance to figure out if this is true or not unless Lami pushed her into the sea to see if she would drown or not.

This is preposterous, obviously, though it makes her wonder if there is a civilization on this earth that had gone through something similar to witch hunts, but with devil fruit users.

.

.

The last two months of school pass by with no word.

Lami goes to class, eats, sleeps, sneaks into the library, sleeps, rinse and repeat. Her teachers don't speak about her placement test, nor do they change her curriculum. Days flow together like a blur, and it's only when the older students are buzzing about exams being over that Lami realizes that there are only a few days left.

She gets her things in order: packs her bags and returns the library key that she stole.

While it is tempting to take the key home with her (maybe there's some intrinsic value to her first-ever crime committed), Lami wisely decides against it. At some point during the break,someonewill have to go through the keys. She would prefer to steal the key once again with the school none the wiser than show up at St. Monroe's only to find that they have revamped their security system because they realized that they were missing a key.

Lami would rather be safe than sorry.

Or, more like, would rather repeat the easy process of stealing the key than have to figure out a new way of sneaking into the library. Maybe she would have to resort to crawling through the rafters or pick up the trade of lock picking.

With her bags packed and the key returned, there leaves only one thing for Lami to do: wait.

.

.

It's only when Captain Barlow is standing at the entrance of the school on the last day that it really hits Lami that she is going back to Flevance.

"So how was prison, princess?" Barlow barks out, ignoring the annoyed glances of parents and teachers alike.

"Okay." She says simply while staring behind her blankly, not wanting to leave, "I wish I could have stayed in the library."

The captain heaves a loud laugh that feels misplaced in a place such as St. Monroe's, "On brand, princess, on brand. Alright, help me herd the rest of the kids and we'll have you lot to your families in no time."

Lami blinks and nods, though she has very little intention of doing what she is told.

.

.

The trip from Briar North to Flevance, this time around, will take nine days.

As it turns out, Barlow and her crew have picked up seven girls to be dropped off at their home islands, three of whom will be escorted before it's Lami's turn to leave the ship.

The first stop will be at Port Lock, where two of the girls will depart. The crew plans on staying at the dock for the night, since they'll be getting into the island quite late into the evening. Come morning they leave for Raven's Roost, where they will dock for two days to stock up on supplies and give the less experienced girls a chance to stretch their legs for a while.

Lami has no complaints about the turn of events.

( Less days spent in Flevance is more days she might get to live-

Well, hopefully, that's how it works, anyway )

.

.

Lami spends most of her first day on the quarterdeck, curled up in a sunspot against a side railing with a book (Brag Man) she may or may not have stolen from St. Monroe's library. She doubts anyone will notice it's absence, anyway, if they hadn't noticed akeybeing stolen. The book is an interesting read on the Grand Line, and though it is heralded as a book of exaggerated stories Lami would bet that the tales are closer to reality than the publisher would have liked to believe. Then again, those living within the corner Blues could never truly fathom the life in the belt.

After lunch on the second day, Lami finds herself watching one of the crewmen as he works with the rigging and sails. About a half an hour later she approaches him and asks him to explain his duties on the ship, and the intricacies of rigging. While initially shying away from the idea, after a little bit of prodding Lami convinces him to allow her to shadow him throughout the day. It's boring work, but the crewman tells her various stories of his travels in the North Blue and Lami listens with a keen ear. Barlow heaves a loud laugh when she spots the two of them but otherwise does not discourage it.

The third day follows the same routine; she follows the crewmate (who she learns is named Ashby) and listens to his stories. Most of them, she gathers, are exaggerated. He's a relatively new sailor, all things considered. He's not an expert storyteller, given the way he bubbles and trips over his words in excitement, but Ashby has a sort of awkward charm to him.

They dock at Port Lock that night. The crew escapes the confines of the ship and parties at a pub until late in the night, though Lami ends up returning to the ship and sleeping in her cabin despite the offer of sleeping in an inn.

When she wakes up the boat is already sailing. Most of the crew members are hungover but in good spirits after a night of letting loose. Breakfast is far more mellow than she has become accustomed to and she is more than willing to embrace the few moments of quiet. The rest of the day she follows Ashby, and this time she tells him about Flevance and Briar North. She doesn't find the topics very interesting, but he seems to enjoy it. From there on, she talks about the stories she has read in books and about the various points of history in the North Blue that Ashby's lackluster education has never afforded him, despite being twenty years older.

After some teasing remarks from the crew on the morning of the fifth day about her ""intentions""with Ashby, Lami stations herself on the quarterdeck in silent rebellion and reads. The taunting shouldn't bother her, she knows, but the concept in itself is rather insulting. Lami wants to learn about the mechanics of a ship. Wants to hear first-hand experiences about life on the ocean and thedangersthat a normal boating crew encounters while sailing the North Blue. The fact that her interest could bedevaluedandmisconstruedas an infatuation, or anything else as silly as that, leaves her bubbling and gritting her teeth as she attempts to finish the last couple chapters of the Brag Man.

Luckily, on the morning of the sixth, they reach Raven's Roost. Happy to escape the teasing, Lami slips away from a crewmate who is meant to supervise the children. While Barlow and her second-hand man, Lucky, are escorting the girl to the pickup spot, Lami spends her time weaving her way through the busy downtown area. Unlike Port Lock, which is quite small and simply a one-road port, Raven's Roost is a sprawling seaside town. Admittedly she spends most of her first day in the book shop, skimming through the titles until the shopkeeper tries to kick her out. Money speaks louder than words, so the older woman quiets down when Lami buys four books on the spot with the money she has accumulated throughout the years.

That night she sleeps in Raven's Wallows Inn. Though she has a roommate, the older girl is out like a light when she hits the bed, and Lami eventually sneaks out to the staircase so she can hear the festivities going on below in the pub. There, at the top of the staircase, she reads one of her new books in the dim lighting until her eyes start to droop.

The next day she continues her shopping spree; Lami buys foundation and new notebooks. There are a few other objects on her list ofthings to buy, however, she runs out of money and submits herself to the distressing financial realities of a five-year-old girl.

She spends the entirety of that night and the eighth-day reading. On the morning of the ninth she finds out that the crew has moved on to a new victim; the cook. Uninterested in their gossip, Lami takes the opportunity to corner Ashby and convince him to show her different types of knots and how to best way to position yourself in a storm.

That afternoon, Lami arrives at Flevance.

.

.

Lami has barely made it onto the dock before she is accosted by her parent's tearful hugs and kisses.

While she would usually shy from such affections, Lami cannot help but lean into them, to curl her fingers into the fabric of her father's jacket or breathe in the familiar scent of her mother's hair conditioner. It's unexpected, the way her eyes burn and throat constricts. Lami hadn't realized that she missed them until suddenly they arehereand the displacement in her chest has alleviated. The sappy words of her parents fall on deaf ears, simply happy tobewith them, face pressed to her mother's shoulder.

(breathe)

When Lami is released from her parent's joint hug, she is surprised to see that Law is also present.

Honestly, she anticipated his absence; he never replied to her letter.

She expects him to drop his gaze stubbornly, to turn away and stalk off, like he has done so many times before. The thought itself breaks her heart and she's not sure how she'll handle it happening-

But he doesn't.

But hedoesn't.

Instead, he rushes towards her and pulls her into a crushing hug, no words spoken. Law's shaking, or maybe it's Lami, or maybe it's the both of them. There's a moment where she can hear them both struggle to breathe under the weight of their reunion and the distance that has grown in the past year. There are so many things to say, so many feelings to express. No one,no one, understands her like Law; even if he doesn't know the entire patchwork of her existence, even if the similarities between them are miles apart. Singularly they are oddities, buttogether- they simplyare.

But Law is a child, words and emotion do not commute easily with him. Lami herself is no better, a fact that she has come to terms with. So neither of them say a thing as they let go, but it's enough.

( for now )

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

warnings. / none, for now.

O5.

PICK YOUR POISON

journey.

Words claw at her throat when she startles awake from a vague and dissolving nightmare, quietly gasping and clutching at her chest with a sharp, desperate, overwhelming sense ofpanic panic panic—

It takes a few moments for Lami to remember who she is—whereshe is. Even longer still to recall how to breathe properly, to remember togroundherself. She rolls over onto her stomach with shaking arms, holding onto a pillow for superficial comfort. When she finds thattimeisn't calming the irregular thunder of her heart, Lami quietly sings a song into it to force herself tobreathe.

Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard, their shadows searching in the night…

( the lyrics bring up a flash of forgotten memories;

early morning car rides with the windows drawn down, fingers tapping in rhythm, sun peeking over the hills of the countryside; dark rooms with reverberating music, strobing lights, sweaty bodies; late-night campfires with an assortment of last-minute instruments; dancing in the living room with a woman whose face has been long forgotten—

how strange. )

It's a disjointed set of notes and words- nowhere near the original song, her mother tongue slurring with disuse and exhaustion weighing heavy on her tone.

Once settled into a... collected state, she pushes herself into a sitting position and wipes the drying sweat from her face.

It's been two weeks since Lami got back to Flevance and already she can feel the familiar tendrils of panic starting to retake its claim on her mind. It's infuriating. After ten months of slowly building herself up to a... better place, mentally, only for her to watch it slowly crumble apart all over again. It's not a cycle she looks forward to continuing, though she knows that it will and that shemustkeep trying to break it. That she needs to have patience— with herself most of all.

She'd understand if the nightmares that plague her in the night were about her past death or her upcoming death… But these past few dreams have beenweird. Disorienting.

With a disgruntled huff, she flops onto her side and hugs the pillow tightly to her chest.

What a waste of time and energy.

.

.

.

Fingers softly thread through Lami's thick auburn hair. Leaning back against her mother's knees, Lami's eyes fall shut at the soothing, comforting, sensation. The strokes are aimless and unprovoked; the action is done with mindless affection with no obvious direction of what is to be done or why.

Her mother is softly humming under her breath, a melody that Lami does not recognize, untangling a particularly stubborn knot from Lami's hair. She must be in a good mood. It draws an odd thought to mind; she's never heard her mother sing before. Perhaps she simply cannot remember it happening, but she can only call to mind her father's low, rustic singing.

She wonders why.

Drawing in a steady, measured, breath Lami pulls her legs up so she can hug them to her chest. Her mother makes no comment on the change of posture and begins to braid Lami's hair, having decided on a course of action.

She had forgotten quiet moments like this while on Briar North.

Law is around, somewhere. Not in the room, though. She can't hear his absent mumbling, the telltale habit that Law is studying. This is pretty much always, nowadays, so she knows that he must have moved to a room with better lighting now that night has started to settle.

Her mother runs her fingers through the half-finished braid, effectively restarting and picking at various strands of hair once more. Lami doesn't mind. Simply content to lean back and accept the soft comfort being offered.

After about ten minutes of this, they both hear Lami's father yell out that dinner is finished. Quickly finishing up the braid she'd been working on for some time, her mother ties the bottom and tilts Lami's head back so she can press a kiss to her forehead. Lami merely blinks at her, watching silently as her mother gets up from her spot on the couch and waves her forward as she leaves the room.

Lami's fingers momentarily brush against the spot on her brow; wondering idly if her mother had left any lipstick.

.

.

.

After Briar North, Lami suddenly finds herselfmuch morewilling to withstand and sit through her father's dawdling and long-winded lectures.

Sitting at the edge of her seat, leaning heavily on the desk with one elbow while jotting down notes, Lami listens as her father jumps from one subject to another. It started with basic revision on the topics Law had learnt over the school year while introducing Lami to the subjects. Then he had moved onto chemical properties before getting completely off track and discussing prominent North Blue scientists that have aided in technological advancements. This then leads to Lami asking about Den Den Mushi, how they work, the historical source of their usage, and the cascading affects the discovery had on society.

Sometime during this discussion, Law had, once again, fallen asleep. Neither Lami or their father paid him any mind at the time, fully submerged by their conversation. But all good things come to an end.

"Alright Law," Their father says with a laugh as he taps at Law's desk, "That's enough snoozing from you!"

Law merely gives a garbled mess of words, hands rubbing at his eyes like a particularly miffed kitten. "If you guys talked aboutinterestingthings then maybe you wouldn'tboreme to sleep..."

"Den Den Mushiareinteresting…" Lami mutters, "They can communicatetelepathically."

"If only you'd go to sleep when you're supposed to, maybe then you'd stop sleeping in the middle of the day!" Their father retorts with a smirk, "Those eye bags of yours might become permanent at this rate. You too, Lami!"

Law and Lami exchange a weary glance, solidarity in the face of their father's continual judgement of their pasty and tired appearances.

"That'syourgenetics, Dad." Lami huffs, swallowing thickly and slumping back against her seat.

It's nottheirfault that their bodies are laden with poisonous metal.

"Your eyebags makeoureyebags look like nothing." Law agrees.

Their father gives a solemn nod, not even bothering to try to refute the argument, and says, "Which is exactly why I know better!"

Lawgroans, nose scrunching in a way thatpromisesmayhem.

"Okay, but." Lami cuts in, before their dad can go on another spiel about their declining health; beforeLawgoes on a spiel; beforeshestarts tospiral. "Den Den Mushi- have there been any scientific studies focused on the... biology of their telepathic functions or mimicking capabilities?"

Their father snaps his fingers, seemingly just realizing they got off topicagain. He moves towards his whiteboard and picks up a marker, "Short answer- no."

"Long answer?" Lami asked.

He grins, "Why, I thought you'd never ask! Now, Wron Minks, was the first to try…"

.

.

.

"Uhm, excuse me? Are your parents around?" A young librarian asks, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple as she takes in the makeshift fortress that Law and Lami have created in the middle of an aisle.

"Yeah. Around." Law mutters, engulfed in a book about metastasis (Molecular and Cellular Perspective).

Lami is no better and doesn't bother to respond as she takes notes of her book on neurophilosophy (The Origins of Moral Intuition).

It's an interesting read; one not born of necessity to understand her environment but chosen solely as afun read. She has attempted to buffer her understanding of psychology, get to the roots of her own deeply embedded problems. However, she's come to the understanding that it'll be a... difficultjourneyto traverse on her own. Even then, knowing the concepts behind psychology and neurophilosophy is completely different from consistently applying the knowledge to her own daily life and mindset. Without wanting to introduce someone else to the wastelands of her mind, all that's left to do is to go through the timeline of the History of Science and Psychology, an admittedly large field of study, and attempt to maneuver her way to comprehension and self-realization.

If she's being honest, she doubts she will get there anytime soon. If at all. But she feels moresteadywith the false assurance that she is trying to find a.. cure. Regardless, the book is fun to read, if not a bit dry in places.

"I'm sorry, but children aren't allowed to be unsupervised in the library…" The woman attempts again, once she realizes that they fully intend on ignoring her.

"We are being supervised." Lami says, absently, flipping to a new page of her notebook, "Law is watching me and I am watching him."

"That's not how this works," The librarian says, sounding a bit exasperated and overwhelmed by the prospect of two rebellious children.

Lami understands; Law has effectively picked the shelves clean and has immersed himself into the texts, stacks of books surrounding him until only the top of his hat can be seen from outside perspectives. It'll take some time for the librarians to rearrange and reorganize all the books that Law has discarded.

At the same time, she'd like to read in peace.

"Our dad will be right back," She lies with shocking ease, looking up at the librarian with the most convincing innocent look she can manage, "He went to the cafe on the second floor."

The librarian shuffles on her feet, looking unconvinced but also unsure of this assessment. "Even still, he should not have left you."

"He'll be right back," Lami assures a second time, offering a smile.

The woman looks from Lami to Law and sighs. "Make sure he cleans up the mess you've made."

Lami watches the librarian leave, and when she looks back Law is staring at the book in her hand with his nose wrinkled.

"You know that those books are a crock full of shit, right?" He huffs.

"Mom will wash your mouth out with soap if she hears you talking like that," Lami says, but can't help but laugh a little. Children can be quite funny. He clearly has very little concern over the librarian or the laws in place and is creeping towards the age of picking up bad language. She wonders where he got it from.

"Plus-" She lifts her book and pats it a couple times in emphasis, "This is based on science! The field of study you love and adore!"

"I saw you readingThe Interpretation of Dreamsyesterday." Law rebuffs, voice flat. "And before thatThe Five Key Elements to Emotional Intelligence. Strong contenders for the science community, no doubt."

Lami rolls her eyes, secretly feeling a tad bit defensive of his judgement on topics that she has been personally worrying about. Why is he cataloging the books she is reading, anyway?

"Still important topics nonetheless. We know so little of this universe and what everythingmeanson a macro level- who's to say that dreams can't... mean something? That there isn't something within us, or outside of us, trying to... guide us?" She asks, not entirely sure where she is going with this, if she even believes it. There has to besomething, and while she doesn't think she'll ever be privy to the inner workings of the universe.. isn't her existenceproofenough ofsomethingout there?

"Dozens of scientific study, actually, but whatever. You study your faux science." His tone is remarkably snooty and he lifts his chin stubbornly.

"Yeah, and the East and West Blue's arestillrun on the belief that Devil Fruits aren't real," Lami says with a huff of her own, confident now that he simply wants toargueand debate. He isn't trying to insult her intellectual endeavours. "Devil fruits makecompletesense,totallyfits into our guidelines of science…"

Law puts down his book. The stubborn pout to his mouth promises nothing but a lengthy squabble in their near future.

But that's fine. Lami is stubborn too.

.

.

.

Halfway through her summer vacation, the Trafalgar family finds themselves on a boat headed to North Shore for a fireworks festival.

Understandably, Law's practically rendered mute in his excitement when he finds out about their trip. Having never been on a boat before, he's fulfilling his second life dream. Lami finds his enthusiasm remarkably adorable, despite how hard-pressed he is to hide it. Watching his quake in his shoes while maintaining a somewhat strained stoic expression had her buckled over in giggles.

However, when Law doesn't get seasick during their voyage, Lami is admittedly rathersour. Petty, no doubt. But it's embarrassing to remember her time spent below deck, her head stuck in a barrel, while now watching Law live his best life for the entire duration of the trip.

Anatural, one might say.

"A natural!" Her father did, in fact, say, laughing loudly as Law shuffles around the boat with hyper-attentive diligence. Her brother still looks like someone dropped an ice cube down his shirt and is trying to play it cool, even as he shadows one of the crewmen working on the deck. Lami might laugh if she weren't too busy sulking.

"Watch out, dear, he might turn out to be one of the hooligan's you fear!"

Her mother rolls her eyes in response and pats a hand on a sulking Lami's head, "Not our Law. Never our Law."

Lami clutches her thin book (The Four Components of Nonviolent Communication) tight to her chest, persuading her expression not to look as stressed as she feels, "Dad.. you could say.. that he'll be... Lawless."

The laugh that is wretched out of her father's throat is unbidden and explosive, sending himself and her mother into another fit of laughter. Lami is somewhat proud of achieving this feat, preening quietly as they laugh at her terrible terrible joke.

( the fireworks display goes well that night—

even if something inside of her, quiet and unsolicited, finds itself flinching at each and everyboom,boom,boom- )

.

.

.

When the three day trip to North Shore is over with, Law and Lami find themselves in the hospital for a short check-up.

"Nothing serious" Their father had said.

True to his word, the siblings are in and out of their appointments in twenty minutes.

"She said I'mshortfor my age." Law grumbles to Lami as they sit at the front of the hospital and wait for their mother to finish her shift.

Flevance is as pretty as ever, she thinks a little bitterly, trees white and glistening in the soft pink-purple sunset. Clouds slowly crawling across the sky, sprawled out over the horizon. She eyes the grass they are sitting on with fervent distrust, refusing to let her skin touch it. Law, meanwhile, is picking pieces of grass and methodically ripping the blades down the middle before discarding both halves over his shoulder.

"Youareshort for your age." She points out, after a moment.

"That'ssorelative."

"Well,mydoctor said that I'mtallfor my age," Lami says with a huff.

Law looks over at her and straightens his posture, mouth pulled into a stubborn line as he attempts to gauge their difference in height. He's got an inch on her, at most. She grew quite a bit while at St. Monroe's.

"I'm still taller, though."

"You're sixteen months older," Lami mutters, crossing her arms, despite knowing that it's a childish argument to get into.

The smirk smearing his face tells Lami that he thinks he haswonthis squabble and she narrows her eyes at him. Before he can open his mouth with another retort, their mother exits the doors of the hospital and waves the two over.

Law and Lami exchange glances that confirm that this conversation Is Not Over and abide by their mother's hailing.

"Who's up for ice cream?" She asks, voice chipper than her usual smooth and steady tone.

"Me" Law and Lami say in unison, voices in identical monotone despite the way they fidget with excitement.

.

.

.

Her father slaps down about a dozen thick books onto her desk one morning, looking quite excited and pleased with himself.

"Now, we only have about a week left but your mother and I have discussed at length about your future. We started Law's medical training when he was four, as you know, but since you decided to attend St. Monroe's it has sent us both into a loop! We don't want to force you into a career you wouldn't like, however as you haven't shown any obvious favouritism to any of the topics you like to study... We figure that now may be the best time to introduce you to the expansive world of the human body."

Lami takes a swift look over the books and understands what he is implying: Anatomy.

Admittedly, she's a little excited too now. Thisisa topic she has been interested in learning more about— especially since the bodies of this world do not function the same way as they did in her last world.

"I understand that it might be a bit inconvenient for you, Lami, since you'll be attending school in Briar North. Whereas Law has our tutelage and the medical school's undivided attention. But I doubt that extracurricular learning will dampen your spirits!"

"Itreallywould not." Lami is quick to say, remembering themonthsof painful, boring, anguish.

Her father laughs, "Your letterswerebeginning to feel quite dreary. But don't worry, I've got something in the works for you." He winks at her conspiringly.

Totally not suspicious.

Without missing a beat, he continues. "What Law might not want his precious little sister to know is that he's actually much more of a hands-on learner. Nothing wrong with that, of course! He's undoubtedly a surgeon in the making, with those unwavering hands of his." He gives a soft sigh, "He gets that from your mother."

Lami can't help but smile a bit at the sappy expression that falls over his face. The intrinsic love her parents have for each other is.. inspiring, even if she is a skeptic over such matters.

"But you are much more of an academic at heart, like myself!" He carries on, smiles bright and proud.

( like he's happy to havethis—

this changeling thispersonthis thing that is neither here nor there who took over his little baby girl-)

"So I trust that you'll be able to learn independently, in the quiet solitude of your books." He says, not noticing that her heart is in her throat, hands wrung together tightly with guilt guiltguilt. "If need be I will always be willing to answer any of your questions through letters, or if you have anything you would like further explained. Depending on the topic— you always have interesting questions for me— it may take a while for me to gather sources but I'll let you know whenever this is the case."

Lami stares intently at her desk, her father's words flowing into one ear and out the other. She should be happy to make her father proud. But instead, she feels—

Like knots; briar twisting and lacerating at her insides.

Lami takes a few deep breaths. She shakes the thoughts from her mind. She reminds herself thatshehad no say whatsoever inthislife of hers, either. Thatsheis just as much of a victim of circumstance as her unwitting parents and brother. That lamenting overthisis… useless. Nothing is to be gained from it, not when she could belearning.

"Anatomy-" She forces out, wantingout of her head, as if making mental notes of what he is saying, "mail you questions…"

"Yes yes, while in Briar North feel free to question me about anything. I can't guarantee immediate responses to all topics, but I'll do my best to reply both speedily and thoroughly!"

He pauses, staring at her for a moment before coughing lightly, "What would you say is your current understanding of anatomy?"

"Novice." She says because most of the words sheknowsabout the human body are not in any language he knows. Her knowledge of anatomy, in general, is very basic regardless. Not to mention it would be awfully presumptuous for her to assume that there are any correlations in science between the two worlds she knows, especially given how broad and varied the structures of humanoid creatures are in this world.

"Alright, we will start from... here, then!" He plucks a book from the top of the pile (Introduction to Human Anatomy) and says, "Pull out a notebook, Lami! There's much to learn about the biology of our bodies, but we'll start with basic anatomy andhopefullyother aspects such as gross anatomy and histology in the near future..."

.

.

.

"There we go!" Her father huffs with triumph from the front porch, "I found the trunk, Lacie!"

"Was it in the attic?" Her mother calls back.

"Yes. I have all the books packed, too."

Lami watches from the living room floor as their father walks in, giving her a thumbs-up, "Aside from your uniforms, you're all packed, kiddo."

This year she has decided not to pack as sparsely as she did the year before. The prospect of continual poisoning is certainly a very real concern, but so is maintaining her sanity. The books and pens she intends on bringing are collected with calculation; made from outside countries with a noted absence of Amber Lead that isn't going to aggregate her disease.

"Thank you." Lami murmurs, quietly playing with her toes for a moment while she thinks, "I still need to pack up my notebooks and pens…"

She observes as Law stiffens from where he is taking notes but is distracted when their mother walks in from the dining room with a dish she's drying.

It's rare that both of their parents are home at the same time; busy, long hours at the hospital does not bode well for couples with children. But it's obvious that they have tried their best in the past two months to have a presence at home. Whether this is just for the summer or if it's a joint effort for the children's stability is to be determined.

"To think, it's already been two months." Their mother sighs, "Time flies by, hmm?"

Oh, how strange it's been. The summer passing by too slowly, achingly, every breath and bite of food done begrudgingly. But also too quickly, too suddenly, she hasn't had enough time with Law, or her father, or her mother-

"Only when you're having fun!" Her father says cheerily. Upon noticing Law's boarding silence, he heaves a soft sigh, "Oh, don't you worry son. She'll be back before you know it!"

Law says nothing, staring resolutely at his book. After a moment and suddenly stands up and runs out, but not before they see him wipe away the wetness from his eyes. Neither of her parents say anything in response.

Thorns manifest in her gut at this familiar song and dance.

.

.

.

Later that night Lami quietly taps on Law's door. Their father is at the hospital and their mother is in her study.

She waits.

After two minutes, the door creaks open enough for Law to peek through. When he sees her, she'scertainthat he's about to slam the door— but he doesn't. Instead, he backs away, leaving the door slightly ajar. She swallows thickly, knowing that this isn't going to be an easy conversation, and slips into his room.

Law is sitting at his desk, stubbornly staring at his textbook. "What is it?"

Lami tries not to hesitate (hesitating might get her killed one day) but it's difficult not to when there's this sudden tension between them. Things unsaid. It's unfairly dramatic for a five and seven-year-old, and yet it feels as though the air is slowly sinking out of the room.

They have to talk about their… emotions, she knows this. Lami has tolisten. Law has tolisten.

"I know you're upset." She starts, sitting down on his neatly made bed. Mind theorizing and creating threads of thought, before discarding them as useless or unhelpful. She does her best to recall the various self-help books she has unashamedly read, "I would.. appreciate it if you could.. explain.. why."

Law's mouth thins into a line and he says nothing.

It's difficult, she knows, so shetriesnot to get frustrated.

Lami has a difficult time differentiating betweenobservingandevaluating, finds emotions exhausting and burdensome to talk about when she spendsso muchtime pushing them away. But she needs to learn tolistento Law, to let herself be vulnerable so that her own emotions can convey honestly and genuinely. It's easier said than done, but here she is—trying.

One day it's just going to be the two of them. She can't... She can't have them being likethisonce the Flevance genocide hits.

"I…" Lami trails off, trying to grasp at words that won't articulate.

"You wrote that youmissed me." Law cuts in, suddenly, staring at her withgold goldeyes.

"I did." She confirms, focusing on how the fabric of her pants feels against the pads of her fingertips.

"Youwrotethat youmissed me," He repeats, like she missed what he meant, voice getting more and more heated as words start pouring out of his mouth, "Youwrotethat youmissed me- that, that you wanted me byyour side. But you're leaving again, and Idon'tunderstandwhy? What youwroteand what you'redoingaren't— they aren't thesame, and I don't understand—"

His chair clatters against the floor as he stands up abruptly, hands balled into fists, "You say that you want totalk, butyounever want to be the one talking. It's alwaysme, trying to pick apartmewith your— your pseudoscience. And even when you say you're here to talk.. you say that you wantmeto explain myself? But you— you never say anything about you, or aboutus. I don't understand—" He drags his hands through his hair and makes a frustrated noise, "Youwrotethat youmissed me."

Lami finds herself completely and utterly overwhelmed. She stares, wordless and frozen. Their debates are usually articulate, and now both of them are rendered near useless: Lami at a loss for words, Law babbling and going in circles. She needs to listen, but he wants her to talk. She needs to talk, but she needs to listen to know what she needs to talk about, what he wants her to say.

"Do you evencareabout us?" Law asks with too much ease, like it's a well-traveled path. "About me? About mom and dad?"

And his eyes, they ask and ask andask—

"Of course I care." She says, feeling numb. She focuses on the feeling of the fabric of her pants against her fingertips, "I love you. I do. I just— It's…"

There's a long silence while she tries to gather her fragmented thoughts. It was the wrong thing to say and sheknowsit. Lami isn't prepared to talk aboutthisat full length, barely understands it herself let alone try to articulate it. She's not sure what she thought this conversation was going to look like, but it certainly wasn't... this.

"It's hard." She finishes, dumbly, staring at her brother with utmost sincerity.

"It's hard loving us." He repeats, tone flat. It's almost convincing, if it weren't for the telltale tremble of his bottom lip.

"No!" She startles, but alsoyes, "No it's. Hard to?" — she runs her hands through her hair —"showit. No— that's not. I don'tknow, I don't think about it. Honestly. I... try not to."

Law is quiet for a moment, observing her, "Say you missed me."

Lami blinks at him, "I missed you."

There's a pregnant pause before he says, "Did you even realize that you haven't evensaid thatto me? To dad? To mom? Since you got back?"

Lami stares. No, she hadn't. "I— I said I missed you—"

"That was months ago!" he bursts out, hands running down his face in what looks like exasperation, "In aletter."

"But I said it—" She points out, indignant.

"Youwroteit! There's a difference!"

There's a stubborn pause between the two of them; Law wants a reply and she doesn't understand the significance of this trivial matter.

Once again it's Law that breaks the silence.

"Say that I'm thebestbig brother you could ever have," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. It's childish and it's a change that she doesn't understand.

"You're the only big brother I'll ever have," Lami points out, feeling much more familiar and comfortable with the new tone of the conversation, "therefore you are the best, regardless."

"Should we take you to a doctor to test your hearing? Becausethat'scertainly not what I said." He snarks, but hestaresat her.

Lami scratches at her knee, fiddling with the fabric, confused. She's not a Den Den Mushi, she's not sure what he's trying toconveyhere, but she's willing to go along with whatever Law is shaping up for them. "You're the best big brother I could ever have."

Law's chest puffs up, "Damn right I am."

She still doesn't understand the shift in the conversation, so she merely nods solemnly.

"Say that you'll stay here. With us." He says, and oh. Is where he's been going with this?

"I can't." Lami looks up at him, meeting his gaze, "I don't want to."

This time the silence is more pronounced, stretching on and on. She can see the gears turning in his head, trying to make as much sense of this conversation as she is.

"You want me to be by your side," He starts slowly, but it doesn't sound like it's directed at her, "but you don't want to be here."

Lami nods.

"Because you're selfish." He finishes, just as slowly, as though he isn't sure whether this is the conclusion to his thought.

Her mouth parts at his blunt word choice before it hits her: that's another callback to her letter, isn't it? Lami had called herself selfish. So she nods again and confirms slowly, "Because I'm selfish."

Law's arms tighten and his mouth curves down into a serious expression, "I'm also selfish, though!" The way he says it expresses that this is clearly a very big issue for him; that he doesn't think that theybothcan be selfish. "I don't want you to go. I want you to stay. I want to be your big brother."

"You'll always be my big brother…" She murmurs, genuine and lost as to why he'd think otherwise. Lami watches as he takes in a deep breath,relieved, almost, and— maybe she has been looking at this conversation wrong, as though he'saccusingher of something when really—

Looking back, it sounds like he just wants validation.

"I love you." She tries, "being in Briar North isn't going to change that. Nothing is going to change that. I'm going to miss you, but I'll see you again. I'll be back, by your side, always."

Law says nothing until his mouth starts to tremble with emotion, this time accusatory, "You only wrote meoneletter. You wrote dadtwenty-three."

He's been counting, she realizes. Law has obviously been fixating on these letters. "You didn't write meany! You didn't even respond tomyletter."

Unsubtly wiping at his eyes Law forces out, "Yeah, because I wasmadat you! Youleftme for some fancygirlschool. You didn't even tell me that you were leaving! Thathurt. What'syourexcuse?"

"Pettiness, mainly." She responds dully, self-realization hitting her once more. Oh,oh.

Lami had never thought that Law would be hurt by her leaving. And maybe she'd been right in that assumption, but in ways she hadn't expected: he'd been hurt because she invalidated his feelings, neglected to tell him of her decision to leave, avoided him when convenient, and left without letting him know that shecares.

"I'm sorry." She wrings her hands together anxiously, "I didn't realize that you would be sad about me leaving... And when you were mad with me, I didn't know how to respond. I didn't know how to talk to you without it sounding like alecture. I didn't realize that... You were doubting whether I cared about you."

"Yeah." Law says, voice thick and eyes hidden by the sleeve of his pajamas, "Because you're anidiot."

He doesn't mean that, she thinks to herself. But Lami is starting to understand the situation more. Her parents have never been too outwardly hurt about her closed-off behaviour because they are adults; mature enough to handle being careful when it comes to her boundaries. But Law is a child, no matter how much of a genius he is. He sees her avoid affection and thinksshe must not want it. He sees her leave and thinksshe must not want me.

"Yeah... I'm an idiot…" She repeats, voice trembling a bit. "I care about you, Law. I'm sorry I forgot to tell you."

Lami rubs at her face, feeling sosotired. Maybe it's best to conclude that she knows nothing about anything at any given time, no matter how much she likes to think otherwise.

Standing up, Lami stalks over to Law and hugs him. He immediately,immediately, leans into it, makes a soft wet noise before wrapping his arms around her and holding on tightly, like he's scared to let her go.

"I'm sorry." She repeats, quietly.

.

.

.

This time when Lami leaves Flevance, Law and their mother accompany her to the docks.

Her father had, in a fit of tears, told her that he was being called into work the next morning. That he would not be able to see her off. Lami had more or less shrugged the news off, content enough to give their goodbyes that night. The same could not be said for her father, who apologized over and over for his "abandonment" of her in Lami's needed hour. It's an overly dramatic conversation and she was given the impression that is was on purpose.

"I'll buy you a souvenir," Lami tells Law, a little awkwardly, as they wait for Barlow's crew to let her on board.

"With what money?" Law says suspiciously, "I want a treasure map. No— a sword."

"No sword." Their mother cuts in casually as she tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

"Withthismoney-" Lami holds up a sack of coins that her father had slipped into her room the previous night.

Their mother snaps her head to Lami and brings a hand to her face. Very quietly she starts muttering darkly aboutsoft idiotic menand theirutter weaknessto their children.

"Whoa!" Law gasps, jaw-dropping, "How much beli is in there?"

"Atleasttwo thousand." She says, a little smug, though she is simply guessing by the weight.

"What does a five-year-old need two thousand beli for?" Their mother asks, but the way she looks off into the distance implies that it's a rhetorical question.

"Books." Law and Lami say at the same time.

"Of course. Why did I even ask?"

Lami shakes the sack so that the coins make a prettyjinglenoise and wiggles her shoulders tauntingly at Law. He might be older but nowshe'stherichone.

Law, as if reading her mind, scowls. Leaning in, he mouthsI want a swordto her.

Staring at her money bag contemplatively, she wonders if she can purchase all the things on herTo Buy For The Future Genocide Listplus a sword. A sword could maybe be useful for the genocide, but she doesn't think either of them would be able to properly use one.

"No swords." Their mother cuts in again, more exasperated than anything. "You most definitely cannot buy a sword with two thousand beli, let alone agood sword."

"How much would agoodsword cost?" Law asks, hand on his chin.

"Depending on the making,whenit was made, who it was made by, whether it has a name, or it's notoriety... It could be anywhere between fifty-thousand beli and a billion. You'd need atleasta million to get agoodquality sword."

Law's jaw drops, "F-fiftythousand?Amillion?"

Lami looks at her money sack, then up to Law. "I don't have fifty thousand for a sword."

"Precisely." Their mother says, patting both of their heads, "Which is why you should both give up on the notion of buying asword. What would you even need it for?"

Lami can think of five things off the top of her head—

"They look cool," Law says in a complete deadpan while somehow managing to stare up at their mother withpleadingpanda eyes.

"How do you know how much swords cost?" Lami asks suddenly, thought coming to mind with a start.

"Ah, well." Their mother looks away with her mouth pressed into a careful line and perks up as she gestures towards the boat, "Looks like it's time for you to board, Lami."

Looking over her shoulder, she sees Barlow and Lucky are indeed waving her forwards. Lami stares at her mother suspiciously, but relents and lets the conversation drop.

Before she can say anything, Law has grabbed her and holds her in a tight hug. They are silent for a long moment and there's no room for her to say anything as he runs off as soon as he lets go. Lami has the suspicion that he does not want to see her leave, which breaks her heart just a bit.

Her mother pats her head, "Have a good year, Lami. Stay out of trouble and do well in school. Remember to brush your teeth and eat at least three times per day—"

"I know, I know, I know." Lami interrupts, hugging her mother around the waist to distract her from her budding lecture. "I'll see you when I get back."

Fingers brush through her hair, and Lami relaxes into it. Her mother can't help but add, "Take care of yourself. I love you."

Lami nods into her mother's stomach, voice caught in her throat as she stares at their feet. They stand like this for a long moment, until her mother strokes her back.

"Alright, time for you to go."

She lets go.

.

.

.

Lami isn't sick this time on Barlow's ship, which turns out to be calledNameless.

The crew gets a kick out of the name and laugh themselves into stitches when Lami nearly eye rolls herself unconsciousness when she hears it.

It rains for most of the five-day journey to Briar North, so Lami ends up reading below deck in either the dining hall or her cabin and exchanges more stories with Ashby. It's a quiet journey, only stopping once to pick up a first-year and supplies.

.

.

.

As per her usual routine, Lami asks the first-year student about her home island in an attempt to make conversation one night while having dinner. Initially, she had assumed the girl to be quiet, but after a few prodding questions, Lami finds that the girl is actually quite the chatter bug who is simply nervous about leaving her home island for the first time.

The girl is nobility of some sort. It's just a guess from the things the girl says, the fine material of her clothing and belongings. When Lami asks to confirm her theory the girl refuses quite drastically, face burning red with embarrassment and... perhaps pleased at being thought as such. She explains that her mother is simplyveryclose to the leader of her island, and Lami gets a… suspicion of what the young girl is, what her mother's profession may be, and why she's going to Brair North.

But it's best not to speculate on such matters, especially when Lami knows very little of anything.

Regardless, it's nice to listen to the girl ramble.

.

.

.

"It's not complicated work." Ashby shrugs as he ties a knot for her. "Only when a storms hitting when you gotta watch yourself."

Lami nods, taking his advice to heart, even though she's pretty sure he's just flexing on her, "What about when it's just raining, like now?"

"Not so much. You get used to it. Storms, though— the wind can be abitchand the sea is a vengeful mistress."

Tapping her chin, a thought pops to mind, "Well, what about pirates? Invaders."

A laugh startles itself out of Ashby and an odd grin finds itself on his face. "Nothing to worry about there."

"Why not?" Lami blinks, it is certainly the first worry that would come tohermind about a transport vessel.

"Let's just say that no one wants to mess withus." He pauses and then looks a little sheepish. "Okay, no one wants to mess withBarlow."

Lami starts to ask another question when a loud, stern, voice cuts her off. "Ashby, it's your turn to go up on deck!"

"Wait—"

Ashby groans at the prospect but stands up anyways. "Guess I gotta go. See you 'round kid."

Lami is left staring.

.

.

.

Lami doesn't get to ask her question as theNamelessfinds itself arriving in Briar North the next morning. It leaves her slightly frustrated, knowing that there is a list of growing inquiries that she won't get any answers to until the school year is over.

After breakfast, Lami and the other first-year girl are escorted off of theNamelessby Barlow and four of her men who carry the girls belongings behind them. It's a short trek from the docks to the school gates, and Lami takes some pleasure in the awe that falls upon the younger student's face when they walk across the gardens and up to the front entrance.

Having arrived earlier than the year before, Lami is aghast to see twolinestrailing out of the admin's office and through the large interior. Students, parents, maidservants, and others crowd the hall, some excited to return and some obviously disgruntled by their situation. A teacher yells instructions; which lineup is for what students, and what to do once you've got your schedule, room key, and uniform.

Barlowgroans, clearly also displeased by how busy it is. "Oh, fuck this." She turns, ignores the gasp of the first year, and stops when she sees her four crewmates carrying the girls belongings. The captain grits out a long and extended. "Shit."

Lami, for one, would be quite miffed if she had to carry her trunk to her dorm. At the same time, she wouldn't betoomad about it. She wouldn't want to wait in the lineup, either. But she iscertainthat the small first year would not be able to carry her three luggage bags and that she has likely never liftedanythingin her life.

She can see the war of decision raging in Barlow's eyes, and it's with a quiet curse that she waves a hand at the lineup and tells her men to wait outside.

"Well? What are you rascals waiting for? In line you go." Shepherding the two girls to the back, Barlow scuffs her heeled shoe against the shiny waxed floor with obvious disdain.

The captain stays for all of five minutes before she huffs out and raises her hands in the air. "That's it. That's all I got in me kids. I'm going to get something to fucking eat and drink."

The students around them stare at Barlow with a mixture of expressions, though most of the adults look insulted by the woman's language.

"Are you allowed to do that?" Lami asks, wondering if she could get some food as well.

"Who's going to stop me?" The captain says with a foxy grin, strutting off to the staircase leading upstairs.

She's about to clarify that the cafeteria is not upstairs but in another building, but stops herself and says instead, "Bring me something."

The first-year girl stares eyes wide at Barlow, hugging a stuffed rabbit to her chest. Lami merely sighs, knowing that she has been delegated babysitting duty, and simply nudges the girl forward as the line starts moving.

They've gotten through most of the line when Barlow returns, a glass of wine in hand and a plate of cheese and crackers in the other.

"You'd think they'd have something a little moresubstantial." The woman says with a scoff, handing the plate to Lami so that she can throw her red hair over her shoulder, "For someone as loaded as Madeline, you'd think she'd splurge a little on thenecessitiesand invest in a little meat, for Poseidon's sake."

"Madeline?" Lami asks, picking off some cheese and crackers and promptly stuffing them in her face.Poseidonis an odd choice of word for a civilian.

The first year looks a little mortified, but politely takes a cheese when Lami wordlessly gestures for her to take one. Or perhaps notpolitely, but done of perceived obligation?

"The President." Barlow gruffly responds, snatching a cracker and nibbling on it.

Lami blinks and realizes, oh, of course, the President has a name.

"Next!" A woman says.

"Finally!" Barlow cheers, pushing past the kids and into the office.

Lami and the first-year exchange a look and follow the woman in.

"O~oh Akane! It's so good to see you!" Ruth greets with cheer, straightening her posture and grinning over the desk. "Who do you have for me today?"

"Just these kids," the captain quickly pushes the two girls in front of her, as if using them as meat-shields against the secretary, "Let's just get those forms all set up and approved, shall we?"

Ruth turns to Lami and with a honey-sweet tone says, "Welco~me back, sweetie! And hello to you, newcomer! I hope you are excited about your road to excellence! Don't mind Akane here, she's a bit of a party pooper."

"Are you even allowed to say that?" Barlow asks, leaning on the desk with an elbow, lips curving into a smile. "I could file a complaint, you know. Potty language in front of my charges? Howscandalous."

"Oo~h?" Ruth smiles, though there is nothing kind to it as she nods towards the cheese platter that Lami is eating out of, "And I'm sure that the President would loo~ve to know where ourguestsfood and wine has gone."

Barlow scowls, flicking a strand of hair behind her.

"You've made me an accomplice in your crime." Lami says in a deadpan, continuing to eat from the plate, "Isn't that child endangerment or something?"

"Oh, bug off princess." Barlow huffs, all but sulking as she stalks off.

Ruth gives a pleasant giggle, eyes watching intently as the red-head leaves. After a few moments, she catches herself and turns to the children.

"She has so little patience." And despite how sugary sweet and fake Ruth's tone has been, there's a bit of genuine fondness poking through. "Alright dears, do~o you have your papers with you?"

.

.

.

This year it takestimeto unpack and set up her room.

A part of Lami tells her to be sparse in her decorating, that she shouldn't put too much effort into her time here or put too much emotional emphasis on sentiment. There will come a point in her life where she will have to abandon this, where she will likely be on the run until the end of her days. She'llsurviveFlevance, and all the tragedies afterward, but if the government were to hear that there are survivors— well, wouldn't that be another Ohara?Objectsandplaceswill just drag her down.

However, the other part of her argues that she shouldat leastallow the little joys that life can still afford her. That organizing her bookshelf injustthe right way to look both aesthetically pleasing while also methodical and in order is just a little bit of icing on a cake. That rearranging her uniforms and regular clothes by colour is simplypractical.

If she spends a bit more time than usual setting up her newspaper clippings, notes, and pictures along her walls and desk, well, there's no one but herself here to judge.

It's difficult, she knows, to maintain a balance between allowing herself to be happy while she still can and actively cutting out what will eventually be hurtful to her in the future.

Carefully placing a photo of her family on the windowsill, she privately thinks that it's unavoidable.

.

.

.

Lami's schedule is different this year.

Of course, she had realized this as soon as she got the paper slip. It's standard for classes to change and rearrange themselves as they advance in years, so she hadn't put too much thought into the busier and more thorough timetable she was given. It isn't until she and her classmates fall into the familiar motions of attending class that she begins to realize that her schedule isdifferentthan those in her year. That some of the classes she attends have a motley crew of girls who are mostly a few years older than her; still in the younger bracket of students, up to year 6.

She should have expected this to happen, given the silence after her placement test, but it's still startling when Lami compares her itinerary with another girl her age.

Fine Art, etiquette, music, literature, and social studies are classes she shares with her year mates. Lami finds herself in the corner classroom of the top floor for the rest of her studies; science, mathematics, history, and language arts. It's not just the classes that have swapped, but also subjects added to her course load; independent studies for two afternoons after classes have ended and health and fitness three days a week before lunch.

Aurora, a girl who lives in the room across from her, wrinkles her nose when she takes Lami's schedule.

"Gym? Egh!" She holds the piece of paper away from her like she'll catch germs from it, "The older girls tell me you have torunin it!"

Lami rolls her eyes, wondering how the other girl is old enough to sneer at such things. She switches their sheets and says in a flat tone, "The horror. I mightsweat,too."

Aurora squeals, shaking her head vigorously.

"Don't worry, it's not something you'll have to concern yourself with for another year or so." Lami points out dryly and resists sighing when the girl immediately brightens.

"That's right! This is ayouproblem." Aurora then looks down both ends of the hallways, leans in, and says, "Sucksto be you."

She then giggles and runs off.

Lami stares after the girl, blinking once then twice before looking down at her schedule. She actually thinks that it'll be an improvement from the year before. The prospect of having independent studies, even if only for two hours a week, eases her shoulders just a little. And gym? Lami ismore thanhappy to have an outlet where she can justrunandplay. There had been so many restless nights the year before where her blood had run with an electricity that refused to quiet, so many days spent twitching and itching todo something.

This schedule, while not the be all end all to her problems, feels a little bit like a breath of fresh air.

Even still.

Sucks to be you.

"Yeah," Lami says quietly to herself, thinking of fire, genocide, pain painpain-

"I guess so."

.

.

.

The classes go as well as one would expect them too.

Etiquette is long and boring. Learning how to properly sit, eat, and talk is not something she deems especially important, but who knows, so she sits in sufferance and absorbs what little she can.

Literature is an interesting subject, if only because Lami likes to pick apart the subtle undertones in the children's tales; is this a reference to an event that happened, blatant propaganda, or subjection of the youth while they are still young and impressionable? What morals do children gain from this story, and how do they (the WG) twist the story to gain profit for their ideals and goals? When examined under a suspicious eye, any story can look less innocuous than how it initially appears. Though she doubts that her teacher has any interest in hearing Lami's critical thoughts on the stories, unlike a professor at a university.

Social Studies and Fine Art are met with identical indifference. Art allows for her to vent out some stress and fine-tune her motor skills while Social Studies allows her to expand her knowledge of the North Blue. Unfortunately, Lami has already done quite a bit of research on her own, so most of what she listens to in class are subjects she has already taught herself. "The cartography of the world is horrendously inadequate" is the basic lesson she finds herself coming back to.

Music is not worth her time.

Her "Advance Courses" are still not up to par with her intelligence, but at least she's not adding two and three together or being told the basic principles of science anymore— which is a confusing concept in itself, given the contradictory nature of this world. It's frustrating, going through elementary topics when there isso muchin this world to explore and study; the different lifeforms that make up the population of the world, the geological implications of the land structures and their placements, the dizzying meteorology of the four blues and the belt, lineage factor, devil fruit, seastone- the list goes on and on and on—

And yet, Lami will probably never learn about these things through legal means. There's a chance thatallthe things she has learnt is made up or altered in some way to preventloose endsor whatever reason one might want to purposely debilitate an education system. It doesn't escape her that most well-known scientists are directly related to the World Government.

It's aggravating, how the education system is so censored anddumbed down.

Her independent studies are spent almost solely on her anatomy books; writing notes, attempting to draw diagrams, giving herself quizzes at the beginning of each session. Occasionally she'll use it to work on homework or projects, but she rarely needs to time outside of class. The room she uses is supervised by a teacher who more or less looks like she would rather be elsewhere, but it's a quiet environment and the woman doesn't bother Lami too much except for when Lami is taking too long to leave.

Lami finds solace in her fitness class, as embarrassing as it is for her to admit. It's a ridiculously easy class where the teacher simply lets them run around and play various games that Lami has never heard of but is more than willing to throw herself into. The gym uniform is tremendously more comfortable than the standard one, consisting of breathable material that contrasts with her stiff button-up and pants. It's nice, for once, to just thoughtlessly throw herself into an activity.

.

.

.

Three weeks in and Lami receives the first set of letters from her family.

Her mother's letter is short and sweet, asking how she is doing and a reminder to send a letter to Law. Her brother sends a letter but the only thing inside is a piece of paper with drawings of swords that Law would (presumably) like her to buy for him. Her father'spackageis long-winded and sappy, bringing up stories from the hospital and funny renditions of things Law has said or done. He asks how her studies have gone, if she has read through any of the anatomy books yet, and whether the new schedule is better. He also attaches a little booklet for her to complete, telling her to send it back whenever she is finished.

It's with this she realizes that her father had a hand in the change of her timetable and she finds herself smiling down at the papers in hand.

Her father is such a busybody.

Setting down the papers, Lami takes out her writing supplies from her desk drawer and begins to compose her replies.

.

.

.

Lami makes it two months before her patience snaps and she finds herself taking her fake key out of its hiding spot between the pages of one of her books in her shelf.

The mission to hijack the library key goes almost identical to her previous endeavour: Lami's uniform has gotten too small and she needs another one.

It's not exactly a lie: it's astonishing how fast Lami is growing, and she can't help but wonder if it's because of the produce the cafeteria uses. She doesn't remember Lami ever being a girl tall for her age, but then again it's not like Law's backstory prior to Doflamingo had been thoroughly discussed.

On the other hand, Lami certainly could go another month or two in her current set of uniforms. Albeit, uncomfortably, but she isn't typically one for a needless waste of materials and it wouldn't particularly bother her until it's constricted her movement.

However, this time it's for a good cause.

Just like before, Ruth goes into the room behind the secretary's office. Knowing that time is limited, Lami sneaks behind the desk as soon as the door closes behind the woman. Flicking open the extra key cabinet, she switches her fake key out for a library key. She spends a couple seconds to tuck the fake key in the back of the "Library Key" box so that it can be seen but is difficult to discern from the others. With a glance at the door, Lami ducks back to the front of the office and sits in one of the waiting chairs.

Her rush is for nought: Ruth doesn't return for another ten minutes and it's with a rushed apology that the woman explains that it took a while to find Lami's size.

"I suppose I'll have to file a report." Ruth sighs, sliding the clothes across the desk, "Oo~h, what a hassle."

She seems remarkably in bad spirits. Her eyes are rimmed with red and Lami cannot recall if it'd been like that before the secretary had gone in the back room.

"Uh." Lami says, holding the uniforms to her chest, unsure whether she should comment on it, "Thank you."

"You shouldn't stutter." Ruth tuts, rifling through one of her desk drawers, "It's bad manners! Etiquette 101, Lami!"

"... Sorry."

"Oh gosh, where is it…" Ruth says instead, leaning down further to inspect. She not-so-discretely sniffs.

Not wanting to get involved or become the focal point of her sad mood, Lami gives a quick bow and says, "Thank you goodbye" and leaves before she can be berated again for her rushed speech.

.

.

.

The library is her safe haven. A home away from home.

It's with a small, lingering, sense of guilt that Lami acknowledges that there is no place she has ever felt safer than in the St. Monroe's library.

Considering the fact she has committed theftandtrespassing in doing so, at the risk of losing her position as a student of the school— well, she thinks it likely says a lot about her circumstances and person.

But it's hard to disquiet the feeling ofhomewhen she finds herself sneaking in after midnight. It's nice; the quiet, the smell ofbooks, the dark, the small sense of warmth that radiates from her candlelight, the now-familiar weight of the key chained around her neck. She finds herself immediately relaxing the moment she has tucked herself away with a book (Gone by Daylight) in hand, fully intent on spending the next few hours immersing herself in a ridiculously cheesy and downright nauseating romance novel about a bounty hunter and the man she has captured.

It's only when streaks of sunlight peek into the library that she realizes that she has overspent her stay, quickly snuffing her candle and escaping before the librarian shows up.

.

.

.

Lami's birthday is a quiet affair.

It's expected and it's what she wants, having told no one in St. Monroe's when it is. It feels.. wrong, celebrating the day thatLamiwas born when—

It's debatable if she's evenLamiat this point.

Without her family to appease the day goes on like any other and it's only once the lights have gone out that Lami takes out the birthday candle that her father sent and lights it. She doesn't have a cake or pastry to put it in, so she simply holds it and stares.

Lami was told to make a wish and she finds herself stumbling on what to ask for.

Survival isn't something she canwishfor, no, it's something that she willdemand. Something she willwork for. She's not going to leave it up to faith, leave it to awishwhile she sits on her hands and waits for time to pass. No, it's not something she can wish for.

The wax has started to bleed onto her fingers by the time she has thought of a wish.

It's quiet and halting when Lami wishes and wishes andwishesfor her family to be happy, satisfied, with the little girl they have ended up with.

She blows out the candle.

.

.

.

It's two in the morning when Lamialmostgets caught sneaking back to her dorm from the library.

Admittedly, she was a little distracted by a recent find of hers; a small little diary depicting the life of one of the first girl's to attend St. Monroe's. It's not very exciting butisinteresting to contrast and compare the environment depicted in the diary and the one that Lami lives each day.

Luck is what differentiates her from being caught, and it's with the steady sound of talking creeping up to her that Lami snaps to attention. Glancing around, Lami ducks into the nearest nook and presses up against a wall in an attempt to be as small and unnoticeable as possible. A light comes into view, just as the voices start to become distinguishable.

"-ey are so pretentious." A man says, voice low with irritation. He must be one of the upper-year teachers, as none of the younger years have male personnel. "Just because they are higher up in the chain? Pah."

"Shush." A woman says and Lami recognizes it as her Arts teacher, "The walls have ears, you know."

For a thundering second, Lami thinks she iscaught. Holding her breath and squeezing in as hard as she can against the wall, she chants a silent mantra to remain unseen, to have no presence.

"The walls can kiss my ass." The man mutters.

"Oh?" The woman hums, clearly not paying attention as she walks right past Lami, "And here I thought I-" she stops a few feet from Lami so she can press a finger to his chest while backing his up against a wall, "-was the only one."

Lami is fairly certain that she has stumbled across a forbidden love affair and she would rather beanywhereelse than where she currently is. What her art teacher said doesn't even makesense. It's very disorienting, if not also a little disappointing.

The man smiles-she can see him smiling, they haven't noticed her yet-"Well, the only one I'dliketo."

God, these one-liners, Lami gags. It's not evengoodflirting. Though, to their credit, she doubts that an all-girls children's school is a good place to pick up lines.

The woman giggles, "Don't let the President know that. I'm sure she'd have a fewchoicewords for you."

"She has 'choice' words foreverything." The man grumbles, clearly having some sort of past with this.

"Maybe if you weren't sorebellious—" The art teacher singsongs before she is cut off,

"Oh, but then we wouldn't be able to dothis—"

The disgust that finds itself coiling in her stomach as the two start to kiss is only replaced by thepanicthatsurgesthrough her when she pushes back once more against the wall, shifting in place, and starts tofall—

.

..

...

To the floor.

It's dark, Lami can'tseeand it's hard tobreathe, theairfeelsstiffand her lungs feelheavy-

"Did you hear something?" Someone says, voice muffled.

"I was a little preoccupied, I'll admit."

"Oh, stop." However, they sound rather pleased, "Maybe we should go…"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so too-"

The voices then fade away, leaving Lamialone.

It takes her a few minutes to calm the thundering in her chest; fright seizing her and rendering her mute and motionless as she lays on the floor while her breath rips in and out of her. She can'tseeand her hands shake as she reaches towards the strap of her bag, fingers trailing along with it to the satchel and snakes inside to look for her candle. She struggles to find it, mind spiraling and trying to catch up with the turn of events, but eventually, she grabs hold of the candle and her package of matches.

Lighting the wick also proves to be an issue, but she manages it after three tries and accidentally burning herself twice.

Focusing on her breathing, now that there is a light source, Lami forces herself to relax.

Standing up, Lami looks at her surroundings and stares with her mouth agape at the staircase below her. Cobwebs litter the ceiling and floor, dust floating in the air and coating the ground and staircase with a thick layer. Down and down the steps go into the dark, the bottom stairs unseen from her position.

Looking back at where she came from, she inspects the wall andpusheson it. The surface stands still. She attempts a few more times, pressing at different places in the wall before finally managing to find the indent. The wall swings open, turns, then falls back shut.

Glancing over her shoulder, Lami contemplates her choices.

Explore or go to bed?

Theurgeto follow the trail is overwhelming. The threads of possibilities are endless and the knowledge that there is somethingmoreto investigate is exhilarating. But her logical train of thought takes over as soon as the thought comes to mind. She doesn't have the proper supplies; what if she gets lost or stuck? As tempting as it is to rush head-first into the unknown, the concept of getting trapped beneath the surface without any guide or possible help is enough to stop Lami in her tracks.

Finding the indent once more, Lami pushes through the false wall. She pauses before moving forward, listening, and when she hears nothing she quietly sneaks through the halls to her dorm with only one thought in mind:

What is underneath St. Monroe's?

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

warnings. / none, for now.

O5.

PICK YOUR POISON

tunnels

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Water softly leaks from a pipe that runs along the side of the tunnel, the sound of it hitting a puddle echoes deep within the labyrinth Lami finds herself in.

The air is stale anddirtyin her mouth. It's with reluctance that Lami crouches and places both her candle holder and broomstick on the ground. She pauses to watch quietly as the flames flicker at the sudden movement. When the light remains, Lami reaches into her satchel and pulls out a strip of cloth. Leaning back for balance, she securely ties her hair back with an elastic, then does the same with the cloth around her mouth and nose. Tugging at the fabric covering her face, Lami readjusts the knot to be tighter. She's not sure if it'll help with anything, but caution runs deep within her.

Taking the candle back in hand, Lami stands up and palms at her bag.

Her notebook is at the ready.

It has taken three weeks to find the best opportunity to explore the hidden staircase she found that night while trying to escape detection.

With an odd sense of irony, Lami finds thattimeis all she has at St. Monroe's. Though thetickingof the clock still sends threads of dread lacing through her (how many years, weeks, days does she have left?) it's with calculated patience that shewaits. Biding her timewell. Completing schoolwork, procuring the necessary objects to explore through minor thievery, and utilizing her father's constant need tohelp. Lami is all of six years old and understands the limits of her physique, understands that her constitution is weak and that shouldanythingbad happen… she's not certain she has the ability to avoid it.

So instead sheplans.

Watching,listening, paranoia and excitement dancing at that base of her stomach.

Soft whispers in the back of her head claim that the teachersknow- that she has found a secret, one that the staff of the school might not evenknowabout.

Logic dictates that there is no proof that anyone knowsanything; how could they know that it isLamiwho has discovered the tunnels? Where is the evidence that the tunnels themselves are a secret or a taboo? Perhaps the upper years use them to get around- or even the teachers, cleaners, and other personnel that work at the school. Baseless assumptions will get her nowhere- the only way she can learn the mysteries that surround the St. Monroe's is to jump straight into the thick of it.

When there are so many uncertainties, secrets, and things that feeloffabout her personal life, about Flevance about-everything, it feelsbrilliantto be able to get her hands on a question that haunts her thoughts anddosomething about it.

Looking at the tunnel now, from the bottom of thesteepstaircase, Lami surmises that the passageway she is in has not been used in some time.

Her main point of evidence is the heavy layer of dust that coats the floor: flat and clear as undisturbed snow. The air itself seemsthick, in a way. It's a somewhat unsettling sight; the cobwebs that line the corners of the ceiling and floor, the illumination of her candle creating ominous shadows that curl and stretch before her. But also... quite curious. She gives the pipe a half-hearted inspection from where it pokes out from the ceiling but otherwise gives it little attention. The tunnels must be maintenanced, at some point, right?

Taking her broomstick in hand, Lami waves it in front of her to catch the few webs that dangle down to her height. The ceiling itself looms low; only a meter or so taller than herself. From the limited light of the candle, she can't see any insects or arachnids of any kind but she keeps a careful lookoutjust in case.

Lami clutches the candle tightly in her grip as she moves forward.

All in all the tunnel… Looks like a tunnel. Brick walls, ceiling, and floor. Dirty, unused, secluded. Only the distance trickle of water to accompany her as she weaves between cobwebs that have fallen into disuse. It's chiller than expected, causing goosebumps to coat the skin underneath her shirt and pants. She should have taken this into account, given the change in season on Briar North.

Ten minutes is spent shuffling forward slowly in the dark; waving away cobwebs, startling once or twice when the telltale skitter of a pest surprises her or the sudden panic that causes her heart to spasm when she thinks something that hasfallenon her. Then, Lami comes to a split in the road.

Resting the broomstick against a wall, Lami pulls out her notebook. After a few seconds, she realizes that she cannot hold a candleandwrite, so she crouches down once again and settles her light onto the ground. She shouldreallyinvest in a flashlight, she knows, however, it'll be difficult to find an excuse to have one. None of the students are supposed to be out of bed after curfew, so the demand for a flashlight might be met with skepticism. A headlamp would be evenbetterto explore with, or even alantern, but she'd definitely be met with suspicion if her father sent one.

With a quiet sigh Lami pulls out a pen and starts to draw a makeshift map; forwards, then an interception where she can only continue forward or turn to the right. It's not a pretty depiction by any means, but so long as it's functional she doesn't care.

Putting her supplies away she once again reaches for her broomstick and candle before continuing forwards.

.

.

.

She doesn't make it much further that night; only continuing until the tunnel she's in ends.

Three more crossroads are added to her map; right, left, left. She doesn't explore any of them, not wanting to get lost or find herself in a part of the school where she is not allowed to roam. Instead, she backtracks and escapes through the false wall by the library. Lami pauses and waits until she's certain no one is around, then silently makes the familiar route back to her dorm.

.

.

.

The tunnels fill her day to day thoughts.

It's a nice reprieve from theboredomorpanicthat swings back and forth in an aggressive game ofping pong.

Instead, she finds herself in her classroom, staring out the window and wondering just howexpansivethe tunnel system is. Does it simply cover the school, a section of the school? Or does it stretch out past the sport's field and the gardens? Maybe it's wishful thinking that has her wondering if the tunnels reach the port, if they can afford her any freedom outside the strict confines of the school.

Instead, she finds herself in the hallways, hands trailing against the plaster of a wall as she ponders whether any other secrets are hidden beneath the carefully manicured exterior of the school. Are there hidden hallways? Secret rooms? Are there floors that can only be accessed through certain means? What would the blueprints of the building look like, if she were to get her greedy, inquisitive, hands on them? Would they be altered in some way? The secrets of the school tucked away from official records?

Instead, she finds herself in bed, late in the night, questioning the implications of the tunnels. Was it once a mansion of some high-class noble that was repurposed into a school? What happened to this island, why was a school dictated to be put here? Was it bought out? Had the building been built with the intention of it being a school? She knows that it's a post-void century establishment, but other than that there are nodatesother than an elusive "for centuries"tagged in the pamphlet. What was the purpose of building a system beneath? Was it to carry supplies from one part of the building to another, used as a way to transport coal to feed the fireplaces and furnishes? Didservantsroam the dingy and sunken corridors to escape the vision of their lords or masters? An escape route; a way to confuse intruders?

Day in and day out, she wonders and wonders andwonders.

.

.

.

Lami traces her steps from the night before; following the tunnel forward to its end, skipping the three possible turn-offs for the time being.

This time she sports a green wool sweater given to her as a present for her birthday. Lami learnt her lesson from her past excursion, remembering her jawclickingfrom the cold even once she got back into bed. Gettingsickis the absolutelastthing she needs right now (or for the nexttwentyyears) though it pains her to get the sweater dirty.

( some sacrifices need to be made, however. )

Peering forward into the dark, she carefully makes her way to the end of the adjoining passage with her trusty candle and broomstick in hand.

The air smells..earthierthe further she goes in, if she were to pick a word to associate to theshiftin the environment. Like wet soil. She gently places a hand on a wall, the brick cool against her palm. It's not wet, though, and neither is the ground- all of which she takes that as a welcoming sign to continue.

Crouching down, Lami pulls out her notebook and pen and marks down a left-hand turn for this intersection. She has to tilt the notebook towards the candle to look at her past progress and she grimaces. Already she can tell that the map is not accurately proportionate, but that's something that she can deal with later.

Putting her notebook and pen away, Lami turns to the left to follow the tunnel. It's about the same length as the past one, she thinks, mentally calculating how many steps she has made in each tunnel. By the time she gets to the end, there is once again a left-hand turn. Lami continues once she has taken the time to mark the new passage down on her map.

Lami suddenlyjerksto a stop before she trips and crashes into what looks like a cave-in, candle wobbling ominously at the movement.

Lami leans against her broomstick with relief for a short moment while carefully repositioning her light. Curiosity gets to her before her breath can and she carefully steps forward so the candlelight can get a better view of the mess before her. There's no other way she can explain the tumbled debris that blocks her path; she eyes the fallen rock, dirt, and what looks suspiciously like remnants of a wall. Raising her candle higher in the air so she can get a better look at the ceiling, she sees multiple holes where brick used to be. But no light.

Where exactly in the building is this? Or is it outside the building?

Admittedly, she is a little lost. Half of the school she hasn't explored yet, too young to venture into the upper year's wing of the school. Even if shedidknow the full layout of the school, she guesses that it would be difficult to pinpoint where she is when all the tunnels have looked the same so far.

With a sigh, Lami marks a scratchy line in her map to indicate a cave in.

Not wanting to muddle with the collapsed roof and risk the consequences, she backs away slowly and follows her tracks back to the entrance.

For the remainder of the night she explores until wax starts to drip onto her fingers.Hoursare spent patting at the brick walls of dead-ends and carefully maneuvering around cave-ins. When she trails back to the original entrance point in the administration building it's with a lingering sense of disappointment that no other doors or walls were found that night.

What she does find, however, when she emerges from the false wall in the administration building is that dawn has already risen, painting the front foyer with pink and orange light.

.

.

.

Lami can't quite look at her Arts teacher thesame waynow that she knowswhatshenanigans go on behind the carefully constructed screen of professionalism.

As opposed to Lami not being able to look at her out of- embarrassment orfear,even, at the thought of being caught- No, instead she finds herselfwatchingher teacher's movements with a curious eye. Mentally cataloging the woman's day-today temperaments,theorizingwhat else is going on behind the scenes.

She has never thought much about the teachers. Most of the students come from well-off households, so most of her contemptuous thoughts have been reserved for them. But what of the teachers? Are they simply here for the income? Professionals in their subject, sought out for the quality of their knowledge? Lami can only assume that teachers in boarding schools receive a hefty salary. Especially one, such as St. Monroe's, which is allegedly regarded asinfluential.

Are they alumni? Is nepotism prominent in the hiring process? Are they individuals who thoroughly believe in perpetuating a classist society, giving grander and better education to the rich while at the same time equating the wealthy asexcellent- with the subtle insinuation that those who cannot attend are the opposite?

No, she has never thought much about the teachers.

She has thought about ThePresident; about her cold eyes, about her office, wondering howBarlowknows her- dreams where she is sitting at thatdeskwriting tests that aren't in this world's language, a sharp voice cauterizing her with every intentional misstep.

But now, she watches. She picks up on clues hinting to backgrounds, quiet rivalries between the different factions of the school. On nights not spent in the library or beneath the school she finds herself camped in the administration building, a book wedged into the false wall to keep it open. Waiting and waiting andwaitingfor someone to pass by. Sometimes the night goes by utterly silent, hours spent writing in dim light or scribbling numbers into logic puzzles. Some nights she overhears conversations that are just simplyconfusingwithout the proper context. Other nights she finds herself amused by the gossip she hears. Occasionally she picks up on interesting tidbits of information; mostly news coming from outside of Briar North.

It's funny, she thinks, that people are the same no matter where you are.

.

.

.

The firstsecret entranceshe finds leads to a building she has never been in before.

One night it takes all oftwo minutesto find a second staircase, having chosen a route closer toherfalse wall. Much like the one she had found before a steep staircase guides up to a wall; this time made ofwood. Vaguely annoyed at herself for not checking the passageways closest to her original entry point, Lami throws herself into trying to figure out a way pastthiswall. One of the panels gives way after about five minutes of inspecting, the quiet scraping of wood whispering in the air as she turns the panel around into what looks like a lever. Lami pushes the door, not entirely surprised when itgiveswhen she applies weight, and enters slowly.

It becomes immediately clear to Lami that she is in one of the dorm buildings. A fireplace gives the large room a warm glow, the light of the fire reflecting off of the tables and couches that litter the area. Paintings adorn the walls in a clustered fashion, vases and flowers centered on all the tables for decoration, thick rugs splayed out on the floor. The common room is much cleaner, and larger, than the one that Lami is familiar with. Not to mention furnished with more embellishments; pillows, blankets, candles, and lamps coating the space at an excessive degree.

Feeling curious, she sneaks around the room and eyes the large bookshelf in the corner. Thoughtlessly moving forward, hoping to get a look at what books they have, Lami startles at the sound of a loudsnore.

Whipping around which a hand clutched to her chest she sees an upper-year student sleeping on one of the couches. For a stiff moment, Lami believes that the student is going to wake up. The girl rolls over onto her side with a quiet grumble, an arm flopping off of the couch as she moves. Sighing with relief once the threat has passed, she tiptoes closer. Lami deduces from the girl's appearance and uniform that she must be one of the older students of the school. The impulse to find a blanket and tuck her in comes as a surprise and Lami quickly banishes the thought away with quiet embarrassment.

Deciding thatthisarea might be a better place to explore when no one is around, Lami creeps back to the wall she entered through. It takes longer to find a way to open the door from this side, due to her shaking hands, and resolves to go to bed prematurely that night.

.

.

.

A hand slaps down on the desk in front of her.

Lami jerks upward, and blearily blinks up at the teacher who is giving her a rather impressive scowl.

"This is the third time this week, Trafalgar!" Her etiquette teacher snips, "Whatmust I do to keep you awake?"

Lami hadn't even realized that she had fallen asleep in the first place. Admittedly, she hasn't been sleeping much. Between the tunnels and the library... there is simplytoo muchto do, to explore. The thought of simplygoing to sleepfelt like a waste of time when there is suddenly somethingmalleableshe canreallysink her teeth into. Even once she has tucked herself into bed, Lami finds her thoughts elsewhere until the sun has risen and she's struck with the sudden understanding that she has pulledanotherall-nighter. In the span of a few months, sleep has become anoption- not a necessity.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Law would have a field day if he were to see her in this predicament.

"Well?" Her teacher says when Lami forgets to reply.

Words fail to come to her mouth as her brain sluggishly attempts to pull together words that might appease her teacher.

"Um." She starts- then immediately realizes this is the wrong way to preface her argument as the other girls in her class start to snicker, "... Sorry."

"'Um.'" Her teacher exclaims as her hands fling into the air, "'Um'!" she repeats like the students didn't hear her the first time. Pinching her nose in exasperation, the teacher exhales long and slow, "Oh, what am I to do with you, Miss Trafalgar? A year and a half I have taught you, andstill,you have the audacity to say 'um' in my presence! Atleasthave the sensibility topretendyou care about my class. Myword."

Lami also dares to believe that her teacher is being atad bitdramatic about this.

"Isimplycannot let this go. Not this time! Miss Trafalgar you have gone too far! I'll see you in detention for the next week!" Her teacher continues, voice shrill in her distress, "Oh, I will make a lady out of you, misses! I have facedfarworse challenges!"

Body sagging with disappointment at a week's worth of lost time, Lami watches as her teacher claps and turns to the class as a whole.

"Stand up, stand up! I suppose now is as good as any to start with Aruvian Dancing. Pick a partner and follow me to the dining hall."

Lami sighs and listlessly picks herself up from her seat.Dancing. Gee,justwhat she needs. While a stubborn part of her rejects the thought of learning how to dance, believing it to be atriviality, Lami cannot allow her prejudices to blind her. Physical activity can be helpful,dancinghas many skills associated that could be useful.

Stop being sour, she tells herself as she asks the girl closest to her to be her partner.

Despite this, Lami spends the rest of the class trying to come up with replacement lyrics for a song she once knew.

.

.

.

( "Let's commence with etiquette, to defeat ill manners

Did they send me peasants, when I asked for birds?

You're the rudest party I've ever met

But rest assured, before I am through,

Misses, I will make a woman out of you-".

Is all she gets through before frustration over girls stepping on her toes causes the melody of the song to slip from her head )

.

.

.

Over the course of a couple of months Lami discovers many cave-ins, dead ends, and corridors. While frustration builds at the lack ofdiscovery, she fleshes out her map and spendsweeksmeasuring the tunnels by stride length. Many nights are then spent in the library doing minor calculations as she recreates her map to be more proportional in size.

Most of the secret entrances she finds are in rooms or buildings she has no recollection of; trap doors Lami has toclimbup through that lead into locked rooms, crawl spaces that she is too scared to trespassjustyet, more walls that open up into common rooms, a wooden door she needs to pry off to enter into the basement of the dining hall-

While most of these discoveries arefunto find, it's with a blinding sense ofgleethat she finds a false wall leading toherresidence building. A life-size painting of a small girl with a balloon acts as a door, staring andstaringat anyone passing by. Lami had always thought the painting eerie to look at, the girl's dull lifeless eyes always seeming to reflect at her. After some time experimenting, she discovers that a button behind the frame allows for one torollthe painting out. If the layers of dust in the tunnels didn't indicate disuse, then the fact that the floor has no visible signs of wear from the wheels attached to the bottom of the paintingdoes.

Moreover, with the finding of the painting, it means that Lami can go into the tunnels whenever she wants. For months she has maintained a cautious approach to sneaking around, knowing that she would have to precariously return to her room through the administration building. But not anymore.

For the first time in what feels likeages, Lamigrins.

There's no need for restraint anymore; she'll only get a slap on the wrist for getting caught in her common room.

What anextraordinaryfeeling to have.

.

.

.

One night, not too long after finding the door behind the painting, Lami stumbles across multiplepeculiardiscoveries.

The first being arustylocked door. Although she tries to break the lock, her attempts prove futile. The small barred window is too high up for her to see through and when she does manage to pull herself up to peek over the edge, it simply looks like another tunnel. One she has not discovered, yet. She marks the door on her map with a large question mark, wondering where the tunnel couldpossiblylead to and whythisis the onlylockeddoor she has run into.

The second is a winding staircase leading up to a hallway.

Just a hallway, she realizes after spending the better part of a night walking up and down with her hands pressing on the walls and pulling at candelabras. Trying to find thetrickthat defines the usage of the hallway, trying to find where itleads. No doors, no windows, just a long room with confusing adornishments. But that night, nor the next, does she find any clues to indicate its purpose.

.

.

.

Lami's grades don't drop but her investment in her classes certainlydoes.

She can't help the indifference she feels when a teacher sighs their disappointment in her lack of effort or berate her for her idle mind.

There is no point, to her, to use her "full potential" in a place likethis. A half-way point; a safe place for her to waste time while thestorm(fire, death,disease) happens elsewhere. So long as she does enough to keep her slot at the school, and dowellfor her parents' sake, she doesn't particularly care about her studies or what her teachersthinkabout her. Their disappointment in her is not going to affect her life at all in the grand scheme, her grades at this school is not going to aid her when she is a vagabond on the run. Her lack of concern certainly shows in the way she conducts herself in class; the slow, consuming, cloud ofboredomthat fogs over her mind.

However, Lami is smart enough to keep her mouth shut. To apologize. With enough practice, she learns the words needed to get a teacher off her back, therightway to emphasize her words, and use her tone to shape the faux-context her "story"gives. She ascertains the best way to widen her eyes, the tactful art of looking away atjustthe right moment to feign vulnerability. Discovers thatsubtlemovements tend to be the most successful.

It's becoming frighteninglyeasyto lie to people she doesn't care about, Lami realizes one night.

And she's not surewhatto think about that.

.

.

.

( she's six years old and she doesn't need a hand to count how many people she has been honest to;

zero. )

.

.

.

There's a distinctchillin the air that remains in the morning, even once the snow melts away.

A whistle blows from across the field, her fitness teacher yelling out for the students in her class to stop slacking and get ready to do laps. Grumbles are the only reply given by a majourity of the class, girls standing up from where they had been laying down after a long session of stretching. In contrast, Lamigladlytrots up to the starting line of the track.

The sport's field is… surprisingly nice, for a school that is supposed to emphasize lady-like qualities. Despite never seeing any garden-workers or groundskeepers, the grass that surrounds the large oval track is always flush and cropped. Which is, to Lami, very curious consideringwinterhas onlyjustreceded. Very pretty, all things considered, with theforeststhat act as a fence and the quiet peek of the ocean if looking at the right angle.

Of all her classes, fitness is the only course she activelypushesherself. Sure, most of the time they playgamesand do warm-ups. However, she holds onto the belief that every bit counts, that every stretch and every lapcounts. Lami needs to befit, needs to behealthy- she knows that her disease could chip away at her constitution until there isnothingbut lead and death left of her white ridden corpse. She doesn't want this to happen; she refuses to entertain the thought, nowadays.

Lami would throw herself into a hundred push-ups, a hundred sit-ups, a hundred pull-ups- if she thought ithealthyfor her body, at this age. And maybe she's worrying about nothing; maybe shecoulddive straight into heavy lifting and running ten kilometersnowif she wanted to.

The science of this world may beoffbut she doesnothave enough faith that she wouldn'tdestroyher joints in the process. Maybe in the future; when her body has grown more and can handle the rough treatment better.

In the meantime, she overexerts herself in her fitness class. Running and running until her lungsburn, until the muscles in her thighs and calves stiffen, until she's bent over with sweat staining her back and sides. It's gross and it's hard and she's theonlyone who is puttingeffortinto the class, but she doesn't care. She simply wipes the sweat from her nose and continues, accepting the approving pat on the back her teacher gives her.

She doesn't stop there; Lami signs up for intramural sports and spends her lunchtime learning odd new games, unflinching as she throws herself at the older students in the league. Begrudgingly begins to learn the variant dances (and comes to realize howexhaustingit truly is.)

It's not enough; but it'll neverbeenough.

Even now, she can tell that there's somethinginsatiablegrowing inside of her.

.

.

.

It's to Lami's surprise when a letter from Law comes to her, completely unprompted. As she has yet to respond to the letter sent from him three weeks prior, along with their ongoing struggle with honest communication, and not wanting to be the first to Give In and break the cycle... It's a curious thing, to see him extend this sort of initiative.

Accepting the letter from Ruth, Lami spends most of the day pondering what might be inside. She doesn't want to open it in public while in class or eating, preferring privacy when handling such matters, but the budding interest gives way to impatience as the day draws on. What could be important enough for him to reach out like this?

Practically throwing herself out of class towards her dorm room, Lami all but runs through the halls until she has settled herself at her desk. Taking out her letter and ripping the seam on the left side of the envelope, she carefully pulls out his message;

Father purchased me a scalpel for my birthday.

I know because I found it hidden in his desk drawer.

It is a poor replacement for a sword.

I suppose it will do.

For now.

- Law

Lami spends about five minutes facepalming before quiet, unbidden, laughter finds itself spilling past her lips. It rises to a crescendo as she curls herself over her desk with shaking shoulders, hand pressed to her mouth to muffle the noise. She can just imagine Law sneaking into their father's office; though she's not sure what his original intention, hismotivationto do so, could have been. Wiping her eyes and face once she has calmed down, Lami spares the letter a fond look.

Only her brother could make an innocent complaint (joke?) sound like a threat.

Pulling out her writing supplies, she dedicates herself to responding to her family as soon as possible.

.

.

.

Near the end of the year, Lami discovers a secret passageway into the library.

It's entirely by accident and completely a mistake on her part for being too distracted trying to read a book. An interesting find, no doubt, though the language used is more complicated than expected. Repeating a sentence to herself over and over again, trying to work out the meaning, Lami walks the now-familiar route to the false-wall in the administration building until she runs face-first into a wall at a left-hand turn.

With a yelp Lami reels in the dark, her candle slipping from her hand and dropping to the floor. It's with a sudden panic that she realizes what she has done and the light flickers out, sending her intodarkness.

Breath quickening, she immediately falls to her knees with her hand searching for the telltale metal or wax of the candle.

She finds the candle holder easily enough, but the candle itself has snapped off.

Squeezing her eyes, Lami tells herself tobreatheand reaches into her bag for an extra.

Months in the tunnels have increased her tolerance to moments like these, but evidently, exposure therapy doesn't stop the discomfort that clutches at her chest. Seeing nothing, hearing nothing but her own quickening breath, feeling the rough brick against her knees, smelling and tasting the dust that ages the air. No, it doesn't stop her from imagining whatsuffocationmight be like, what itfeelslike, howeasythe walls could cave in, closing in on her until she cannotmove. How far beneath the ground is she? Six feet? How she fears the thought of being buried alive, death reclaiming the one who got away.

( oh, how vaguely familiar theheavyweight of the dark is )

Claustrophobic thoughts causes her hands to shake, dizzy despite the effort to push through her own mental barriers. This isn't a sustainable line of thought, she can't afford to be scared of death or thedarkor the incongruousweightof everything, but it's the last thing on her mind.

Once grabbing hold of a new candle she renews her efforts to find a matchbook. It takes three tries before she manages to light the wick.

And a long, long, moment before she can gather herself together.

It's there, sitting on the floor, that shenoticessomething.

Bolted against the corner, almost indiscernible in its age, a ladder leads up to the ceiling. Curiosity gets the better of her, as always, rising on wobbly knees to raise her candle to get a view of where it leads.

There's a hole in the wall, approximately a meter wide.

Picking up her book from where it fell, Lami tucks it away and approaches the ladder. Grabbing one of the bars, she slowly makes her way up to the top. Feeling at the ceiling, she realizes that it is made of wood and pushes up with one hand while using the elbow of her other to balance herself. It takes a few attempts to lift the boards and slide the panel over the edge of the entryway.

Climbing the rest of the way, Lami finds herself underneath a table.

Sitting on the edge of the trap door, she leans backward and peers through the dark. Bookcases line the walls, and Lami doesn't hesitate any longer- scrambling to her knees and crawling out from underneath the table.

With a wide, wide grin she finds herself in the library.

.

.

.

Lami is entering the dining hall one evening when a sharp familiar voice interrupts her.

"Miss Trafalgar." The President greets in a curt tone from where she is lurking beside the large wooden doors, "Your school year is going well, I presume?"

"Yes, ma'am." Voice coming out stiff, uncertain aboutwhythe school's leader is suddenly speaking withher.

It's not uncommon to see her prowling the halls, giving out misdemeanors and lashing out detentions for those being "naughty". And, truthfully, Lami has heard of students who engage in casual conversation with either the deans of the dormitories or the president herself. Perfectly innocent conversations. However, Lami's only interaction with the woman had been the impromptu exam a year prior and she can't help the suspicion that creeps up whenever the older woman is around.

"Excellent." The President responds, almost as stiff as Lami.

There's a pause, and it takes Lami a moment to realize that the woman has ended the conversation. Holding back a sigh of relief, she's about to nod her head in farewell when suddenly;

"What's that on your shoulder?"

Lami blinks and looks down.

Dustsprinkles over the fabric of her sweater vest and shirt. The familiar feeling of anxiety catches her by its grips as she thinksoh shit.

Sure, going through the tunnels during the daytime is risky but she hasn't been caughtbefore-

Sharp blue eyes examine Lami like she's something todecipher, the President's mouth pressed into a hard line. A wrinkled hand reaches forward to brush at the offending disorder of her uniform and Lami panics.

"Just dust, ma'am." She chirps, sweeping at her uniform repeatedly as she stares up at the President with her best impression of innocent eyes. "Must have brushed up against a window sill on my way over here. My apologies."

The way the President continues to peer down at her makes Lami's hackles rise. Smiling up at the woman, she does her best to portray the obliviousness her year mates exemplify. They continue like this, locked in a staredown, for an uncomfortable moment.

"Hm." Is all she's given as a response, "Continue as you were, then."

Nodding, Lami turns on her heels while internally sweating buckets. The President totally, completely, didnotbelieve her.

As Lami retreats towards the banquet table, she overhears the President greet other students as they enter and she is hit with a realization: she probably just should have kept her mouth shut.

.

.

.

The sport's field smells like fresh rain the morning she catches sight of the President during her fitness class. Hands tucked into the pockets of a light-coloured petticoat, grey hairdownand swaying slightly in the wind from where she watches on the sidelines.

It distracts Lami from her stretches as shefreezes.

The instructions of her fitness teacher fade away like she has ducked her head underwater; voices distorted and muted. Lami wonders vaguely if it's just her imagination, herparanoia, that tells her thatsheis being watched. Wonders if sharp blue eyes would continue to trail after her as she runs up and down the field, if she's doing thatthingagain that tells her if Lami (or thethinginside of her) is 'holding herself back'. What theimplicationsmight be if sheis-

A whistle snaps her back to attention.

"Up the field, girls, you know the drill. Run until you can't anymore."

When she looks back the President isgone.

.

.

.

( lami doesn't explore the tunnels or sneak into the library for the last three weeks of the school year. )

.

.

.

Lami's second year comes to an end in a very silent manner. Before she knows it, her room is packed up and her trunk is being carried out by one of Barlow's men.

It's lightly raining on the morning that Lami and six other girls find themselves getting escorted from St. Monroe's to the dockyard.

The library key still strung around her neck has a potent weight to it as she follows the entourage down the long thin road, blocked in by the large hedge maze on one side and the large gardens on the other. She had decided a week prior not to risk sneaking the key back into its proper place; now that she knows there is an alternate route she no longer cares if the stolen key is found out about or if they decide to change the locks. The tunnels have not been used in a while and she doubts that the trap door will be covered. If this year has taught her anything, it's that there isalwaysanother way.

She fiddles with the key through her shirt as she walks, casting a glance behind her at the school.

Paranoia still has her by its unforgiving claws.

"Fifteen days, ladies!" Barlow hollers from the front of their group, wearing a hat with a rather extravagant looking feathers poking out of it in a plume. But even that holds nothing to the dramatic purple silken outfit she has chosen to wear. "That's over a fortnight! Settle in and get comfortable, cause you're all going to be in uncomfortably close quarters! We'll only be stopping at three islands,nopit stops!"

She swiftly turns around, the wide cuffs of her shirt billowing out as she points at them, "Don't bother complaining to me about it, either!"

Lami stares with a flat expression as some of the other girls titter and shift nervously. She seriously wonders howthisperson somehow got a job withkids. She half suspects that the Captain is hungover and can only feel lucky about the fact that she'll only have to spend a week at sea.

.

.

.

"Have any of you been to the Grand Line?" Lami asks the crew one rowdy night when supper has finished and most of the other girls have gone to bed. She had spent most of the night content to just sit in the corner, attention split between listening to the crew's banter and reading through a rather hefty book about marine biology and the various species of marine life forms in the North Blue.

Ashby, Goeff, and Parkland all scoff and laugh as if the thought itself is absurd.

"Aye, I have." Lucky, the second hand, murmurs with a smile. "Just for a short while, mind you."

Lami immediately leans forward, suddenly very, very interested in what the old man has to say. "Oh? What's it like? Which way did you go in from? Is the sea reallythattrepidatious? What sort of precautions did you use against the rapid change between extreme weather-"

"Oi oi," Parkland speaks up with a wheezing laugh, "Take a moment to breathe, why don't ya?"

"You'd think someone pint-sized would have a smaller vocabulary!" Geoff mutters off to the side, hand stroking his beard.

"Trepidatious," Ashby repeats in a slow tone as if he's trying to sear the word to memory.

Lucky stares at the ceiling for a long moment and then shrugs, "It's everything you think it might be but at the same timenothinglike anything you'd expect. Beautiful and stunning, but a voyage you take at your own risk. No matter how prepared you are, it's never enough. Not unless you were raised there, and even then! Nothing is consistent; no trip is the same. Your confidence will be stripped bare to the bone and it's up to you to adapt or turn back."

Geoff rolls his eyes, "It can't bethatbad. The sea is the sea, no matter where you go."

"Aye! It's everything you've ever heard!" Lucky exclaims though he doesn't seem particularly put-off by the skepticism. "Just ask the Captain."

Everyone's eyes turn to Barlow, who has kicked back her chair with her feet on the table and a wine glass full ofgrogin hand.

"How far did you go?" Lami asks, looking between the Captain and her Second Hand.

"Far enough," Barlow says evasively, golden eyes narrowing at her drink as she swishes the liquid around.

"Farther than I!" Lucky says with a laugh and effectively steers the conversation as he describes the hectic first night spent in Paradise.

.

.

.

When the Nameless docks at Rocky Mount Harbour, Lami is the first to slip off the boat- despite the cries ofGeoff, who is supposed to be babysitting the girls for the day.

Not wanting to be held back by the other's, though, she pays the man no mind.

Lami doesn't have much money on hand. Even with her birthday money and the coins her father has been steadily slipping her, there is an insufficient amount for the objects sheneedsto buy for the future. It's a distressing predicament to be in,knowingthat there aredevicesand items that she should prepare but not having themeansto access them.

If only she were older- if only she hadtime, then she could get ajob, get the necessarysupplies-

No if's and's or but's are going to help her.

Her eyes linger on a film camera for a moment too long and she heaves a quiet sigh. One day, maybe.

Instead, she uses what little she has to buy souvenirs for her family; nothing lavish, just small trinkets. A key chain with a fish on it for her father, a tiny crystalline sculpture of a bird for her mother, and a book on swords for her brother. Lami spends the better half of the afternoon in a bookstore debating with herself about whether she should purchase some books for herself. In the end, she decides to save her money, knowing that she will need it much more in the future.

In the middle of buying a set of notebooks, a hand clasps onto her shoulder and Parkland huffs as he says, "Ah! Here you are, you little turncoat.

.

.

.

Later that night proves to be a boisterous night for the crew of theNameless. With most of the crew and passengers find themselves stuffed into the corner of an inn, taking advantage of a home-cooked meal served by the owners. Most of the adults have drank an excessive amount of alcohol, and three of the girls have excused themselves to bed by the time the sailors startsinging.

Lami listens with fascination as the publights upwith energy, feet stomping and hands clapping as six or seven brave men and women get up and holler a series of drinking songs and sea shanties. In no time the entire establishment has joined, sparking evident joy in all in the room. None of the songs are even close to any she recognizes, though it certainly hits a nostalgic cord in her; forgotten memories of momentsjust like thisrising to the surface. Older, certainly, but nevertheless similar.

Barlow stands up once a song has ended, looking rather majestic with her posh uniform and wild mane of glossy red hair behind her. She's not a very good singer, Lami realizes, and she can't help but laugh and clap as the captain of theNamelessstarts to chant araunchyballad that has nearly everyone in the room in stitches.

Not exactly appropriate for the children still lingering, but amusing nonetheless.

The night continues like that; song after song, drink after drink. Lami is satisfied to simply sit and listen while sipping on water and trying to memorize the choruses of the few she thinks Law might like.

Everything halts to a skittering stop when midnight hits and most of the civilians have gone home. With only a few stragglers and theNamelesscrew to witness Barlow turns to the four remaining students and says, "Well, how about you lot? Got any songs for us?"

One of the girls, a fourth-year, turns a beat red and shakes her head viciously. Lami's classmate does likewise. However, the first yeareagerlystands up and sings an off-key rendition of a lullaby from her island.

"You got spunk, kid!" Barlow hoots out while ruffling the younger girl's hair, who in turn grins widely at the redhead.

"How about you, princess? Got a tune for us?"

Suddenly, Barlow looks lessmajesticand more like atraitor.

"Oh. No, I couldn't." Lami responds, waving her hands in front of her. She can't hold a tune for her life, something that Law has given her grief over.

"Are you really a princess?" The first year asks in a whisper, eyes wide with surprise.

"Oh, no. Definitely not." Lami murmurs back, fidgeting uncomfortably at the merethought. "She's just making fun of me."

"Come on, Trafalgar! I'm sure you've got one or two tucked in that mighty brain of yours." Ashby teases, also suddenly revealing himself as atraitor.

"This is peer pressure…" Lami complains loudly, causing a series of laughter. She fidgets, because she actually knows an entireworld'sworth of songs that no one here knows. So many wonderful songs-

"How bout this-" Barlow says with the wag of her eyebrows, "I'll give yea a beer."

"Now you'reactuallydoing something illegal," Lami says in a flat tone, "Or giving false promises."

Barlow simply tilts her head back in laughter.

"I'll sing a song for that price!" Parkland booms, raising his mug.

"No one wants to hear you sing anymore, you slug!" Barlow yells back, sending the entire crew into a series of hoots and snickers.

"I'll accept a book for my participation," Lami says with a sniff, tilting her chin up once realizing the bargaining potential. "Just.. Give me a second."

"Oi oi," The captain starts, "Who said anything aboutthat?"

"Deals a deal, Capt!" Ashby accuses, ensuing a squabble between the two.

But Lami doesn't respond, distracted as she attempts to translate the few drinking songs that she remembers. Most of them are fairly difficult, considering most involve a city that no longer exists, but suddenly a song clicks; easy and repetitive.

"The work was hard and the wages low,

Leave her, Johnny, leave her.

I guess it's time for us to go,

And it's time for us to leave her.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her

O the voyage is done and the winds don't blow,

And it's time for us to leave her."

On and on the song goes and once she is done silence reigns over the room until one of her schoolmates speaks, "Why does he need to leave her? Can't he just come back?"

"It's about a ship.." Lami awkwardly replies, not liking the sudden dip in the atmosphere. Maybe she should have chosen a song more upbeat, like Randy Dandy-o or Drunken sailor- classic songs she doesn't think she willeverforget. "He's not leaving a woman; it's a crew telling themselves they need to give up,leave, a ship."

"I've never heard that one before," Barlow says with thought, staring at Lami with renewed interest. It could also be the excessive amount of wine she has drunk. She then throws her head back and says, "Never pictured you as the tone-deaf type!"

"You're one to talk!" Lami snaps back, feeling childishly vindictive.

A high pitched whistle blows, and everyone's attention is suddenly diverted to Lucky, who is clapping excessively. "Don't listen to her, kid, that was wonderful!"

The series of hoots and whistles that cascade afterward has Lami slouching onto the table with ill-hidden embarrassment. She is thetiniest bitpleased by the attention given.

.

.

.

Lami goes to bed late that night, quietly excusing herself from the room as the adults start to become sluggish and quiet in their intoxication.

Before she can leave, Lucky holds up a hand to speak with her.

"That song, it was really very nice." He says with a smile that exaggerates his crow's feet, a far off look in his eyes, "Leaving a ship; it can be quite difficult. As though you are losing a limb. The bonds you make.. With both the crew and the vessel herself- it's not something you can experience anywhere else. A visceral loss, as you folk might say."

"Okay," Lami says, blinking tiredly, thinking him drunk.

"Let me give you a bit of wisdom for the road ahead," Lucky murmurs as he leans in, cheeks flush with alcohol as an eyebrow raises conspicuously, "Never sail with a crew that won't sing."

Lami nods thoughtlessly as she humours him, "I'll keep that in mind for the future."

"Attagirl." He says, patting her on the shoulder. "It's a stormy world out there, misses, as vast and dangerous as the sea herself; gotta keep a lookout for things like this."

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

warnings. / none, for now.

O6.

PICK YOUR POISON.

recess.

"So." Lami starts as she stares out the family library's window, an arm propping up her chin. The sun has already set, stars peeking from behind the veil of clouds that have coated the sky. Her father had left nearly an hour beforehand, rushing off to the hospital with a series of apologies for leaving the two kids to occupy themselves for the evening. Since then the siblings have quietly read and studied, diligent despite the sudden lack of parental supervision.

"So?" Law echoes when Lami doesn't continue her thought. He has a textbook spread out before him and a highlighter in hand, three more of different colours section off to the side of the desk. For the past four hours he's been methodically reviewing through the text. He's ridiculously diligent and elaborate for an eight-year-old. Sometimes she likes to compare Law's neat and colour coded notes, sticky notes poking out the side of his books, with her own messy and hectic ones that have arrows pointing everywhere and multiple translations bordering the overall text.

"My principal doesn't really like me." She says, not bothering to use the titlepresidentwhile at home. She's not sure he would make the connection otherwise.

"Why would she?" Is the blithe response he gives before leveling her with a knowing look, "What did you do?"

"What do you mean what did I do?" she spits out, head whipping around to look at him properly.

"Obviously you did something." he rolls his eyes with a small smirk, then to add insult to injury, "You'realwaysup to something."

Lami gaps at him, "What? No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are." He repeats stubbornly, and continues before she can speak up against his slanderous accusation, "So? What did you do?"

Crossing her arms across her chest and slouching down in her seat, Lami is hit with a sudden regret for bringing up the subject in the first place. Pursing her lips, she looks away from her brother and gazes out the window stubbornly. Is she that obvious? No, No- she's notupto something, rarelyup to something. She's not an especially rebellious kid. To imply that Lami is always up to no good- that's simply preposterous… right? She spends too much time reading books and trying to blend in with her surroundings to be considered... defiant or badly behaved… right?

… Maybe sheis.

Lami doesn't want to talk about this anymore.

"The posture of the guilty." Law drawls, and she can tell that he isenjoyingthis.

"I-" She starts, then stops, then restarts, "I may have done a multiple somethings."

"Multiple somethings." Law repeats, snickering, "No wonder she doesn't like you. What kind of multiple somethings?"

Lami sucks on her teeth with her tongue as she thinks. There's probably no harm in telling Law; she only brought it up because she thought he would think it's cool. She didn't expect to be vilified for being unlikable.

Hooking a finger underneath her shirt, she pulls out the library key she almost always keeps on. Now it's a statement, she thinks, rather than a necessity. A.. trophy, for her actions, for her first misdeed. "I stole a library key so I could sneak in while everyone else was asleep."

"Did she catch you?" He asks, putting down his highlighter. She can tell she has his full attention now as he leans over the desk with both his elbows.

"No."

"Then why is that related to why she doesn't like you?"

"Well. I don'tknowif she hasn't caught me. I haven't been in trouble with her, at least." Lami mulls, playing idly with the key in thought. "I also found a secret underground system of tunnels, which I have been exploring and mapping. I don't have any evidence to support that she knows I've found them but— do you ever just know something? Instinctively? Deep in your gut, there's just this voice telling you that this is right? That you're treading on something that is bigger than you? That-"

"You found what?" Law bursts out, practically jumping out of his seat. "Secret tunnels?"

Of course, that's what he latches onto.

Shuffling through her notebooks, she grabs the one she is using to chronicle her explorations. She pulls out the map she has slowly filled out and hands it to Law to look at while she flips through the pages for the legend that goes with it.

"Whoa!" Law gaps, "You've spent a lot of time on this."

"There is literally nothing else to do." Lami mutters, "My schoolwork is for babies and they go to bed atten."

"What? That's so early." Law says as he grabs her notebook, nose wrinkling at the thought.

"I know! They're missing out on half the day!" Lami groans, hands rubbing at her face. "And then during the day, I'm wasted on… one things like etiquette. I didn't realize that the 'art' ofcutleryand politeness is so precise. Apparently, you can tell where a person was born by how they hold a fork, though it sounds like a bunch of— uh, it definitely doesn't take lowborn into account."

"If you don't like it, I don't see why you just can't.. stay here," Law says with a certain stubbornness, tracing the line of a tunnel with a thumb.

"I want to complete my map," Lami says, and this time she isn't even lying. Herwantingto go back to St. Monroe's isn't tied to her ingrained fear of Amber Lead anddeathdeathdeath, but to something that istangibleand teasing at the corner of her mind. "I think- I think there is something at this school. Maybe something underneath it, or, or maybe just behind the political barrier... But there's something. I can feel it."

Law sighs and slouches onto the table, chin and mouth tucked into the nook of his elbow. "I want to go with you."

"Maybe if we dress you up like a girl we can sneak you in," Lami says with a faint smirk, though school would be so much more tolerable if Law were around…

"Do you think it would work?" Law says with a seriousness that, frankly, scares her for a moment.

"Uh." Her mind blanks, "I don't know. It could probably work if we pushed a certain narrative... But I don't think Mum or Dad would be especially happy with it. You know, dreams of being a doctor and all."

"I wonder if there are any secret tunnels here…" Law mutters, fiddling with a corner of her map.

Lami thinks of the mines, thinks of the amber lead, and swallows thickly. If there are tunnels in Flevance, it's best not to go anywhere near them. They only speak of death and lead. Lami and Law already have a frighteningly short life span, and it's best they not tempt fate any more than they already have.

"I'm not sure." She says, instead, "I doubt it."

.

.

.

"Smile!" Their mother calls out to them, Den Den Mushi in hand.

Their father has wrapped Lami and Law into a bear hug, cheeks pressed together uncomfortably as he coos at them. Her brother whines, face red and attempting to hide from their mother by pulling his hat down. No success on his part, as their father tugs it back up.

Lami isn't certain what face she is making when the light flashes as a photo is taken, more interested in how the Den Den Mushi's eyes blink as it happens. Nor could she guess what her expression is for the next couple pictures, when her father presses a kiss to her cheek, stubble tickling at her skin, or when he presses a kiss to Law's cheek as her brother flails with embarrassment.

Quietly smiling, Lami tugs at the end of her sleeve. Conflicting emotions dance in her chest, warm and cold, hopeful and distraught.

.

.

.

Lami catches her mother humming quietly to herself one evening as she wipes the counters of the kitchen. From the looks of it, she has already started supper and is simply waiting until the timer on the oven indicates it's finished.

Hiding behind the door frame, Lami recognizes the tune. It's the one her mother sings whenever she doesn't think anyone is listening, when she forgets herself in quiet, lulling moments. Though a soft smile paints her face, Lami cannot help but think the slow drawl of high and low notes makes the melody itself sound somber and melancholic. Very pretty, but subdued in nature. Perhaps it would sound more uplifting with other instruments or with lyrics. After a few moments, she realizes that the song is fairly short, a few verses at most, and that her mother is simply looping the tune.

She wonders what the song means to her mother, if it means anything at all. It's not a melody she recognizes from Flevence's repertoire, nor one that she has heard from any of the other girl's at Briar North. Had her mother once dreamed of becoming a singer? Why doesn't her mother seem to want to sing it in front of other people? Is she secretly quite shy? Is her mother why Lami is tone deaf?

Questions spin and circle in her mind, as they always seem to do.

Quietly tiptoeing into the room, Lami settles at the table where a chair is already partially pulled out. Crossing her arms on the surface, she tucks her chin between her wrists and listens to her mother's melody. After a few moments, she closes her eyes, finding the hum of her mother's voice soothing along with the sporadic spray of cleaner.

The song comes to an abrupt stop when her mother rambles out, "Oh f—"

Lami looks up to see her mother clutching a cloth to her chest, leaning heavily against the counter with her head tilting downwards.

"Lami! You startled me." She says with a quiet laugh, visibly breathing in and then out, "I- I didn't realize you came in." Despite this, her mother fixes Lami with a quizzical stare, as though attempting to solve a riddle. The gaze lasts for a few moments as she disposes of her cleaning supplies on the counter, quietly biting her lip and tilting her head to the side.

"Sorry." Lami murmurs, pulling herself up enough to put chin in hand and lean forward.

"You have soft steps." She says though a smile starts to quirk at the corners of her mouth.

Does she? Lami hasn't noticed.

"I guess." She replies with a dismissive shrug. "Sorry."

Her mother sweeps towards Lami, cupping her cheeks and pressing a kiss to her forehead, "No need to apologize. It's my fault for not realizing." Leaning back she adds with a softer smile, "Though, we might have to get you a bell."

A whine is ripped from Lami's throat when her mother pinches at her cheeks and coos, wondering out loud whether to get Lami a pair of earrings or a necklace. Both hands attempting to swat away the offending gesture. She's not a cat.

"Mom..."

Taking mercy on Lami, her mother backs away with a small smile. Sliding a chair out, she sits in the seat across from Lami and says, "Did you come down here for a snack? Dinner should be ready in 10 minutes."

"Mm, no," Lami says with a shrug. "Just wanted to. Heard you singing, so I came in."

"Ah." Is her mother's lengthy response as her smile fades, quietly staring at nothing for a moment.

"What song is it?"

"It's... just a song." She says this as she looks down and picks at the sleeve of her shirt, plucking off odd pieces of lint that has gathered.

"It's really pretty," Lami observes her mother's fiddling, finding it oddly expressive. Usually, the woman is very poised and collected. Nervous might not be the correct word for it, but... Lami doesn't see why. It's just a song. "Where did you learn it? Are there lyrics to go with it?"

"Ah, well.." Although becoming extremely clear that her mother does not wish to speak about this, a smile peeks through with unwarranted fondness. Heaving a sigh, she copies Lami's posture by resting an elbow on the table and cupping her chin in the palm of her hand. They share eye contact for a long moment before her smile grows even moreso.

"You don't take no for an answer, do you?" Her mother says with such affection that it startles Lami.

"Uh. You haven't said no, exactly, so.."

Her mother laughs, velvety and quiet. "Between you and Law…" She chuckles again and trails off, "It's.. just a song my father used to sing to me."

"Oh?" Lami perks with interest; her mother doesn't speak much about her family. Her father's side of the family is unfortunately small, only a grandmother left who Law and Lami have only met twice. "What's it about?"

A faraway look befalls over the woman's eyes, staring at the table with a quiet intensity. "It's about… Waiting. Yearning."

Lami slouches back onto the table, chin pressed to the surface as she looks up at her mother. That's rather dramatic, isn't it? For someone who claims that the song isn't anything important, her mother is certainly acting like it is important to her. She wonders if it's a song she associates with her father; if Lami is unintentionally opening up old wounds by asking this. But her mother would be honest about something like that.. right?

When she doesn't continue with the explanation, Lami speaks up once more. "Waiting for what?"

"I don't know." Her mother says, looking up with another smile.

It looks sad, this smile. Perhaps a little hollow.

"It's about..." Lami doesn't need to prod this time, her mother continues. "Drifting at sea. Never bound, never chained. Embodying the freedom of the wind and the waves that wash upon the sand... Waiting, yearning, for a storm." She pauses, "Among other things. There aren't anywordsfor it; one is tofeelthe song. Or, that's what my father always told me."

"Mmm," Lami hums, "Sounds like there's a story behind it."

"A myth, perhaps." Her mother replies idly, "Maybe I'll tell it to Law and you when you're both older."

Lami pouts into her elbow with an unimpressed stare directed towards her mother's smiling face. "Where's the fun in that?"

Shaking her head, she stands up and presses another kiss to Lami's forehead. The timer on the oven dings and her mother murmurs, "Dinner should be ready in a few minutes. Go find your brother to help set up the table."

"Yeah yeah," Lami mumbles in response, keen eyes watching her mother as she leaves. "I see you with those misdirections of yours."

Chuckling, her mother teases back, "And I see you leaving to find Law."

Grumbling and irritated at the blatant refusal for answers, she turns to her mother before she exits the kitchen. Her mother smiles, but not before Lami sees thescrutinizingexpression that colours her face.

Questions upon questions, Lami slinks out of the room with ascrutinyof her own.

.

.

.

"The doctor says I'm allergic to peppers." Lami murmurs one morning as she and her brother sit on the plush white grass in front of the Flevance hospital. It's nice out, which is the norm for the city, and the sun feels warm on her face, "And raspberries."

"No wonder you looked like a blowfish the other night." Law snickers, picking at the dirt with his bare hands.

"Mildly inconvenient." But it also explains why she broke out in hives in the past, and it's good to know what foods she should start to avoid. "Do you know how many things peppers are in?"

"Flevance doesn't know what peppers are… you won't have an issue here." Law mutters, "I think I might be allergic to wheat."

Lami favours Law with a bland expression, "Just because you don't like bread…"

"It makes me fart." Law whines, "Like, a lot."

"A lot of things can make a person fart," Lami says with a roll of her eyes, trying to keep herself from laughing at her brother's blunt comments. "Mom wants me to do a skin prick test to see if I'm allergic to anything else, you should ask to get one too."

Law heaves a loud sigh and falls backward onto the grass, arms and legs splayed out as he peers up at the sky. "What if I'm not allergic to wheat? What if this is simply the reality I have to live in?"

Lami huffs a quiet laugh at his dramatics and side-eyes him, "I think that's the reality everyone has to live in."

"Ugh." Law huffs as he grabs tufts of grass and throws it carelessly into the air. "This sucks."

"Mm." Lami agrees, gently balling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands so she doesn't touch the grass. She wants to remind him of the tremulous waters of puberty that await him, but, well. That conversation can certainly wait. Moreover, the two of them have more pressing issues when it comes to their health— the accumulation of amber lead is much more lethal and deadly than any of their potential allergies.

It just makes her wonder; how are the doctors of Flevance ignorant of the fact that the citizens have concentrations of amber lead in their systems? The low concentrations in children can be acceptable, sure, something potentially easy to look over— buthow manytimes has it been looked over? For how many years? How many blood tests have been looked at oddly before dismissed as inconclusive? What of the adults who were born with amber lead in their veins and have accumulated more and more due to lifelong exposure to the air of Flevance? Has no one doneanysort of testing to the air quality?

Is it all World Governmentrun, as opposed to Flevance's hierarchy?

Lami wrings her fingers together, feeling more and more twisted on the inside. She's not certain if she should be more fearful of the incompetence of the adults in Flevance or the influence the World Government must have in the working industries of the city.

Her brother suddenly sits up, turning to her with a smirk. "My doctor said that I've grownsevencentimeters in the past year."

"Oh?" Lami hums quietly, mind elsewhere "Only seven?"

"Only?"

Leaning towards him she says, "I've growntencentimeters."

Sputtering, Law glares at her, "How tall are you now?"

"A hundred twenty-four centimeters." She attempts to push forward a smug face as she drawls, "You may hide behind that hat of yours, Lawless, but I assure you that I am catching up."

Staring at her for a moment with disgust, Law scoffs, "You just said so many things that are so ridiculous." He then crosses his arms across his chest, "Growth curves between sexes are different, so ofcourseyou are growing faster now."

"Excuses excuses. Isn't that when adolescents hits?" Lami points out dryly.

Fidgeting, Law huffs, "It can happen earlier! That's only onaverage."

"But what if this is a pre-growth-spurt growth? Maybe I'll shoot up twenty centimeters when I become a teenager... While you're still pre-growth-spurt. Maybe I'll be able to look over your head." Placing chin in hand while resting her elbow on her knee she smirks at Law, "I will appreciate every moment of it."

"Just you wait," Law grumbles, ruthlessly tearing at the grass, "I'm going to besomuch taller than you."

"Maybe you should ask your doctor what your chances are!" Lami says with a semi-forced laugh, then yelps when he throws a handful of grass at her.

(whitewhitewhite—

the panic is unbearable, at that moment )

"'Your doctor'" A voice from behind them says, saving Lami from having to respond while she catches the breath that has escaped her. The siblings turn to see their father looping a messenger bag over his shoulders while sporting an amusing expression, "Your doctorsare your mother and I."

"It's best to keep the boundaries between personal and professional life separate," Law says primly as the two children stand up from their spot.

"Well,your doctorwould like to tell you that he'll love both of you no matter what shape or size you come in!" Their father gushes, pulling them both into a hug. "Even if Lami ends up a beanpole towering over all of us."

Lami leans into it, humming in response. She doesn't particularly care how tall or short she ends up so long as she is alive and functional. Her standards aren't especially high, in this regard. Worrying about it now just feels like a waste of energy.

"Dad!" Law sputters, hands pulling at their father's coat in a way that implies he's not really trying to separate himself but still needing the facade of rebellion.

When he stills, Lami peeks around their father's stomach to see what shenanigans he has up his sleeve.

"If you love us regardless of our shape and size, then you should get us ice cream." He directs his pleading puppy-dog eyes upwards, which Lami doesn't think is very effective. He looks like a sleep-deprived panda. "Momalwaystakes us out for ice cream after a checkup."

Their father tuts disapprovingly, "Lying to your father like that, tsk. You're getting bolder by the day, Lawless."

"No, it's true! Mom really does!"

"Your mother would never do such a thing. She admonishesmefor eating unhealthy!"

"Lami, tell him!"

"Mm." She replies, not listening as she stares at the concrete of the driveway. A thought comes to mind, "I once saw a herd of ants carry an ice cream cone right there," She points at the very spot it occurred, and when neither of them responds she continues, "They marched right by. It was extraordinary."

"...Really?" Law asks, turning to look at the spot. "Huh."

Their father is silent for a long moment as the children inspect the ground from where they are gripped at his side. He quietly laughs to himself, "Alright kids, let's go home."

.

.

.

Time flies.

Before she knows it, Lami is at the docks waiting for approval to board theNameless. She finds it difficult to believe that two months have flown by, even as she watches the waves slosh against the wooden beams of the waterfront docks, as the salt of the sea wafts past her nose and the shrieking of seagulls echoes across the open area.

The clawing desperation to escape from the white city of Flevance isn't as debilitating as in the past.

Lami idly wonders if she's becoming desensitized; of Flevance, of death, of the future. It'sexhausting, the constant state of panic. The constant struggle to separate herself from her surroundings in an effort to save herself from future suffering; physically, emotionally, mentally. Stop, save your breath, step back, don't get too attached to those withexpiry dates. Waiting and waiting andwaiting, not knowingwhenthe guillotine will drop, if she will be under its blade when the cord is lacerated.

It's exhausting, the mental circles, thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking-

Until it all just starts to stop.

Quiet, dull, the world around her slowing like she's underwater.

It's not as though she has stopped caring, she thinks as she sits down on the ledge of the dock, staring out at the empty space where the sky and sea meet on the horizon. Lami is still as motivated, still asdrivenfor survival. Stillachingandangryat her circumstances, what she is forced into. Butnothingwill come between her and the future.Afuture. At this point it's simply thetruth,she's not going to allow anything less.

Maybe she's just become adjusted to her situation, the knowledge that she is doing the best that she can. Pushing and pushing at the fragile boundaries that box her in,needingcertain criteria for the future, for her survival, for her mental health.

Maybe it just… doesn't feel as real anymore.

It's difficult,pushingherself andunderstandingthe weight of her future when the only signs that point to it are from apicture bookin a world she can't remember well. When there is nophysical evidencein this world that indicates that her country will perish. Holding onto a truth when everything around you is conditioning you to believe, want, hope that nothing bad will happen-

"Lami?" Her father cuts in, "Are you alright?"

She blinks, having not noticed that he sat beside her. "Mmm... Yeah. I'm okay."

He doesn't say anything in response, simply wraps an arm around her and pulls her into him.

One of her hands reaches over and grasps onto his shirt, staring out at the sea. Maybe she just doesn't want to leave behind a family who loves her, she thinks. Once.. once everything is said and done... She won't havethisagain. A father who showers her with affection, a mother who takescareof her.

Lami and Law.. they'll be on their own.

Her father is uncharacteristically quiet as he plants a kiss on top of her head. Lami can only think that she isterribleat not "getting attached" like she originally intended.

.

.

.

Her first day on theNamelessis unremarkable.

She spends most of the day holed up in her room, reading through some advanced anatomy textbooks her father had left her. Later that night during supper she is told that she's the first student to be picked up and that the ship will be docking at Port Lock and Raven's Roost prior to Briar North. They won't be staying overnight at any of the ports, so it doesn't especially concern or interest Lami, and she merely shrugs at the news before slinking off to bed.

.

.

.

At breakfast the next morning a question comes to mind, as is per usual for Lami. Upon finishing her meal, she puts the dishes away and sits down across from Barlow. The woman raises an eyebrow at her in response, scooping up eggs with her toast.

"Why do you transport kids to St. Monroes?" Lami asks, putting her chin in her hands with her elbows on the table.

"Oi, watch your tone. We ain't here totraffick."Barlow scoffs, or maybe it's a laugh, into her food. "Why do we do anything? Money."

"Yeah, but-" Lami struggles a moment to find the proper words, Barlow does not seem like the type of woman who would be satisfied with hulling a bunch ofbratsaround. "How did you come about this lifestyle? Why do the passengers change so frequently? You seem to know the personnel at St. Monroe's personally."

"Do you ever get tired of asking questions?" Barlow asks flatly.

Lami suspects that she is hungover.

"Not really," Lami says, humming to herself. She can't help the fact that she is naturally inquisitive; wanting,needing, to know more about everything. "I get more tired ofnothaving answers to my questions. It's quite infuriating, you know? Sometimes tickling your brain and just out of reach, or just. A void. Endless, who knows where the answer is?"

"And to think I thought you were shy," Barlow grumbles, hand covering her face as she groans.

"I never claimed to be shy." She shrugs. "Just quiet."

"You're certainly not quiet anymore." Heaving a loud sigh, Barlow sits up and says, "Listen up, I'm not going to repeat myself. We've got a… contract with St Monroe's. Most of the kids have parents who can afford to send their own ships, but there are a few that don't. Sometimes certain political circumstances require… transportation of the anonymous sort. Sometimes daddy's ship gets blasted by pirates and he can't get his brat picked up. Whatever the case, St, Monroe's sends me a list and I pick up whatever brat needs to be taken."

"Do you pick up all the leftover kids?" She can't imagine it; the most Lami has seen on the ship was 11 girls. That seems like such a small number in comparison to the four hundred or so students. Or maybe there really is just a handful of "poor" students at the school.

"Pah! No." The woman waves a piece of toast at her, "What do you think I am? Ole Madeline sends a platoon of ships to do her bidding, I assure you."

"Mm." Lami murmurs, nodding to herself. That makes much more sense. The North Blue isn't very small, after all. "Why do you call the President 'Madeline'"

"It's her name, isn't it?" Barlow huffs, "I refuse to call herPresident. So ridiculous. Back in my day, it wasOur Lady President, just imagine! So tasteless and showy."

"Back in my day?" Lami repeats, some of her long-awaited questions starting to click into place. "I can't see you attending St. Monroe's."

"Good!" Barlow hoots, stuffing food into her mouth with emphasis. "Means I've completed my life's mission. Ha!"

She tries to pry more information out of the woman, with little to no result.

.

.

.

Lami startles awake from a nightmare—

(dark, suffocating, she can't breathe, cold cold cold cold cold col-)

—clutching a pillow to her face, hands shaking,gaspingfor breath.

Erratically pushing the pillow off her bed, quietly hitting the wall with a thunk, Lami curls herself into a ball and rolls onto her knees. Heart racing and hands wringing together, she presses her forehead to the mattress.

Breathe, she reminds herself.

By the time she sits up and brushes the hair out of her face, Lami has forgotten what the dream was about. Despite this, she can still feel the icychillof it lingering in her chest as she stares blankly at the wall.

Her legs buckle when she tries to slip off the bed, arms catching the edge of the mattress before she can fall to the floor. With an aggravated sigh, she pulls herself up and gives herself a few moments before pushing off. From the porthole she can see that it's still night time, stars glittering in the sky as she wobbles to the window to inspect the weather. Clear, not a cloud in sight to mask the heavens.

Pulling on a striped green and grey sweater from her trunk, Lami tiptoes out of her room and down the corridor of the ship. Ascending the staircase onto the main deck, she looks around to see if there are any crew members. No one, as far as she can tell. Creeping forward, she sits down in the middle of the deck with her legs played out, idly feeling at the worn wooden boards beneath her.

For a while she just.. Breathes. Feels the soft wind brush against her cheeks and tousle her hair, smells the pungent scent of salt, hears the flapping of the sails overhead and the waves hitting against the side of the hull.

Laying down, she stares at the sky and its unfamiliar configuration of stars.

Maybe it's silly, but she wonders ifspaceis the same in this world as it was in her last one. If stars are balls of gas, hundreds of light-years away.

It must be different to some degree, she thinks, if there were people that once lived on the moon. The atmosphere must be different to some degree if living creatures could survive out of orbit. Not only that, but to move to earth without any noticeable drawbacks, like sensitivity to gravity, or how the humanoid body would change and alter in atmospheres without gravity…

What does it matter?She wonders to herself. There arehundredsof things that don't makesensein this world. The only thing she is certain of is that the list will only continue to grow the more she explores.

The sound of boots against wood is the only warning she gets before a figure sits down beside her. Looking to the side, she sees Lucky wrapped up in a bulky jacket and scarf. He smiles at her, lopsided and accentuating the wrinkles on his face.

"What's a girl like you being up at this here hour?" He murmurs, low and rumbling despite the twinkle in his eye. It occurs to her that he'stryingto be quiet.

"Couldn't sleep." She whispers in response, turning her head to look up at the sky once more. "Why are you up?"

"S'my duty tonight. Crows nest and all." The boards creek as he lowers himself to lay down beside her, "Beautiful night, ain't it? Not a damn cloud in the heavens to hide the eyes of our ancestors."

"Is that what you think they are?" She asks after a pause, thinking it's a rather… romantic concept to believe that the deceased find themselves among the night sky.

"Aye!" Lucky says in a hushed whisper, no ounce of self-doubt in his tone, "'Bout a dozen myths 'bout them stars up there, all right. No matter where yee go, there's always another tale to be told. Gods, spirits, manifestations of theCelestials— but, aye, I believe 'em to be the remnants of the dead. Every time a soul passes they poke a hole in the sky to go to the next life, looking through to their loved ones left behind."

Lami isn't as taken by the concept but is interested in his ideology. "And what about... Science?"

Lucky huffs a rumbling laugh, "Ain't that a wee bit boring, don't ya think? The possibilities are endless, anything can be real if youbelievein it enough."

Frowning, she squints up, "But in that case… isn't there the possibility that nothing is real if you believe it enough?"

"Aye! That's why it's boring!"

… Lami understands his meaning; this world is malleable. The limitations aren't as pressing,willpoweralone can change and shape your surroundings… but at the same time, shereallydoesn't understand.

"Star patterns are common wit, anyone with half an interest in the sea knows 'bout 'em. Can read the sky like you read those fancy little books of yours." Lucky continues, "but what theybelieve, aye, you can tell a lot by the nature of the person."

This they can agree on, though she thinks they might have differing opinions on what the conclusion of what a person's beliefmeans.

"I don't know what they are." Lami murmurs, she doesn't understand this world, and the longer she is here the more she starts to think she didn't really understand her last world either, "I don't know what to believe."

"Keep that mind of yours open, lass." Lucky says, and though she can't see his face she canhearhim wink, "Nothing is ever as it seems."

"Nor is it otherwise." She hums and then says. "I'll keep it open. I don't want to get tripped up."

"Attagirl."

For a while they lay there in silence, both staring at the sky. When the quiet starts to feel like aweight, she speaks up, "Would you mind telling me about the... star patterns?"

"Aye! I'd be more than happy to."

.

.

.

On the third evening, Lami finds herself staring at Barlow's rather excessively decorated hat. It matches well with her lipstick and coat, but she can't help but wonder what the point of it all is. The captain, for the entire time Lami has known the woman, is avidly against St. Monroe's and what it seems to stand for: elegance, excellence, manners, etc. The woman is as brash and bold as the bright red of her hair, rude, snobbish and uncaring about what people think about her.

But the way she dresses in fine clothing, the careful way she paints her face with makeup— it simply makes Lami wonder.

"Alright alright—" Barlow suddenly huffs, whipping around to face Lami, "What is it, princess?"

It's amusing how the crew is slowly becoming accustomed to her oddities.

"Why do you dress like this?" She spits out, and then backtracks, "You're a sailor. A Captain. Why do you put so much.. effort in your appearance, to look pretty?"

The Captain raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow at her, notobviouslyinsulted but clearly not appreciating her question, "Is a sailor not allowed to dress nicely? Am I notallowedto indulge in the things I enjoy?"

"That's not what I meant." Lami frowns, she's not trying to gatekeep, "I just— I don't see the point. It doesn't seem efficient."

Barlow stares at Lami for a long moment, face unreadable.

"Follow me, kid." She suddenly says, turning on her heel and marching towards the Captain's Cabin. "Oi, Lucky, keep an eye out on things, will yeah?"

"Aye!"

Barlow leads Lami into her personal chamber. The excessive fine clothing and furniture shouldn't be a surprise to her, but somehow it still manages to seep in. The bed is large with a canopy, blankets upon blankets heaped upon each other, pillows overflowing onto the floor. A large bureau stands in the corner with clothes and boots falling out of it, and a vanity with a huge mirror on top of it boasts a surface full of makeup and perfume. Despite the abundance of objects, the room is still orderly and clean.

"Sit." The woman commands, pointing at the vanity chair. When Lami does as she is told, Barlow grabs another chair, flips it around, and sits on it with her arms crossed on top of the backrest. "I'm going to be nice and let you in on a trade secret, because you seem like a smart and good kid, yeah hear?"

Lami nods, though she curls in on herself a little bit, feeling inconsequential in a room full of extravagance.

"This shit?" The captain points at the vanity, "It's not efficient, you're right. Nowherecloseto efficient. I spendhourseach morning putting this shit on, hours in stores looking for the rightshadeor the rightlookof something. It takeswaytoo long to put myself in clothes that are worth more thaneverythingyou own. It's an expensive lifestyle. It's frankly ridiculous."

But you know what? I enjoy it. Ilikescoring through shops looking for the perfect item I want. Ilikedressing myself and spending an absurd amount of time each morning on my skincare routine. Iliketaking care of myself. And that's the clincher, kid. The world out there? It's not pretty. People will tear you down, just because they can. Worst comes worst, you tearyourselfdown, just because you can. Because you gotta deal with yourself all the time. One day you just gotta learn to appreciate the small things, the big things, that you enjoy— no matter how much of awasteit might appear to others. Fuck them. What does it matter?"

Personally? I like to look like this because no one knows what thefuckto think of me. If they underestimate me because of how I choose to dress, that'stheirmistake. One they'll shortly pay for. Put on a mask like this andno onewill be able to suss out what thefuckis going on behind this pretty face of mine. I could be having the worst week of my life, but so long as I keep up the regular routine no one would second guess that anything is wrong. Dress nice, keep your space clean, stay hygienic—"

Golden eyes cut into her, quietly surveying Lami as she listens.

"I'veseengirl's like you. One day," Barlow starts, pointing at Lami, "you're going to come to the realization that valuing efficiency is going to make you very,incredibly, hollow. Especially if you're starting this up young. One day, you're not going to be asspecialas you are now; the higher you climb, kid, the more you'll run into peoplejust like you. You're going to struggle, trying to find anidentityoutside of the machine you are making yourself into. And I hope you never have to face that."

Unable to say anything, Lami simply stares.

"Read those ridiculous books of yours." Barlow says after a moment of silence, "Wear whatever the fuck makes you happy, whether it be those ugly wool sweaters of yours or my fuckingexpensivesilks. Be unapologetic in your interests. If those interests change? Drop it, don't live by other's expectations of you, even ifyou'rethe one who originally perpetuated it. You're allowed to change your mind about things, allowed to wantdifferentthings for yourself as you grow up. Fuck it all, do what makes you happy— even if it's not what you're familiar with, or what others associate you with."

"And for the love of the fucking sea mistress," Barlow stresses as she stands up, "never letanyoneknow they've gotten under your skin. Men, women, and otherwise— it doesn't fucking matter. That school of yours? It breeds puppets, and the minute you let your defenses down they'll string you up and play you like a fucking fiddle. They gobble girls likeyouup. So keep yourself clean, make sure your clothes look nice and tidy, and down the line when the world starts hitting you— don't letanyonesee how fucking depressed you are, alright? They're trained for this shit. Eyes like a fuckinghawk."

Lami can only nod. She thinks she gets it, between the lengthy and rambling lines. It sounds very personal to the woman; maybe something she has previously struggled with in the past. Barlow uses her immaculate appearance to indulge in the things she loves, but also as a means to hide behind. Self-care— used as a way for self peace while keeping up appearances to distance herself from others.

It's… fairly admirable, actually.

"Good." She huffs, then strides over to the door, "Now get the fuck out of my room."

.

.

.

Departing theNamelessand arriving at St. Monroe's goes as it typically does; Barlow leads the girls to the administration building, gets impatient and walks off, and Lami waits in line for an arduous length of time. Once she gets to Ruth and receives her schedule, uniform, and room key, Barlow has reappeared with a glass of wine in hand. After a rather biting battle of sass and underhanded compliments between her and the secretary, the red-head all but drags Lami to her dorm room.

Their farewells are short, as per usual, though Barlow pauses in the doorway as she makes leave.

"Remember what I said, clear?" She turns and looks over her shoulder, "My advice doesn't typically come cheap."

With that, the woman exits as the door slams closed.

Lami blankly stares, before rolling her eyes at the older woman's dramatics. It's not like shewantsto get swept up in the aristocratic and classist mentality of the school. The concern is appreciated, especially given the fishbowl effect that typically afflicts settings like this, however, Lami isn't a normal six (almost seven) year old.

Huffing out a sigh, Lami drops her shoulder bag onto the bed and gets to work unpacking and setting up her room.

.

.

.

Lami's classes are fairly similar to her previous year, the only difference being the rearranged schedule and the additional Health class she has been put into.

The first two months of the school year crawl by slowly, with only her nighttime escapades in the tunnels and library to keep her sane. Throwing caution into the wind, she decides early on in the year to continue with her explorations and studies. The thought of losing at a game ofchickenwith the faculty of the school was more than enough to convince her to finish her map, though the restlessness that settled over her during the first few weeks strengthen her resolve.

Neither the President or the dean of her dorm seem to notice anything is amiss; hearing no word of accusation from either, nor catching the President watching her from a distance like months prior.

So, she reads. Hours and hours scouring through the shelves of the library, looking for any sort of information that might be helpful, anything that might be entertaining during the drawn-out days. She reads about astronomy and the stars; throws herself into memorizing the constellations and the folk stories behind them. It's a limited field of study, or at the very least the school doesn't have very many books pertaining to the scientific understanding of celestial objects and phenomena. Lami wonders if the people of this world evencareabout such things.

When she is not reading she is in the tunnels with a candle in hand, looking for tunnels and secret passageways she missed in the year prior.

.

.

.

One morning during their etiquette class the teacher has the students march outside in a single file line towards the gardens. Admittedly, the estate of land that St. Monroe's boasts is very pretty and obviously manicured; from the carefully sheared hedge maze across the road to the cluttered beauty that the garden and its flowers possess. Even as they walk down a path through the large park, Lami has difficulty counting the number of flora present. Flowers of different size and colour swarm her field of vision, most of which Lami has never seen before, some of which Lami recognizes from her old world.

Roses, daffodils, sunflowers— the school has obviously taken care of their grounds, though she can't help but wonder how they are managing to keep all the species thriving. Especially in a seasonal environment like this, where the temperature has already started to dip closer to freezing.

The teacher guides them to the far end of the garden's where a small lake has gathered, a fence of trees blocking them from outside view. Once all the girls have sat down in the grass (with proper posture and positioning of their legs) the teacher coughs to retain their attention.

"Yes yes, I understand that this is quite the occasion, but please settle down girls we have much to learn today." The older woman claps, backing away into a small gazebo that overlooks the lake. When she comes out she is carrying an array of flowers in her hand.

"To the untrained eye, this may simply look like a bouquet of flowers- but to someone like myself," She laughs, haughty and in puffs, "I would happen to notice the malevolence behind them. You see, girls, flowers have a language of their own. Each individual type has a meaning, a purpose. Colour, pattern, size— they all have a subtlety to them that changes the context of the intended message."

Plucking flowers from the bouquet, she hands one to each of the girls.

"Typically believed to be romantic in nature, the language of flowers is highly associated with femininity and is overlooked for such. However, I can assure you all that it is simplynotthe case. Any language, as you all will come to learn in your upper years, has its complexities and flexibility. Althoughcertainlyused to convey emotion and communicate without the usage of words, the message most often is not of romantic origin."

Lami is given a blue flower she doesn't recognize, and she fiddles with it in thought. Cryptography is certainly something that she is personally interested in, especially in the context of creating or breaking codes and secret language… However, she has never consideredthisconcept.

At face value it may seem redundant or useless- why bother teaching such a thing to young girls, after all? Yet, the possibility of nobility, female or otherwise, using flowers as a language or silent communication tool— it makes enough sense, to her.

She hasn't thought much about what she intends to do once she has saved herself from a futile death, butthis—

Gears turn in her head as she plucks a petal from her flower.

.

.

.

Snow already coats the ground when one afternoon Lami witnesses a large group of girls rushing out of the building where the upper-years have class. They run across the courtyard towards the administration building, their hushed whispers echo in the enclosed space.

Class should be starting up again soon, so she can't help the curiosity that urges her to maneuver through the snow to take a look. Clutching her schoolbooks to her chest, Lami hops up the marble steps to see what has garnered so much attention.

Girls of all ages huddle around the large set of doors that open into the main building. It's abundantly clear that they are attempting to be sneaky, however, the mass of them clogging up the doorway and falling over each other is not inconspicuous. Not the mention the cold air is undoubtedly leaking into the foray.

"Do you know why they are here?" A taller girl with dark hair asks another upper-year.

"No!" This one has glasses, "They just showed up."

Lami tries to slip through, too short to see what (who) they are looking at, but ends up getting pushed into the building. Glancing back at the older girls, Lami frowns at the manhandling. One of them sneers back, shrugging her shoulders like it's not her fault.

There isn't anyone immediately in the foray, the room empty and showcasing the large front doors of the building, though she can hear the President speaking off to the side.

The girl's behind her start whispering again, theorizing and gossiping. Annoyance seeps into her chest as Lami rolls her eyes. If they want to know why don't they just find out? This thought in mind, Lami steps into the building without much regard. She doesn't understand why the other students are always so hesitant to do things, why they would rather gossip than... Ask. Beating around the bush won't get anyone anywhere but moving in circles.

Turning the corner, Lami finds herself intruding on a conversation between the President and a marine.

"-we would be more than willing to—" The President stops.

Oops, Lami thinks, as the two women turn to her.

"Miss Trafalgar." The President drawls, though the exasperation is clear in her voice, "Don't you have a class to attend?"

Frankly, Lami thinks the tone the woman is using is unwarranted. None of her serious misdemeanors haveofficiallybeen discovered or judged for, and the few that shehasbeen caught doing should not award such a reaction.

"The bell hasn't rung yet." Lami points out, attempting to sound pragmatic.

Sighing, the President exchanges a look with the marine. Words are exchanged without speaking, and though Lami is immediately suspicious and spiked with a sudden wave ofohno, the marine's lips twitch with amusement.

Turning back to Lami, the President says, "Please notify the other students to go to class before punishments are dolled out—" at this, she can hear the sound of skittering and panicked whispering "— and follow suit, Trafalgar. It would bemostunfortunate if I had to see you in detention...again."

Her first instinct is to throw back a cheeky response, but this woman is not her brother. So instead she holds her tongue and murmurs, "Yes ma'am."

"Good." The President turns to her companion, "This way, Tsuru, I'll show you where to go."

"I know where to go, Madeline." The other older woman says, voice dry, "I haven't gone senile in my old age."

Lami backs away from the odd scene of the Presidentlaughingand more or less scampers back into the courtyard. She contemplates sitting out in the snow for a few minutes, but the bell rings indicating the start of the next class. As she rushes across the snowy grounds, her mind spins.

This is the first time she's seen a Marine.

Howweird.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

warning. / vomiting.

O7.

PICK YOUR POISON

median.

The dining hall is filled with jubilation that night.

Most of the younger year girls remain oblivious to the significance of theMarinespresence at St. Monroe's, Lami observes. Half of her classmates eat, seemingly uncaring or unaware of the hundred new women who have taken seats at the back of the dining hall, while the other half struggle to strain their necks to inconspicuously get a good look. Only the upper years appear to understand the importance, and even then she doubts that anyone isreallyquestioning their purpose, why they chosehereof all places to go (if they chose at all), why aVice Admiralis acting so friendly withThe President. Does no one else find their comradery questionable at best? Suspicious at worst?

Lami overhears a group of upper years bemoaning the fact that it is a crew full ofwomen, not men, who have found themselves on the shores of Briar North.

Lami rolls her eyes as she passes by, her dinner plate clutched in her hands. As much as sheabhorsthe 'not like other girls' rhetoric, she can't help but find their complaints... absurd. The second-hand embarrassment is almost too much to bear. There aredozensof more prevalent complaints to be had, the lack of male figures at the school should ranklow. Settling down at the table her year mates share, she quietly promises herself that puberty willnotmake her into a laughable caricature of a lust-ridden teenager.

( she doesn't think it'll be too difficult.

she'll be too busy trying not to die )

A loud cough catches the attention of the students. Every eye turns towards the pavilion at the front of the room where the teachers eat. The president is standing at her typical spot in the middle of the large hardwood table, hand politely covering her mouth. Once the hall goes quiet her hand falls to her side before folding to the small of her back.

"As you may see, for the unforeseen future, St. Monroe's Girl's School of Excellence will be hostingveryspecial guests." Hushed whispers break out then dwindle as the President raises a hand, "An unfortunate event has befallen upon them, but we shall make this temporary home of theirs aswelcomingandaccommodatingas possible. Please be patient and gracious with your dispositions; these women have fought tirelessly to make the world a safer place for you and I. The least we can afford them, in return, is a kind welcome."

"Vice-Admiral Tsuru," The President makes a gesture to the old woman at her side, "and one of her squadrons will be staying with us here at St. Monroe's while preparations are put in place for their retrieval."

"Pleasure." The Vice-Admiral says, nodding her head from where she sits with her arms crossed over her chest. Despite her position and the nature of her short greeting, Tsuru's voice still manages to project to all in the room.

The President nods as though satisfied by the briefness of the other woman'sspeech. "Now, with that out of the way, let us continue with today's announcements…"

.

.

.

Life goes on.

Lami isn't entirely certainwhatshe was expecting when the Marines showed up in Briar North, but she expectedsomething.

For the next three days, Lami doesn't see hide nor hair from the Marines, save their brief appearances at dinner time. Etiquette classes have temporarily moved to a different building while the Marines make use of the dining hall for their own purposes during the day time. Due to the snowy weather, the location of her fitness class has also moved to one of the upper years buildings. While mildly inconvenient, the change of scenery makes the day a tad bit more interesting than before. But not quite what she was expecting upon the arrival of theMarines.

Honestly, it's rather anticlimactic.

She finds herself joining her classmates as they huddle around a window, whispering as the class spies on the Marines stomping around in the snow. From her position, she thinks they are doing a warm-up of some sort, running around the perimeter of the island. Most of them don't have winter gear on, which is justsicknesswaiting to happen. Not to mention hypothermia or any other serious repercussion that results from not dressing properly. Lami doubts thattrainingin the wintertime is an especially fun activity, but she supposes that one must be well versed in battle regardless of the season or climate.

Her Maths teacher slaps a ruler on the desk, demanding the girls to return to their seats.

Lami lingers at the windowsill long enough to catch the sight of the President and Vice Admiral walking behind the long string of Marine soldiers. Sheswearsshe sees them look in her direction, heart pounding as she ducks down in her seat.

( it's probably just her imagination. )

.

.

.

The cough thatripsout of her lungs is deep and rough, leaving aching burns trailing up her throat. There's a moment where she struggles to find her breath, bending over with her eyes shut and fingers curling into the fabric of the bed's white sheets. When she finally breaths in it's done painstakingly so; rasping and catching at the side of her esophagus as though the air itself is made of thorns.

"Yep. Definitely sick." The young nurse says as she places a stethoscope to her chest to listen to her breathe, not noticing the acidic look Lami gives her in response. "Looks like it's going to be a busy couple of weeks."

"This is the fifth girl in two days." Another nurse says in response, pouring out a spoonful of syrupy medicine. "Doesn't look like it'll be slowing down anytime soon."

The nurse with the stethoscope adjusts its position, shifting the cold metal to her ribs, "This could have beeneasilyprevented if the woman had just come to us in the first place instead of trying totough it out. Marines! Now we have a potential epidemic on our hands! Can't say I'm too envious of Ruth or Yui- themountainof calls they'll be receiving over the next few weeks isn't somethingI'dwant to deal with."

"Either they come to us for every splinter and bruise they get, or they come to us on their deathbed. Ain't nothing in between. Open up." The nurse holds the spoon out to her, and Lami obediently does as she is told, "You're being dramatic. They'll be good as new by next week, maybe two."

"Andyou'reunderestimating thepoweroverprotective parents have over us. This school is supposed to be isolated from the rest of the world for areason."

The medicine tastes sweet, almost sickeningly so. Lami wrinkles her nose and wonders what it's made of and how effective it willactuallybe. Given her symptoms, she expects nothing less than antibiotics.

"People get sick." The woman's voice is dry as she says this, disposing the spoon. "That's life."

The lady with the stethoscope backs away from Lami and waves it at the other woman, "And yet, people will always complain! Especially now that there is atangibleobject to place blame on!"

"That's practically part of the job description, Jules." She huffs out a soft laugh, "I don't thinkanyoneis going to be complaining about the Marines anytime soon... not if they are interested in remaining a prominent figure in the political world, anyway. Easier to blame it on us."

"Ugh. I should have married rich."

It occurs to Lami, suddenly, that this is thefirst timethat she has gotten sick inthisworld. At least, sick with an infection or virus, as opposed to allergies rearing their ugly head. It's a fairly odd thought to stumble across. Is it normal for children to get sick? It's been seven years and the only sniffles she has any experience with is from the nighttime sorrows that creep up on her. However, that is an entirely different beast, a sickness of her heart and mind that will likely never go away. Physically speaking, she has never beenillbefore.

But no, that's not quite correct either.

She stares at her hands and wonders idly if her skin has gotten paler.

Lami may not bevisiblyill, yet, but the hereditary disease eating away at her insides is no doubt present and waiting to tear the life from her. She has two years, maybe, before she has to face the harsh reality of her situation. It's a thought that used to fill her with trembling panic and dread; now it's a steady static, a voice in a void with no audience to entertain.

"Sit tight, sweetheart." The nurse, Jules, says. "Looks like you'll be staying the night. If you look better in the morning wemightlet you go to class, but the precedent suggests otherwise."

She leaves the room with the other nurse, discussing the pros and cons of marrying the wealthy, closing the door with a click.

Lami looks around the blank, empty, sanitary room and heaves a loud sigh while falling back on the bed.

.

.

.

She wants to be at home.

The feeling lingers and aches in her chest long enough that it rivals the burn of her infection. Homesick. Who would have thoughtshewould find herself withthissort of ailment? It's almost laughable, but the act of laughter makes her body spasm and sting in a way she is not yet familiar with. Muffling herself with a pillow, Lami rolls over onto her side. It's a small act, but this movement has her wheezing and feeling dizzy.

What's the point of being sick if the people who care about you aren't around to make you feel better? If her father isn't around to check her temperature and say something silly to lighten her mood? If her brother isn't here to gratuitously make fun of her for getting sick in the first place while also obsessively making sure she is comfortable and taking her medicine? If her mother can't sit at the edge of the bed with Lami's head on her lap, stroking her hair while humming that soft, sad tune of hers?

The impassive and distant nurses of St. Monroe's certainly do not make this ordeal any better, with their constant bickering and gossip. It only reminds her that if she werehome, her parents would do a much better job of taking care of the sickly kids.

Homesickness. What an odd feeling for someone who struggles to find a place comfortable enough to callhome, she thinks. Flevance isn't her home, not by any means. But if home is where the heart is, she's starting to think her heart is starting to settle in with the Trafalgar family.

A sneeze distracts her from her thought process, hands fumbling with the pile of tissues on the bedside table before wiping her face. She's gotten past the stage of thinkingthis isgrossand is simply waiting to feel better. How many days has it been, now, stuck in this room? She can't recall, time blending together. Lami's chest and her throathurtsand a small, rancorous part of her wonders isthisis what Amber Lead Syndrome feels like.

Everything in this room iswhite. It's difficult not to notice, difficult to shelve away the thought for later contemplation; when she isn't addled with phlegm and with nothing to do butthis, think thinkthink. The furniture, the floor, the ceiling. White, white,white— a colour she cannot seem to get away from, no matter how perilously she tries to claw her way to safety. It's always there, somewhere, like a ghost haunting her. Teasing her. Always at the corner of her eye. Subtle reminders of what is to come, lest she be audacious enough toforgetor move past this unrelenting, vicarious trauma.

It's kind of funny, isn't it? Her dreams come in shades of black and white; thecold, suffocating darkness that pulls andpullsat her like there's astringattached to her chest, like she has something that is owed, wanting, leeching, strangling, never satisfied; the blank white whitewhitethat prostrates before her, endless and daunting, innocent until the splattering of red marrs it's holy surface, unblinking, impassive in the face of suffering as it weighs her down downdown.

There is no spectrum, she thinks as she stares vacantly at the ceiling. The black and white of her dreams symbolize death — whatshouldhave occurred, and a promise of what is yet to come. Boxing her in on both sides, flanking her like a sheep gone astray.

Something is going to be seriously pissed when I survive.She thinks, vindictive despite the silent static that has taken root in her.

.

.

.

"Do you know what the brand of the paint in this room is?" Lami asks the next day when a nurse comes in to check on her. She's laying down in her side and staring at the wall across from her as the cool metal of a stethoscope presses against the skin of her back. No matter how hard she tries she can't get it out of her head, a worry that is constantly prickling at the back of her mind.

"Hm? I'm not sure. Some of these rooms got repainted recently, five years ago, maybe? Probably Flevian." The nurse hums and pulls her shirt down, "I hear they have some very fine paints."

Air gets caught in her throat, unbidden as her hands start to shake, as her stomach drops, "As in…"

"Oh. You're from Flevance, right?" The woman guides her up so she is sitting up properly, evidently not noticing that her limbs have gone rigid, "Must remind you of home, then."

Thenauseathat grips her in this moment is sudden and unrelenting. There is no time for thought or time for logic, not when the world isspinning, and hot hothot. She is only given a few seconds notice until the familiar burn of bile sears at the back of her throat, threatening to spill over. Lami jerks away from the nurse and stumbles out of the bed, vision hazy and blurring together as she rushes to the bathroom in a blind panic. Struggling with the handle of the door, Lami pulls at it with her shaking arms, getting more and more frantic until the nurse has to open it for her.

Wasting no time, Lami falls to her knees and unleashes the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

"That's odd." The nurse says after a few moments of rubbing at her back, kneeling beside Lami. "The other patients haven't shown any signs of nausea or vomiting…"

Lami's only response is to convulse, gagging without any purchase.

( she's sick of this )

.

.

.

The administration building is quiet at night.

She knew this, of course, due to her daily nighttime escapades. There are rarely any students or personnel slinking around after twilight, only the quiet skitterings of pests and bugs to keep her company on most nights. However, usually she is gallivanting on the first floor or below in the tunnels— it's odd to walk around the third floor. The nurse's clinic, line of patient rooms, and various common rooms seem to interconnect in some sort of disconnected puzzle. The architect of the floor is curious at best, but her mind is too hazy and sick-addled to really put serious thought into how the ceiling holds itself up without caving in or why there areso manyfireplaces, and how the nurses get around this endless maze of rooms.

A baby blue quilt with extravagant floral patterns adorns her body like a cloak, hands balled together and clutching at the thick fabric. It's been a difficult day of feeling mercilessly cold and fiercely hot, too distracted by the various aches in her body to really put much thought into the panic that had seized her earlier that morning.

It's probably for the best, Lami thinks as she aimlessly walks around one of the empty common rooms. While the nurse was busy she stuck tape to the door of her temporary room so the latch won't close properly, back before the fever really started to hit her. By the time night had fallen there was nothing less she wanted to do than sit in a room potentially ridden with the very metal that would one day try to kill her.

There's another fireplace in this room, she notes suddenly as her thoughts come screeching to a halt, making it the eighth she has counted so far. But it looks sort of familiar, and she wonders if she has visited this room already. She pauses her movement to think, somehow incapable of doing both at the same time, and decides that she can't quite remember. They kind of all look the same, don't they?

Sitting down in front of the fire, Lami closes her eyes and enjoys the moment as the heat kisses her face. It doesn't take too long before she is feelingtoo hotand rolls over onto her side, then quietly attempts to push herself up into a standing position.

The fire crackles behind her, almost disguising the sounds of footsteps and voices approaching from the hallway.

This fact is quickly disregarded as she spots a window, priority shifting away fromstealth. Quietly waddling over to the window, she stares out at the front of the school; the moonlight paints a very pretty picture against the snow that coats the ground, making the gardens to the left and the hedge maze to the right look like a wonderland of sorts. Her breath fogs the glass and she draws a little smiley face. It's a little lopsided. Law would probably laugh at it, and then Lami would pretend to scoff at his drawings as though his anatomy diagrams aren't ridiculously well-made.

Pressing her forehead to the surface of the cool window, Lami decides that she will be going outside. She's not sure how she's going to do it, but her face and body feels like it's burning and she craves the chilly breeze of a winter wind. She needs a balcony. Or maybe the roof. Yes, the roof sounds most ideal.

"Trafalgar." A familiar stern voice says, "What are you doing out of bed? You aresick, return immediately."

Lami simply presses her hands to the glass and says, "I'm going outside."

"Pardon?"

Scampering away, Lami makes a quick exit out the nearest door. She thinks that she has figured out the blueprint of the floor; has mastered the architect. There is no way she will be caught. She simply needs to find the closest balcony or staircase. She's not sure where it is, but she'll find it.

"What does she think she's doing?" A not as familiar voice says.

"I'm not entirely certain," The familiar voice responds dryly. "She's never up to anything good."

Lami swerves through rooms, encounters one that is not lit by a fire like the rest, then waddles into the hallway. With her sharp intellect and precise memory, she recalls the rooms she has been in before. She takes a sharp right, almost tumbling to the floor as the world wobbles around her, but she manages to catch herself before she falls face first. Continuing, with her quilt fluttering behind her, Lami takes another right. She's in another common room. It's familiar. She's totally lost them by now.

"The girl just went in a circle." A voice says to her left with evident amusement, causing Lami to startle.

A hand lands on her shoulder, pulling her back until another hand is pressed to her forehead. "She's burning up. Tsuru, would you mind hailing the nurse on duty? She shouldnotbe walking around like this."

"Heh. You're ten years too young to be bossing me around, just who do you think you are, Mads?" Despite this, the woman leaves.

Lami looks up and barely recognizes the President; she looks like a completely different person with her hair down, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and wearing casual clothes. The woman nudges Lami down the hall towards her room, heaving a loud sigh as Lami sheds the quilt and makes a run for it.

Another set of hands grab her.

"Can't find a nurse." Tsuru harps. Lami swears that the woman hadjustleft and can't wrap her mind around the fact that she has apparently already looked around thelabyrinththat is the nurse's wing. The Marine continues without actual heat, "What kind of establishment are you running here?"

"One where no one knows how to do their job, evidently." The President huffs, pinching her nose with clear exasperation. "I'll retrieve one of the nurses. Trafalgar is in room 304 if you wouldn't mind."

Scoffing, like the thought it ridiculous, Tsuru rebuts, "I've dealt with the likes of Sengoku and Garp fordecades. This brat is nothing in comparison."

"I can only imagine." the President says, "Even still, mind yourself. She's fairly clever."

"How unusual. That's high praise coming from you. Getting soft in your old age, hm?"

"As if." The quilt is handed over to marine, "This one just likes to get into trouble."

Feeling warmer than before, Lami leans into the side of the marine as a wave of dizziness takes hold of her. Maybe outside is not a good idea. Maybe she should sleep instead.

"No trouble." Lami mutters, "Just books."

"Stop that." The President huffs, grabbing hold of Lami's shoulder, "You're going to spread your sickness."

Tsuru waves the hand away, "Just who do you think you are? I'm not made of glass. Acoldhas no hopes of infecting me."

"You're too careless. She's not sick with acold."

"If I was going to get sick, I would have already. I've been exposed to this since the beginning. Now go get that nurse of yours before this little girl passes out on us, shoo."

There is no response besides the retreat of footsteps. Or at least, not one that Lami notices. The marine then starts to guide Lami to her room with careful steps. Upon opening the door, the older woman heaves a chuckle at the tape still blocking the latch.

"Rookie mistake on their part."

"Right?" Lami murmurs, crawling into her bed as the world around her spins and spins andspins.

"Stay in bed like a good girl. Your principal will be back with a nurse who will take care of you, alright?"

Lami mumbles, "Maybe not."

"Hush."

"She stares. Watches. I feel it under my skin and behind my eyeballs." Pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes she continues, "Tricky. Trouble, I'm not."

"Sleep. You don't know what you're talking about, kid."

"The walls have eyes. Ears." Lami tries again. "I feel them."

Tsuru is quiet for a moment, then sighs. "They always do, kid."

.

.

.

( when lami wakes up she doesn't remember most of what happened the night before. or most of the next day, memories hazy with fever.

but she does remember dreaming about white walls lined with black, bulging eyes;

watching.

all of them focusing on her as she moves )

.

.

.

By the time Lami recovers, the Marines have left Briar North.

Having spent two weeks in bed, she ismorethan willing to throw herself into class with an enthusiasm she hasn't felt since she first arrived at St. Monroe's. The few days it takes for her to catch up on material is a blissful period of time; she actually feelsproductive, challenged to juggle all of her subjects along with the new content being taught, responding to the letters her family has sent her during her time being sick—

It doesn't last.

Before she knows it, she is once again dragging herself through the day with nonchalance. Waiting, waiting,waitinguntil nighttime so she can slip down into the tunnels continue her map or spend hours whittling her way through the books in the library. Lami actually considers procrastinating on projects and work with the hope of inspiring some sort of… urgency orfeelingtowards the subjects, but ultimately dismisses it. She may be desperate for mental stimulation, but her pride refuses to allow her to do anything less than excellence.

The mere thought of Law snootily huffing at her (hypothetical) poor work ethic is enough to shut down the idea before it takes root in her.

.

.

.

Winter gales thrash at the windows of the library, startling Lami from a fantasy novel ('Whispers of the Heart', a children's book about a boy who can speak to Sea Kings) as the winds whistle and rattle at the stained glass.

A snowstorm has rolled over the small island of Briar North, burying the girls inmetersof snow. The tunnels that Lami dares to enter during the night arefreezing- the cold nipping at her nose and toes, leaving a chill in her spine that refuses to leave. The crisp conditions requires her to bundle up in multiple sweaters and blankets in an effort to remainsomewhatwarm throughout her nighttime escapades. Without the fireplaces around to warm up the room, the Library retains little heat, and the tunnels are even worse off.

Wintertime, she suspects, is not the best time to explore the passages hidden below the surface. Particularly since this year's snowfall is greater than the years prior. Until the winter gives way to spring she is more than happy to make the short journey to the library, even if the metal rings of the ladder leading up into it bite at her hands. There are hundreds of books at her disposal, still begging to be read. The tunnels can wait a few more months.

Lami turns back to her book and fiddles with the few pages still remaining. While clearly marketed for children, she has binged through the entire book in one sitting. Thecreativityof the story and how it utilizes the world heavily overshadows the one-note characters and predictable plot lines. The book isold, at least a hundred years if the publishing record is to be trusted, but the story still manages to hold its own in comparison to those made recently.

Vague disappointment spikes as she realizes that the last few pages are an etymology. It is certainly interesting to see how the language has evolved in the past century, but she would rather have a sneak peek at the next book.

Huffing quietly to herself, she shuffles out from underneath a table with a candle holder in one hand and the book in the other. Approaching the bookcase that she originally found the novel, she attempts to search for the sequel. With only the candle to provide her light, this quest proves difficult. She's not sure how much time passes until she finds a book by the same author, but after a quick look, she realizes that it is thethirdnovel in the series. Grumbling with displeasure, Lami holds the candlelight as high as her height allows to further inspect the selection on the shelf.

Of course, when she finds it, the book is misplaced and on the top shelf. Frowning, Lami looks around before backpedaling and setting the candle on one of the library's large oak tables. Then, approaching the bookcase, she begins to climb the shelf with a careful slowness. Despite her worries, it remains sturdily in place regardless of her weight. Growing more confident, she rises, and her foot takes a foothold on the seventh shelf as she reaches out to grab the book and—

The bookcase turns.

Startled, Lami frantically clings to the shelf before she can fall.

It's dark. She can't see. She can't hear. The smell and taste ofdustis so prominent that it sends her into a sneezing fit so bad she nearly slips off the edge of the shelf. In comparison, it'smuchworse than the tunnels and Lami has to cover her mouth tobreathe. Extending her foot out blindly, she ventures to reactivate the trap door mechanism. After a few tries, the bookcase spins once more, Lami awkwardly holding onto the ledge.

Grabbing the sequel she was looking for, Lami hops off the bookcase and drops the book underneath the table where her blankets and bag are stored. She has made quite the cozy nest. Blanket forts had never appealed to her in the past, but recently she has seen the light of howwonderfulthey can be. Especially in winter conditions.

Nevertheless: the book is interesting, but not half as interesting as a secret spinning bookcase.

Grabbing her candle holder, Lami turns and faces the bookshelf with a contemplative expression adorning her face. Climbing the bookcase with one hand occupied is tricky, but she doesn't need to climb as high as she did before. She only clambers up two before carefully positioning herself so she can hold the candle holder, the shelf,anduse her hand to press down on the trigger. There's a section of the shelf that can be forced downwards, the faint lines the separate the wood is barely noticeable thanks to its natural graininess and dark colouring.

The candle wobbles dangerously as the bookcase spins. Lami grabs onto it before it can fall on her or any of the books, precariously hanging on to the surface. After collecting her balance, the candle is stretched out to light up the space she has found herself in.

The candle doesn't illuminate the room enough for her to gather details, unfortunately. However, she estimates that thereisa floor, and she won't be falling to her death should she jump. Confident in this hypothesis, she hops down to further explore.

A small alcove with walls lined to the ceiling with books, scrolls, and paper lay before her. A single table presses against the back wall, the surface practically invisible underneath all of the objects that clutter its surface. The only other notable pieces of furniture is a beaten-down chair and a small footstool that is half-hidden by a stack of books on the floor. A large carpet covers most of the ground, bitten and tattered at the edges, peeking out in slivers from under the mess. There's a globe in the corner, maps rolled out over a section of a floor, but to get anywhere close she would have to climb over several piles of books and the chair.

A modest-sized room, despite the clutter that makes it look much smaller.

Leaning down, Lami picks up a piece of paper from the floor.

A frown forms on her face when she notes that it's not in a language she is familiar with. The page itself is yellowed with age, the edges littered with holes and rips. There must be pests or bugs around, given the state of the parchment and the furniture. The dark and dry environment isgoodfor the books themselves, but when she picks up several other pieces of paper, Lami startles when one crumples and flakes at her touch. Curiosity and the desire to properly care for the books wage a war within her, but her inquisitive nature gets the better of her as she gently flips open the cover of a book. Once again, in a script she does not know. Thankfully the binding remains snugly in place.

The exhilaration of discovery only lasts until thirty or so minutes later when the language barrier starts to settle in as an annoyance. Books have little meaning to her if she doesn't know how to read them, and frankly, she worries that her oily hands are causing damage to artifacts that have clearly remained unaltered until now.

A sneeze rips itself out of her, and Lami uses the sleeve of her shirt to wipe her mouth and nose.Another day. She thinks to herself as she climbs back onto the bookcase. Another day, when her hands are properly cleaned, has a mask, and more candles at her disposal.

.

.

.

A couple nights later finds Lami in the secret alcove with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a mask covering the lower portion of her face, and a duster in hand. Before she can really sink her teeth into this discovery, she dedicates her time to cleaning up the mess left behind. The papers have been picked up from the floor and carefully assembled upright on the table for further examination, while most of the books are massed together in one of the corners for ease of access. Several candles light up the interior, the light barely noticeable from the outside; something she experimented the night prior.

Theories spin in her head as she quietly sweeps a feathered device over the old shelves, mind refusing to quiet with its conspiracies. The alcoveobviouslyhasn't seen any visitors in some time, and she has no basis to begin guessing how long the room has rotted away by its lonesome. In that same vein, she cannot bother to estimate the language's origins or the time frame of its usage and publications. It's not uncommon for dialects or scripts to get lost, unfortunately, especially after the World Government formed a coalition and "united" theknownand submissive humans of the planet. Or, more specifically, purged any information that does not adhere to the principles or utilities of the rising powers that be.

This is an issue she remembers from her timebeforeLami. Despite the world having a universal information system, languages tend to slip through the cracks of time as old age and indifference chips at the foundations of culture and heritage.

She wonders if there used to be a civilization on this island before the owners of St. Monroe's swept in and built a tremendous mansion on top of it. With the knowledge she knows of this world, from herpast,and what she has gathered from history books, it wouldn't be too far of a stretch. But it's also possible that the artifacts in this room come from an outside source; from her experience St. Monroe's library is larger than most islands are privy to. This prospect has her scowling, she has her judgement about someonechoosingto store paraphernalia in a place likethis. St. Monroe's is certainly not a place she would select, with the school's close ties to nobility and the Marines.

Unless someonedidn'tchoose; there's a possibility the information was stolen and stored away here. Given the disheveled condition of the area and its belongings, she wonders if the perpetrators of the mess had hurriedly stored the items in here, or if they frantically tore through the manuscripts in search of...something. If the latter, was thisduringorafterthe alcove was chosen as a place to secure these works?

The World Government and its affiliates simply destroy information and language if deemed suspicious or a threat to the "balance" of the regime. There is no use having loose threads hanging about. So either the books themselves are innocent... or thepowers that behave yet to find this little alcove.

She finds herself doubtful of this prospect— if a seven-year-old girl can find it accidentally it would be pitiful if centuries worth of teachers and librarians could not.

Lami pauses her movements, realizing the convoluted spiral of her thoughts, and huffs a sigh. It's alsoentirelypossible that she is making a mountain out of an anthill. Maybe the bookcases are just lined with cookbooks.

Questions upon questions, with no obvious answers... as per usual.

.

.

.

Days turn into weeks before Lami issatisfiedwith the cleanliness of the alcove and ready to dive into the mysteries presented before her.

The globe and maps arecompletelyforeign to her, even with her mild knowledge of the geography of the North Blue. The earth of this world, at least to her knowledge, has no credible depiction of its seas and landmasses. Sailors rely entirely on experience, star charts, and hearsay. Smaller maps portraying chains of islands or islands themselves arefarmore common than large scale maps that illustrate the Blues individually or as a whole.

This fact tickles at her brain as she sits on the floor with her blankets, carefully spinning the globe.

She understands why the Belts have no maps. The calm belts, allegedly, are empty spaces. Paradise and the New World are cataclysmic places that don't adhere to the Blues knowledge of science— or, at the very least, don't follow the same rules that the Blues do. Cartography based in the Belts must be a profession that is exhilarating but tedious if the stories are true. Given the nature of the sea, their maps must be constantly changing and needing alterations to remain prevalent.

However, the Blues are much more… static.

Thousands of years andstillthere is no universal sea chart of the North Blue? She finds this awfully suspicious, regardless of howlargethe oceans are. Either maps are being withheld from the public or some powers are preventing the unadulterated study.

Probably both, she thinks as she places a finger on the globe to stop its movement. She's certain that both the World Government and those in nefarious professions find this lack of knowledge beneficial.

Lami inspects the spot chosen— an island of some sort, but the label is illegible to her.

She wonders and wonders andwonders.

.

.

.

Snow melts away and gives way to a late spring.

Though most of her nights are spent tucked away in the alcove transcribing whatever she can, Lami occasionally makes expeditions through the tunnels.

Old maps arefun... However, they are far less useful when she can't read them or understand them, so once the weather warms up she throws herself back into the familiar motions of her own map-making. Over the course of a few weeks, she finds a trap door leading into the hedge maze outside of the school, two more dead ends, and a crawl space that leads to the cellar of the groundskeeper's cabin in the woods behind the school.

The groundskeeper's cabin is a particularly interesting find since it means she has a secret route leading outside. The hedge maze is intriguing as well, but the concept of gettinglostin it certainly points favours to thefreedomthat the woods behind the school promise her.

The nights not consumed in the library are spent exploring the forests at the back of Briar North. There are times where she simply sits next to a large lake that encompasses a majour portion of the land, content to watch and listen to the animal life and signs of nature. Other times she sneaks around the edges of the forest, marveling over the large cliffs that stand over the thrashing waves to the east; watching the sea, admiring the moon and stars. Some nights she tries to find animals that don't reside in the lake and finds herself disappointed when she locates none.

.

.

.

Lami is copying down the contents of a manuscript into her notebook when the quiet hush of voices catch her attention. Despite the alcove concealing her, Lami freezes in place as paranoia pervades her mind.

Vague shuffling. The slide of a book drawn out of a shelf. More talking.

Silently standing up from the floor, she tiptoes towards the trapdoor.

Ear pressed to the slim crack between the shelves, she listens to the quiet voices on the other side. Their voices are faint and she is unable to discern what they are saying or who is on the other side.

She waits until the voices have trailed off and gone silent before returning to her work.

.

.

.

A high pitched whistle echoes across the sports field. The girls all move at once, starting their daily laps around the track. It doesn't take long for the group to separate between the ones who are actively trying and the ones who are simply coasting along.

Between the forests at night and the daily fitness class, Lami can feel the rigidness start to ease from her shoulders.

Monthscooped up in the school had not done her well; the daytime often spent fidgeting with anything within her reach, falling unconscious, and restlessly taking notes, retaking notes, and rearranging her notes to look better in efforts todosomething. Although the library remains a wonderful nighttime distraction where she can funnel her scholastic endeavors into, she has spent most of the past five months in bed or stuffed away in a dusty and cramped environment. Such places do not alleviate the electricity that courses through her veins, urging her todo something— to run, to jump, to play.

Lami pushes herself to run forward, faster and faster, effortlessly pushing ahead of the older girls. There's no thought process in this, justrun. It's freeing, in a way, to simply allow herself to mindlesslydoan activity.

Between her future and thecountlessquestions and mysteries she bombards herself with, Lami isconstantlythinking. Mulling. Brooding. There is no end to the pit of her thoughts, constantly pulling her deeper and deeper until she can no longer see what is straight in front of her. Justonceshe would like to see a mystery andnotget sent into an unending spiral of conspiracy theories and existential dread once the realization of the fruitlessness her actions will have on the grander scheme of the world.

Distractions only last so long; her thoughts are her constant companions.

But still, sheruns.

She runs and she runs, lapping over the other girls in her class once, twice, three times.

.

.

.

The school year comes to a gradual close.

Lami is packed and ready to godaysbefore her departure, practically living out her trunk during the final stretch. It's not a conscious choice, but one she finds herself slowly sliding into; her books are packed first, one by one, then her clothes, her pens— until she realizes that there is nothing left and has to shuffle through her trunk to gather her supplies every morning for the day ahead.

By the time Barlow arrives at St. Monroe's to pick up her passengers, Lami isachingto leave, togo. It doesn't matterwhere, as long as she is in motion. She's tired of this environment; tired of looking at the same walls, the same teachers, the same children. Tired of the bland subjects taught, tired of having tosneak aroundto gain anounceof mental stimulation, just so tired tiredtired—

The woman laughs when she sees Lami dart off when theNamelesscrew mates pick up her belongings, "What did I tell yeah? Prison."

Promptly ignoring her, Lami briskly walks the familiar path between the hedge maze and the gardens down to the docks.

.

.

.

TheNamelessis a familiar breath of fresh air.

Despite the jovial teasing, Lami melds right into the ship and it's small but rambunctious crew. Even Barlow, who eats with her mouth wide open and taunts her at least three times in a conversation, is a sight for sore eyes.

During the day she reads, she studies the various symbols that themystery language'salphabet consists of, she sits in a sunspot on the upper deck, she listens to Ashby's advice and stories. During the night she lurks in the dining room as the crew drinks and talks, she lays out on the deck and catalogs the stars with Lucky, she dreams and wakes up in a cold sweat.

Rinse and repeat for five days.

She hasn't felt this relaxed inmonths.

.

.

.

"I don't know how much longer I can do this," Lami confesses to Lucky one night, with only the stars to witness.

It's a difficult thing to say, to conjure forth into the world. Now that she has said it, there is no unsaying it. Thisfeeling, the restlessness that has taken place in her bones, is maderealby the knowledge thatsomeoneknows. That someone hasheard. It's terrifying, it's liberating, it's putting words to a feeling she has struggled with for months.

There's a comfort here, on this boat, with this man who she hardly knows. There's safety in this; Lucky is someone she may never see again, and it'll make no difference to her life. Sailors are easy to replace, even ones who have been as kind as him.

He's fluent in silence; speaks without words and offers an ear that lacks judgement.

"I feel like I've been holding my breath," She continues in a whisper, staring at the sky, "and now my lungs are starting to burn."

How much longer does she have tohold her breath? How much longer does she have tocontortherself to besmaller,quieter,demure? How many masks will she have to don before she's allowed the freedom of identity? She's wearing a self-inflicted suit that is three times too small and she wants tostretch, she wants toholler, wants the ability to have her ownagency. She wants to reach out to the world andholdonto something, drag her nails and dig her teeth. The world isbigand she isconfinedto apinprickon a map while the world spins and spins around her, inscrutable andambivalentto her very existence.

All in the name ofsurvival, she tells herself. If she has to tear herself apart and make herself a patchwork substitute of a human being, then so be it. This doesn't mean it'll be easy; that it'll befair.

"Let go." He says, voice startlingly loud against the soft sighing of wind and sloshing of waves, "Breathe."

She swallows thickly, as though something is lodged in her throat, "I don't think I can. Not yet." She inhales a stuttering breath, "Not yet."

Lucky gives a rumbling hum, "If you hold on for too long, one day you'll forget what you're holding onto. Forget to let go."

There is nothing she can say to that.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

warnings. / none, yet.

O8.

PICK YOUR POISON

expulsion (pt.1).

"So you don't know what the language is, either," Lami says from where she is sprawled out on Law's bed, staring at the ceiling. She's not surprised. When she handed over her notes chronicling the language she found in the secret alcove, she hadn't expected him to know any more than she does. But it feels... good, to have this out in the open. To talk about it for the first time in months.

The telltale sound of scribbling notifies her that Law is taking notes, "No. Mom might, though. She's more interested in this kind of thing."

Lami hums, not exactly sold on this suggestion. "If you haven't seen it, I doubt Mom or Dad would have. It's probably just some dead language."

"Maybe." A page flips. "Maybe not."

"Maybe not?" She asks, turning her head to look at him. Law's inspecting her notebook and writing in another.

"Unused tunnels that lead to locked rooms, empty hallways with no doors, conveniently connected to all of the buildings? Secret rooms that contain old artifacts? What even is thisglobething you have drawn here? I've never seen anything like it." Law shakes his head, idly twirling his pencil with thought, "The architecturecan'tbe random. You don't add hidden rooms and hallways for the sake of it, there has to be apurpose. Why tuck away a room's worth ofmystery languagestuff without there being areason?"

Sighing with absoluterelief, Lami melts into the mattress. She's not making this up, she's not unhinged with paranoia.

He agrees with her.He agrees with her.

"Are yousurethat no one else is using the tunnels?" Law asks, turning towards Lami with a clear frown on his face.

Opening her mouth to give a prompt refusal, she pauses.Doesshe know, for certain, that no one else is using them?

"No," She says, after a moment of thought, "I don't. I haven'tseenanyone in the tunnels, but I haven't been into all of them yet, and I don't go into them during the daytime."

The two of them sit in silence, mulling over their thoughts.

The prospect of individuals creeping around in the dark, just beyond her vision, is enough to make her shudder. What if therehavebeen people in the tunnels with her? Without her evenknowing?

"A globe is a spherical representation of the world," Lami adds, answering his previous question. She exhales slowly, "It's supposed to be like a map but in the presumed shape of the earth. But what's curious about it is that the landmasses, oceans, and such don't match up with my understanding of the world's geography. Most of the world's geography isn't evenrecorded."

"How strange…" Law murmurs, "It doesn't make any sense."

"I know, right?" Lami huffs, rolling onto her back and stretching out her arms. "I'm finding myself becoming more and more suspicious of the school."

"Why's that? Those who are in charge now weren't there when the school was first built. They wouldn't have been involved with this secret room of yours. Most likely, they aren't even aware of all the rooms and spaces hidden away in the infrastructure."

Pursing her lips, Lami idly listens to his reasoning. She can't refute his logic sayingI have a feelingwithout fumbling into a losing argument or him making fun of her. She can't go into the intricacies of the World Government, the atrocities they puppeteer, and the nobles that profit from them. What does Trafalgar Lami know of the World Government besides what is force-fed to everyone who lives in a country that resides in it's "protection"?

"I'm just wondering what sort of skeletons they have in their closet." She says instead.

Law gives a mild, skeptical, hum while he continues to take notes.

Lami huffs in response, wondering why healwayshas to assume the worst in her and readjusts herself on his bed. Head pressed into one of his pillows, Lami curls an arm to hug it to her face while trying to come up with a clever comeback to his silent doubting.

But when her hand reaches under his pillow, her hand brushes up against paper; a magazine of some sort.

"Ah,wait—" Law suddenly blurts out.

With morbid curiosity, Lami wonders if her brother is atthatage as she pulls it out.

She's not sure what she expects— okay, she knowsexactlywhat she expects— but a comic book with a gigantic robot on the cover isnotit.

"Hey! You can't just-" Law starts, and with a brief glance she notes that his face is cherry red, "It's-"

Smirking just a little, Lami rolls onto her back and flips open the cover to read through the first page. From the side, her brother makes a hilarious squawking noise and hurriedly pushes his chair back. Law jumps and tackles Lami on the bed, hands grabbing at her in an effort to get the comic out of her possession. Rolling onto her side and holding the book out of his reach, she quietly snickers at the dramatic pictures and massive explosions.

"It's just a dumb book one of my classmatesforcedme to take, okay?" Law barks, tone very unconvincing, as he pulls her hair to gain leverage, "Robots aresod-dumb."

"Hey!" Lami hisses, reaching a hand behind her to push him away. His hat falls off his head as she practically hits him in the face. For the next few moments, they scuffle, pulling at each other's hair and faces until they inevitably roll off the bed and continue wrestling on the floor. The comic plops onto the bed as they do so.

"Can't you just, for once, admit that you like somethingchildish?" Lami huffs as she kicks him in the stomach, "Why do you always try so hard to be the pinnacle of maturity when there is nothing wrong with liking comics!"

"Oh, like you're one to talk!" Law growls back, grabbing her by the foot and pulling her so her headsmacksagainst the ground, "Misses prefers the company of books to humans!"

"That's completely different!" She spits, feeling a bit dizzy as she pushes him, "I don't hide that fact! You look down on certain subjects and hobbies because you think you're better than them! But then behind closed doors... It's hypocritical!"

"Yeah, andyouthink you're better than other people—" He pushes her, "you never respect anyone's privacy and always think people aresuspicious. When, really, aren'tyouthe suspicious one going through other people's stuff? Is that supposed to be any better?"

"It's not better!" Lami snaps, tackling him to the ground, "But it'sdifferent!"

They continue to tussle, pushing and shoving at each other until they eventually grow too tired to continue. They silently cease-fire, huffing and puffing as they do so.

Rolling onto her back with her own volition, she grumbles, "Why are you mad at me? I don't get why you are mad at me."

Law, laying down beside her, gives an aggravated groan in response, "Words just go through one ear and out the other, don't they?"

"Hm? What was that?" Lami says, mildly teasing despite how worn out she feels. "Sorry, I wasn't listening."

"You're not funny." Law grouses, "You are the opposite of funny."

"Haha." She laughs with a flat tone, "It's okay. I understand that you have the inherent desire to hide your feelings of enjoyment in anything that doesn't fit into your slim criteria of what isacceptableto a rising M.D like yourself."

Law elbows her in the ribs with a huff.

Scowling and rubbing at her side, Lami squints at the ceiling in contemplation. She waits a few moments before hesitantly saying, "... You know you don't have to hide these sorts of things, right? Not from me, at least. I won't judge you for liking comics."

"Yes, yes youwill." Law sighs, rubbing at his face. "Youalwaysjudge other people."

Unable to say that he iswrong, per se, she rolls over onto her side to look at him, "I wouldn't with you. It's different. I just don't understand why you are... hiding your interests like it is something to be ashamed of. Tucked underneath your pillow."

"It'sembarrassing. It'sdumb." He says withobviousconflict in his tone, face red. "I'm not, I'm notlikeyou Lami."

Frowning, she lifts herself with one hand so she can get a better look at him, "What do you mean?"

"I mean-" Law sits up, looking rather frustrated, "you don'tcarewhat other people think about you. At all! You read your weird books no matter where you are! You do things without any consideration! When people make fun of you... You just...Ignoreit."

"You're not like this?" Lami asks, brows furrowing. She always thought that they are the same. "What's the point of worrying about other people when I have plenty to worry about myself?"

He shrugs, hands running through his hair with agitation.

"Has someone been making fun of you?" She asks, suddenly, leaning towards him, "Ifanyonemakes fun of your interests in robots or anything else I will punch them."

"No! No one has!" Law sighs, head in hand.

"I will punch them." She repeats,staringat him. Willing him to divulge his information to her.

"How do you makemelook normal." He mutters quietly to himself.

"Do people tell you that you're not normal?"

Law merely sighs once more.

.

.

.

"What are you doing," Law says flatly from his desk when she enters his room the next night.

Not responding, Lami opens up his wardrobe and pulls out the robot comic he has hidden.

"Hey!" He barks, "How'd you know it was there?"

"You are terrible at hiding things," Lami says, closing the wooden drawers and hopping onto his bed, backing up so she can sit with her back against the wall. She doesn't tell him that she heard their parents giggling about it earlier that day, "Read it to me."

"What? Youreallydon't listen to anything other people have to say, do you?"

"If you wereactuallyupset with me I would," Lami then holds out the comic book, "Read it to me."

Law stares at her blankly, "It's a comic book."

"And?"

"It's mostlypictures."

"And? I want you to read it to me." Lami grins, hoping to look encouraging. "Please."

Gears shift in his head, obviously trying to figure out the meaning of this gesture. After a moment he seems to give up and heaves a sigh. Sliding off of his chair, he makes his way to sit beside her on the bed, "Okay. Fine. Give it to me."

Handing it over, she then takes a pillow in hand and hugs it to her chest.

"Boom. Pow. Psh." He says, voice comically flat. "The year was 2784…"

.

.

.

Mind hazy with sleep, Lami sluggishly eases out of a dream.

Groaning quietly at night sky peeking through her window, she presses her face into one of her pillows. Lami stays like this for a long moment, wondering why she is awake. Thoughts languidly attempt to grab hold of her previous dream, trying to recall what it had been about. Dancing; fog; the gentle brush of a thumb against her cheek— Though she tries, a thought on the tip of her tongue yetjustout of reach, the dream dissolves.

Releasing a breath she hadn't even known she'd been holding, Lami rolls onto her back. Her eyes refuse to open all the way, fluttering every few seconds as her head nods back. She dozes, mind fogging over, until her bodyjerkswith the sensation offalling.

Staring at the ceiling, suddenly wide awake, Lami curses and throws her pillow at the wall. Refusing to give up, she curls onto her side and attempts to force herself back to sleep. She lays there, squeezing her eyes shut. She waits and she waits.

Sleep eludes her.

Lami gives up when her legs and waist start to feel uncomfortably stiff, flip-flopping on her bed, unable to focus on anything else. Throwing off her blankets, she grumbles with annoyance as she stomps around her room. Thrusting her hands into her clean-clothes hamper she drags out a sweater and two mismatched socks, sitting down onto the ground to put them on with a sleepy scowl. When finished, Lami stares at the floor while idly playing with her toes, head dipping forward, feeling too heavy for the rest of her body.

Lethargically standing up with a large yawn, she leaves her room and slowly heads downstairs with her hands clinging onto the railings. She wants to grab a cup of water, or milk, or juice. Maybe all of the above. She hasn't decided yet.

The sight of her father sleeping on the couch gives her pause.

Rubbing at an eye, she creeps forward with a frown. He's not wearing his work uniform, so it's not as though he got home and passed out on the couch like he is prone to do. His frog pajamas suggest he dressed and made the conscious choice to sleep on the couch but— that's dumb, why would he do that?

The floorboards underneath her creaks as she takes another step forward, startling her father from his sleep. He grunts, reaching backward and patting his hands around the side table in a blind search for his glasses.

He won't find them, Lami thinks, since they are on the floor.

Waddling forward, she kneels and reaches for his glasses from under the coffee table. Shuffling around, Lami hands them to him without a word.

"How'd they get under there?" He asks with a subdued laugh, slowly turning onto his side to properly face her. "I swear, sometimes they just get up and walk away!"

Lami's mouth twitches, but it's mainly because of his awful bedhead; the left side of his hair is sticking up rather conspicuously. She nestles her legs underneath the couch, folds her arms on the cushions, and rests her head there.

Her father sighs, threading his fingers through her hair as he quietly murmurs, "What are you doing awake?"

"Can't get back to sleep." She mumbles, eyes closing at his nails idly scratch at her scalp. He's not as soft as when her mother does it, Lami can't help but compare, but it's not a bad thing.

Silence draws on until his head dips to the couch, gently snoring. Lami looks up when his ministrations stop, quietly annoyed as she pulls a face. She takes his hand and puts it back on her head, mimicking the actions of patting.

"Alright, alright." He whispers with fondness, obviously half asleep as he huffs with laughter. He resumes playing with her hair.

Lami hums, eyes closing once more, "Why are you on the couch?"

"Mm? Oh." There's a lengthy pause, and she thinks he must have fallen asleep again until she looks up and sees that he is staring at the ceiling. "Hm."

Contemplating, but too tired to put any real effort into carefully deciphering his behaviour, she tentatively asks, "Did you and Mom get into a fight?"

What an odd thought, Lami thinks. She has never seen her parents in a bad mood, let aloneangryat each other.

"No, no, nothing like that." He says, trying to placate her.

Frowning deeply, she wonders if he is lying. "Then what is it?"

"Sometimes…" He trails off for a moment, "Sometimes people need space, you know? Need to be alone."

Lami understands this, so she doesn't push the subject. Instead, she asks, "You? Or Mom?"

"Mom." But her father is smiling warmly, so she doesn't think he is upset about this. "It's nothing to worry about, I promise."

Worryingis something Lami is extremely prone to do, so she does not comment. She assumes, however, that her mother had a bad day at work. It's notuncommon, but Lami has never seen her parents outwardly react to such days. Mulling this over, she stands up from her spot and crawls underneath the blanket he is using. Clambering over his body, she nestles herself between him and the back of the couch. Turning herself around, she presses her face against his ribs, content to feel the thrum of his heart against her cheek.

At his silence, she asks quietly, "Is this okay?"

"Yeah." Her father says, sounding choked up as he curls his fingers into her hair. "Yeah. Of course this is okay, sweetheart."

She doesn't stand a chance after this; the rhythm of his breathing lulling her back to sleep.

.

.

.

All chemicals have the potential to be toxic, but the dose governs the toxicity. This is the basic tenet of toxicology. For example, humans require water for survival. However, drinking too much water in a short period of time is actually quite dangerous. In a state of overhydration, an affected individual can suffer from mental status changes, vomiting, nausea, seizures, and, in extreme cases, death. If a poison is considered as a compound that causes harm, then in this case water is a poison.

There are many substances that are much more toxic than water, for which exposure to a minute amount of substance is harmful. The parameter used to compar—

"You two, again?" A voice interrupts, ripping Lami from her chapter onToxicity( Intro to Chemistry 1011).

A librarian looms over them, a distraught look on her face as her eyes dart between the book towers Law has created in the middle of the aisle. Again.

Law snaps a look towards Lami. Wordlessly, she understands the warning in his expression. This librarian is not a pushover or to be messed with. She watches as his fingers press against the floor and count from one—

two—

"Why- I havenever- you children arecertainlya piece of work—"

three.

Lami and Law jump up at the same time, sprinting in opposite directions. The Librarian gasps and sputters behind her, but she pushes forward and zigzags her way through the bookcases of the Flevance library. Pushing into the staircase, Lami jumps down the steps three at a time. She doesn't hear theclickingof heels, so she guesses that the Librarian went after Law.

There's probably a story there, she thinks with a quiet laugh.

.

.

.

One mid-afternoon, the sun high in the sky, Lami finds herself in a lecture hall surrounded by twenty-something-year-olds.

Her father stands on the stage below with a cadaver prostrating on a surgical table for all in the room to see. A group of medical students wearing scrubs surround him and the elderly man's body, nodding intently as her father enthusiastically talks about the brain he has in hand. Apparently, the students are to figure out the cause of death, but only a few of his students are actually paying attention to the body. Most are sending doe eyes at the Best Doctor in Flevence. Trailing him around. Taking furious notes. Distracting him with questions.

She can't hear what the students are saying, but she can hear her father's replies due to the microphone he is wearing. If she had to guess, from the way he is laughing and rubbing at the back of his head, she'd say that they are trying to sweet-talk and flatter him.

Lami sinks in her seat, arms crossing over her chest as she kicks her feet against the desk's leg.

"This isawesome," Law says in the seat to her left, leaning over his notebook to the point where she wonders how he even has space towrite. "We've only usedsheepbrains, frogs, and cow eyeballs in class—ugh,it's notfair."

"Yeah. Totally awesome." Lami mutters flatly, lips pursing together, "They're going to run out of time at this rate. They keep asking Dad questions."

"Right? He never shuts up. They'renevergoing to get around to cranial nerves." He's practically vibrating in his chair, "If it were me I'd have already figured out the CoD, shut Dad up, identified the nerves,andlabelled them by type."

"Yeah yeah, we get it. You're a budding serial killer."

Law throws his eraser at her and squints his eyes at her suspiciously, "Why are you sogrouchy?"

Lami huffs and rolls her head back against the chair, feeling petulant but glad he asked, "Igetthat Dad is excited to be a guest teacher for the first time, but I don't get whywehave to be here too. Neither of us arevicariouslearners, so what's the point?"

"I can't tell if you're being serious or just whining." He says flatly.

"Mostly the latter." She sighs, sinking deeper into her seat. He'sproudandhappyand wants to share his accomplishments with his kids, wants to makethisanexperiencefor the family.

Lami stares at the dozen or so students below and feels herself frown.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Could youstop—" Law huffs, swatting at her shoulder, "I'mtryingto listen."

"He's not even talking about cranial nerves anymore— hell, he's not even talking about thebrainanymore."

"Hey!" Law hisses, looking around frantically as he presses a hand to her mouth, "No swearing!"

Lami's brain freezes and then kick starts with a vengeance. Ripping his hand from her face she growls back, "Are youserious? You swearallthe time!"

"No! I don't!" Law whispers back, "Plus, I'molder."

"Yeah, by like, ayear—"

"Plus, Mom wouldkillme if she found out you were swearing!" He shudders with a grimace.

"Good! Then we can put you on a slab so I can study gross anatomy!"

"You're arealpiece of work, you know that?"

"Fuck. Shit. Bitch."

Law practically tackles Lami to cover her mouth, the scraping of the chair legs on the floor startlinglyloud. Students sitting nearbyshushthem with dirty looks attached, and Law's face contorts into a scowl.

The siblings hesitantly glance towards their father and relax in tandem when they see he is too busy talking to notice their mischief.

Lami glimpses at Law's sour expression and can't keep herself from quietly laughing, hands covering her mouth in a poor attempt to muffle the sounds. Her brother stubbornly frowns for all of ten seconds before he is huffing and giggling along with her, forehead briefly pressing against her shoulder.

.

.

.

There's a knock on her door, one night, and Law slips into the room before she can answer. He's wearing his pajamas, and his signature hat is nowhere in sight.

Lami stares up at him from where she is sitting on the floor, a 1000 piece puzzle depicting a mountainside spread out in front of her with a lamp at her side.

"I thought you'd be done that by now." He says conversationally as he closes the door behind him.

Taking note of this with a side-eye, Lami returns to the puzzle she's whittled for the past hour. She likes the scenic shot the picture makes; a snowy mountain with a star-lit sky, "I'm taking my time. I'm trying to go from the inside out."

"You should at least turn the light on," Law mutters as he sits next to her, "the low lighting will tire your eyes."

"I like the ambiance." Is all she says in response.

They sit in silence for a lengthy period of time as Lami picks her way through the puzzle, Law wordlessly handing her pieces that she's looking for. It's quiet. It's comfortable. She relaxes into the tranquil moment, then idly wonders why the joints in her shoulders felt tense in the first place. There'scatharsisin the act of putting something together after taking it apart, the quiet thrum of satisfaction as the puzzle starts to fill out.

The press of his arm against hers is the only warning she gets before his head rests on her shoulder. He sighs, deep and unbidden. Lami merely blinks in response, staring at the puzzle in thought as she fiddles with a deep blue sky piece. She holds it out to him, and he gingerly tosses it onto the floor.

"You've been acting strange." He murmurs, "Are you... Okay?"

With only a few words, breath is ripped from her lungs. She continues to stare silently at the ground, unseeing, trying to recall the motions necessary to breathe. Reaching out to grab a puzzle piece, to findsomethingto fiddle with, to distract herself with, to placate the suddenitchthat has found its way under her skin—

Law takes her by the wrist and twines their fingers together.

"I won't make you talk. I won't push you. If you'd rather bicker and wrestle as an.. outlet.. That's okay. I'm okay with that." He pauses, tracing the freckles on her hand in a triangular motion. "But I just want to let you know that I'm here. For you. If you want to talk. Yeah?"

"Have you been reading my books?" She laughs mildly, fingers tightening around his, trying to ignore the way her eyes are burning, roughly swallowing around a lump in her throat.My booksbeing the social sciences that Law had so viciously fought against years prior,pseudoscience, in his opinion.

"Maybe." Is his short, somewhat petulant reply.

Lami laughs again, a little wheezy, mind twisting and turning over itself. What does she say? What should she say? Whatcanshe say?

"I missed you." She blurts out, voice rough even to her ears, "I missed- Mom, Dad, you- I..."

She goes quiet. She's going to miss them.

"I missed you too." He whispers when it becomes clear she has no intention of continuing.

.

.

.

Broom in hand, Lami shuffles through the contents of her bag to make sure she has procured all of the necessary supplies. She chances a glance around, rushing to the doorway when she sees no one.

"Did you get them?" Law calls out from the next room.

Shushing him quietly, she ducks unto the living room.

It is a mess.Nothingcan be seen properly. Blankets and sheets drape down from any high available surface, books and nicknacks holding the material in place; tall towers of books scatter the room with cloth wedged been; the cushions of the couches positioned like a stone archway to grant access to those who dare enter. A soft glow can be seen from inside the fortress, along with the quiet shift of a page-turning.

Lami wedges herself between the fort and a cabinet, dropping to her knees and crawling through the pillow doorway.

When he sees her, Law makes grabbing motions. Grinning, she hands him the broom instead.

Her brother scowls as he gets to work propping up a collapsed part of the ceiling.

The space in the fort is dim due to the way they have layered the roof-blankets. Once she has dropped the sheet-door, the only light available is from the flashlight Law has in hand. Dragging herself through the plethora of pillows and blankets that cover the floor, Lami flops into place beside Law.

"If Mum finds out we have these…" Lami trails off, wincing as she dumps the contents of her bag. It's mostly candy.

"We'll blame Dad," Law whispers back, shuffling through their prize to find his preferred sweets, "he's always sneaking stuff from the secret stash."

"I don't think it's a secret stash if everyone knows about it."

Law shrugs, tearing apart a wrapper, "Even more reason for us to take it. Notourfault they are terrible at hiding the sweets."

"I don't want to hear that fromyou." Lami huffs, shoving chocolate in her mouth as she drops to the ground, "Now continue where you left off, we were just at the good part."

"I don't want to get the pages dirty!"

"Well, then, wipe your hands!"

.

.

.

The next morning Lami grumbles awake with a weight on her side. Rubbing at her eyes, she squints and notices Law's tufts of hair peeking at the edge of her vision. He's drooling on her shoulder. Contemplating pushing him off, because drool isgross, she ends up simply patting his head with hazy fondness.

The fact he has stolen her blanket, however, is a transgression she cannot forgive.

Pulling her blanket free from his clutches, Lami curls herself into it. She tries to retrieve Law's blanket from his other side, but her brother is bodily preventing her from doing so.

Grumbling, Law pulls on her blanket.

"Fuck off," Lami mutters, kicking at his feet as she tugs back.

There's a soft chuckle from outside the blanket fort. Lami freezes in place. The followingclickof high heels alerts her of her mother's presence, though shuffling and subsequent creaking floorboards imply she is heading upstairs. Relaxing, Lami heaves a sigh of relief. Maybe her mother won't berate her for her language, then.

"Hey-" Law sleepily grouses when she aggressively ruffles at his hair for being theobviousreason for her slip up.

"Stop stealing my blanket."

Laws only response is to roll on top of her, one arm draping across her neck while his leg uncomfortably weighs down her own. His boney knee is stabbing into her thigh. She pushes at him, but he merely snores.

Lami herself has almost drifted back to sleep when a soft "Knock knock." whispers from the other side of the blanket-door, the sheet pulling to the side as her mother peeks in, "Is there enough room for one more?"

"Mhm." She mumbles, pushing away from Law and rolling to the side so her mother can fit into the limited space. Sitting up, she begins cleaning up the comic and science books that litter the ground.

Her brother makes another noise of complaint but subsides when their mother tucks him in with a spare blanket. She's wearing pajamas, now, her makeup washed off. Tired eyes affectionately gaze down at Law, a faint smile lighting up her features as her mother gently brushes at his bangs. After a moment she lays down, pulling Law to her side.

Lami rubs her eyes and yawns, watching as Law curls into their mother. It's cute.

"Long day at work?" Lami sleepily asks as she does the same, head resting on her mother's chest while her fingers twine with the fabric of her shirt.

"Mm, very long." Her mother sighs, arm wrapping around Lami's back and soothingly rubbing up and down her spine.

Lami hums, melting, and says, "Missed you."

"I missed you too." Even without looking, Lami can hear the tender smile in her tone.

.

.

.

The kitchen smells like burnt butter, the sizzling of vegetables nearly distracting Lami from her work.

The dining room table has an assortment of tools, bolts, and metal sheets splayed out on its surface within an arm's reach of her. A Den Den Mushi lazily watches as she dissembles the dialing mechanism that had once accessorized it's back. She places another screw on the table, next to the similar looking metal pins, and gently peels off the rotary dial. Examining the bolts and cogs at the back, she spins the dial and observes as the various parts spin. The recoil spring thenwhirrs andresets.

It's interesting how the mechanism itself has no power source; in her past world, all telecommunicator technology needed some sort ofplugor battery. But Den Den Mushi arelivingbeings with telepathic capabilities, the only power sourcetheyneed isfoodandwater. However, it makes her wonder how the dial function of the accessory enables Den Den Mushi to connect with others.

Mulling over her thoughts, she idly wishes she knew more about this world's technology and how it works.

"Having fun?" Her father asks from the kitchen, audibly chopping more vegetables.

"Mm." Lami hums, delicately placing the dial back into the metal casing. She pokes at the wires and coils hooked up to various metal contraptions, eyes trailing the red wires to the metal junction that connects the Den Den Mushi to the dial. The other wires lead to a bulb and gauge at the bottom of the accessory. Do Den Den Mushi themselves power these, or has she simply not found the battery pack yet?

"I wish we knew more about Den Den Mushi," Lami says after a moment of contemplation, pushing the dial away so she can fold her arms on the table. Resting her chin on her wrists, she stares at the snail. It blankly stares back at her, and the two commence a staring contest.

"There is a lot in the world we do not understand!" Her father starts cheerfully, though she tunes out his monologue to focus on the specimen in front of her.

Den Den Mushi are not considered sapient beings, but Lami wonders the validity of this assumption. The way they canmimicother species, from their voice to their facial expressions, isuncanny. Are they capable of telepathically speaking to other species, or is there somethingparticularabout the way they pick up electric signals? Allegedly, there is little training needed to utilize them after hooking up various mechanical devices— does that imply a natural intelligence or are they simply biologically lucky?

Mentallywillingthe Den Den Mushi to give up its secrets, she stares and stares andstares.

Lami loses after two minutes, eyes watery and burning.

"—now, we're lucky here in Flevance. Most are wealthy enough to have a Den Den Mushi of their own, albeit small and short in telepathic range, but even that is not universal! Most islands only have a handful of them hanging around; they can be expensive to upkeep, between their diets and maintaining the machinery, not to mention most homes don'tneedcommunication devices when most islands are easy enough to maneuver around. Your mother and I are frequently on-call for the hospital, so of course, there's an urgency for us to have one on hand."

Lami idly wonders if maybe she shouldn't have picked theirs apart, then.

"But theneedfor further examination is not prominent enough for people to take notice. Den Den Mushi work fine as they are and, as far as we are aware, they are content to be utilized as a tool. Innovation is, at heart, inspired by strife and shared goals. The World Government, as such, have more important studies to look into. No need to fix, or examine, something that isn't broken, hm?"

"... I guess." She murmurs, understanding what he is saying but nothappywith it. She extends a hand towards the snail and watches with a quiet smile as it crawls over and brushes against her fingers.

It's convenient, Lami thinks, that the people of Flevance are only given allowance for short-ranged Den Den Mushi. Is it a larger conspiracy, the World Government restricting access to long-range snails in anticipation for future events, or is her father's innocent outlook all there is to it?

Gaze falling to the table, Lami heaves a quiet sigh.

( the thoughts never go away, do they? )

The Den Den Mushi moves away from her hand and crawls to brush against her face. Lami huffs quietly, awkwardly patting at its shell. They aren't cats or dogs, so she's not exactly sure what thepettingetiquette is... Or if they even like affection of this manner. The snail doesn't move away, so she supposes that it's not opposed to the action.

"Not too much longer!" Her father speaks up, though she doesn't look around to see what he is doing.

Her thumb lightly brushes the side of the snail's shell, deep in thought. A question on mind, but hesitant to speak it out into the world; to string a line of words together and watch the consequences they'll bring about.

Mostly, Lami doesn't want false hope. It's a festering disease, one she thought she got rid of years ago. Her plan for survival is simple. It's easy. All she has to do isnothing. Follow Law. Let the universe do as it's told; slip through the cracks andclingto her life, to herdetermination, so hard that not even death itself can unfurl her grip.

Lami runs the pad of her thumb over the grooves of the shell, her voice coming out quieter than intended when she asks, "What… are your thoughts about… potentially.. moving someplace else..?"

"Oh? Well, we can't do that." He hums, clearly not putting much thought into the question, "Your mother and I have our responsibilities with the hospital."

"Right." Lami softly says, voice somewhat meek and rough around the corners.

"Don't let your mother know that I told you this, but our presence is mandatory for the continued operations of our clinics. With old age, relocations, and budget cuts limiting our personnel, I fear that Flevance wouldn't run if we weren't around. Even most of our medical students are from outside kingdoms looking to learn about our science and technologies." Her father rambles, jostling his stir fry rather aggressively, "Normally this would not be an issue! Knowledge is meant to be shared! However with our current staff and university prospects… We might have to look into hiring doctors from outside of Flevance. Which isn't ideal, as we'd prefer to have practitioners who are up to date on our technologies."

This is a topic he feels strongly about. Evidently, he wants to revitalize the hospital. Bring it to its former glory. Help the people of Flevance to the best of his (admittedly capable) abilities.

( it's too bad his dreams are all in vain, huh? )

Lami stares blankly at a bolt, mind miles away.

"I guess we'll have to wait until Law and you grow up, huh?" He laughs, "Though I, by no means, intend on pushing you to be a doctor."

"Law will make a great doctor." She offers, distracted.

"Hecertainlyhas the makings of one! He could honestly get his medical degree by his early teens, though he'd find it difficult to get a job— even at our hospital! Youth isn't a trait most patients feel comforted by, after all. But perhaps he could find a place with the Sisters at the church until he's old enough… However, your mother thinks we should withhold him from graduating until he's atleastfourteen..."

"Feels like I haven't seen Mum in weeks…" Lami mutters, mouth twitching as the Den Den Mushi presses against her cheek. She's only seen her mother in short glimpses during the morning and ridiculously late at night.

"She's... Just busy." Her father says leaning his hip against the oven, though there is a little concern in his tone, "The Minister of Medicine and a few board members at the hospital are sending her throughhoopsover some research she and her residency students have been studying over the past few months. Red tape is difficult to hurdle, so it's been stressful for her."

Lami wonders what the research is about. If it's regarding the (whitewhitewhite) disease she's thinking of.

"Okay— I just need bowls, put the rice in the bowls, and supper will be finished.." He says, off-topic and mostly to himself, opening up a cupboard. "Don't worry about putting the dial back together, we can just eat on the floor!"

.

.

.

Waking up one night, she finds her father once again snoring on the couch.

Careful not to wake him, she creeps forward and tucks his drooping blanket back into place. He shifts, mumbling quietly under his breath and throwing one arm behind him. His hand hits the lamp, but he doesn't wake up.

Hesitating for a moment, Lami shuffles in her spot while tugging at the sleeves of her sweater. Bold, brazen, fearless — traits sheneedsto be. Inspired by this, she crawls underneath his blanket and forcibly makes room between him and the back of the couch. He grumbles and rolls over a little. Resting her head on his chest, Lami shakily breathes and closes her eyes.

For a long, long time, she silently listens to the beating of his heart.

.

.

.

The sky is as grey and disparaging as her mood, on the day Lami leaves for St. Monroe's.

Both of her parents are absent during her trek to the seaside. Emergency hospital business, unfortunately. A part of her wants to be bitter. But most of her is toomiserableto even conjure forth the feeling. There's a timer, an expiry date, the ticking of a clock in her mind that is constantly reminding her that she doesn'thavemuch longer. Lami wants to soak up all the love and affection shecanbefore it's too late. She's selfish, wants to push the rest of the world away fromthem—

Is it going to be this year?

Is it going to be next year?

( is she never going to see them again? )

One of the nuns from the local church breathes out a careful laugh when the cart they are sitting in goes over a bump. Lami doesn't think the woman has ever left Flevance, not with her wide-eyed stare at the world around them. It doesn't help that Flevance is land-locked between countries with more power, but this isn't going to be an issue for their kingdom until…

On her other side, Law grabs her hand. He looks just as pensive and deflated as she does, scraping the nail of his thumb over her knuckles. Squeezing her fingers around his, she plops her head on his shoulder and stares blankly at the countryside.

"Aw!" The nun gushes, "Don't worry, kids, you'll be back at each other's side in no time! You can rest assured that the Lord is always watching, will always guide you home."

( somehow, this sounds like a threat )

Law scoffs, quiet enough for only Lami to hear, "See what I have to regularly deal with?"

Her mouth twitches, "You're going to enact the wrath of God."

"I'd certainly like to see him try!" Law laughs.

.

.

.

When it's time to say goodbye, Lami and Law hold onto each other for a long, long time.

He doesn't ask her to stay. Neither of them cry. But his expression alone tells her more than a thousand words ever could.

"I'll be back," Lami says, not knowing if this is apromiseor alie. Where is the line that separates the two? Is there even a difference?

"I hate waiting." Law grumbles into her shoulder.

( shewholeheartedlyagrees )

.

.

.

"Well,someone, is in a mood." Barlow loudly proclaims that night at dinner before chewing on her chicken leg. It's unsettling to watch. "I don't think I've heard two words come out of our princess's mouth!"

"Something must be wrong." Geoff gruffly agrees, spooning soup into his waiting maul.

"Aw, come on guys…" Ashby says, sending Lami a meek smile, "Leaving home can be hard!"

"She never had that problem before." Barlow barks, one leg propping up onto the bench she's sitting on.

Lami is pretty sure this woman does everything in her power to negate anything that St. Monroe's attempted to teach her, including how to sit properly. Whatever appetite she previously had is effectively lost upon seeing flecks of meat and spittle project out of Barlow's blue-stained mouth.

Scowling quietly, Lami uses her spoon to push at the mystery meat in her soup. She doesn't really want to talk. She doesn't really want to doanything. She just wants to lay down and wake up when everything is done andoverwith.

At the end of the day, she is stillselfish.

She wouldstillrather ship herself away to safety, while the rest of her peopleperish; by fire, by war, by disease. Lami doesn't feel bad about it, per se, but that in itself is a cause for concern. She wants to take her family and drag them far, far away from the festering mines of Flevance. Keep them all to herself, safe for the time being.

But it won't happen. She has known this for years. Her parents are not the type of people who will back down from theirduty,to run away from their home.

( would they be disappointed if they knew the type of person she is? )

Lucky slides onto the bench next to her, "Still holding your breath?"

With a stuttering inhale she says, "For a little while longer…"

A warm hand gently presses on her shoulder blades. Though she stiffens in place, thecomfortthe touch brings is oddly indescribable.

.

.

.

Lami doesn't oftensneakaround theNameless. There is rarely ever a need to, not when she can speak with Ashby or Lucky, not when she can layout in the sun and read. Plus, the ship is too small to successfully stealth around.

And yet, here she is, snooping around Barlow's office.

She's bored which, more often than not, is the reason for her… nefarious behaviour, as Law might claim. It's notLami'sfault that it has rained for the entire 4 days she has been onboard the ship. She didn't bring enough books to sustain her trip, and she'stiredof looking at anatomy diagrams.

Lami steps up onto a chair and leans over the desk. A large map is splayed out with various pins sticking into it. Tracing the lines of various islands, she notes that this isn't a complete map of the North Blue. Thumbing at a pin that rests on the coast of Lami's island, she eyes the four countries that surround Flevance. The map doesn't specify anything other than the lines separating the nations and the docks on the east coast of the island.

The pins must be placeholders for where theNamelesswill dock and pick up kids, she thinks to herself as she sits down and folds her arms on the table.

Kicking her legs, she fiddles with a few of the pins. The office is barren, unlike Barlow's personal chambers. The only adornishments in this room are the captain's absurd hats that rest on shelves attached to the walls and weird abstract paintings. She pulls at the various drawers on the desk and finds them all full with unimpressive stationery. Lami scowls, the drawers are an absolutemess! How does Barlow findanything?

For the next fifteen minutes, Lami simply rearranges and tidies the desk. She doesn't find any secret compartments or scandalous letters, which is boring. Huffing with disappointment, she closes the drawers and leans back against the headrest.

Maybe she could convince Barlow to show off her make-up, and how to properly utilize it. Lami isn't particularly interested in the beauty industry, but she's certain that Barlow could rant on and on. At least Lami would have something todo.

Hearing voices from the other side of the door, Lami slides off the chair and ducks underneath a liquor table, squeezing herself against the wall. She doesn't think that Barlow would be especiallyupsetabout Lami's presence here… But it's fun to hide and pretend like there are high stakes at hand. Practice for the future.

Barlow stomps into the room, growling with disgust as she waves her arms around. This causes water to fling off of herdrenchedsleeves.

"Careful there," Lucky says as he follows at a more sedated pace, "We've only got one map."

"And I've only gotoneVan Hollan shirt!" Barlow retorts, face pinching together. Her makeup, however, looks fine. She drops onto the chair that Lami previously sat in, throwing her hat to the side of the room.

"I'd reckon that a map is more important than one of your thousand shirts, Akane."

"Tell that to my wallet!"

"Aye, I'm sure your wallet would say a map like this here map is awee bitmore expensive."

Barlow waves him off, "Alright, alright, enough with the snark. Let me bemiserablein this horrendous weather."

Lucky sits down in the chair across from her. His eyes meet with Lami's, her heart stuttering, and he offers her a quiet wink before looking back to his captain, "It's not snow or stormy, we've faced much worse."

Clicking her tongue, she sheds her coat and lets it drop to the floor, "Weather like this is more of aninconveniencethan a challenge."

"Only five more years," Lucky reminds her, "then we can continue where we left off."

"If they keep their word," Barlow spits, crossing her arms and slouching in her seat. There's a long moment of silence as Lucky patiently waits. Slamming a fist onto the arm of the chair, she hisses, "FuckMadeline. May she one day find herself in the Sea Mistress'slocker."

"You don't mean that," Lucky admonishes, leaning forward onto the table, "You'd've been locked up or six feet under if it weren't for her. We'vetalkedabout this."

"Almost preferable thanthis." Barlow snarks, "Nepotism at its best."

"Shouldn't complain when it's in your favour." Lucky hums, then gestures toward the map, "We have the full list for the trip back?"

Lami can't see Barlow's expression, but she is quiet of a moment before she sighs. Sitting up properly in her seat, Barlow points out various points on the map, "Raven's Roost, Port Lock, North Shore, Peddlers Cove, Haven, and Lvneel. Subject to change, of course."

Wincing as her legs start to feel stiff, Lami curls up into a ball and rest her head on the ground. She tries her best to listen in on their conversation, but as Lucky and Barlow continue to speak, debating the best places to dock on the trip back, their voices slowly lull Lami into a bored slumber.

.

.

.

"I'm not talking about it." Lucky tells her that night, unprompted.

The rain stopping prompted Lami to creep onto the deck to stargaze. Clouds cover most of the sky, hiding the stars from view, but it doesn't prevent Lucky from telling her various stories and myths connected to them.

"Talking about what?" Lami asks though she thinks she already knows the answer.

"Barlow." Is his simple reply, scratching at his short beard.

"Boo." She hums. Information never comes easily, does it?

.

.

.

Arriving at St. Monroe's happens the same way it always does.

Heaving a sigh at the large lineup in the main foyer, Lami side-eyes her fellow peers as Barlow walks off in a huff. She'll probably return with wine and a bizarre choice of food, get into a fight with one of the secretaries, and then march away when anyone brings up the President.

It's all becoming much too predictable, Lami thinks as she stares up at the ceiling. A lovely mural is painted above them, featuring various important historical figures to the North Blue. She doesn't think it'saccurate, most historical figures tend to be terrible people, but the workmanship is beautiful.

"Lami!" A voice chirps nearby, almost soft.

Sending a disinterested stare their way, Lami suppresses a sigh when she sees one of her classmates. All the kids sort of look similar to her, but this one's chin-length curly blond hair is enough to separate her from a crowd of brunettes. A quiet kid, rarely says anything in class. She's also one of Lami's room neighbours, not that Lami spends a lot of time in her own room in the first place.

"Did you have a fun break?" The girl asks with a faint smile as she approaches. Lami is pretty sure she is of some sort of royalty, but honestly she can't remember. Daughter of a mayor? Not of the same pedigree, but still influential to some degree. Rey? Rin? Something to that effect.

"Yeah." Lami shrugs, a war raging in her heart, "Yours?"

Rin softly giggles, hiding her mouth behind a hand, "It was nice. I'm happy to be back, though."

"Oh?" She hums, not really caring enough to askwhybut there's still at least 30 girls in the line-up ahead of her and it would make the wait much easier if she just asks, "Why's that?"

"Friends, of course!" Rey (or Rin) laughs again.

There's no warning when she reaches forward and wraps Lami into a hug.Immediatelyuncomfortable, Lami's shoulders scrunch up to her ears as she goes completely rigid. She awkwardly stares around, idly noticing how the other girl is half a head shorter than her, and wonders if she's supposed to reciprocate or not. Lami would rather not reciprocate. The hug is short-lasting, but Lami still inches away from the other when she is released. Rin (or Rey) shyly smiles up at her, making Lami feel evenmoreuncomfortable.

Does Rey (or Rin) believe they are….. Friends?

Lami's mind goes blank for a few moments at the mere thought, and in this time Rin (or Rey) takes it as an incentive to start chattering. Something about her holiday and festivals, but Lami isn't paying all that much attention.

Before Lami's mind can rot too much, a voice to her right says, "Rin! There you are! Did you save me a spot?"

It's another girl with short blond curly hair.

Oh god, there's two of them, Lami realizes with horror, staring between the two girls. The only difference is their eye colour and height; the one who just approached is a few centimeters taller than Lami.

So, Lamiisn'tan asshole for not remembering Rin's name— just for forgetting the fact that there weretwoof them. Somehow, to Lami's mind, this feels more forgivable.

"I was just talking to Lami," Rin says, with that same faint smile. "You can wait with us if you want."

Rey eyes Lami for a short moment before huffing, "I think I'd rather go to the back."

Bristling, wondering whatherproblem is, Lami rolls her eyes and watches as the girl leaves. She curls a fist over the strap of her satchel bag.Kids. She doesn't understand them or their need for useless drama.

"Sorry." Rin murmurs, staring after her sister, "She doesn't mean anything by it."

"Sure," Lami says, turning to see how long the line is. There's still at least twenty. Sighing quietly, she half turns to the other girl, "I've already forgotten about it."

.

.

.

Three days.

Three days is all it takes before shesnaps. Restlessness fizzes in her veins,refusingto let her sit still. No, no, no. Keep busy. Distract the hands. Divert the mind away from the happenstance in the corner of her eye.

With gusto, Lami throws the covers off of her bed, dresses warmly, packs her candles and notebooks, and returns to the song and call of the tunnels.

Perhaps it's a point of concern that Lami feels more at ease in the dark, dusty passageways beneath others feet than in the company of her peers. Then again, she thinks that there are many points of concern in regards to herself. There's an entire list that could be made up. To highlight her growing detachment and avoidance to people without addressing the obvious causes are, to put it simply, a mistake on... whoever's part.

Lami pauses walking.

Not that anyone is pointing out the concerns, besides herself.

"God," Lami mutters to herself, placing a hand to her head. She's going stir crazyalready. How is she going to survive an entire school year?

Breathing heavily, she reminds herself: one day at a time.

The tunnels are quiet and smell like dust. They offer no judgement as Lami takes a moment to reorient herself.

.

.

.

"No, no no no—" Lami rapidly chokes out, three hours later, wildly swinging her candlestick around the hidden alcove.

Empty.

The entire room is fuckingempty.

There's a long moment where she stands frozen, immobile, her breath stuck in her throat as her thoughts come together and fall away.

Running to the table to place her candle on its surface, Lami spins around with frantic aggravation. Her heart races, quietly swearing when she realizes she got wax on her thumb. She ignores it. She checks the bookcases, climbing to the top of shelves and reaching an arm into the slim crack between the top and the ceiling. Nothing. She drops to her knees, breaking the skin as the rough carpet cuts into her, and checks underneath the table and chair. Nothing. She checks the carpet, for any sort of lump that might be hiding something—

Nothing.

"No,no, no, no—" She repeats, smashing her fist against the floor, once, twice, three times. "What thefuck?

Lami doesn't understand. What is going on? What happened to the room? Where did all the books go? The maps? The globe? Why is it empty? Where did it all go? When did this happen? Why did this happen? What is happening?

She repeats her search, poking and prodding atanysurface that might be hiding objects. Five, ten, fifteen minutes pass.

Nothing. Nothing, nothing,nothing.

Arage, fierce and blazing, suddenly scorches her insides as somethingsnapsin her. Unthinking, she smashes her fist against the carpet with aroar. Throwing herself forward, she grabs the chair andthrowsit across the alcove. Wood splinters at the impact. What's the point, what's thepointof all of this? Fisting her hands, nails digging into the skin of her palm, sheburns. She's unsatisfied. Sheneedssomethingmore. There's somethingfoulinside of her, festering and irrational. She needs to lash out, she needs toeasethe suddenflowofemotionthat she's drowning in, the noose ofwraththat has snaked its way around her neck—

Lunging towards the chair, Lami grabs it by the arm andwhacksit on the floor. Again, and again, and again, and again, and again—

Until there's no chair left.

Splinters stick out of her palms, deep and stinging. The minimal pain is almost a distraction. Almost. Almost. But still, she's not satisfied.Seething, Lami flings herself at one of the bare bare barebarewalls; thrashing, kicking, tackling— unthinking, yelling, fracturing, sobbing, spilling.

By the time Lami calms down she has fallen to the floor in a heap, head bowed. Tears fall from her eyes and onto her lap as anachingsob claws its way out of her throat. Blunt, broken, bleeding fingernails dig into the flesh of her arms as she hugs herself. But no matter how hard she tries to hold the pieces together, Lami can't stop herself from shaking, can't stop the tremors that rake through her body.

It's dumb. It's stupid. They're just fucking books. She doesn't—

She doesn'tunderstandwhat's happening.

.

.

.

Lami doesn't register the damage done until the next morning. She blankly stares at her hands and knees, at the mess she has made.

There's a void in her, as though the abrupt surge of emotion has bled her empty of feeling.

She spends three hours picking out the pieces of wood from her hands. It hurts. She doesn't remember it hurting last night, but every once in awhile she winces when she flexes her hand. In comparison, her knees are not so bad. Just carpet burnt. Lami spends more time poking and digging her fingernails into the injuries than she knows she should.

There's no one in the bathroom when she showers. Lami doesn't think much about it.

She bandages her knees and hands before dressing into her uniform. When she draws open her curtain she realizes, oh. It's close to lunchtime. No wonder no one is around.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Lami stares at the floor and wonders if going to class is even worth it at this point.

Head in hands, Lami laughs; thick, husky, broken.

What's thefuckingpoint?

( she gives herself three minutes before she stands up and goes to class )

.

.

.

"Miss Trafalgar, of your wrongdoings, skipping class must be one of your most bold," Her etiquette teacher howls, pacing back and forth with her hands tucked into the small of her back.

From across the office, The President huffs.

"We, here at St. Monroe's, work tirelessly to build our students into the excellent ladies we all know they have the potential for! And yet, you— you! Constantly spit on the efforts of our establishment! We cannot have this, Madeline! This simply cannot be unaddressed! Miss Trafalgar is constantly disrupting my class! My wellbeing here at this school!"

Lami sinks into her chair, unable to stop her eyes from rolling. The teacher is being a tad bit dramatic, in her opinion. A disruption? If anything, Lami does her best to duck her head and blend in. The worst thing she has ever done is to fall asleep in class.

"She is negatively affecting the other students! They are rebelling as we speak! They see that we are lenient with this- this!" The teacher's cheeks wobble as she gestures aggressively at her, "Soon enough we will have our students missing class regularly! They will start talking back at us! We must stop this at the root of the problem!"

Mouth thinning into a line at the accusations, Lami stares blankly at the carpet on the floor. She thought that her tantrum last night flushed all the emotion from her, but the anger that pools in her stomach at this unjust treatment proves otherwise. Maybe she should be thankful for her teacher; anger is much easier for Lami to deal with thansilence.

"That is quite enough, Giovanna." The President cuts in sternly, "I understand your concern, but did you have to drag her here by the ear? I am a busy individual and I cannot waste my time dealing with trivial matters such as this."

"This is not trivial Madeline! I am asking for consequences!"

"A week in detention should do," The President drawls, turning her attention back to the mound of paperwork on her desk, "Really, Giovanna, did you ever stop to question why she was late? Or did you, once again, act without thinking? Time and time again I find myself reminding you that you must keep a clear and balanced mind."

Lami's Etiquette teacher makes a shrill noise. Her eyes dart between the woman as they verbally clash, wondering about the social dynamics of the school. Do the teachers even like the President?

"A slap on the wrist is not going to achieve anything with a student like this!" Her Etiquette teacher hollers, "No, no, there's a devilment inside of her! A waggle of a finger is not going to change her nature!"

Eyes widening, Lami inches away from her teacher. There are a few loose screws in this woman. Devilment! What does that even mean? Lami isn't that bad.

"Perhaps if she had a better role model for a teacher, Trafalgar would behave more appropriately." Blue eyes pierce into the teacher, and the President stands up from her seat to approach and open the large wooden door to her office. "Now, I think it is time for you to leave, hm? You have another class to attend to."

The Etiquette teacher gaps at the President, face flushing furiously as she stomps out of the office. The door closes behind the teacher. Lami isn't entirely certain why the President is taking her side on this, but she is slightly relieved.

Heels click against the floor as the President rounds on Lami, voice sharp and cold as she demands, "There will be no more skipping of classes, do you hear me?"

"... Yes, ma'am."

"Now, show me your hands."

Lami blinks, immediately thinking that she is about to get her knuckles struck as a punishment before she notices the President kneeling in front of her. Taking Lami's hands into her own, the President observes the dozen or so adhesive bandages plastered to her fingers, palms, and knuckles. Plucking at one, she peels off one of the wings to reveal a small but deep cut. Smoothing a thumb over the bandage to put it back in place, the President heaves a loud indignant huff.

Oh, Lami thinks after a moment, face flushing with slight embarrassment. Quietly, she recalls Law accusing her of baseless suspicion. Her cheeks burn brighter.

"I assume you have not seen treatment at the nurse's office," The President says, voice dry and judging. She drops Lami's hands as she stands up, wipes her own against the fabric of her skirt, "You, of all people, should know better, Trafalgar."

Lami stubbornly stares at the floor.

"Go to the nurse's office. You will attend detention with Mrs. Aelda for the next two weeks, starting from 7 on the dot. Any more trouble from you and I'll have you in the kitchen scrubbing pots and pans, do you understand me?"

"... Yes, ma'am."

"You may leave."

Lami stands up but she hesitates, fingers tapping against the wooden arm of the chair.

"Have your ears stopped functioning?" The President asks while raising an eyebrow, sitting back down at her desk.

"Why?" Lami blurts out, raising her gaze to meet the President's. Is she the reason why the artifacts in the alcove is gone? Is she the reason why the tunnels are unused and locked away in some places? There are so many why's that fill her mind, but Lami can only ask, "Why did you defend me? … Ma'am."

The President is silent for a long moment before she slides a pair of glasses onto her face, "As I informed you when we met, Miss Trafalgar, I do not tolerate insolence of any sort. A trouble child you may be, but I will not stand by and watch as my faculty harasses a student— especially one who has no means to protect herself. We are here to teach and educate students who do not know better. It is an unfortunate day when those in authority do not know better, either."

Lami stares, silent and conflicted. She shakily inhales and gives a firm nod, "... Thank you."

"Do not thank me. It is my job." The President dismisses, waving a hand at her, "Now, leave."

Nodding once more, Lami does as she is told.

.

.

.

Later that night, Lami stares at her reflection in the bathroom. Both hands splayed out on the counter as she leans on them, staring, staring, staring at herself.

In all honesty, Lami tends to avoid mirrors.

She's not sure when this started. Maybe it was when she realized she, or at least a part of her, is not from this world. The instinctual flinch at seeing the reflection of something, someone, unfamiliar, despite not knowing what to expect in the first place. Black hair? Blond hair? Brown eyes? Blue? Dark skin, light skin? She can't remember. Or maybe it was when the anticipation of Amber Lead Syndrome began to eat away at her, petrified to chance even aglimpseand see white whitewhite.

Lami had a temper tantrum last night. She can feel the effects sting her palms as she presses her weight onto them.Somethingin hercrackedlast night—

"No more," She tells herself, "Never again."

Thatrage, thatdemandfor deconstruction— she cannotaffordto live like this. On the edge, waiting, waiting,waitingfor the next bout of irrational outbursts. No, no. Lamican'tlet this happen again. She doesn't know what will happen after Flevance, where she will be, what she will do. Situations likethiscould be her unravelling. She cannot allow this to happen again. What ifLawsaw her like that? Thrashing and yelling, hellbent on obliterating thefurythat had crawled its way under her skin?

No, no.

"Behave," Lami whispers.

Black, black,blackeyes stare back at her.

( they offer no promises )

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

warnings. / minor violence.

O9.

PICK YOUR POISON

expulsion (pt.2).

Lami avoids the library.

It's odd, but a part of hergrievesover the loss.

Most of her, however, finds the situationinfuriating. Instead of finding answers she is left with a blank slate; how is she supposed to continue where she left off with only a few books and her notes?

Unfulfilled. Unsatisfied.

She feels as though the universe itself isteasingher. Giving her loose threads to chase that end up being dead ends, red herrings, or are ripped from her hands before she can decipher its meaning.

It's anaggravatingline of thought; she hadn't realized how… sloppy she was getting. Or maybe she had never been careful in the first place.

What did shethinkwas going to happen? She'd stumble across the answers of the universe, served to her on a platter? With nogenuineeffort put into it? Lami catches herself laughing humourlessly at this thought as she idly scribbles in a notebook as a teacher drones on and on.

This, all ofthis, meansnothing. The books aren't going to be what determines if she lives or dies, the tunnels are not going to help her fight a life threatening disease. Her only goal should besurvival, and yet here she is twisting herself aroundanythingthat offers even a minimal amount of instant gratification.

This won't happen again, she tells herself. Next time, if she finds something she wants, she'll sink her fingers into it and refuse to let go.

.

.

.

With the library temporarily blacklisted, Lami takes to the tunnels.

For weeks she explores, attempts to find new doorways or ladders leading to rooms. She investigates the locked rooms and their contents (mostly paper and supplies), thoroughly studies the doorless hallway for a second and third time (with no results), and follows through slim passages she has yet to visit.

Other nights she roams the forests behind the school; dozing by the lake, climbing trees, falling off trees, hiding the injuries the next day.

It's a listless experience.

.

.

.

Lami's birthday comes and goes.

She gets a letter from her father asking how her birthday went and she remembers, oh, right,thatis a thing, isn't it?

Five years. It's beenfive years.

She responds with a lie. It went great. Friends stole little cakes from the kitchen and whittled down candles so she could make a wish. A waste of a candle, if you ask Lami, but adorable nonetheless. They huddled together in her room after curfew and they played games until the dean dragged them out by the ear. They tried to reason with the woman, but she simply would not listen.

He'd be upset to know the truth.

.

.

.

Five months in, Lami makes a discovery.

After her bout with the library, she views her map making with… forced leisure. Her map means nothing, the school means nothing; she simply does not like to leave thingsunfinished. Not when it's within her control to do so. She completes the map because there is nothing else for her to do at this school, and that is that.

( it sounds like a lie, even to her own mind )

But, five months in, Lami finds a tunnel that looks used.

It's interesting; the entrance is through a crawl space that has grooves dug into the wall on one side, and a rope tied and coiled around a rock on the other. Less of an architectural design, more of human intervention.Proofthat, at some point, the tunnels have been used. By the state of the rope, she guesses somewhere in the past fifty years.

The tunnel itself is bare of any dust or cobwebs; instead the walls are lined with unlit torches and the floors are made of stone tiles. A stark difference from the dirt or concrete floors of the other tunnels. Kneeling to the ground to get a better look, she notes the wear and tear of the stone. This is a used tunnel; but for what?

After a moment's thought, she turns to the right and proceeds forward.

If someone were to find her like this, there would be no hiding. A thrill flutters in her stomach at the thought, anticipation and excitement rising. Logically, she knows she shouldn't feelhappyabout a situation like this. It's dangerous, it could cost her slot at the school. This late into her life, she can't afford to get caught. Even still, her heart flutters.

Lami spends the next ten, twenty, thirty minutes coming up with a believable lie as to why she is in the tunnels instead of her bed.

At thirty minutes Lami starts to worry; just how long is this tunnel?

She continues.

Thirty turns to forty, forty turns to fifty— and there, at the end, is light. Faint, barely there.

With the moon watching from overhead, colouring the ground and sea with light, a small beach with cliffs on either side lays before her. Easing out of the opening slowly, she glances around. The beach is surrounded by all sides, with only the tunnel and sea as ways of exit. Stepping forward, her feet dig and sink into the sand.

An interesting find, indeed. She wonders about the uses of this beach as she crouches down and runs her fingers through the sand. Why is this the only tunnel thus far that is noticeably operated? An emergency exit, of sorts?

Lami hums and sits down in the sand while watching the waves crash against the shore. After a few minutes she pulls out one of her notebooks, the memory of Law's scolding whispering in her ear.

.

.

.

Whenever newspapers arrive at Briar North, Lami is one of the first girls to grab one. It certainly helps that Ruth, one of the secretaries, has no qualms stealing one from the staff room for her.

It doesn't matter if it's the World Economy News, the North News Incorporated, or the Weekly Chronicle; sooner or later (usually sooner) Lami gets her greedy hands on one and tears it apart. Cuts out segments of articles and glues them into a notebook, pictures lining her window, and crossing out political figures she doesn't like with bold marker. She likes the North News because it comes with logic puzzles on the back, though the content of the paper is riddled with obvious bias.

More than anything, though, Lamidesperatelysearches for any information pertaining to Flevance.

Sometimes she is relieved when she sees nothing, sometimes she is frozenstiff.

.

.

.

Someone giggles nearby.

"You're going to get sick."

Lami hums, eyes closed and half asleep. It is cold, but in a nice way. Like everything has faded away and she's just… floating. She wants to go back to sleep. She's already sick, anyway. A cold is nothing in comparison.

"You're going to be late for class, again." They try again.

"Don't care." Pulling her hat down to cover her eyes and ears, Lami stubbornly tries to resume sleeping.

"Ms. Rosalin wouldn't like to hear that," The person pulls at her hat, giggling once more.

Squinting up, Lami spots a halo of blond hair and grumbles. Rin. Again. The girl is getting far too ambitious and nosy for her own good. A bit hypocritical, perhaps, for Lami to think such… And she has no excuses to justify this behaviour. She is justannoyed.

"Your cheeks are red," Rin points out with a subdued grin, leaning over Lami.

We're not friends, she wants to say. Instead she gets up and brushes the snow from her coat and pants. Giving the other girl a moody stare, Lami stalks off and ignores the tinkling laughter behind her.

.

.

.

By the time winter arrives, Lami's resolve to avoid the library crumples away like drying sand.

The tunnels are too cold at night to properly explore, and the prospect of the ceiling caving in on her still lingers in her mind. Her map-making remains at a stand-still until the weather brightens; it's difficult to hold a candle and pen when both are shaking due to the cold. Going outside is a terrible idea altogether; she'd leave evidence in the snow and her clothes would get soaked and leave tracks on the floor.

This leaves her with little else to do.

Twiddling her thumbs, staring at the wall next to her bed, waiting waiting waiting for a slumber that will not arrive for another three, four hours.

It takes two nights, trapped in her thoughts, to relent to the temptation the library.

.

.

.

The hidden alcove is a mess. This is somewhat odd, given how empty the room is. Wood splinters coat the floor. Dry, browning blood smears the opposite wall. Furniture toppled over and collecting dust.

Lami's mouth twitches, standing silently as she takes in the sight. "You're an idiot." She mutters to herself, leaning over to scoop up a handful of splinters. What if they came back and found the room like this? Hardly inconspicuous.

Placing her candle on the ground, she gently sits and begins to clean up the disaster she had wrought.

.

.

.

Days turn into weeks, which turn into months.

Time at St. Monroe's feels distorted, like the walls repel the common ticking of a clock. Bending, twisting, flattening. Days draw out, but bleed together. A fog lingers over the months behind her, leaving her to ponder what meaningless tasks she has done.

Lami learns about flowers and dancing and dialects. She listens to teachers talk about maths and sciences with boredom, languidly draws and learns about different instruments. She reads and she writes, but even her secret activities start to lose their glossy attraction. Trapped on an island with nowhere to go and nothing to do, eyes glued to newspapers in search of the wordsdisease;contamination; orgenocide.

She watches the Principal, waiting andwaitingfor the woman to do something, anything. There's a growing list of crimes with her name written all over, theft and trespassing being the minor of her offenses. But it would seem her paranoia has gotten the better of her once again, as the Principal does nothing except greet her and ask about her classes.

Her mind is sharp, but she can feel the edges start to dull.

This is her own doing. This was her choice.

Sacrifices have to be made.

.

.

.

Stretching out her limbs, Lami quietly walks up the staircase to her dorm.

Her time in the library has been fruitful, effectively spent reading about various rock formations and mineral properties. It's interesting to see how geology can be so similar to what she is used to (but, then again, isn't sheusedto the oddities of this world, now?) but so different at the same time. The general classification process for minerals is so similar, using this world's equivalent to anions for their grouping, but theelementsthemselves are—different, but also the same. As though this world has a larger range of options to choose from.

Which, she thinks, makes sense.

Lami stifles a yawn as she takes on the last fleet of stairs. She wishes St. Monroe's included academic sources in their library; limiting their education to base-level information breeds misinformation, especially with the sciences.

As her vision breaches the last step, she freezes. Two individuals stand outside her door, silent and waiting. From their silhouettes, she gathers that they aretall. Imposing. Stomach twisting uncomfortably, Lami silently starts to creep back down.

"Miss Trafalgar," The familiar voice of the President interrupts, voice quiet and monotonous, "How kind of you to join us."

Lami's shoulders ease. It's just the President.

Sheepishly climbing up, Lami slowly makes her way toward the duo. As she gets closer she can identify the President, thin and lean with glasses perched on her nose. But the other… No, she doesn't recognize him. A tall, thickly built man in a dark suit and fedora.

"... I couldn't sleep?" Lami attempts with her mind set on damage control as silence reigns, only the sound of her feet softly padding across the floorboards to break it.

The President eyes her cooly before tucking her hands to the small of her back. She doesn't immediately speak, mouth twitching before going flat with purpose, "Miss Trafalgar I regret to inform you that your discharge from the St. Monroe's is effective immediately."

A couple seconds pass before the words make sense in her mind.

"Please grab your belongings and respect your peers, as they are still sleeping." Her tone remains even and stern, though her jaw stiffens as she pauses, "You will leave at once."

Lami stares, unblinking, for what might be seconds, minutes, hours. Is this a joke? No, The President isn't the type of person who would make a joke, let alone show up outside her bedroom so late in the night. Her mind refuses to process what is happening, why it's happening, how it's happening. She merely stands frozen, eyes wide, breathless as she attempts to string together a coherent thought.

The man at her side coughs, clearly about to say something.

"We are notanimals," The President cuts in, voicescathing, in what would appear to be an ongoing argument, "leave her to her devices."

The world wobbles around her as Lami walks into her room, and then suddenly everythingsnapsinto place. Adrenaline kicking in, her hands start to shake as she packs her clothes and books into her trunk.

Mind whirling, she backtracks to decipher what is going on. What line did she cross? Many, many lines. Did the President suddenly give in to the pressure of her Etiquette teacher? No, that doesn't make sense, the President has never succumbed like this before. Is it about the books? But why let herbackinto the school if she'd known? Why waitmonthsto act on it? Is it about the tunnels, or about Lami stealing the library key? Even then, how did they know? Why were they waiting for her at her room instead of catching her in the act of a crime? Or even during the daytime? She could easily argue her case, that they have no evidence of her committing anything—

"Boss won't take the trunk," A gravelly voice says from behind her, presumably the man in the suit.

"Is that so." The President tuts, clearly unimpressed, "Miss Trafalgar, pack your bag with your essentials. I'll see to sending the rest of your belongings."

Something, something,somethingtickles at the back of her mind, curling into her chest and filling her withdread. Lami doesn't understandwhatis going on, orwhy, but she does not think that it bodes well for her well being. She may beparanoidabout the President, yet she doubts that she would do something likethis. Sneaking a child out in the middle of the night with little more than the clothes on her back. The President has given all indications towards integrity. But Lami doesn't have enough information to put the pieces together.

Hands shake as she sorts through her belongings. Lami doesn't have much to begin with, aside from her books. Even then, none of them are especially rare or difficult to come by. She grabs her personal notebooks and a change of clothes. Her notebooks are her only important belongings; they hold the secrets she has kept, from the plot of a story she once knew to the language of the hidden alcove.

Pausing, strategizing, she looks up at the two adults in the doorway, "... Can I get changed, first?"

"No." The man says.

"Yes." The President counters, closing the door before the man can respond.

Alone, sort of, Lami falls to a crouch and presses a hand to her mouth as her breathing becomes unsteady and frantic. Fuck. Fuck.Fuck. She doesn't care how much Law claims she is overly paranoid— this situation issketchy as fuck. Ultimately, the What and Why of her situation doesn't matter; what is important isthe how the fuckdoes she get away part. Swallowing thickly, heart in her throat and eyes burning, she schemes.

A tap on the door interrupts her from her thoughts.

Taking this as a signal to hurry up, Lami hastily wipes the water from her eyes and cheeks. Stupid. Pathetic.Weak. Breathing in thickly and harshly, she strips out of her clothes and into more comfortable ones suited for the cold weather outside. Ignoring, ignoring, ignoring thetremblethat sinks deeper than skin. Feverishly glancing around her room, she picks up a metal quill and string, shoving them into the pockets of her pants. Patting at her chest, she feels the imprint of the key still hanging around her neck.

"I'm changed." Lami calls out, voice wavering as electricity crackles in her veins.

The door opens and she empties her bag. It's mostly schoolwork, candles, books, and stationery supplies. She packs her notebooks first, they are her most important belongings, and then puts her extra clothes on top. She grabs a few pencils and pens, so the sake of it, and her money hidden in her desk.

"Boss doesn't like to wait."

Lami grits her teeth.Boss. How ominous.

Looping the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she slips on her sneakers. When she leaves her room, the President and the main in a suit march towards the stairs without giving her a second glance. Lami dutifully follows them down to the first floor.

"M'am, why am I being expelled?" Lami asks, not expecting an honest answer.

"Shh." The President hushes, "Students are sleeping."

Scowling, Lami waits until they have descended the staircase all the way to the common room before asking again, "Why am I expelled."

"Miss Trafalgar, are your ears not working? I have spoken."

Quiet for a few moments, Lami squints at the back of the President's head. What an awfullyvagueanswer. Too vague. But what if she is just reading too much into this? Not that she can personally recall anyone getting expelled from the school.

"Hmm, I don't know. I don't recall doing anything that would warrant this treatment." Lami hums, purposely baiting as she observes the adults postures.

Neither of them show any obvious signs of change as the President says, "Have you learntnothingwhile at school? No more questions. No speaking."

Pursing her lips, Lami bids her time.

.

.

.

The trek is quiet as the group maneuvers their way from the dorm to the administration building. Lami obediently follows, hands curled around the strap of her bag, as they enter through the side. Carefully pacing her breath, she watches their backs with wide, alert eyes.

They turn into familiar hallway, one she has visitedoften, and Lami's heart rate accelerates. She waits, holding her breath, as one, two, three—

Now.

Lami sprints to the side, not even three feet, and nimble hands press into the wall. The man in a suit grunts, but Lami has already triggered the trap door before words can form in his mouth. She doesn't hesitate; Lami throws herself down the steep staircase, barely keeping herself from falling as she plunders through the dark.

It's terrifying, exhilarating— but she knows the tunnels like the back of her own hand, has spent years mapping it out.

The dark feels less oppressive now, as she runs through the passageways and ducks in and out of secret doors. It's comforting, blanketing, protecting her from prying eyes.

At an intersection she stops, panting, debating her options. She winces as she takes the quill out of her pocket, can feel the slow trickle of blood trail down her leg, and tucks it into the sleeve of her sweater. They had taken her to the administration building, which means they were likely going to take her to the docks, right? Well, if that's the case, she has theperfectplace to hide until she comes up with a plan to get out of Briar North.

Closing her eyes, Lami takes a deep breath and tells herself tocalm downdespite the unease that coils in her chest. Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, shewillsherself to besmall,unnoticeable, anddiscreet. Pulling into herself, tighter, voiceless, indiscernible. She doesn'thearanyone behind her. It's likely they didn't follow her into the tunnels; unless they are extraordinarily quiet, so quiet that even the silent underground cannot compare.

No. She knows the tunnels. She wouldknowif someone had followed her.

Opening her eyes, Lami breathes out. She'sgot this.

.

.

.

Lami goes to the beach.

Protected by cliffs, no one would be able to find her if they explored the island. Even if they were to look over the edge, she can easily hide away into the cliff face. Worst case scenario; she could swim off into the sea. It's not a preferable option, but if characters- no, people - can swim through the Grand Line or the Calm Belt, then Lami can swim through some chilly waters.

It takes nearly an hour for Lami to get there, desperate to befastbut alsoquiet. By the time she nears the exit to the tunnels, she unknowingly lets out a shaky breath. Her hands are still shaking from the adrenaline, from thefear, both maybe, but she's just so reliev—

"Achoo!"

She freezes in the opening between the tunnel and the beach, a deep and unshakable terror flooding her senses.

She isn't alone, the beachisn'tempty.

"I hate the North Blue!" A man shouts, stomping in the snow covered sand, sneezing again as he pulls his coat close to his body. His first mistake, she thinks distantly, is the fact that he chose to wearleather pantsto the North Blue. A rookie mistake.

He's not from here.

"Why did it have to be me—" He catches sight of Lami and releases a shrill scream, "AAAH!"

Lami jerks at the noise, stiff and breathless as she takes in the sight of seven men wearing suits and hats lined on the beach, a large ship in the distance, and three smaller row boat pulled up onto the shore.

I've made a terrible mistake, she realizes, throat burning.

They came at night. They wanted to make this a quiet ordeal.Of coursethey wouldn't go to thefuckingdocks.

"Oh." The man sighs, wiping a hand over his face with obvious relief, "It's just a little girl."

"Boss," One of the men says, "That's the one."

Whipping around, lavender hair fluttering in the wind, the man gaps and desperate searches is clothes. Then, after a second, he pulls out a mask and presses it to his mouth, "Those useless fools! Geh! But no one can get past the great Spandam! Fell right into my trap! Haha!"

Surmising that this man is anidiot, who did not plan thiswhatsoever, Lami jerks backwards to run away. The hedge maze is the closest she can get to the docks. There are plenty of buildings there she can hide out in until—

She crashes into a body, hands wrapping around her neck and shoulders.

"Now, now! What's the rush?" The lavender man laughs, nose high in the air from where he stands on the beach. Then, loudly to himself, he hoots, "Father willhaveto promote me when he hears that I have single-handedly completed this mission! Caught a girl not even the great Madeline,Breaker of Lambscould! HA!"

This man is annoying, she decides with a grimace. Inhaling sharply, Lami makes a rapid, impulsive, last-ditch effort. Survival at the forefront of her mind. What do these men want with her? Why are they taking her? She might die. She might die.She might die. She can't let that happen. Slipping the quill from her sleeve she wastes no time as shedrivesit into the man's thigh, aiming for the femoral artery. She thinks she misses, but she can't bother to look. Her captor hisses with pain, body curling as his hands release her.

Quick-stepping around him she makes to sprint—

A hand grabs her from hem of her neckline, and Lami chokes as theyjerkher backwards. She's hit with a suddenwhiplashwhen she is suddenly thrown across the beach.

One second she's by the tunnel opening. The next second she is on the other side of the beach, hands grabbing her from all angles. Her head spins, mind unable to handle thespeedof the throw.

"Miss Trafalgar!" The President's voicethundersfrom the tunnel exit as she appears from its depths, "Someone, attend to this manimmediately."

Despite the lavender man's status as their 'Boss', three of the men in suits and fedoras hastily move to follow her request.

"Thank you for making this soeasy," The lavender man smugly leers, eyes shining in the moonlight as he continues with a mocking tone, "Miss Trafalgar."

The injured man is dragged over to one of the row boats. Lamitugsat the hands that hold, confine, trap. She refuses to go down without a fight,growlingas she thrashes and kicks against her captors.

"Stand downMiss Trafalgar," The President scolds, the warning clear in her voice.

The warning is met with deaf ears; Lami will notletherself be taken.

"What happened to protecting students who cannot defend themselves, to educating instead of dismissing?" Lami barks back, straining against the hands.

The President is silent, and when her mouth opens to respond she is interrupted by a laugh.

"A pity indeed!" The lavender man says, slinking closer to Lami and the shoreline, "She was one of your top candidates, was she not? Haha! Truly unfortunate thatit'sgoing to waste. Clearly this, girl, thing, has the makings. Doesn't evenneedthe full desensitizing indoctrination! Tut tut, you've held out on us, Madeline, you know I liked thederangedones best. Right for the thigh! Ha!"

"Do you feel the need to prattle without considering who might hear?" The President asks with anicytone, "Are you as half witted as I have always assumed?"

The lavender man's hand falls from his face, exposing how his mouth twitches and falls into a scowl as he ignores her comment, "Well, no need.Itwon't be an issue in a couple months time. Really, Madeline, you should bethankingme. I'm cleaning up a mess of yours, preemptively. Wouldn't want anypestsruining your reputation, after all."

Lami's heartthundersin her chest, wildly looking from one to the other as the conversation goes on. There are blatant topics being spoken here that areenormous, and the overall undertone is terrifying to say the least. She cannot even begin to wrap her mind around all the implications.

The Boss Man covers his mouth once more before he bends over Lami. With a gloved hand he taps a knuckle underneath her chin,condescending, and hecooswhen she snarls at him.

"Such fierce eyes. Truly a fledgling." The lavender man straightens, offers her a disgusted look as he wipes his glove on his jacket, and huffs, "Such a waste."

"Might I remind you, Spandam, that if youclean upit willnotbe your father who will beaddressingyou."

The lavender man, Spandam, freezes and backs away a couple feet with a shrill laugh, "Don't you worryMadeline," The smile that stretches over his face is slick and greasy, "itwillget home, safe and sound, as I've been instructed."

"You talk too much," The President criticizes, tilting her chin up to look down on him properly, "clearly nepotism is the only reason why you've gotten to your position."

"You may befavoured, Madeline, but I have certainskillsthat your pride would never allow you to have. Your age has made yousoften, we'll see whatpullyou still have."

Snapping his fingers, Spandam turns to his men and snarls, "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's get out of this dump."

He takes two steps, slips on sand, and falls to the ground.

Lami's lip twitches, horrified to be left in the hands ofthisman. She feels a sharp pain in the back of her neck, before the world around her goes dark.

.

.

.

When Lami wakes up, she alone in a room the size of a closet. It isjustbig enough to hold a bed and house a bucket.

Lips thinning into a thin line, she crawls off of the bed and stalks over to the door. She pulls on the handle, but doesn't budge. Anger colouring her face, Lami's hands curl into fists.

"Be quiet." A voice from the other side of the door mutters.

Using the bucket as a stepping stool, she looks through the small, barred window. One of the men wearing suits sit stationed outside the door, flipping through a magazine.

Jaw clenching, she hops off the stool and begins to pace.

.

.

.

Hours later, the rocking of the boat eventually lulls her back to sleep.

The sound of the door opening startles her awake, Lami clambering into the corner where her bed meets the wall with her bag shielding her. It's nighttime, given the lack of light coming in through the window.

A long moment passes as the man quietly assesses her, lantern in one hand. This isn't the same man who had been outside of her bedroom, or guarding her cabin, is at least a foot shorter. He says nothing as he places a plate of food at the foot of her bed. Lami eyes it with distrust, mind flipping through various scenarios.

As the man turns to leave she finds words blurting out of her mouth, "Do you intend on killing me?"

An odd question for an eight year old. But she can't help it. Lami can think of at least a dozen ways the food could be of malicious intent.

The man pauses at the door, large hands curling around the door knob. His voice low and gruff as he bluntly says, "You'd be dead already if we were."

He leaves and the door shuts.

.

.

.

There must have been something in the food and drink. The rest of the trip is spent in a blur, moments of slumber and awareness bleeding together until the man who has been feeding her drags her out of bed.

"You are home." He says.

Her mind feels foggy as she stands up, but nothing too drastic. Moving her limbs takes a bit of effort but after a few moments she regains control. Her mind, however, feels sluggish anddry, as though experiencing a hangover.

They walk out of her cabin and through the ship. The man offers nothing else to say and Lami is too focused on not falling down to ask him questions. No other men in black appear throughout their trek, and she wonders what they do while on the boat. They are obviously henchmen. Do they play poker?

Before they emerge upon deck, the man pauses. He does not turn back to look at her as he says, "Do not linger once you leave."

Lami stares at his back, mind struggling to process his words. It takes a moment, but she nods.

She takes his advice to heart.

Chapter 11: intermission one

Chapter Text

OO.

PICK YOUR POISON

intermission one

MADELINE

"Plucky," Tsuru says with her voice dripping with amusement once the students dissipate from the foyer.

Madeline assumes that Tsuru is speaking of the young Trafalgar girl who had interrupted their conversation without even a word of apology. It reminds her to give Trafalgar another lecture whenever the opportunity arises: eavesdropping is only ever proper if you are at leastsubtleabout it and have the decency toappearsorry upon discovery. Evidently, Trafalgar has a long way to go until she can prove to beuseful.

"That is a kind way to put it," Madeline says in response, staring after the departing child.

Trafalgar, for all of her acts of rebellion, is a rather rambunctious and eccentric child, particularly by St. Monroe's standards. However, Madeline must admit, the girl is nothing compared to the company that Tsuru grew up with.

"Hmm." Her old friend hums, observing the girl with a keen eye.

The moment of silence passes before turns to assess Madeline with the same scrutiny, "I know that expression, Maddy. Is she a person of interest?"

"Perhaps." Her tone comes out more curt than is necessary, but it is a touchy subject. Tsuru should know better than to ask such things of her— Madeline is under no impression that the other woman isobliviousto her dealings and purpose at the school. Just as Madeline is not oblivious to Tsuru's business in the Marines. "We'll see how the next few years shape her."

Tsuru is quiet for a moment, then huffs dryly, "Maybe I should steal her away for the Marines before then, hm?"

Madeline says nothing for a long moment. The Marines would be far kinder to Trafalgar. Given the right tutelage, she could become a righteous beacon of support for the world; a weapon; a strategist. The young are often malleable.Breaker of Lambs, they call Madeline, for her abilities to shape and mold her youth into efficient cogs for their machine. But rarely does she see children with both the skill and dedication to pursue thegreater avenuesin life. With the skill sets that Trafalgar has displayed... Madeline is certain the girl could make use of any organization that chooses to utilize her.

But—

"She would eat your Marines alive. Our teachers are already finding it difficult to handle her and they are specifically trained forthis. She has a way of getting under people's skin, though I suspect it is not entirely on purpose."

"Is that so?"

"Consider it a blessing," Madeline says, voice lilted with amusement of her own, "You already have enough 'lost cause's in your hands."

"A little girl is nothing compared to the children I babysit." Tsuru scoffs, as though the comment is an insult to her abilities, but doesn't remark on the other instructors in the Marines. She turns back to the staircase leading to Madeline's office and starts to ascend, "Regardless, it's rare for someone likeyouto go so far for a proclaimed 'lost cause'. For all these years I thoughtIwas the only one who dwelled in that business."

Folding her hands neatly at the small of her back, Madeline silently follows Tsuru.

She cannot discount or refute her friend's words; they have known each other for too long, understand the inner mechanisms that make each othertick. To lie about such a matter would be akin tospittingon the decades they have spent together. It may be true that they are not always on the same side of conflicts or have the same ideologies, but they respect each other too much to dismiss forty years of friendship.

However, the unasked questions Tsuru is hinting at are more than Madeline can divulge in.

Tsuru pauses as she gets to the top step, turning to look back at Madeline. There is a smile that softens her face, one Madeline hasn't seen in years, "The school has done well for you."

She turns away, then, quietly grumbling about finding food.

Madeline can only stare and silently question the sentiment.

"The girl has haki." Tsuru intones one night as they leave the nurses wing.

Madeline spares her friend a glance, wondering how the woman gathered this from the… embarrassing fever-influenced display of childishness from Trafalgar.

"Yes." She responds after a moment of silence, understanding that her friend wants affirmation.

"A weak observation haki, mind you.. haki nonetheless.." Tsuru hums, staring to the side with contemplation as she strokes her jaw, "But in someone so young?"

"Seven years old," Madeline confirms, "I do not believe she initially came here with it, but it has strengthened in time. She is not aware."

Crossing her arms across her chest, Tsuru heaves a loud sigh as she closes her eyes, "A rare case, then. She's either a natural-born or…"

"Trauma."

"Mm." Tsuru hums, "Neither case bodes well, Madeline."

"I know."

Dark eyes cut over to her, deep and scheming, "It's no wonder you allow her to wander at night."

Madeline pauses her movement, turning to look at Tsuru with vague surprise, "You are aware?"

Tsuru scoffs once again, "I'mold, not decrepit. How can I ignore the skittering of a little mouse in the wall? Every night I can hear her sneaking around. Hersuppressionis good, for a child- well. Better than a child, better than most adults sincemostcannot in the first place. But given how weak it is.. Much easier for a child to learn than an adult… Yes, I see what you are doing Madeline. Even still, the sick should not be prancing around at night."

"She is… clever." Madeline says carefully, staring straight ahead as they descend the staircase, "Her teachers are unaware, though the Dean of her dorm has known for quite some time. Every obstacle we place in front of her is only a momentary reprieve from her undertakings."

"Sounds as though your staff is not doing their jobs properly," Tsuru murmurs dryly, though her thoughts are obviously preoccupied, "Both your nurses and your teachers."

Madeline huffs with annoyance. Forty years ago the school had gone through a period of unprecedented success and fever; the dawn of a new pirate age had rejuvenated the organization's morale and purpose. However, as the years go on, it has become increasingly difficult to keep the attention of her staff focused on their duties. Not all of her staff are aware of the functions of the school, but enough to make the lapse of awarenessembarrassingfor the St. Monroe's reputation.

"Only recruitment has proved vigilant," Which is more than Madeline should be saying to Tsuru, "however this is largely inspired by their own personal greed."

"Typical."

There is a moment of silence as they make their way to Madeline's office. She makes an effort to ignore Tsuru's quiet scrutiny, simply opening the large wooden doors that lead inside.

"You like the girl," Tsuru huffs with mirth when the doors shut.

It feels almost like an accusation after all the years Madeline has spent in this… business. If it were anyone else she would smoothly deny the prospect without giving it a moment's thought. Madeline cannot afford such leisure, after all. But this is Tsuru, her long time friend. She has some faith that what she says will be confidential.

Gesturing towards the chairs in front of her desk, Madeline takes out a bottle of wine and two glasses from a compartment in one of her bookcases.

Cautious with her words, Madeline begins to pour each of them a glass, "I would like to see how far she will go."

"In what context?" Tsuru asks with a raised eyebrow, sitting down and leaning back in one of the chairs.

"All, I suppose." She hands a glass to Tsuru and settles into the chair beside her rather than at her normal seat behind the desk, "There are a few puzzles in place at this school. Some intentional, some not. I would like to see how many she can figure out."

"Is that why you haven't notified your superiors about her... early awakening?" At the look Madeline gives her, Tsuru clicks her tongue, "She would not still behereif they knew, don't play me for a fool."

"I apologize. It's simply.."

"You've grown unaccustomed to being around individuals at your skill level."

"Yes. Exactly that." Madeline sighs and takes a sip of her wine. It's tart. The unavoidable truth is that she is overqualified for this job. "There are other reasons why I have yet to.. fully inform, of course."

"I'm sure you have plenty of logical reasons why," Tsuru cuts in, chipping away at Madeline's bullshit, "I'm certain you haveprettyspeeches written out in the event someone were to ever find out you are withholding information. But the crux of the matter is you want to personally see her grow, as an instructor. You miss being on the field. Hands-on teaching."

For a moment Madeline ponders refuting her commentary, but ends up sighing instead. "There is no hiding from you, Tsuru."

Tsuru smirks, twirling her glass with obvious satisfaction, "Do you think I've gotten where I am because of brute strength?"

"I'm sure you could give even the best soldier a run for their money, even now." Madeline points out, idly crossing her legs and placing a hand on her knee. She knows that there are things best left unsaid, but there are no pretenses she can forge that Tsuru cannot tear down in an instant. This is a testimony to their friendship as well as her friend's abilities.

However, there are some lines that both of them understand they cannot cross. Thus is the nature of their chosen disciplines.

"Speaking of brute strength, I have a few stories to fill you in on." Tsuru hums, knowing that a change in subject is imperative.

"Garp?" Madeline asks, knowing that it isalwaysGarp.

"Indeed." Tsuru's voice takes on an irritated tone, of which Madeline chooses not to believe, before she delves into the specifics.

A knock on the door interrupts Madeline from the paperwork she has shuffled through all morning.

The end of the school year always demands much from Madeline. Most of it is tedious work, looking over documents, stamping approvals, and dismissing others that she will no doubt reread once more in two days' time. Between report cards, parental meetings, replying to mail, shipments, dealing with transportation for the children… There is never a shortage of work for Madeline.

"Enter." She calls out, closing a document dedicated to one of her seventh-year students.

A man in a black suit enters, bowing slightly as he says, "Everyone has arrived and have commenced the observations."

Madeline stands up from her desk, keeping her expression steady so as not to belay the harsh emotions that scorch within her. It'sjustlike Recruitment to show themselves in without following cipher pol protocol. Howutterlyunprofessional. To busy her hands she begins to put away the stacks of paper, tucking the student's documents in one of her locked cabinets.

"Let's go," she says as she turns to face the CP officer.

Closing the door behind him, the officer follows her across the office as Madeline presses down on the marble bust that stands at the corner of the room. The wall falls away, revealing a spiral staircase. She gestures for the officer to enter, closing the trap door as she descends behind him. Their trek is long and silent as they maneuver through the tunnels, Madeline using a key to open up a door before leading him up to one of the observation rooms.

Eight men and women occupy the room, walking up and down the length of the hall as they make their observations. Madeline turns to face the wall and the false mirrors that situate as thin windows into the students' classrooms. The first-year students sit in a circle, their conversations unheard through the glass.

"Madeline!" A portly man greets, turning to her with upturned arms and a smile that reeks ofgrease. The recruiter for Cipher Pol 2, Ronaldo. "How nice of you to join us."

A tall lady hovers over the glass that showcases the third-year class and taps on the window, prompting an elderly man to hush her. The woman turns to Madeline with a snooty tone and demands, "How am I to judge them if I cannot hear them?"

She must be the new recruiter for Cipher Pol 6, Li Li, then.

Madeline exchanges a glance with Ronaldo. He grimaces and shrugs,what can you do?

How spineless.

"Connect your Black Den Den Mushi with those within the classroom you wish to eavesdrop on," Madeline informs her, hands tucked at the small of her back, "If you had attended the meeting we were supposed to be having right now, then youwould havebeen informed of this. Along with the portfolios that match the students of interest. But I suppose your leniency and brazen lack of respect speak more about your character than any redacted employment records could."

Li Li blinks, staring at Madeline with mute shock.

"Oh, come now Madeline. Put away the claws," Ronaldo intervenes, "As only one of us has not been here before, why waste time with your… tutorials, when we could get to the thick of theselectionprocess?"

Madeline stares at the man with thinly veiled contempt. There are protocols in placefor a reason. Rules are sanctioned for the purpose of efficiency and safety for the children. Treatingherstudents like they arelivestockbeing prepared for the slaughter. Despicable. She supposes that it is not entirely inaccurate. There is a difficult life ahead of any student who is selected for further enlistment. It is for the greater good that this school exists, that their organization has places to hand-pick children and adolescents for greater purposes in life. It is a cruelty, but a necessary evil that the students too will one day come to understand and embrace.

However, this shameless behaviour has her breezing past CP 2's recruiter with no reply. He does not deserve one and will regret treating her students with the same apathy he uses when buying slabs of meat.

She will see to it.

Madeline spends most of the afternoon watching the rest of the recruiters eye the students and take notes, showing them around to the various observation rooms that are equipt within the walls of St. Monroe's.

By the time dinnertime comes around, the recruiters find themselves sitting in a circle in one of St. Monroe's lounges with food and drinks being offered by staff members. The table at the center has stacks of portfolios and documents messily placed on top, making Madeline itch to fix and clean the disorderly setup.

"It's quite the dry year, hm?" The recruiter from CP8, Clevis, huffs as he takes a long drink from his glass. He has a file of one of the upper-year students in hand.

Madeline is alwaysdistrustfulof those who have an interest in her older girls.

Ronaldo shakes his head expressively, raising up a few pictures of the first years, "Where are you looking, my friend? There are plenty of opportunities to be had here."

Clevis side-eyes him, throwing down the file and slouches against the couch he sits upon.

"I see that Laskey could not make it today," Madeline says primly, taking a graceful sip of wine. The absence of the CP9 recruiter is difficult to ignore.

"You know what he is like," Ochoa, a recruiter for CP1, scoffs as he carefully creates piles. Madeline does not trust his organization skills, and eyes him dubiously, "he doesn't expect to find anythingworthyhere. Would rather focus on the Grand Line or South Blue, if any."

Li Li huffs, arms crossed. She's been staring at the same file for nearly forty minutes now. "Laskey will find himself replaced at this rate. We haveenoughnepotism within our ranks," she needn't specifywho, and several members of the party eye her and Pat wearily, "this isn't a monarchy. We shouldn't bebreedinginto the organization. It nullifies most of our ideals and will only weaken our ranks and abilities as an information network."

Pat, the recruiter of CP5, shifts awkwardly. This is understandable, given the fact that the director of CP5 is a direct cause of nepotism.

Madeline says nothing, though she eyes the young woman with interest. Such bold ideologies. It's a shame that it is partnered with crass mannerisms.

"Aye aye," Ronaldo agrees, scuffing his facial hair as he carefully chooses his words, "different... requirements they may have, but it'll be no good if all the members age out. Particularly since CP9 is prone to direct confrontation. I understand why he might not want to attend... But there is a standard! These visits are not limited to selection."

Jin, CP7, one of the oldest in the room, nods with his own agreement, "Youth these days do not care much for politics. Spandine and Laskey prefer to confine themselves to creating their weapons. Have no taste for variety."

"He's arrogant." Li Li interjects with a scowl, "Don't blame youth. O'hara and Guanhao have made them feel infallible. Untouchable."

"O'hara? Hm? I'm not sure what you mean." Ronaldo hums, visibly nervous. "Never heard of it."

Li Li merely rolls her eyes at his theatrics.

"Can't deny that Laskey hassometruth to his prejudice," Clevis says, lightly twirling a finger around the rim of his glass, "St. Monroe's rarely churns out anyone who isassassinmaterial, after all. A no-nonsense type of man would rather focus his efforts on his budding psychopaths than prissy little girls."

Madeline's mouth thins as she holds back a scathing retort.

"Do you intend to gossip all day or are we here to discuss potential recruits?" Gabriel scoffs from the back of the room as he enters. As the director of CP4, he holds the most authority out of everyone in the room. Although young, Madeline must admit that his practices are of the most admirable as he makes his own selections rather than delegate it to a recruiter.

"They're a talkative bunch." Cherry sighs, twirling a strand of hair as she watches the CP4's director sit in a chair instead of in the available seat beside her.

Gabriel rolls his eyes, linking his fingers together and raises an eyebrow, "So? Any standouts?"

"No," Clevis mutters.

"Yes!" Ronaldo gushes, passing forward a stack of IDs, "Gracey, Tori, and Ji areby farthe ones to look out for!"

"They are five." Pat says in a deadpan, "You can't tellanythingby that age."

Ronaldo taps at his temple, "But I know. It's a feeling."

Cherry wrinkles her nose, "I don't trustanyof yourfeelings, Sicko."

"Hey!"

Ochoa passes a folder to Gabriel, "Rin, from class three, looks promising. Good grades, social graces, from a respected family. Her accents are remarkable for a girl her age, and with a bit of teaching she could make a proficient agent in CP1 to 4."

Gabriel takes the folder and starts to read through it.

Li Li drops a folder in front of Madeline, "I wantthisone."

"Trafalgar?" Clevis sputters, hands shaking with a curious tremor, "She has a misdemeanor list longer than Ronaldo's."

"Hey!" The man in question interjects.

"There's potential, though." Li Li points out, leaning forward and resting an elbow on her knee, "The best scores we've seen from here in decades."

"Not yet." Madeline cuts in, and the table falls to an awkward silence. This is not the first time, nor the last, for a recruiter to look at Trafalgar's statistics and believe themselves entitled to the profits. Placing down her glass, she attempts to work through the conflicting emotions that war inside of her. "She needs a few more years here."

"Children are not wine, Madeline." Ochoa huffs, "there's an expiry date before they become averse to our disciplines. Best to grab them while they are impressionable."

Madeline coldly stares them down and wonders when her reputation within Cipher Pol started to deteriorate.

"If this is what Madeline believes is right, then so it shall be." Jin murmurs, followed by a few other hums of agreement.

"She'lldullif we leave her here." Li Li argues petulantly, scowling. "She's one of yourmaincontestants, I don't understand why you keep refusing to grant us access. EvenLaskeyhas expressed interest in her physicals."

"Exactly."

The table goes quiet once more.

"Trafalgar is rebellious. She isimpetuous. There is a fire within her and if left unchecked, she will not takenofor an answer," Madeline pauses to stare them in the eye, daring them to refute her opinion, "Let her stew. Let her getbored. Eventually she will run out of things to play with at this school and it willdullher as desperation starts to take a hold on her. It willtwisther. Leave herachingfor something to catch her attention, to be ofuse. Good. It will make it far easier for us to shape her."

There is a long silence before Gabriel says, "As always, Madeline is correct."

Nodding, she continues, "Now. Rin may have good scores, but her maturity will cause problems if pushed too quickly. We should wait a year or two before reconvening. I will see to putting her into ample courses to see how she fares. Triss and Furu from class five, however..."

The night continues.

It's nearly midnight when the distant ring of a Den Den Mushi catches Madeline's attention.

There's a long moment where she simply sits, staring at her paperwork, before she carefully collects her things. Very few people have access to her dial number.

Den Den Mushi fitted with dials are strictly prohibited from St Monroe's due to the solitary nature of the school. It grants the children and parents a sense of privacy and space from the outside world, making it easier to shape their experience while at the school. It also allows for St. Monroe's to select which issues at the school become known, whether it be from the outside world or within St. Monroe's own walls. Most of her staff members do not own any Den Den Mushi, only a select few have black Den Den Mushi for surveillance purposes.

At the back of her office, Madeline pulls out a book from the bookcase and watches as the wall turns and exposes a doorway. The ringing sharpens, persistent as she enters into her back chamber.

The clutter of this room is wildly contrasting to the neatness of her office. The walls are lined with books from ceiling to floor, piles of paper and books littering the floor around the corners. Odd paraphernalia taken from students lays stacked in a bucket, with maps and charts curled and tied together against a bookcase. The desk at the center of the room has very little surface area left due to dozens of student files placed on top. The Den Den Mushi also rests here, ringing and ringing and ringing.

Sitting down in the chair, Madeline idly spins the odd globe stationed at the corner of the desk. She is not surewhois calling, but it does not bode well for anyone when St. Monroe's is beckoned.

Never one to procrastinate for too long, Madeline takes the receiver off of the dial and straightens her spine, "St. Monroe's."

"Finally," The familiar voice of CP 9's director barks through, the Den Den Mushi mimicking a scowl, "I've been waiting for ages, woman! How difficult is it to answer a dial?"

"Spandine," Madeline drawls in way of greeting, "We missed you at the last selection. Busy, perhaps?"

"Sheesh, you never let anything go, do you?" Spandine huffs and the Den Den Mushi rolls its eyes, "Look this ain't a pleasure call, alright?"

"Of that, I have no doubt."

"I'm calling about a girl... What's her name…" His voice trails off.

"That is a first for you."

"I told you, this ain't a pleasure call! It's business.Business,ya hear me? Ah! Trafalgar, do you know her? From Flevance, right?"

"Yes," Madeline starts, keeping her voice even as she gives a brief description, "one of our younger candidates. She has one of the best physical scores we have seen at St. Monroe's in years. A self-aware genius. Different from our other intelligent students due to her maturity, yet her arrogance is typical for a child of her caliber. I hope to temper this with a few more years here at St. Monroe's."

Spandine gives a noncommittal hum, sounding quite bored and distracted as he says, "You sound quite interested in the girl."

Madeline doesn't bother to agree or disagree, mouth twitching with veiled contempt. The man isn't evenlistening.The audacity of the young. He is no better than Trafalgar, words going in one ear and out the other, ignoring the world except for what they selectively choose to indulge in. Spandine himself could certainly use a few year's worth of humbling, not that the higher-ups would ever deign to do such a thing. Such a useful puppet, so filled to the brim with hubris and pride that he doesn't bother to question the heinous acts he commits.

The standard for CP9. The man is a dog- easy to replace and put down should he become a liability.

( just how cipher pol likes their agents; useful, weak, disposable )

"So was Laskey, the last I checked," Is all Madeline says in response, leaning back in her chair.

"Not anymore. It's a pity, but the girl - Trafalgar - needs to be disposed of. As I said, this is a business call. Three days, quick and easy."

Madeline stares at the Den Den Mushi, completely aware of the fact that he is speaking of assassinating one of her students.

"Why?"

Typically one does notquestioncipher pol 9 when it comes to their assignments. The answer comes with their slogan; they get rid of those who stand in the way of the government's goals. It would not be the first time St. Monroe's has seen the likes of CP9, girls dismissed as security risks due to rebelling parents and warring countries whisked from their beds in the middle of the night. Or worse; left in their beds.

But, no, not on Madeline's watch. This isherschool.

"It's confidential, I'm sure you understand. I know that tone of yours, It's useless to argue with me, Mads. This is a direct order from the higher-ups- do you think I want to waste my time on something likethis? Che."

Madeline does not question him. She is wise enough to know where her place in the organization is and when to keep her opinions to herself. This situation is out of her hands. However...

"A security risk, then."

"Not now, but she will be. Which is why we need to implement it now and nip it in the bud before this entire situation gets any worse. Fhe. She shouldn't have been admitted into the school in the first place, fucking incompetents. Do I have to do everything my-fucking-self around here? Some paperwork must have slipped through the cracks on our end."

Madeline recalls Spandine asking about the girl's home country as a way of opening the conversation and puts together the dots.

"No children from Flevance from now on, then." She hums, pulling out a piece of paper from her desk and writing it down as a note.

"Heh, yeah, but it's not something you'll have to worry about for long."

Giving the Den Den Mushi a side-eye, Madeline straightens in her seat. There is certainly something more to his words. She doubts she will ever know it's the true meaning.

"Regardless, I cannot allow you todisposeof one of my students. The possible backlash that might occur in the event of a student dying or going missing would have catastrophic consequences to this establishment. CP9 may not have an interest in the students here, but the other factionscertainlydo. We cannot afford any sort of controversy here, given the type of students our school fosters and shapes." Madeline neatly links her fingers together, "If Trafalgar must leave the school immediately then you must escort her home. If you have any complaints on the matter, well, you can speak withthemabout it."

"Fucking bureaucracy. Madeline why do you always have to make things so difficult for me? So much fucking red tape- I'm SPANDINE, the leader of cipher pol fucking 9, I shouldn't even have to tell you what I'm doing!"

Madeline waits out his whining with patience. She wants to remind him of the fact that he is nearly 50 years old and that such behaviour is unacceptable for a man of his age and position. However, experience has taught her that no amount of scolding and criticism will change Spandine's ways and that the best way to deal with him is to manipulate him.

"It will give your son something to do, hm? I hear he has recently been promoted to the director of CP5. Congratulations are in order. His youth must be a testimony to his skill."

The is a long moment where Spandine is quiet, before the Den Den Mushi erupts into giggles, "That's my boy, not even twenty-five and already taking the world by storm! Alright, alright. It's a waste of time Mads, I cannot emphasize how much of a favour we are giving you here by offering to clean up this mess, but I can delegate it to the kid. It'll be good for the kid to see the world, anyway. Look good on a resume, even."

"Hm." Madeline hums, leaning back and placing her hands in her lap as the man rambles about his son.

How terrifying it is thatSpandineis the only obstacle that stands between the government's league of assassins and the rest of the world.

RIN

Light filters through the thick canopy of trees, casting a soft glow onto Rin and the flower bed she kneels in front of. Quietly picking out a small blue flower, she adds it to the growing collection she has sticking out of her dress pocket. Standing up she wipes off the dirt from her knees and moves to the next flower that catches her attention; a bundle of star-shaped white flowers.

"The islands to the south are warm~" She hums to herself, "Paina-puru-puru~"

"You're supposed toweedthe garden," Rey, her sister, barks out with exasperation, "notdeflowerit, you idiot."

Rin spins around on her heel, grinning at her sister as she flashes a peace sign, "Boo, what's the fun in that?"

"This isdetention. It's not supposed tobefun."

"Life is too short for dumb things!"

Turning on her heel to find more flowers for her collection, ignoring her sister's grumblings, Rin continues to hum her song, "Their heads get really hot, and they're all idiots~"

"Ew~!" One of Rin's classmates, Aurora, squeals in class one day. "That issogross!"

She is pointedly looking in Lami's direction.

Rin casts a glance towards her teacher; the woman is lounging at her desk with a fashion magazine poorly hidden behind a book. It's not an uncommon occurrence, especially during their free-writing periods. As per the norm, the teacher does not lift a finger at Aurora's exclamation despite it catching the attention of at least half of the class.

Lami doesn't react. She doesn't seem to realize thatsomethingis happening. This is also per the norm. Sometimes it's like Lami doesn't realize the world is happening around her, so wrapped up in her own projects to realize that there are sixteen other girls in their class.

Craning her head to look at what spooked her friend, Rin gasps and brings her hands to her mouth. Spread out on her classmate's desk are a series ofgraphicphotos. They are, what Rin could only describe as,shriveled dead bodiesat various angles. Skin peeling back and exposing the insides of the human body, a brain cut in half, a body yellowish-green andbloated. One of the photos even has a shot of… something that looks like a convoluted mess ofsausagesat the forefront!

Cool, Rin can't help but marvel, eyes sparkling.

"Ueh," Aurora gags and convulses beside her, arms draping over her desk with dramatics, "I'm gonna. I'm gonna barf. Gross- that'sgross. Why is she always soweird? That shouldn't beallowed. In the middle ofclass!Ueh.Ueh."

'Weird' is not a word that Rin would choose to describe Trafalgar Lami.

But, then again, her sister claims that Rin has an awful taste for things.

Snow crunches underneath the soles of her boots as she walks across the courtyard. Rin idly listens as her sister berates her for a poor mark on a math assignment. She doesn't see the big deal. It's just one assignment, after all. However, her attention is quickly snatched from the very boring conversation upon seeing Lami's prone body laying down in the snow. A hat covers her face, presumably to block the sun, and a few older students stare as they walk by.

It is not the first time that Rin has seen Lami sleeping in odd places, nor the first outside. Rin has found her in stairwells, for example. And sometimes even in themiddleof class! But in thesnow! How crazy! It'sjustlike Lami to do such a thing.

"Rin, are you even listening to me?"

Giggling to herself, Rin spares her sister a glance as she chirps, "I'll be right back!" and ignores her sister's protests.

Running towards her classmate, Rin can't help the grin that stretches across her face. She reallyisjust… sleeping in the snow. No blanket, just her winter gear to keep her warm. Rin can't imagine that it is comfortable— but, Rin doesn't like snow in general. She much prefers the warmth of summer or the soft rain in spring.Winter, well, it iscoldand Rin has to wear bulky clothing which isawful.

Lami must like the snow, though, since she is laying in it.

"You're going to get sick," Rin giggles, mittens covering her mouth to stop herself from laughing too much. "You're going to be late for class, again."

Her classmate barely responds, quietly mumbling, "Don't care."

Rin bites into her mittens, shaking with quiet laughter. Oh! How strange it is, to see someone so... Disobedient! Rin cannot even imagine being late for class, let alone sleep in the snow. The mere thought has Rin shaking in her boots; her parents would befuriousif they found out Rin was misbehaving— which is actually fairly often! Detention has become a home for Rin due to her habit of daydreaming and wandering.

But never to the same extent as Lami. Her classmate has evenskipped class, which is a sin that had their teacher dragging her out by the ear!

Leaning forward, Rin pulls at Lami's hat and says, "Ms. Rosalin wouldn't like to hear that."

Lami squints up at Rin, and she can barely keep herself from laughing herself silly. The other girl's hair is amess, thanks to the hat, and the cold has made her cheeks so red they look like cherries. Lami grumbles upon seeing Rin, a fairly common reaction for the girl, and brushes her hair out of her face. It just makes her hair look evenworse. Rin cannot imagine walking around with her hair unbrushed likethis! Her mother would have a few choice words for either Rey or Rin if they were ever lounging about messily like this.

But, then again, Lami doesn't seem to abide by the rules that govern what is socially acceptable and what is not.

"Your cheeks are red," Rin says dumbly, after a moment of silence. She can feel her own cheeks start to warm when Lami's gaze turns back to Rin.Drat.

Lami doesn't say anything in response, simply stands up and brushes the snow off of her clothes. Sending Rin another smoldering look, Lami takes her hat back.

Rin finds herself frozen with her words fumbling in her mouth. Oh, geez, why can she never actuallytalkto her!

Before she can actually bring up something - like, maybe her hair? - Lami is already leaving. Rin opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Shoving her face into her mits, Rin laughs at her own incompetence. One of these days she will work up the courage! Rin had started the year so strong!

"Ugh, I never want to see that ever again," Rey calls to Rin as she approaches, gagging dramatically, "Find someonebetterto idolize, geez."

Pouting, Rin reaches toward her sister and hugs one of her arms, cheeks still warm with embarrassment, "Boo, you just don't like her."

"She's an asshole." Rey rebuts, voice completely flat, "Ignores you at every opportunity."

"Lami is… interesting." Rin hums, smiling off in the direction Trafalgar had gone.

"Sure," Rey mutters, likely knowing that it is a losing battle. "That's a word for it."

"Is she dead?" Mari asks, leaning towards Rin.

Lami had, more or less, fallen forward on her desk with athunk.

"... No," Rin whispers back, watching as Lami's shoulders rise and then fall, "I think she's just sleeping again."

"Oh," Mari blinks, "that's good."

"Someone should wake her up, though, before the teacher catches her," Rin says pointedly, looking to where their etiquette teacher is writing on the chalkboard. She has yet to notice the sleeping child, but of all the teachers at St. Monroe's she is the worst for nagging on misbehaviour. Rin has faced the woman's wrath before due to her absent-mindedness and she can't say that she envies anyone who finds themselves at the focal point of her ire.

Aurora takes Rin's pencil case and chucks it at Lami's back. It hits her shoulder, and Lami jerks awake with a soft grumble. Brushing back her auburn hair, she looks back at them andglares.

"You look like an electrocuted squirrel," Aurora whispers with a sneer.

Rin knows that Aurora means well. Lami does, in fact, look pretty messy. But Aurora's execution could certainly make improvements.

Lami simply scowls and throws the pencil case back at them... With more force than perhaps necessary.

"Trafalgar!" Their teacher shrilly screeches, and Rin covers her face with her hands.

It's a cold evening when Rin catches Lami reading by herself in a stairwell.

She has never understood Lami's affinity with stairwells. There is a lingering suspicion that she does so in order to avoid the other girls, but this in itself is not something that Rin understands. The other girls in their grade are very nice. It is a lot of fun to spend time with her classmates and play games until their dean yells at them to go to bed. Yet Lami seems soresistantto befriending anyone… despite Rin's best efforts to do so.

The other girls think Lami isweirdbecause of it. Always more content in her own company, holding everyone else at a measured distance.

Rin doesn't think Lami has a particularly good home life. She never wants to talk about home and is always asking questions about the islands where the other girls live. It was sweet at first, and very cathartic to talk about a home that Rin misses so much, but their conversationsalwaysturn to Raven's Roost. Lami seems to know more about the adult things involving her island than Rin'solder sister, as though keeping mental notes. In the same way, their classmates can only really connect to Lami due to her interest in their homelands. It's nice, but it's odd. Thefixation. As though she is living vicariously through them.

Many nights have gone by with Rin wondering if Lami is simply looking for a new place to call home.

"Whatchya reading?" Rin asks, tucking her dress under her knees as she sits next to Lami.

Not looking up from her book she says, "Minerals."

"Min-" Rin blinks, "Minerals?"

"Rocks." This time her reply is flat, sending Rin a look she cannot decipher.

"Oh," Rin says, losing interest.

There's a quiet moment where Lami stares before she holds out her book to Rin to show the page she is looking at. There is a beautiful jewel depicted, of purple and blue hues.

"Oh!" Rin murmurs, much more interested inpretty shinyrocks.

Lami huffs a quiet laugh, and Rin can't help but stare with surprise. She doesn't think she has ever seen Lami laugh in a situation that hadn't involved teachers getting angry at her. It's.. nice. Rin thinks she should laugh more often.

Softly smiling, Rin leans in closer as Lami starts to show her variousmineralswhile whispering facts that she seems to think are neat. Something about their physical properties, luster, crystal habits, cleavage… Rin doesn't really understand what Lami is talking about, but is happy enough to just listen and stare. Some of themineralsare really funky looking, while others are very pretty.

However, there's a limit to her attention span. After a few minutes Rin starts to bounce her leg, idly nodding furiously at Lami's commentary as her mind starts to wander. She triesreally hardto keep her mind on task, but she finds herself more interested in the ridge of Lami's nose, or the way she absently plays with her hair as she talks. It doesn't take too much longer before Rin reaches out and fiddles with a strand of hair, a peculiar thought in mind.

"You look paler than usual," Rin notes as Lami stills at the touch, half aware of the fact that she is speaking over Lami as she twirls the length of hair around her finger, "You didn't go to dinner today, are you feeling okay?"

There is a moment of silence where Lami simplystares.

An expression begins to dawn on her face, one that Rin has never seen before. One that she has no hope of understanding. She looks like she has seen a ghost, eyes wide and looking at Rin, but notseeingher.

Lami abruptly stands up, voice quiet and choked as she says, "I have to go."

It's Rin's turn to stare, "Do you have to go to the nurse's office?"

"I'm fine," Lami says in response, soft and intangible, skipping down the stairs two at a time.

The next morning Lami does not show up to breakfast.

She does not show up to class.

She does not show up for dinner.

That night when Rin knocks on the door, there is no response.

For the next two weeks there is no response. Trafalgar Lami isgone, without so much as a goodbye.

Their etiquette teacher brags about how she has finally gotten the girl expelled, and how the rest of the girls should watch their behaviour so they do not turn out like Trafalgar.

Rin's days, for a while, are tinged with grey.

LAW

School, for Law, is a necessary evil.

Although he loves to learn, thrives in the learning curve, and has a firm grasp on how his life is going to go— he cannot get accustomed to the social dynamics thatschoolforces upon him. It's not as though Law does not understand the trivialities that come with human interaction; in fact, he understands quite well that his career as a doctor will include teamwork and consolation. It is a part of the profession, an unavoidable aspect of life that he has come to accept.

Logiclike this rarely has any merit or added proficiency when it comes to the rocky roads of conversing with other people. It is one thing to know and understand that communicating with others is an important facet of life, and another to be any good at it.

However, he prides himself on beingmarginallybetter at this than his sister. Who, to his current knowledge, is still a human dumpster fire when it comes to interacting with others.

The bar islow, so it's not something heshouldbe proud of…

But. Well, he is.

It is seven in the afternoon and his father is going on anotherrant about the social-economics of their island and how it is encouraging consumer behaviour within the country.

He is currently flaunting off his new purchase, an outrageously sized whiteboard with an assortment of colours, as he draws graphs to further his points on how it is positively affecting their country's economy as well as how important it is for Flevance to develop industries outside of their nonrenewable resources. He theorizes that Flevance has about two or three decades before their ore deposits start to deplete and that their country will face depression as their consumer habits make it more and more difficult for the country to keep up with the extravagance that they have become accustomed to.

Law can barely keep his eyes open.

He doesn't remember how they got to this topic and at this point he's scared to ask and risk encouraging his father's absentmindedness. Frankly, Law doesn't particularly care about economics or how social philosophy shapes how people spend their money. In fact, he would go so far as to say that hereallydoesn't care at all.

If he had less tact he would stand up and yell that heisn'tLami.

That hedoesn'twant to listen to his father ramble about trivial things when heshouldbe quizzing Law on the textbook of diseases he has spent the past three months meticulously studying. There arecountlessherbal medicines that he has yet to even learn, along with hundreds of medical procedures, viruses, and medical conditions that are justwaitingfor Law.

It'sfinethat Lami is clearly his father's favourite child, but sometimes Law just wants to throw his textbook at his father's head for making itso obvious. It'sfine, hegets it. His father misses his sister, which isfine! Law misses her too! But that doesn't mean that he has to drag Law into it and project it through long-winded rants that only Lami would appreciate.

Yawning, Law slouches onto his desk and halfheartedly listens until his eyes start to droop close.

Dear Law,

Glad to hear that you are faring well in school. At this rate you'll be getting your doctorate before you even reach adulthood, which is amazing.

This past week here has been so dull. Nothing much to report.

Send one of those comics next time, please.

Lami.

Law frowns as he reads the letter. His sister is a very concise person when it comes to her letters, less is more in her own twisted way, and honestly doesn't often give much to respond to…

Even then, it's typically at least obvious that she istrying.

He cannot say the same for the past few letters she has sent.

The languid apathy practicallybleedsthrough every syllable, painting enough of an impression to causeconcernto burn in his gut. The writing itself is slanted and drawn out, different from the crowded chicken scratch that he has become accustomed to. She is obviously putting little to no effort into this, which is not something Law has seen since her first year away.

It's off-putting, to say the least.

He makes a note to send hisbestandfavouritecomic book. Hopefully, it will cheer her up.

"—what are we going to do with her?"

Law pauses in his tracks, sleepily rubbing at his eyes. He had accidentally fallen asleep in the study, again, and woke up only to realize that nighttime had fallen. During his trek to his room, the noises of his parents speaking from down below is more than enough to draw his attention. Probably from the kitchen, if he is to hazard a guess.

"It's happening more often now," his father continues, the concern and worry palpable in his tone, "this is, what, thethirddetention in the past two weeks?"

"She has always been steadfast in her ways," his mother intones softly.

It hits Law, then, that they are talking about Lami.

Creeping closer to the stairs, he sits on the top step and leans against the railing. It's an awfully Lami-like habit to eavesdrop, but Law can't help it when they are talking abouthissister. His parents are not especially forthcoming about anything that might affect his schooling, a behaviour that is sometimes a blessing and a curse. In this case Law does not mind acting in the same juvenile ways as his younger sibling; he would otherwise never hear anything about her or how she is doing.

But detention—again?

A frown starts to grow, and he thinks about her recent letters. No matter how miserable she appears to be, he cannot understand why she would still rather betherethanhere.

"Was it a mistake to send her away?" His father questions, voice quieter than before as he starts to ramble, "She has been getting into more and more trouble— talking back to teachers, sleeping in class, tardiness,skipping school. This- I don't understand. It just, it doesn't makesense. She is less distant nowadays, you canfeelher starting to grow more affectionate and trusting, and seemed to be gettingbetter, here. How does this translate to—"

His father cuts off there, though Law can hear a slight shuffle of what might be paper.

"It was always inevitable, dear." His mother soothes, "Both of our children are.. uncompromising, to say the least. She's always been a little quieter about it, is all. This… isn't a trait we were not expecting."

A soft murmur can be heard, and Law wants to creep to the bottom of the stairs so he cansee. But he knows not to.

"They're so much like you, when you were young." His father's voice is so quiet Law has to strain his ears to hear, nearly pressing his head through the columns of the railing.

His mother laughs. It strikes Law as odd before he realizes that he hasn't heard his mother laugh in some time.

"You were right, though." She says after a moment, and to Law it sounds painful for her to admit, "Even with all this trouble she is causing, having her in a controlled environment might be for the best. It'll allow her togrow... which is something I didn't want to miss out on."

"It's understandable why you would want to keep them by your side." There's a long moment where neither say anything, somethingunspokenlingering in the air, and Law is about to retreat when his father says, "You should speak to the kids, they're old enough now to understand."

"I know." Despite this, her tone is solemn and full of sorrow, "But I'd like them to have a childhood before they start to realize the stark reality of the world…"

"Don't we all? Nevertheless, they areclever. They're already askingquestions, Lacie, one's that they shouldn't. Ones that'll get them in trouble someday."

A long sigh, and with something close to mirth she says, "You don't have to remind me."

When Lami shows up at their doorstep, unannounced, with their father at her side three and a half monthsbefore she is due, Law is filled with absoluteglee—

Until he sees the look on both of their faces.

His father is clearly trying his best to keep a smile on his face, but Law has known his father long enough to see the strain that lingers. His clothing does not match, as though he hurriedly grabbed the closest pieces of clothing off the floor, and he takes off his jacket and hangs it with more force than necessary.

Law watches this from the stairs, a little wide-eyed as his father marches off into the kitchen without a word.

The front door is still open and Lami hovers on the front porch, as though tentative to enter.

It's difficult for Law to understand his sister at the best of times. They are similar in ways that make it easy toassumethings about her, of what she is feeling and thinking. Time and experience have helped Law try to put the pieces together, using the precedent to dictate her actions and the likely causes. But they are distinctly different in ways that make itfrustratinganddifficultto pry throughbothof their respective bullshit and reach any sort of understanding. She actively refuses to communicate properly, no matter how many self-help books she reads, and even when shedoesit is not helpful in the least.

At the worst of times, Law can barely comprehend the plethora of emotions that flicker across her face or the round-a-bout, stone-faced way she talks when a conversation is on a subject she doesn't wish to speak of. Both are confusing, both he struggles to keep up with.

This is not one of those times.

When he sees his sister in the doorway, he knowsexactlywhat she is feeling andexactlywhat she needs.

How could their father leave her in the doorway, without a single comfort, when the clearmiseryhangs off of her like a wet rag? A despondency so thick she looks ten seconds away fromvomiting, as though it isphysically painfulto stand there, with her fingers twisting anxiously at the strap of her bag.

Law doesn't knowwhyshe is home, but that's notimportantat this moment.

Rushing down the stairs two at the time, he sees Lami's head snap up and towards him. Itaches, the sheerreliefthat floods over her features when she sees him, and Law feels a vehementloathingforwhateverhad made his sister look likethis.

Wrapping her into a crushing hug, Law whispers, "Welcome home."

Lami curls her fingers into the fabric at the back of his shirt. She doesn't say anything and doesn't let go.

When Lami, quietly, haltingly, asks to sleep on his floor that night, Law does not fret.

But when one night becomes three, which then becomes seven…

He starts to worry.

He starts to worry when he wakes up in the middle of the night to his sister in the midst of a nightmare; choking out words that Law cannot understand, writhing around in the nest of blankets, gasping for breath the minute she wakes up, pillows stained from tears the next morning. Neither of them talks about it, but he can tell from the way she avoids his eyes that she feelsguilty.

He starts to worry when he notes that she is avoiding their parents and that they are clearly doing the same. Their parents spend more time out of the house, Lami spends her time in Law's room. Dinnertime is spent with a blanket of awkwardness as their parents ramble about this and that, Lami silent and pushing around her food until their mother reminds her that food is important. Law, the middleman, trying to decipher thedisappointmentthat reeks from his parent's expressions whenever his sister is around and the stilled way that Lami holds herself— as though she's scared that if she moves they'll see her.

He starts to worry when she makes a habit of waiting for him to get out of class; huddled by herself on the grass outside of the front gates of his school, knees tucked under her chin as she despondently stares at nothing. The Sisters tell him that she shows up at ten in the morning like clockwork, waits four hours without moving an inch.

Heworriesbut doesn't know what to do.

Responsibility weighs heavy like a noose around his neck.

The family library is quiet in the evening hours, especially when neither of his parents is home. The setting sun illuminates the room in oranges and reds, briefly reminding him to turn on the lights before dark falls.

At his side, Lami has a book open. It's one of his textbooks on common diseases. She hasn't turned a page in nearly twenty minutes, so he doubts that she is actually reading it, absently pulling at her bottom lip. She might not know it, but it's one of her more obvious habits. More often than not he has noted that it signifies that she is in deep contemplation, and given her recent mood… Law can't say that he is entirely optimistic about what might be whirring around in her head.

Sliding out of his seat, he quietly approaches the doorway and turns the lights on.

Lami jerks at the change, clutching at the book in her hands until her eyes land on him. She relaxes after a moment but doesn't say anything.

She hasn't said much at all lately.

A large part of him misses their back-and-forth dialogue. Their bickering and teasing, the roughhousing, and the childish fights. She hasn't even mentionedanythingabout the fact that she is taller than him now. Only by a smidgen, of course, but clearly enough material for her to poke fun at him.

She hasn't.

The avoidance, the careful veneer of normalcy… Last year he would have said that he couldn'tstandthe fact that she would poke and prod at him while actively evading questions regarding herself. Howinfuriatingit was to see her holier-than-thou attitude alongside the blatant rejection of everyone and everything around her.

But thissilence; the quiet companion that has replaced his sister— hisannoying, frustratinglyclever,blunt, and relentless sister…

Clinically speaking, Law doesn't think he has the credentials to…handlethis situation. He is intelligent. He has read books that have explained symptoms that are similar to this, has secretly delved deeper into the science of the mind since his concern over his sister has risen flags. He'll be ten in two weeks, but eventhatmight not be old enough to fully interpret the changes he has seen in his sister. Yet, this is the oldest he has ever been, and he would hate to see Lami continue to flinch and jerk at every little movement.

More than anything, he doesn't want her to feel alone.

He doesn't knowwhathappened— but it is obvious thatsomethingdid happen. No matter how many times he overhears his parents bickering over the detentions, the expulsion, there is something in the back of his mind that tells him that this isn't the case.

"What's the point of worrying about other people when I have plenty to worry about myself?"

"I'm just wondering what sort of skeletons they have in their closet."

"I'm finding myself becoming more and more suspicious of the school."

"My principal doesn't really like me."

The longer Law thinks about it, the less he thinks his parent's suspicions on Lami's expulsion are correct. If the school had wanted to expel her due to her detentions, then theywouldhave already—

Butthis, along with the information that Law knows, stinks of somethinginsidious.

Lami was poking her nose into the curiosities of the school, a staple of her personality, and Law would not be surprised if she had found something she should not have. With the tunnels, books, languages, artifacts— all things being kept away from the rest of the school, what would have been extreme enough to tilt the balance? Lami had confessed her suspicions that the headmaster of her school already knew about her snooping. Why wait untilnowto act on her transgressions?

Questions upon questions.

And the only way to get answers is toask.

Carefully maneuvering himself back into his seat, Law spends a moment to consider how to tackle this tactfully. If experience has taught him anything, it's that his sister will not open up to him until he takes the conversation by the reins andforcesher to. More often than not she seemsrelievedafterward, but he worries this might be a topic that requires fine handling and delicacy.

Law, for a searing moment, wishes that his parents would look past their personal biases and realize thatsomethingis going on. He's not sure he has what it takes. Lami needs their father's relentless love and support. She needs their mother's soothing words and tactful approach to difficult situations.

Shaking his head, Law reminds himself thatheis Lami's older brother.

There aremanythings that Law prides himself in, but none quite so high as his love and responsibility as a brother.

If not him, then who?

"What happened?" Is what ends up bluntly spilling out of his mouth, completely by accident, despite his mental build up forsensitivityandconsideration. He resists wincing at his tone, instead choosing to relentlessly stare at her.

She startles at the words, but it takes a moment before she looks over at him. Once again he can't help but notice the underlying guilt that presents itself in her expression as she says, "... what do you mean?"

Law doesn't know if she is playing dumb or if she is being genuine.

"Obviouslysomething happened, Lami. You'rehereafter all. Now, I don't believe in Dad's theory that it's about the detentions— I read the letter and it saidnothingabout them. It was about as forthcoming as arock. All things considered, you were in detention for what? Sleeping in class? That's nothing. You should see some of the things the kids inmyclass do to deserve detention. One of them, Owens,accidentallymixed the wrong chemicals and burnt off Ji's eyebrows. He didn't even get expelled, even though most of us aresureit was on purpose. Your girl's school might have high standards, but everyone has to pay to get inanywayand that's one less tuition they're getting. I'm sure even a rich girl school needs money."

"See. In my eyes, ithasto do with what you were doing in the tunnels, right?" Huffing, Law takes his notebook and flips through a dozen pages before he gets to a blank sheet. Taking a pen in hand, he starts to make a list. "The library isn't much of a big deal— until you found the secret room. I've been reading through the journals you left here, and though I'm no linguist I've beentryingto cross-reference it with others. It hasn't workedso farbut there has to be some sort of significance."

Lami is quiet, which causes something close to anxiety to twist in his gut so Law continues to ramble, "Mom and dad might think it's because of the detentions but... I don't believe it. I think you're more responsible than that, and they don't understand everything that is going on at school. It's unfair."

She's still quiet and he chances a glance in her direction, before doing a double-take.

Mouth aggressively pressed together to prevent any noise, hands firmly grasping the fabric of her pants, Law faces the horrid reality of the fact that his sister iscrying. Not the watery eye, blink twice to make it go away, type of crying he has seen her do before— but full-on waterworks with snot starting to drip down her to her lip as she tries and tries to hold herself back fromsobbing. He can see how strenuous it is, the way her knuckles have gone white in her efforts, and how her shoulderstremble.

When she realizes that Law is looking at her, Lami makes a choked noise and presses both hands to her mouth, as though to shush herself. Curling into herself, Law watches as she tries to ball up into the chair and make herself as small as can be.

It hits him at once:he made his sister cry.

Rushing into action with a flurry of panic, Law shuts his book closed and throws the pen away as he scoots his chair closer to hers, "Wait, wait, wait— I'msorry, I didn't- I didn't think you'dcry."

No, wait, that's not what he wanted to say, not the tone he wanted to use—

Lami makes a noise, and maybe it's supposed to be words or maybe it's just noise, but it makes Law's heart shrivel as guilt eats away at him.

Jumping out of his chair he runs across the library and grabs a tissue box before sprinting back, "If- if you want I can ask Mom or Dad to come home! I'm sure they would leave in a heartbeat if you wanted! I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

Words struggle to find purchase.

Maybe it's for the best, as Lami aggressively shakes her head at the suggestion.

Sliding back into his seat he grabs a handful of tissues and thrusts it in Lami's direction. He can tell that she is quietly sobbing now, though obviously trying to stop herself. She takes the tissues and blows her nose. It's really quite gross, her hair is gettingeverywhere, but Law can't seem to find it in himself to care as he takes the tissue from her hand and throws it on the table.

"Hey, hey.Breathe." Law starts with a panic as she starts to aggressively wipe the tears from her face, noticing that hersolutionto stop sobbing is to just hold her breath— which isnotadvisable, by his standards.

He instructs her to breathe in and out for a few minutes, watching as she starts to listen and calm down. It's odd, in a way, to be on this end of the conversation. Usually it is Law who is getting overly emotional by the bluntness of his sister and has to calm himself down or run away so he can properly cry. He can't imagine what this is like, for Lami, since he has never seen her cry likethisbefore. Not even when she was a baby.

When she quiets, Lami brushes the hair from her face and spends a few moments collecting herself and staring at the ceiling. Her face is red and blotchy, eyes puffy and wet, and it startles him to realize howpaleshe is otherwise.

Her hand is sticky when she grabs his hand, but any rebuttal he's about to make finds itself fizzling in his mouth when she makes eye contact with him. Eyes swimming with emotion she weakly smiles, "Thank you-" her mouth and voice trembles as she says this "- itreallymeans a lot."

"But I-" He starts, andoh, he can feel his own eyes and throat start to burn, "I made youcry." His voice cracks on the last word, mouth quivering involuntarily.

He madehis sistercry— that is one of the biggest mistakes a big brother could make.

Lami, however, seems to disagree as she furiously shakes her head. She opens her mouth to say something, but then just ends up sniffing and wiping her face with her sleeve. Trying once more to speak, and failing, she clearly gives up and throws herself at Law.

For a moment he thinks they are about to fight before he realizes that she is trying to hug him. Their positioning makes this awkward, but Law makes do as he inches Lami's chair closer to his own and wraps his arms around her. She clings to him with a ferocity that surprises him, but he can't help but return the fierce sentiment in return.

Lami's arms tighten and tighten around him until Law is forced to choke out, "Hey- I need to breathe still!"

She laughs, quiet, but it's still a laugh. When they separate, he sees the ghost of a smile that lingers on her face, even as she starts to complain about how much she hates to cry.

He doesn't really understand, but he has (somehow) managed to breakthrough.

"What's that?" Law asks one morning as he is preparing his bag for school.

Lami sits in the living room with a trunk, letter in hand, and a small package wrapped in parchment at her side. The trunk itself looks familiar— it's the one she takes with her to school. But he's more interested in what she is holding.

"A letter from the President…" Lami murmurs, frown blossoming on her face as her eyes start to furrow with thought.

"Hm." Law grunts, practically a growl, with fervent protectiveness, "Let me see."

Lami ducks his hands, and Law climbs on top of her truck so he can lean over and try to read it upside down. His sister sends him an annoyed glance, pursing her lips as she leans back and away from him. For a moment Law thinks he's about to cry—

It'salmostlike things are back to normal.

"It's not that interesting." She assures him.

He is not assured.

"Tell me what that hag sent you," Law mutters, reaching down and grabbing at her ankle. He lightly tugs at it, not to initiate a fight but as a threat that he isn't afraid to start one.

"It's an apology." Lami relents after alongsigh, "'I apologize for the abrupt circumstances of your departure, Ms. Trafalgar. It was uncalled for, disingenuous, and tarnishes the name of St. Monroe's and all we strive to achieve. Your time at St. Monroe's will be remembered, though I wish we could have parted in a better state of affairs. I wish you the best."

Law is quiet for a moment as he hangs over the trunk, "That'sweird."

"Itisweird!" Lami agrees with an exclamation, apparently relieved to have some sort of vindication. "Who kicks someone out in the middle of the night and goes, 'oops'?"

"They expelled you in the middle of the night?" he asks with a narrowed squint.

"Something like that.." She mutters, playing with her bottom lip.

Realizing that he's about to lose Lami to her thoughts, again, he gestures at the package at her side, "What's that?"

She spares it a halfhearted glance, "I don't know. I'm… scared to look."

"Looks like a book." He says flatly, stretching in an attempt to poke at it. He can't reach it from where he is laying.

"What if it's a book on etiquette?" Lami asks in a mutter, "One last 'fuck you'"

Law jerks and waves a hand at her as he starts to whisper yell at her, "Hey! What did I say about swearing! Don't let Mom hear you say that!"

Side eyeing him for a moment, Lami simply sticks her tongue out in response.

It happens one night when the hands of the clock have long since passed midnight.

For the past few hours Law has listened to the quiet, panicked, distraught whispers of his parents through the crack of his bedroom door. Their words are unintelligible, muffled, and mixing together in fragments, but he canclearlymake out the emotion behind the words and quiet sobbing that stretches on for whathasto be an hour.

Concernsimmers in his stomach.

Law can hear his father say something, followed by the sounds of footsteps going past his door. Law waits a moment before quietly twisting the handle and sticking his head out into the hallway. He catches his father leading his mother into their bedroom, as well as the fact that she isstillcrying. Their bedroom door closes behind them.

There is no debate on what he should do: Law sneaks through the hallway and makes his way into his parent's study.

On the desk is alargepile of documents. At a glance, he can tell that it is mostly consisting of medical and lab reports, however, there also appears to be some assortment of patient files. Positioning himself behind the desk to hide from the view of the hall, Law understands thatthisis a Lami Behaviour, as he likes to call his more rebellious actions. Thatthis, going through their parent's confidential paperwork, is something that he shouldnotbe doing.

But after listening to his mothercryfor the better part of an hour, how could henot? Afierceprotectiveness clings to his heart, ready to lash out at anything that harms his family, no matter what it may be.

Steeling himself, Law methodically grabs similar looking files and begins the slow, steady, spiraling journey through his mother's medical research.

By the time he is finished, the sun has risen and Law is pale, frozen, and mute with pure, blinding horror.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

warnings. / none.

1O.

PICK YOUR POISON

flevance.

(ticktock.

the days drag on.

tick tock.

— but they don'tknow.

tick tock.

time is running out )

"I'm being a big baby." Lami intones one night, arm hanging over the side of Law's bed as she stares blankly at the ceiling.

She can't find it in herself to sleep in her own room. Lami tried the first night. But every time she closed her eyes, she would think of men in black suits; hands curling around her limbs, crawling in through the windows and creeping in through the house. Everycreakhad her heart convulsing, the wind rattling at her windows pushing her into a frenzy. The heavy footsteps of her parents differ greatly from the soft footfalls of the men in black, but the insidious tar in her mind can barely discern the difference. It doesn't help that the purpling bruises those men had left on her still remain, though they have faded into a yellow now.

A physical reminder of what transpired.

Maybe it's a good thing her parents are avoiding her, Lami thinks dully and without any actual credence. She isn't sure how she would explain the fingerprint marks. How she struggles to eat without the reminder of how she could barely walk, barely stay awake, howweakandunsteadyshe had felt until she fell in a heap outside of the docks in an alleyway. Too scared to remain in sight but head too wobbly and unfocused to make her way home. She didn't think shecould, even if she tried.

"Because your school was chock full of crazies?" Law throws back at her, not bothering to look away from his homework.

Or, at least she assumes it's homework. But, knowing Law, it could very easily be notes that he is writing for fun. She knows that he wouldn't admit it, but he has a fond affinity for his meticulous notes and the ridiculous number of coloured pens and sticky notes.

Not that Lami has proven to be any better with her side-studies, given her ridiculous number of notes on the subject ofrocks. And not even thefunrocks, like Rocks the Pirate- but minerals and fault lines. Which, okay, is actually averyinteresting topic to research and compare with her knowledge frombefore. However, now that she is back in Flevance, it seems rather... redundant to continue her studies on minerals in Geology.

In fact, she's certain that if she were to continue her studies here she would make herselfsick.

( whitewhitewhite)

However, with her father out of the house almost constantly… It's been rather difficult to acquire any new material to study.

( her insides twist and bleed at the remembrance of their silent ride home

lami has never seen her father sodisappointed

it cut deeper than any harsh word or action could )

".. Or is it a matter of pride?" Law asks, slower, and Lami realizes that she must have paused for longer than intended.

She's not really sure what she wanted out of this conversation. What she intended. She just wanted tosayit, put the words forth into the word and make themtangible. The past few weeks have been ablur, time stretching and melding in a way she hasn't felt since-

sinceshe(we) woke up.

Where is the passion that had concreted into her heart, back then? When she had decided that a country would perish for her own convenience? Where is thehopeanddeterminationthat pushed her to do the impossible? The anger thatvindicatedher choices? She had told herself that she wouldbreakthe ties of destiny and burn the world to the ground in her efforts to scrape up any morsel of survival. And yet, where has the guiltless selfishness gone; why is she simplyselfish, now, but with the added weight of self-reproach and loathing?

Logically, she knowswhythis has happened. She's human. A broken one, maybe, with little fractures impeding her from proper compassion. But the one thing she has learnt whilehereis that there is a difference betweenknowingandunderstanding. It's as though the conflict and limitations of her own mind and being are greater than thehorrorwaiting outside on her doorstep.

She's sure that it'll get its dues.

"Not pride.." Lami starts, after too long of a moment where she simply continues to stare at a thin crack in the ceiling, "I just… feel pathetic."

Shemade the choices. And though they feel more likeguillotinesthan any marker of freedom, Lami knows that she must make peace with the consequences that follow in her wake. How thesechoicesspeak of her character. She can'taffordto wallow like this- not when she has spent so long agonizing over inevitability, not when she still has achanceat survival. Crumbling now, before the storm even hits, would only spit on the efforts she has already made. Fretting, without taking any actions to better her circumstances, will only appease the lingering traces thatdeathhas left in her; its cold mark on her soul a constant reminder of the one who has yet to repay its debt.

Lami has always known that the road to survival is riddled with the corpses of her loved ones. Who is she to act surprised now that it feelsreal? To lay in a bed that's not hers and moan about the tragedies in life? The tragedies that sheknewof and willingly abided.

The knowledge has always hurt.

It almost makes her laugh, a dark emotion coiling in her gut. No matter how the circling thoughts of her mind return to the same song and dance, there is noregret. There is grief. There is guilt. But theregretthat should have burnt through her chest and throat is absent.

(lean into it, a part of her whispers,embrace the blight that suffocates-)

"It's okay to be sad, you know."

Breathing out, she turns her head to face him.

His golden eyessparkwith something too close toknowingfor her comfort. Law has been ruthless with his love and affection since she returned, something she is endlessly thankful for yet helplessly lost over. His belief in her is humbling and warming, even if it is misplaced.

"I know." Lami huffs, almost a sigh, eyes focusing on her hand as her fingers slowly curl in the air, "But when it is accompanied with.. inhibitions… I just feel…" words fizzle away as she tries to conjure the words that capture the sentiment she is trying to share, and she ends up impatiently waving her hand at him, "You know. Like a baby."

Law hums, rotating his pen in his hand, and slowly says, "This may be a controversial opinion with our present company-" of which she offers him a flat look, "but... You'reeight. I'd dare to say that you areallowedto be a baby sometimes. We're growing, learning. Do you really want me to bring up all thebabythingsIdid when I was eight?"

There is, perhaps, a part of her that somewhat shrivels at this. She is eight, but she is not. She is young, but she is old. The dichotomy of selves that has mostly settled, except for in moments like this where she wonders where the lines are drawn; when her behaviour is acceptable and understandable.

But, mostly, she can't help butlaughat how ridiculous of a statement it is.

"Okay, Lawless, we get it. You're turningtennext week. Now you're suddenly an adult, right?" Lami chokes out between wheezes, trying her best not to fall off the edge of the bed as her sides begin to cramp, "You're only a year older than me!"

( when was the last time shereallylaughed? )

"Sixteen months!" Law reminds her with a shout, "And I'll have you know thattenis an important age! Double digits. I'mbasicallyan adult."

"You as an adult? How terrifying." Lami drawls, hand slowly reaching for a pillow before flinging it at him.

The resulting wrestling match catches the attention of their father, who ends up finding Law and Lami rolling around on the floor, pushing and pawing at each other's abdomen and face. She supposes that this must be the first time he has seen them tussle, given how he starts yelling at them to stop and rushes forward to separate them. Law, clearly not ready to let this become atieor astalemate, yells at their father to go away before dragging Lami in a choke hold that he most certainly should notknow how to do.

Their father despairs.

Law yells at her to say uncle.

Lami, despite the tight grip on her neck, feels lighter than she has in months.

"Stop it!" Law exclaims one night, dishes clattering as his fists pounding on the table.

The silence afterward is long and excruciating, Lami slowly looking between Law and their parents with a spoon in her mouth. Their father stares, cut off from his tangent about work, and clearly at a loss for words. Their mother sits more subdued, looking down at her lap with an unreadable expression.

Frankly, Lami doesn't understand what Law is upset at, either, but she recognizes the fierce look in his eyes and the way his mouth pulls together. Though, usually, it'sLamithat Law is getting upset at. With the way he is staring holes into their parents, she assumes that she is not the one on the execution stand tonight.

"Law." Her mother calmly starts but doesn't get the chance to finish.

"Just-stop it." Law repeats, as though they are supposed tounderstand, "The way you're treating Lami isn'tfair."

The spoon almost drops out of her mouth.

"You haven't evenspokento us about it. You haven't evenaskedher about school, are you going to avoid it forever?" Law drills in, kneeling on his chair and leaning onto the table, "She wasn't expelled because of her detentions! It's because shefoundsomething she wasn't supposed to,multiplethings, and watching you treat her- treat her like acriminalis too hard to watch!"

Thisis hard to watch, Lami thinks idly, eyes wide. It's like watching a train wreck of misinformation.

Despite this,despite this, somethingsoftand aching latches onto her chest; throat tightening and eyes burning with emotion. Hisbeliefin her is staggering, the immense depth of his passion for something so, so,unnecessaryand ignorant is difficult to sit and endure. A part of her wants to turn away, his faith too blinding and innocent. Why is it always shocking when he exhibits the loving, protective traits of an older brother? A part of her wants to run, for letting him make his own conclusions and inaccurate statements all the while knowing, knowing,knowing-

"I'vehad detention!" Law continues, eyebrows furrowed and hand pressed to his chest to convey the importance of what he's saying, "And you've never treated me likethis. Look at her! She's miserable."

Lami stiffens, sinking into her seat as both her parents turn to look at her.

Abort, abort! Lami tries to mentally communicate with him, suddenly feelingveryput on the spot.

He does not abort.

"Shefoundthings, Dad! Tunnels underneath the school that led all around the school and into secret rooms and hallways.Booksthat contain languages that are not inanyof our linguistic archives or historic records. A spherical shaped map that catalogs the locations of islands that don't matchanyof our own- and the further contemplation onwhywe don't have any maps in the first place."

As Law is ranting, Lami has the pleasure of seeing their parents exchange a look. Their father weary, crows feet looking more prominent than she has ever seen, and mother looking oddly resigned.

"Look, wait here," Law interrupts himself, climbing down from his chair and turning to Lami with utmost seriousness, "Your notes are in your room, right?"

It takes a moment for her brain to compute what he is asking, slowly taking the spoon out of her mouth as she hesitantly says, "... yes."

He then turns to his parents with a look so severe it couldcut, "We've gotmapsand notes that we can show you. I'mnotsorry that we kept this a secret from you, but we never knew the significance of the situation until recently."

She wonders when it becamewe—

We've got maps.

We kept this a secret.

She wonders, if perhaps, she was the only one who hadn't thought ofthisas awe. Wonders the quiet implications behind it, wonders how long Law has consideredthisa joint effort, wonders if she has gottenanybetter as a person. For months,years, she has thought of herself as working alone and for herself. What if, this entire time, she was wrong?

Sliding further down into her seat, Lami palms at the key still hanging from her neck. She's not sure what she should say, or what she should do, so she does nothing and simply watches her brothersprintout of the dining room and listens to the heavy thumps of him rushing up the stairs. When she looks back at her parents, she can tell that they are silently communicating. Moreover, she can't quite understand the gentle way her father holds her mother's hand, or the way her mother nods and sighs.

"I'm sorry, Lami." Her father is the first to speak, "This... wasn't our intention."

"It's okay," Thickly swallowing, she curls her fingers around the spoon until her knuckles are white and inhales a shaky breath. They're disappointed in her, she understands, reasonably so. "I get it... it's complicated. Bad timing."

His expression, then, imparts suchsadnessshe cannot manage a single word for the rest of the night, even as Law guides their parents through her messy and obsessive notes from St. Monroe's.

It gets better.

Their parents are more careful with how they treat their children and her father once again starts dragging Lami into study sessions and lectures; she receives dozens of books to continue learning about anatomy.

There are no words to properly communicate howgratefulshe is to her brother, so she simply ends up clinging to him in a tight hug until he starts to complain about numb and prickling limbs. Lami knows that she likely wouldn't have said a word about it until the storm had passed and their parents were long in their grave; maybe out of pride, maybe out of fear, maybe out of embarrassment.

It's difficult.

Sheknowswhy she was removed from St. Monroe's and, despite Law's assertions, she knows that it hadnothingto do with her nightly escapades. It entirely has to do with the lead in her veins; the poison that is entangled and weighing her body down. She is a political risk to the school, had she stayed it would ruin whatever lies the World Government would feed to the public about the upcomingepidemic. From her final night and the letter the President sent, she knows that there wasmuchmore going on at St. Monroe's; mechanics and plots she had not been privy to. Actions that not even the President could fully condone.

Admittedly, she has spent too much time agonizing over her own idiocy.

At the time, Lami was unable to truly comprehend and understandwhatwas happening. Most of the night is a blur of running, panic,fear, desperation for survival. But there are some words, some implications that she cannot evenhopeto ignore; nights spent sweating over the possibilities thatcouldhave been, dreams spent in the darker corners of her mind, theorizing intensively over the assortment of clues and connections she had managed to gather during her time at St. Monroe's.

They had called the President theBreaker of Lambs. Had called Lami one of herfavourites;derangedand expressed pleasure over it; apestin need ofcleaning up. Boss man, boss man, men in suits and ties.

Pretending to notknowis tedious and exhausting, but it is better to keep her head down and act oblivious, even if it's at the expense of her own happiness. It'll only be a little longer now, and she can deal with thedisappointmenther parents have displayed.

And yet, with Law's outburst—

She wonders if it makes her a bad person to feelrelieved.

Law's birthday arrives with a

bang—

Lami harshly jerks awake from her spot on Law's floor, heart-pounding and as she blindly grasps around for something;anything.

She huddles underneath her brother's bed, ruler in hand, waiting waiting waitingwaitin—

Bang—

Another burst. Lami's hands shake.

She waits. And she waits and shewaits.

Nothing happens.

Scraping together her courage, Lami crawls out from her hiding spot and slowly creeps her way out of the room. She can feel the ruler cruelly press into her palm under the grip of her hands, wielding it in front of her like a knife or sword. Be ready, she needed to beready. The floorboards of their house are like the creaking ones at St. Monroe's, so it hadn't taken Lami long to find the spots that made the least amount of noise. She has long since figured out the most efficient ways of escaping the house, Law's window would have been the preferable exit, but her father is downstairs and sheneedstosee—

"Ah, Lami!" Her father greets with cheer at the foot of the stairs, clouds of balloons surrounding him, "Did I wake you? I'm sorry! But, well, since you're up, here's the plan…"

Staring blankly, the ruler falls from her grasp and onto the floor.

( something, something somethingsomethingaches in her at the knowledge that her first instinct was to hide under the bed rather than check on her father

what a loving daughter she is )

When her father had explained Law's surprise birthday party... thisisn't what she was expecting.

The house is so crowded it's difficult to walk in and out of rooms, elbow to elbow with neighbours, nuns, and family friends whom Lami has never once spoken to. Neverwantedto. The ceilings of the living room and kitchen are cluttered with different coloured balloons, though a portion is tied to every available surface. Young children, all around Law's age, circulate the house with an endless pool of energy as they play game after game after game. From Flevian party games orchestrated by her father, to games Lami has never heard of and assumes were creations from the kids themselves due to the simplicity and stupidity the rules consisted of.

Noise. It isloud. The house, to her recollection, has never been thisnoisyand busy. Home, to her, has always been attributed to quiet and calm, despite the unrest of her mind. The flipping of pages, the smooth monologue of her father's lectures, the sizzling of vegetables, and boiling of water.

Notthis.

There are too many conversations to listen to, the cluster of words all mixing together into an unintelligible crooning ofvoices. It makes her want to cover her ears and close her eyes, or find a quiet place upstairs where she can huddle into a corner with a book. Instead she curls up on the couch with a cushion pressed to her chest, trying her best for Law to not look like she would rather beanywhereelse.

Law, at the center of the mayhem, is embellished with the affection of everyone in the room. All the attention is on him, a mountain of presents at his side.

Privately, she doesn't think he looks happy despite the smile he wears on his face. It looks forced and odd— Law has never been one to smile easily, but here he is. Smiling at everyone. And they all eat it up, like vultures picking for scraps.

Moreover, he's been actingweird, even before he stood up for Lami the night before. She had let it slip aside for a moment, but his behaviour is becoming more difficult to ignore. Disappearing; showing up in the middle of the night, evidently frustrated oversomething. He looks paler than usual, hasn't been sleeping, hands shaking every once in a while, eyeing the people around him like it'll be hislast.

Maybe she's projecting onto him, maybe she's fixating on him because it's easier than trying to fix herself, but it's stillweird. Heshouldbe soaking in the compliments and shooting her snooty looks that somehow convey how exasperated and secretly pleased he is. Instead, he quietly sits in his special party chair, clutching his birthday hat in hand. It's practically crumpled.

No one notices. The party continues.

Among the sea of unfamiliar faces, something quiet and malignant festers in her chest like a vat of swirling tar.

The couch dips beside her as a soft voice says, "Why don't you go play with the other kids?"

Lami gives her mother a side glance. It's phrased as a question but she knows that it's a suggestion. She hugs the cushion tighter to her chest as she mutters, "Don't want to."

Her mother is quiet for a moment, not that it's especially noticeable with all the commotion going on around them. She huffs a fond laugh, a hand patting her head, "Now, now. No need to be jealous."

Theaccusationcatches Lami by surprise, turning to face her mother properly as she blinks.Jealous? No. Lami isn'tjealous. That's anabsolutelyridiculous assertion; how on earth did she ever come to this conclusion? Perhaps Lami is out of sorts today, but she's out of sorts every day. It's loud. And noisy. There are dozens of people she doesn't know here, all trying to subtly ask her what she wants to do now that she isn't at St. Monroe's. Her father is playing with the children. Law is talking with people, has been all evening. So she doesn't have anyoneinterestingto talk to. Which isfine. There are bigger things that Lami is worrying about- more pressing matters than the fact that, apparently, Law has abest friend.

Lami's grip on the cushion tightens even more as she slouches back into her original position, kicking her legs into the air. The past week has seen her torn between feeling sluggish, distant, exhausted; restless, jittery, ants crawling under her skin. It feels worse now that there are so many people around.

( she doesn't have to worry for long; they are all going to be gone soon )

"I'mnotjealous," Lami mutters, because she'snot.

"Hmm." Her mother hums, obviously not convinced as she curls her hand around her shoulder and ushers her closer so she can run her fingers through Lami's hair. She continues, but it sounds fondly exasperated and rhetorical, "You two are so similar, sometimes."

"Something's wrong with Law," Lami says, unsure how else to respond, but feeling helpless and needy as she leans into her mother's touch. She hasn't seen her mother much lately, only at dinner. Sometimes. But even that family tradition has changed, Law and Lami often eating by themselves.

The stroking stops.

"Oh? Is he sick?" Her mother asks softly, as though carefully constructed. Perhapstoomuch so.

Lami doesn't notice, pressing her face into her mother's side, "Don't think so. But look at him. You can see it in his face."

"I'll check on him after the party, then." The hand resumes fiddling with her hair, "How are you feeling?"

"..Tired." She rolls over so she can rest her head in her mother's lap, back turned to the party. It's odd, to think that she once loathed the touch of others. The implications that come with it. Now, she soaks it up, eyes closing, and focusing on how her mother traces her hairline down to the corner of her jaw. Trying to forget the sea ofvoicesthat surround them.

"I see.." There is something to her tone that has Lami opening her eyes, inspecting the furrowed brow, and how her lips have thinned.Worry, she realizes, after a moment. "Therearea lot of people here."

Lami doesn't have a chance to respond, not that she has anything to say, when her mother leans down and presses a kiss to the top of her head, "Come. Let's go to the kitchen; it's about time we put the candles on his cake."

Two days after Law's birthday Lami finds herself waiting at the hospital. A checkup, her mother had said, and yet here she is waiting to get a blood test done.

Lami frowns, staring at the ceiling as she idly swings her legs.

Looking over at Law, she sees that he is in the same stiff position he has been in since they arrived. He's as white as a sheet, fingers curled into the fabric of his pants, staring at the floor tiles. She suspects that he didn't sleep much last night, given the dark rings under his eyes.

"Is it normal to get blood tests?" Lami asks, adjusting herself in her seat as she leans forward. She's feeling awfully restless today, unable to sit still andwait. Hospitalsshouldfeel like a home to her, given how much time she has spent in various waiting rooms and lounges, but she can't help the nervous twinge that sends spikes of electricity through her veins.

"Not really." Law intones, hat casting shadows over his face, "Not at this age, at least."

"Hm." She eyes him wearily. He's actingweird. In efforts to lighten the mood she drawls, "My doctors say that I've grownelevencentimetres since my last check-up. If I'm correct, that means I amtallerthan you now."

Law, for the first time in an hour, moves. He squints his eyes at her before scowling and slouching back in his seat with a huff as he grouses, "I was wondering when you would bring it up."

"It's okay." Lami says slyly, reaching over to rest a hand on his forearm, "Your bigger, younger sister will always love you."

The teasing seems to be enough to drag him out of his mood, swiping at her hand and crossing his legs, "Just youwait. When I'm older I'm going to besevenfeet tall and you'll have to-"

His voice cuts off, voice breaking. There's a long moment where he juststaresat her before turning to stare down at his hands. His fingers curl into fists, lips trembling before pressing into a line.

"I don't think that's very li-" Lami starts, but is interrupted by Law.

"There's something Ineedto tell you." His voice is grave and demanding, golden eyes suddenly fixed on her with an intensity to them. She doesn't think the expression sits well on a ten-year-old.

Now is not the time for jokes, she slowly realizes and turns to properly face him, "Okay. What is it?"

"Trafalgar Lami?" A nurse speaks out, looking up from a clipboard.

Silent for a moment, she regards him, "Later?"

Law nods, his silence odd and calculating.

That evening finds Lami laying down on the couch, head propped against her father's thigh as he reads out the newspaper and expresses his opinion on the various articles. Law sits on the living room floor, surrounded by his homework and notebooks. Every once in a while he'll ask their father a question concerning the course material, but for the most part he isn't actively participating in the conversation.

Frankly, Lami isn't a large fan of the North News; its bias is extremely clear and it rarely tackles difficult topics with tact. More often than not it neglects to address controversial topics, focusing on blanket statements or vague notions so that the reader can take the article and make whatever implications out of it they desire.

So far, her father has read about various political situations as well as an article centered on the revitalization of agriculture in the North Blue. It's an oddly fascinating topic, given that most of the North Blue islands are home to winter weather, which inherently makes it more difficult to create sustainable farming. But thereareways around it; all the North Blue needs is more funding in the right places and some agricultural awareness.

"Have you gotten to the article about the Rise in Piracy?" Her mother questions, leaning against the door frame into the kitchen. There's somethingpointedabout her tone.

"Not yet, we're only on page nine." He then ruffles Lami's hair, despite her quiet protests.

"Feels like we've been on page nine forever…" Law mutters from the floor, chin in hand. Evidently, he isn't as taken by the topic ofagriculture.

"Most of the notorious pirate crews in the North Blue have departed for the Grand Line; statistics say that the piracy traffic between Blues has gone up eighty percent in the past decade. This has led to political vacuums in the corner Blues and an imbalance in the power structures that have been in place for the past fifty or so years. Which, in turn, is making the oceans much more vitriolic and active as new crews try to take advantage of the vacancy left behind. New, young, and inexperienced crews who simply want money and bloodshed.."

Her mother pauses, sighing as she runs a hand through her hair.

"The only positive with this situation is the fact that less than thirty percent of crews actuallymakeit to the Grand Line without the aid of the World Government or its affiliates. This is still dismantling the relative peace that has been around for the past few centuries, however, as the current numerical estimate for new crews is spiking into the hundreds. Of course, it was onlyexpectedthat this would be the result... But I can only imagine how the seas will look in ten years time, once all the kids who grew up reading the newspapers become old enough to man their own expeditions."

Lami looks up at her father, who is listening rather intensely to her mother. She then looks to Law and nearly laughs when she sees howsimilarhis expression is to their father.

"Why's that?" Lami asks when neither of them says anything. She hadn't expected her mother to be so knowledgeable about pirates, or even bother to keep up with the rise and fall of piracy. In hindsight, however, she can certainly pick out moments that can only leave herwondering.

Her father taps her chin, a quiet inquiry for her to look up, as he explains, "Because of Gold Roger— The King of the Pirates and the most feared man on the sea."

"Dear, must you?" Her mother sighs, clearly trying to conveysomethingto him.

"Wealth, fame, power— he's the man who acquired it all! As well as the resentment of the World Government and the world at large! A beast of a man who took no prisoners and ploughed through anyone or anything who got in his way— men, woman, children alike!" He playfully shakes Lami until she starts to paw at his arms with false annoyance, "He ruled the ocean and left dread and fear in the hearts of everyone, all until one day he was caught! Captured by the very navy officials that had been vying for his head for decades."

At this point, Law has all but left his homework behind, crawling onto the couch beside Lami and grabbing at their father's arms, "And?"

"He died." Their mother cuts in, voice rigid, "The end. The story's over."

"Mom," Law whines, nose scrunching and mouth pouting.

"Then," Her father continues, voice taking a dip in tone, "on a stage set up in his own hometown, in hopes that doing so would prevent others from becoming pirates, Gold Roger faced execution in front of the whole world! But on that stage, he didn't weep, he didn't cry. No, instead hesmiled, and spoke the words that would send the world into disarray!"

"'You want my treasure, you can have it. I left everything I gathered together in one place." Her mother says blandly, oddly distant, "'Now you'll just have to find it.'"

"That's when the Great Age of Pirates started; inspired by his speech, countless people have set sail in search of the Pirate King's treasure. This caused mass hysteria and panic, as crews who were once happy in the small ponds of the corner Blues now traverse towards the Grand Line and towards the final island. Nearly seven years later and the effects of his final speech still impact the world today and many academics and Marine officials believe that this is just thestartof the storm that he has inflicted on the world."

"Huh." Lami hums, curious to hear it fromthisangle.

"Cool…" Law mutters.

"It's not 'cool'." Their mother sighs, walking over to pick Law up from the couch, but not before pressing a kiss to his forehead, "Pirates are vagabonds and psychopaths. There is nothing to gain from their presence in society, not when they inflict such tragedy onto the world. Gol D. Roger was perhaps the best example of this."

"Gol.." Lami blinks up at her, "D?"

There's a distinct moment where her mother pauses, before smoothly misdirecting, "Come on dears, dinner is ready. Best not to let it go cold."

Lami squints after her as her father heaves a quiet sigh.

"Don't mind her," He murmurs, smoothing her hair back, "she's about to present her research to the hospital committee. Your mother has a lot on her plate right now, so be easy on her."

The dozen questions that had found their way to the forefront of her mind slowly dwindle down. Her mother has been working on this project for some time now. Even though Lami doesn't know what the topic is about, she knows that her mother is extremely passionate about her work.

"... Okay." She quietly relents, pursing her lips together as she tangles both of her hands in one of his. It's startling, to see how much larger his fingers are in comparison to hers.

It's hours past midnight when Law quietly shakes her awake.

Lami can only blearily stare after him as he motions for her to be quiet and to follow him, a request that she spends a few moments pondering. It's tempting, to simply lay back down and fall asleep.

Yet, her curiosity always gets the better of her.

Standing up with sore and shaking limbs, Lami trails after her brother with a quiet yawn. He leads her into their parent's study, once more pressing a finger to his lips. She rolls her eyes, who does he think sheis? Of course she'll be quiet. She spent four years learning how to quietly sneak around a school with creaky floorboards and secret tunnels, after all.

He rolls his eyes in response, as though he can read her thoughts, and motions for her to be quicker.

Lami slows her movement if only to be petty and annoy him even further, watching with amusement as his face fills with impatience.

Once she enters he carefully closes the door before muttering, "You're a real piece of work."

Her only response is to press a finger to her lips.

Bumping his shoulder into hers, he stalks off to their mother's work desk. Following, she watches with mild fascination as he maneuvers his way through the various drawers, picking through various files and plopping them onto the desktop. Taking a seat in the leather chair, she tucks her knees under her chin and loosely wraps her arms around her shins.

"Going through Mom's research?" Lami whispers, "How delinquent of you. Those three detentions really made quick work, huh?"

"Shh." He aggressively turns to her, eyebrows furrowed and a serious frown marring his face, "Lami, this isserious."

It takes a moment, but she nods.

Inhaling deeply, Law turns back to his stack of files, "Now, I'm going to have to try to explain this as simply as possible, but this is going to take a while."

"Gee. Thanks." She mutters, mildly insulted.

"No, I need to explain it simply because there's so much hereIdon't understand— it's like there is only half of the puzzle in front of me and I'm trying to figure out what it's depicting." He takes his hat off and runs both hands through his hair, "I'm sure that there ismoregoing on here that I'm not seeing or that I'm misinterpreting, but these blood results and the expected consequences are clear as day…"

Lead solidifies in her gut as he whispers, slouching down in her seat as a realization slowly approaches.

"... Lami?" Law asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Amber Lead Poisoning.

The words are written down on their father's whiteboard, along with bullet points of medical jargon that Lami can barely wrap her mind around.

The suddenmaelstromof emotions overwhelms her, rendering her mute and staring at the evidence laid out before her; panic and fear weighing heavy on her chest, trepidation at the thought ofaddressingher disease for the first time,angerover the reality of their disease, but oddly enough… relief. Relief that it wasn't fake. All ofthis— six years of waiting and waiting and waiting andwaitingforsomethingto happen; the mental loops she had jumped through to excuse her behaviour; the broken record of her thoughts; the nightssobbingover inevitables. It wasn't all for nothing: it's true, all of it.

Amber lead; pirates; One Piece— it's all fuckingtrue.

(you better watch out; you better watch out; you better watch out; you bette— )

"... Lami?" Law repeats, voice miles away.

Not to say that Lami ever second-guessed herself: Law's existence was more than enough evidence for her to jump to conclusions. The similarities of Flevance with the White City in that comic book she had read, all those years ago, too striking to dismiss. Not to mention the countless idle mentions of people,characters, she had once written down in her weathered notebook. Once her mind had latched itself onto existential dread and panic it never quitestopped, no matter the logic she used to quiet them. It was simplyeasierto just— believe. To throw herself into the thought that shewoulddie if she didn't do anything.

And it's all fuckingtrue.

Their parents are going to die; the city is going to fall; Lami issupposedto die. It's horrid, it'sawful— it means that, with her knowledge of the once-tale, she canchangeher outcome.

The laughter that spills out of her is unbidden and without thought; the chaos of her feelings bleeding together into something foul and convoluted. Curling over herself, Lami presses her face into her hands and laughs andlaughs, tears falling onto her hands and knees as she struggles to bear the weight of this information.

She doesn't notice when Law speaks, only takes note of him when he places his hands on her back and head and softly repeats over and over, "Shh, shh. It's okay. But you have to be quiet, you're going to wake up Mom and Dad.."

Pressing a fist to her mouth, she bites at her knuckles and waits the convulsions out. Lami focuses on the clumsy, stinging way he runs his fingers through her hair. An attempt to calm her down, she suspects, feeling oddly seven centimeters to the left as she dully assesses the situation.

"So." She chokes out after a moment, trying to keep the pitiful smile off her face, "We're all going to die, huh? Classic."

A frown mars his face as he says, "Mom and Dadwillfind a cure, Lami."

She wonders ifthisis how hebreaks.

Law stares down at her with the utmost confidence in his words and sentiment. Somehow, she understands that hecompletelybelieves that their parents will find a cure. That they will fix things. After all, isn't that what parents are for? Isn't this what they have shown, again and again, to their two children? When the siblings fight, they mitigate the situation and make itbetter. When a toy is broken, they take out the glue and piece it back together. When they cannot solve a problem, they help them find the solution. They are doctors; they heal people, stick on bandages when they scrape their knees, and stitch together flaps of skin to keep people whole.

How can one regainhopewhen the world has turned against you? When the people you love most, the people youtrustmost, cannot achieve the goals you have watched them promise and painstakingly seek? When the people you have spent your entire life with start dropping likeflieson the street?

A dark, tar-like emotion churns in her stomach, lips twitching without mirth.

"You don't look surprised," Law says. It's not a question, it's a statement.

The words feel almost like a slap to the face, wrenching her back to reality as she whips her head up to look at him properly. She doesn't understandhowhe came to this conclusion, how heknew. Eyes wide, Lami attempts to call forth words that will alleviate the situation, to subdue the budding suspicion in him— she canseeit in his eyes, the way he removes his hands from her, steps away. However, her voice remains silent, thoughts withering out before she can properly grasp onto them, knowing, knowing,knowingthat she needs to speaknowbefore everything is undone—

"Youknew." This time it's an accusation, voice pitched as he stumbles backward, "How?"

A dull, quiet, voice in her acknowledges that this is the best opportunity totellhim.

But, tell himwhat? Thetruth? The mere thought itself nearly has her laughing, again, despite the inappropriate circumstances. Law has difficulty accepting the fact that psychology is a science, let alone the implications thatreincarnationand whatever force governs it isreal. What would he make of her phantom memories; the glimpses of a world she hardly remembers anymore, the language that she stubbornly holds onto, the concept of the once-tale? What would he say when he hears that hisyounger sisteris anythingbutthat? That she is an imposter; the changeling that stole his sister's place?

He wouldn't believe her, even if she told him.

Looking at him now, she knows she cannotaffordto tell him— what would he make of the fact that sheknewall along? That she has willingly withheld information, deprived them of the ability ofchoice, and condemned their country, family, friends to an assured death so thatshemight live? But moreover, she cannot imagine living in a world, drowned by her own haunting thoughts and the selfishness that ravages her entrails, withouthim. Without athem.

( she wouldn't survive past 13 without him )

She loves her brother. He loves her. Irrefutable facts.

Lami simply wondershow farshe's willing to go to keep it this way, how much of herself and the world she is willing toburnto shackle him to her side. It's with stark clarity that she realizes: her selfishness will always win.

She doesn'twantto tell him— she doesn't want their relationship tochange.

"The school—" It's the first idea to come to mind, thoughts spinning and attempting to salvage the situation. A truth, but a partial one. If he had known that sheknewsomething, what are the chances that he can tell when she's lying? "When they took me from St. Monroes— the man, theboss, made some… comments. I didn't think much about it, at the time, I swear, but the longer I've been here…"

With a half-laugh lacking any actual emotion, she gestures at the board that has the medical records and research information pins to it, "This makes more sense than half of the stories I was telling myself."

Law doesn't move, watching her more closely than any ten year old should have the ability to do. From the troubled expression on his face she can tell that he doesn't believe her, not entirely.

"What did they say?" He asks as he lowers himself into their father's chair.

Lami blinks, reeling her mind back tothatnight. Entwining her fingers together, she slouches into her chair as she bites at her lip in thought, "They kept… referring to me as anit. Or apest. Like I was subhuman, or something, that they needed to 'clean up'. They told the President that she is lucky that they were around to clean up theirmess. It didn't really make much sense, and I've been trying to figure outwhateven happened and what the implications are... Though, I suppose this answers most of them.."

She frowns, feeling oddly irritated. In hindsight, Lami hasn't really thought about it much about what they had actuallysaid, the verbatim they used. In the weeks since, she has been much too preoccupied with thedrugging,kidnapping,and the underlying context in the exchange between the President and the Boss Man.

"How?" Law says, absolutely bewildered, "Mom— she's only presenting her researchnow! How could they alreadyknow?"

Floundering, Lami shrugs and once again gestures towards the whiteboard, "How have wenotknown? How could doctors for the pasthundred yearsnot notice that our bodies are saturated with-" she gestures at the whiteboard again for emphasis, "-this? How could our parents, some of the best doctors in the North Blue, missthis?"

Law strokes his chin, squinting at the board for alongmoment while Lami attempts to calm her thundering heart. She isnotready for this conversation, should have made planned statements and speeches so that she wouldn't be soobviouswhen confronted with this information. More than that; she hadn't expectedLawof all people to tell her. Was he aware of the Amber Lead Poisoning before the symptoms became physical in the original work? Had her parents even known?

She can't remember, a thought thatworriesher.

Sighing and running his hands through his hair, Law loudly huffs with frustration, "None of this makessense. Every day I come up with a dozen more questions."

No kidding, Lami thinks blandly as she tiredly runs a hand over her face.

"Why didn't.." Law pauses, then turns to her with a fierce expression, "Why didn't youtellme?"

"Why didn'tyoutell me?" She shoots back on impulse.

"Thisisme telling you!"

Pursing her lips, she realizes that he has a very good point of which she cannot further argue, "It's not that I…" Lami starts, stops, realizes it's a lie, and changes what she wants to say, "I didn't have anyevidence.Would you have believed me if I came to you raving about how my school thought I was a diseasedrator something?"

Law crosses his arms, looking just as disgruntled as her, "Well, no. But Iwouldprefer you to tell me, even if I didn't believe you…"

There's a period of silence where they simply stare at each other stubbornly.

Lami is the first to relent, looking down to the floor and curling her fingers into the fabric of her pajamas, "What.. do you think they are going to do, now?"

"Get funding for further research, most likely." Law grunts, "But once the hospital committee hears about this they willhaveto make finding the cure a priority and get the minister of Medicine and Science on board. There's still a lot we don't know, but with Flevance's resources, finances, and connections... It… It won't take long."

He doesn't sound like he truly believes it and Lami doesn't have the strength in her to attempt to reassure him. The hospital will likely get little funding, Flevance's resources, finances, and connections will all turn their backs to the country in need, and their royalty will leave them high and dry while the citizens are shot down in the streets.

Lami can barely manage a nod in acknowledgment.

Guilt festers as she washes her face in the bathroom, her thoughts a symphony of nails dragging on a chalkboard; robbing her of any moment of peace as she closes her eyes and tries to fight off the coldweight that has settled over her chest. Heavy is the burden of the sinner; there are no masks that can hide the shackles ofguiltandremorse.

Law does not deserve what she had done; what she had said. She does not mean to be cruel; to be twisted and horrid, spinning him in circles until he forgets what he had even been upset about in the first place. But that does not mean that she has been kind, oh no. Anything but kind, standing somewhere the valleys of grey that lie between.

Who are you? She wants to ask herself, barely recognizing the person in front of her.

The same as we've always been, the girl in the mirror would reply, eyes as black as the suffocating darkness that haunts her dreams and waking thoughts.

Shutting the water off, Lami slowly exhales a shaking breath.

(just breathe. )

"Do you think they'll tell us?" Lami asks a few nights later from where she is laying on the couch in the living room. She kicks a leg into the air and hooks a foot onto the backrest, her head dangerously close to flopping off the side and out of its comfortable position.

"Of course." Law spits out, as though he is judging her for even questioning it.

Lami merely hums in response, flipping the page of her book. She can hear her father cooking in the kitchen, and is simply glad that the smell of smoke has subsided.

"I mean." Law continues, sounding less confident, "They will. They have to, right?"

"I don't know, do they?"

She has read through five pages before Law speaks up, "... No.. Doctors and parents both have the right to refrain from giving patients the full diagnosis, especially in cases where there isn't enough evidence or means of treatment…"

"But it'sethicallywrong to do so." He suddenly interrupts himself.

"Maybe they just want their kids to have a few good years before they are dragged into the dreadful reality of convulsions, chronic pain, and prolonged suffering," Lami drawls, "Maybe they think we would prefer ignorant bliss."

"You are beingwaytoo candid about this," Law snarks, and she can hear him aggressively flipping through the pages of a book, "You know,noneof these textbooks have any information about the toxicity levels of amber lead. What sort of scientific paper just... Waves aside the poisonous effects of a type of ore?"

"Pretty much any substance can be toxic, just depends on the dosage." Lami recites idly, "The fact that these papers didn't indicate how much amber lead is dangerous to a person is poor research on their part, especially given how much our country relies on it as an export."

"I don't knowhowthey managed to pass any of this…"

A sudden thought occurs to her, "I wonder howMomfound out about it, then, if it's not written anywhere. How did she find out it was amber lead in the first place?"

Law is silent for a long moment, "Maybe it is written somewhere, but not at the public library."

"... Good point." It's not like they would leave classified documents where any civilian could just accidentally stumble upon it, "Doesn't really answer my question though."

"Oh? Do you have a question, Lami?" Their father suddenly speaks up from the doorway.

Shooting up from where she is sitting, she chokes out, "Uh. Yeah— Why did Mom call the Pirate King GolDRoger instead of Gold Roger? Why does she hate him so much?"

Their father clearly stalls, drying the dish in his hand with a cloth meticulously as he hums and has, "Well. You see, that is a question you will simply have to ask your mother!"

Lami scoffs, throwing herself back down onto the couch.

"Come on, Dad." Law whines from the floor, seeminglyjustas fed up as Lami with their parents sidestepping all of theinterestingquestions.

"Many people didn't like the Pirate King, kids." He sounds a little too fond of them, though, to properly convey how terrible Gol D Roger's reputation is, "Hated him, in fact. I would deign to say that most of the world had never met the man, but would gladly skewer him and place his head on a slab if the opportunity presented itself."

"Graphic…" Lami mutters, trying to picture it but the only image to come to mind is a mustache presented on a silver plate.

"Why did they hate himthatbad?" Law asks, morbidly interested, "What did hedo?"

Their father laughs, "Whatdidn'the do, is more like it!"

"Dad, the kitchen is smoking up," Lami points out, as the living room starts to get hazy once again.

"See, here now, I think I have some newspapers stored up if you would like to see them…" Their father hums, looking through a cabinet for a moment before shaking his head, "Must be upstairs! I can-"

"Dad. The food." Law and Lami say in tandem, watching as their father jumps and starts sputtering out apologies directed towards the food.

AMBER LEAD SYNDROME: What you need to know!

"They didn't tell us," Law says, voice oddly quiet, as he stares at the front page of the newspaper. There is a picture of downtown Flevance on the cover, the white pigment of the town cast in an eerie light.

"We didn't tell them, either."

It's been three weeks since Law confided in her; three weeks of watching Law give their parents expectant eyes, three weeks of laying at home trying to pretend like the end of days isn't hastily approaching while Law goes toschool. It's funny, in the way that something is particular and cruel. She doesn't think he would survive knowing the entire truth and has no regrets about withholding information from him, even if her nights are haunted by thoughts that creep; crawl; worm past the vulnerable spots in the armour she has crafted in herself.

The paper crinkles in Law's hands, mouth twisting into a grimace, "They wanted to protect us. Maybe to fix things before the public could hear, could panic."

"Hm." Lami hums, she has no doubt that their parents had the best interest in mind for them, "What's our excuse?"

Pausing, Law turns to look at her for a moment. She can't read the emotions that display on his face, even as he looks down and resumes staring holes into the news article.

Leaning over, she quickly skims through the newspaper article.

"This information isn't eventrue!" Law huffs, throwing the paper onto the desk and pushing his chair back, "It's not acontagion, it's a case of masspoisoning. Did they even bother to fact check any of this?"

"Weekly Chronicle isn't exactly well known for their academic pursuits," Lami retorts, sliding the newspaper closer to herself as she scowls down the white, white,white,city depicted, "Fear mongering at its best."

"Are they evenallowedto do this?"

"I don't think newspapers really care about what they areallowedto do, so long as they can sell a story." She looks up and sees Law pacing up and down the family library, looking far too stressed out. She doesn't like seeing him like this. "Mom and Dad are going to lose their shit when they see this."

"If they haven't already seen it, you mean." The fact that Law doesn't immediately chastise her for cursing is more than enough to tell her that he is upset, "But… they'll set the record straight. Call up North News and tell them all of the relevant information, right?"

"They might have to send a representative up…" Lami says slowly, knowing that it's not likely going to happen, "I don't think many people in Flevance have access to long-range Den Den Mushi."

"Then they can call a nearby country and askthemto clarify the situation."

"Yeah." Lami swallows, "Yeah, maybe they can do that."

Ithurts, watching Law try to rationalize all this.

( ticktock)

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

warning. / none, yet.

11.

PICK YOUR POISON

war drums.

Not too long after the article is released, amber lead begins its slow creeping blight.

Law and Lami are attending a festival with some of the local nuns and kids when a merchant falls to his knees, table clattering as it folds in two and spills its contents onto the ground. The nuns are quick to approach the man, kneeling at his side and trying their best to comfort him as he grasps at his abdomen and groans with pain. While one of the nuns prays for him, the other runs to grab the attention of a group of men, begging them to help transport the ailing merchant to the hospital.

The crowds part, panic builds, the man is picked up and carried away. A child lets go of a balloon and starts to cry.

Lami watches the scene with static echoing in her ears.

( so it begins. )

It is well past midnight when the front door opens and shuts, the telltale shuffle of their father taking off his shoes echoing into the dining room.

Lami and Law exchange a look. She nods at him to proceed.

Law makes a pointed cough, fist rising to cover his mouth politely. It's a bit of a pointless gesture, but she appreciates the atmosphere it generates. They wait a moment as their father takes off his jacket, listening to the sound of his keys jingling and the rustling of fabric. Law fiddles with a pen as his mouth sets into a stubborn line. Lami taps on the table as she attempts to shake off thetensionthat has been building in her all day. They've waitedhoursfor this.Days. For one of their parents to come home.

Their father stumbles his way into the kitchen, hair sticking up in every direction as he momentarily slumps against the door frame.

Lami is hit with a horrifying revelation: he's drunk.

"Kids!" Grinning widely, he visibly cheers upon seeing the two of them sitting at the dining room table, "What are two doing up at this hour?"

If his unfocused and half-lidded eyes didn't betray his inhibitions the careful, yet slurred and loud speech certainly would.

Lami's hands dart over the table, grabbing the newspaper intentionally placed on the surface and to the article about Amber Lead. Despite the quiet hiss Law makes for disrupting their planned interrogation, she whisks her hand back and shoves the paper behind her and out of sight. Willing for Law to understand her telepathic communication just thisonce, she shakes her head and quietly begs him not to do anything.

She doesn't think he receives the thought but he doesn't immediately jump on their father for questions like they planned, either.

Lami carefully slips the newspaper onto the floor underneath the table as she says, "Hi Dad. We were.. just having a snack."

"Don't tell Mom." Law backs her up, though from the corner of her eye she can see him still looking at her with questioning, suspicious eyes.

Their father looks so achingly fond as he steps into the room and rounds the dining table, "Mom always knows, even if I don't tell her. Always, always knows."

Neither of them has much choice in the matter as he scoops them both into a crushing hug, pulling them both off their seats and dragging them to the floor. An old, old part of her recognizes the familiar smell of alcohol, though the newer part of her is shocked to think that… She has never encountered alcohol while in Flevance; it has only been while aboard the Nameless and staying at inns that she would interact with it in any way. As far as she is aware, her parents don't drink.

The old, old part of herunderstands, though.

The disease, the newspaper, the cascading consequences offear—

Lami and Law exchange another look over the nape of his neck, and she thinks he is starting to understand her reservations on their intended interrogation.

"You know I love you, kids, right?" He asks, voice thick and mumbled, "I love you so,somuch. Nothing,nothing, in this world can change that."

Lami nods into his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Despite understanding, it is still an awkward position for her to be in and she fumbles with what to say until she decides to just settle for a simple truth; "I love you too, Dad."

Law echoes her sentiment, voice quiet and hesitant.

Their father releases a trembling breath; like this isexactlywhat he needed to hear, like a weight has lifted from his shoulders, like he is moments away frombreaking. Sniffling wetly, he holds them tighter and tighter until she almost feels the need tosaysomething. Instead, she tucks her head between his neck and shoulder, wrapping an arm around his back. In an attempt to console him, she pats at his spine like she has seen many parents do to calm down and comfort their children. She wonders if he has stayed hydrated.

"Everything is going to be okay," She can feel him swallow, then, before he rasps out a laugh. Quieter, he continues, "Alright kids? Everything is going to be okay. Mom and Dad will make sure of it."

Lami's eyes and throat burn as his shoulders start to shake, as his fingers dig into her back. She bites her lip as a quiet sob tears from their father's throat, as he repeats again and again; it's going to be alright, it's going to be alright, it's going to be alright. Is he saying this forthem? Or for himself? She swallows harshly around the thorns that have manifested, rapidly blinking to remove the watery spots that gradually blur her vision. She rubs their father's back as he starts to quietly weep, batting away the urge to follow suit.

( she has spentyearsdreading this; does not deserve the luxury of comfort )

Looking to the side she sees that Law is already crying, silent, mouth pressed and muffled by their father's shoulder with his eyes squeezed shut.

Lami lets go of their father and gently pushes against his arms, waiting until he loosens his grip before she inches backward to look at him properly. Gently cradling his jaw with her hands (and don't they look sosmall?) she softly thumbs at the tears and the stubble that prickles against her palms.

"It's okay, Dad." She lies with a large, watery smile, "It's going to be okay."

It takes some time for Lami to corral their father off of the dining room floor and onto the couch. She makes sure that he sips on a glass of water before he falls asleep and tucks him in with a blanket that is a little too small to cover his entire frame. Placing his glasses carefully on the side table, she scurries to the kitchen and gets another glass of water and a container of aspirin to help with his inevitable hangover in the morning. She leaves them beside his glasses before turning off all the lights and creeping upstairs.

When she gets to Law's room she closes the door and presses her back against its wood. Letting her eyes fall shut, she releases a slow and exhausted breath.

"It's not going to be okay, is it?"

Something in her breaks a little at the soft tremor in Law's tone, mouth thinning as she slowly slides down to the floor. No, it's not. But it's not like she can justsayit. Even if it'snotokay, even if it's not going to be okay for a long time— she's going to make sure thatthislife, for Law, isn't as miserable as the one intended for him. The thought in itself gives her strength, hope.

Even still, it takes her a moment to rally the courage to open her eyes and look at her brother.

Law's face is red and blotchy, staring blankly at his bed sheets like his mind is miles away, "Nothing about thatsaidit's going to be okay, he was acting soweird."

Lami doesn't say anything in response, unsure how to begin the conversation of alcohol, adulthood, and the various coping mechanisms that people use to get through difficult circumstances. She's not sure she would do the topic justice, not sure that Law would understand or have empathy for their father's plight even if she did explain.

Rolling her head back against the door, Lami stares at the ceiling until the orange and red light of dawn starts to stream in through the gaps of the bedroom curtains.

Their father doesn't seem to remember the night before when they go downstairs the next morning, greeting them with cheer as he prepares breakfast. Either that or he chooses not to say anything.

Under their breath, Law and Lami entwine their pinkies together and promise not to talk about it.

Later, once Law has left for school, she watches from the dining table as their father meticulously washes dishes. Arms folded on the surface, chin perched on a wrist, she contemplates the night before.

They're drowning in their thoughts, in their fears. She can see it in the way Law has shut himself off, looking but notseeing. Her mother's absence from the household, their father's constant smile and contrasting drunken confessions. Splintering minds and crackling emotions. She wants to crawl away, close her eyes, and pretend like she is seeing none of it; doesn't want to see her father crumbling in the face of war, doesn't want to see Lawshatterat the realization that their parents are not the indestructible pillars of support that he has always admired.

But, she won't.

Lami doesn't deserve it.

Perhaps it's fate, perhaps it's destiny, pulling her back to the white, white,whitewalls of Flevance.

( what had the nun said, all those months ago?

the lord is watching, will always guide you home— )

She suspects that she was always expected to face witness to the consequences of her choices. Maybe it is a coincidence, maybe divine intervention. Maybe Lami is thinking too much, creating connections and strings that abide by her spiralling thoughts and theories. She'll likely never know, along with the countless other questions of her existence and the knowledge she possesses. Whatever the reasoning, Lami has made peace with this; understands that she cannot erase the inevitable vitriol and ruin.

Yet, if she only does what shecan, she'll never become what shemust—morethan what she is now.

"That's an awfully serious face you are wearing," Her father says, voice low yet soothing, "Belli for your thoughts?"

She tilts her head to the side with a sigh, "Destiny. Fate."

He turns to her with a small frown, "Big concepts for someone so small."

"Sometimes it feels as though we have strings attached to us, you know? Pulling, making us dance. Like the universe itself isconspiringto make an idea happen, whether or not you speak it into the world. Whether or not it's something that you want or need. Do you think…" She pauses, knowing that this conversation issilly, that Law would laugh if he heard her ask, but curious nonetheless, "Do you think there are… things we can't avoid? Situations, feelings, people? Are our lives attached to a railroad, bound for inevitable intersections?"

"They say that, oftentimes, the ones who avoid destiny are the ones who find themselves playing right into its hands." He hums, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning against the counter, "Sometimes the harder you fight, the harder you fall. Destiny, fate— our ancestors have always treated it like a current; strong, unyielding. Struggle and you'll find yourself at the mercy of its relentlessness, drowning in the efforts of perceived survival."

"But if you fall, you can just stand back up. If you fight, you can still win." Lami points out, lifting herself and leaning forward.

"That is certainly true!"

It's nice, she thinks, that she can speak likethiswith him; open and without judgement, "I never expected you to believe something as baseless asfate."

"I don't!" Her father laughs, then turns to continue with his chore, "It's more of your mother's area of expertise, contemplation. By her logic, to believe that fate is unavoidable is to believe that dreams cannot come true! Or, something along those lines. Great and terrible things are neverintended, destined, for us. Wemakethem ourselves."

"What.." she rolls her lips together, mulling over another difficult question, "What do you think Amber Lead Disease is, then, if not some sort of cruel destiny?"

Lami watches as the lines of her father's back become stiff, pausing his motions as a beat of silence passes.

"Oversight." He says, finally, "And dear, it's best to call it what it is: poison, not a disease."

Humming, she quietly thinks that the mass poisoning of a country is too large to be an oversight. Not destiny, either. Entirely manmade and avoidable, if not for the gluttony and greed of those in power. Resting a chin in hand, she wonders if her parents have suspicions about the government's affiliations with their sudden illness; if they are simply cautious when it comes to explaininghow. Alternatively, perhaps thewhydoesn't matter in a time like this, not when the solution to their disease is more pertinent than pointing fingers or placing blame.

"Wouldn't it be better to distance ourselves from Flevance?" Lami asks, idly, unthinking, knowing that she doesn't have much time left until her choices have concrete consequence, "Cut ourselves from additional exposure while experimenting ways for a cure?"

"That's not quite realistic, Lami." Her father shakes his head, returning once more to the dishes, "It would take too much manpower to fully maneuver everyone out of the country. Flevance lacks the resources now that amber lead has been revealed as a highly toxic substance. Where are we to go? What hospitals can handle the swell of afflicted patients? With that news article, many countries will hold doubts about our condition and will not want to offer aid."

Lami is quiet. She hadn't meant the entirety of Flevance; she is asking about herfamily.

Perhaps it's for the best, then, that he does not understand the selfishness of her question. Her parents are unfaltering in their kindness, in their dedication to their craft and the success of their work. It's inspiring, it's moving, it's—

It's going to get them killed, soon.

Her father walks over and places a damp hand on the top of her head as he crouches to her height. Smile adamant and grim, he says, "Flevance is our home; its people need our help and it isherewhere we must stand strong. As we gave an oath, it's our obligation to follow through. Remember this: we Trafalgar's always keep our word."

Ruffling her hair with affection, he backs off. Smoothing her hair back into place, Lami privately thinks that he is speaking to the wrong Trafalgar.

It takes about a week for Lami to figure out her parents' work schedule, however nebulous it seems to be.

Their father is only ever home in the mornings. He makes their breakfast, lunch, and dinner and sets them aside on the counter and in the fridge for later heating. By the time Law has left for school their father has showered and is passed out in his bedroom, rarely ever awake to say goodbye to Law as he leaves. When he wakes up a few hours later it's in a mad rush to collect all his things and get ready for work.

Their mother is only ever home very late into the night, slipping into the house at two or three in the morning and is gone by the time their father comes home. Lami suspects that she spends most of her time sleeping at the hospital since her mother only seems to come home to shower and change her clothing.

Lami doesn't catch their father stumbling home after his single lapse with alcohol, nor does she see him despairing in the way he had expressed that night.

A part of her is relieved; it would do no one any good if he were to take on alcoholic tendencies, especially during these times. Law has begun to realize that their parents are not without fault or fear. This fact makes her heart sting, but it buds a small hope that he won't be asshatteredby future events. Of course, it is a hope in vain. Sheknows. Heartbreak is inevitable at this point and no small amount of doubt is going to prevent it.

A part of heraches; does their father want to keep a strong front? Is he allowing his worries and sorrow to eat away inside of him, all the while smiling and acting as though nothing is different; nothing is changed? Does he not feel comfortable talking about this with his children, opening up; beingvulnerable?

( how poetic that this wouldhurt—

how is this any different than what she has done? the years worth of silence while saturated with mind-numbing horror? )

"Dun dun dun!" Her father crows the one morning, holding a small box in hand as he skips down the stairs and into the kitchen where Lami is eating.

He's looking more dishevelled than usual; facial hair grown out more than he would usually allow, clothes rumbled, and hair sticking up in all directions. Despite this, the grin he wears on his face is far brighter and cheery than she has seen in weeks.

Lami slowly spoons soup into her mouth as she watches her father do a dramatic twirl before holding the box out to her.

"Now, I know that your birthday isn't for another three months,but, consider this an early birthday gift!"

Spoon in mouth, she stares at the present.

All things considered, Lami isn't a very materialistic person. She knows that all of her belongings will eventually be left behind, darkened into soot after the flames of war and strife have reduced their country to ash and bone.Knowledge,however, is a weightless gift that will never go away.

Well, hopefully.

That being said, her parents don't often give hergifts. Especially not by random. Books, notebooks, pens and the like are purchased. But those are considered necessities in the Trafalgar household, not presents.

The last thing she wants is to make her father upset or disheartened by hesitating, though, so she gently places her spoon onto the table and turns to face him properly. At his eager gesture, she takes the box in hand and places it onto her lap. It looks far less small in her possession, eyes furrowing with curiosity.

Upon opening it she finds a mechanical contraption of some kind. Lifting it out of the box she twists and turns it around to figure out what it is, thumbing over whatmightbe a flash unit and twirling her fingers around a wire with a plug. It's not until she realizes that it has aslotin the back that she starts to understand what it is.

Looking up at her dad with wide eyes, he merely grins in response.

"Now, it's no Cameko, but it's the next best thing!" Her father sits down into the chair next to hers, taking his Den Den Mushi out of his pocket and placing it onto the table, "You'll only be able to use it while your mother or I am around, since you don't have one yourself, but I've seen the way you have looked at the trade shop windows! Until the new school semester starts you'll be here all by yourself with nothing else to do, and I figured: why not start with a hobby?"

Lami stares at the polaroid attachment with wonder.

"When handling the equipment a Den Den Mushi is dressed with, it's always good to keep in mind how to properly attach and detach its various parts..."

A bright light flashes, gears turning.

"Ugh, Lami! Do youreallyhave to keep doing this?" Law barks out, face red despite the vitriol in his tone.

Lami rolls away from him and onto her back before placing the Den Den Mushi onto her stomach. Taking the film that slowly rolls out of the slot, she waves it in the air to get the picture to clear up quicker. It's been all of one day and Law is already fed up with her photo taking, not that Lami particularly cares. She has a stack, now, and she intends on making a photo album with the best ones.

Something torememberwith, years down the road when Law and Lami have become accustomed to loneliness and solitude.

"Yes." Is her simple reply, smiling lightly as a vague imprint starts to take shape. This world's equivalent to a selfie, Lami's arm around Law's shoulder. Neither of them are smiling, but at least Lami doesn't look like she needs to sneeze as Law does in the photo.

"Could you just… stop." He mutters, aggressively closing his textbook and lightly whacking her with it on the leg.

She kicks at him in response, "Why? You look fine."

Law merely groans, before instigating a wrestling match.

"Do you do this often?" Lami asks in a whisper, worried about her voice carrying in the stairwell.

At her side, Law rustles through a set of files before discarding them onto the step below them, "Depends on your definition ofoften."

She offers him a bland look in response and relaxes against the railing with a huff.

The hospital is dead at this hour, closer to four in the morning than three. They've had a few close calls with nurses and residents, but somehow Law knew exactly where to go to find their patient files and how to get them. She can't say she is exactlysurprised, given his recurring habit of searching through their parents' study. Lami wonders; did Law always have muddled moralities, even before the fall of Flevance, or is it something that she has managed to draw out of him through her troublemaking? Would it be arrogant of her to think that she has affected him, oranythingreally, to such an extent? It has only been five years; in the grand scheme of the world, it is a very short amount of time.

Regardless, she thinks it reflects badly on the hospital and its staff that a ten-year-old can sneak in and access restricted files.

Not that she can blame them, however. With the wave of amber lead poisoning overtaking Flevance, the hospital's traffic is unprecedented and devastating. She hasn't seen her parents in days, and even the idle hospital is echoing with the pains of patients. With news of the disease weighing heavy on everyone in the country, she's not surprised that a few slip-ups like this might occur amid dread and horror. Everyone knows someone who isdying; laying in a hospital bed, convulsing in pain, moaning and groaning for hours on end.

Then again, she thinks as she squints at Law, it might not be a testimony of the staff... but rather, her brother is naturallyextremelycrafty.

"There have been fourteen deaths in the past two days," Lami says conversationally, repeating what she overheard while Law was performing his criminal duties.

"Statistically a low number, all things considered." He hums, "The majourity probably won't die for a while."

"Slow and steady."

Lami reclines back onto the stair behind her, staring at the ceiling. Thetensionin her has yet to fizzle out; waiting, waiting,waitingfor what's next. She's not sure what it is, anymore, but she is certain thatsomethingwill come. Multiplesomethingswill happen that will send the country into a frenzy until there is nothing left in the wake of ignorance and savagery. Even now, waiting for Law to finish, has her aching to run up and down the stairs to simplydosomething to ease the anxiety pulsing through her veins. What's worse, she wonders, the anticipation that has eroded at her bones and mind or the brutal downfall of a city betrothed with death and disease?

A quick inhale from Law has Lami's heart suddenly jumping.

How much longer do they have to live?

As she sits up, Lami watches as Law frantically goes through the remaining files. She doubts that he is properly reading the graphs and data presented in the documents by how fast he is flipping through the pages. The grimace he wears on his face does not bode well in the slightest, though Lami offers herself a bit of reassurance.

Lami, in the once-tale, was already bedridden by this point in the story.

Well, probably. She should go through her old notebooks to make sure her information is correct.

"What are we lookin' at?" Lami asks once his silence becomes stretched, heavy, unbearable, "Decent? Practically dead? Should've been dead?"

"I have a little over three and a half years," His voice taut and strained, fingers curling harshly into the paper he is holding, "forty-four months, maybe."

"Only parents with newborns talk about time inmonths," Lami grumbles, trying to do the math in her head.

"Three years, eight months."

"Oof."

She's not sure how that looks in the grand scheme of things; whether that is more or less time than he was afforded in the original story. Lami doesn't think she has affected Law's life enough to impact how much amber lead has accumulated in addition to the genetically passed lead.

"Well?" Lami inputs again, when he goes silent, "Are you going to leave me hanging or am I supposed toguesshow long I have?"

"You're being awfully candid about all this!" Law throws back at her, voice pitched with irritation and trepidation.

"Oh no, don't worry, I've beenfreaking outabout this," for approximatelysixyears, "how am Isupposedto react? How isanyonesupposed to react? Is there a standard for how someone issupposedto react in a situation like this? A book withguidelinesto help you choose what way you are going to react totrauma? Fatal diseases 101? How to properly emotionally—"

A door in the stairwell somewhere below them opens up and Lami immediately shuts her mouth. Law looks back at her with wide eyes. Maybe because of her rant or maybe because of the prospect of getting caught red-handed with stolen patient files.

A series of footsteps, then the opening and closing of a door.

Law relaxes with a sigh before shooting her a sharp look, "Is itimpossiblefor you to be quiet?"

"I amperfectlyquiet," Lami whispers back to him, nose wrinkled with indignation. If he would justanswerher then there would be no reason for her to raise her voice, "What does itsay?"

It takes a moment for him to say anything and when he does his voice is thick and weird, "Three and a half years."

That'sgood, right? That's not too far behind Law, which means that they have some wiggle room. However, any relief that may have slipped through is wiped away when she realizes that Law isn't looking at her, that even when she tries to get into his field of vision he avoids looking at her.

"Are youlying?" Lami gaps, completely flabbergasted.

"Notlying," He snips back at her, paper wrinkling in his hands, "It's just. Agenerousguess."

"What's the non-generous guess?"

"Three years. Give or take."

"Law!" Lami huffs, impatient, and throws herself back onto the step so she can stare at the ceiling with her arms crossed over her chest. She doesn't understand why he is avoiding giving her a straight answer, "There is a big difference between three years and three and a half!"

"Closer to three than three and a half." Law mutters as he starts to collect all the files into his hands, "There are a lot of variables to take into account! Some of which I likely don't know about. But here's our approximations."

Playing with her bottom lip, she contemplates the future. Where will she be in three years? She knows where she wouldliketo be, who she would like to bewith— but would she be alive to follow through the line ofdestinyor has it always been a futile one? It's a ridiculous train of thought: she's already committed herself to try her best for survival. Three years be damned; if she needs three and a half then by thegodsshe will have three and a half goddamn years.

"Mom and Dad will find a cure by then, though." Law murmurs, yet it's clear by his tone that his thoughts are miles away, "Find a proper method to remove amber lead from the body. It's cruel, but now that Mom and her team have a sample group of patients experiencing acute poisoning at its vital stages they should be able to gather more information. From the symptoms, graphs, cadavers…"

"It sounds like they aren't getting the proper funding," Lami thinks back to the nurses she eavesdropped on, "not to mention they don't have enough staff. Medical students, interns, and exchange staff from outside countries have already evacuated the city, so the hospital is struggling with the upkeep. Doctors, nurses, and cleaners are all going to get sick eventually, adding more strain to those still fit to work... At some point, people are going to get mad at the lack of proper results or solution, when in reality the hospital will simply be struggling to handle the insurgence of amber poisoning in addition to other emerg or health issues..."

"Not to mention the hospital won't have enough money to completely refit the left wing." Law leans back so he is lying beside her, hat tilting sideways, "Or our equipment. Our country is saturated with amber lead... It'll be nearly impossible for us to completely rid ourselves of it."

"Cut the exposure."

"Yeah."

They are silent for a moment before sighing in unison.

They don't tell Flevance about the quarantine.

It happens overnight, while the city is asleep and wallowing in their misery.

Barbed wire fences are raised at the exterior of their kingdom; artillery stations posted to dissuade refugees seeking passage elsewhere; trade routes cut off; communications ignored and swept aside.

One day they are an ailing country, the next they are rats in a cage.

Somehow, somehow, school is still in session.

Lami sulks by the living room window as Law leaves for his morning classes.

From her understanding, Flevance's education system is more in favour of university-style teaching than St. Monroe's. Though, to Lami's amusement, the nuns have a larger presence in Law's school. Morning prayers, religious studies, confession, and consultations. She would have thought that a private school would have more ties to religious factions, but to her recollection, there was little exposure at St. Monroe's. Moreover, she doesn't believe that many students she spoke with indicated any religious beliefs.

It makes sense. TheCelestial Dragonsare heralded assuperiorbeings. It would be blasphemy if a following too large accumulated and started to believe in Gods or concepts that deviated from the ideologies that the World Government regurgitates. Lami wouldn't be all too surprised if religious sects prosper in poorer countries or those without the backing of the World Government. If the same religious sects are cut down in communities or areas that are heavily regulated by the Marines or whatever other military forces that the World Government has at their disposal.

Interesting, then, to wonder why there is such a strong religious community in Flevance given its wealth and satisfaction… Prior to the onset of their disease, that is.

Flopping down onto the couch, Lami sighs.

Pointless question after pointless question. She wonders how hot the water around her needs to be before she stops looking at the flowers and realizes she's boiling.

With the chaos unfolding outside, sneaking; creeping upon them, it's rare for Lami to catch sight of her parents.

This in mind, she can only stare blankly for a moment when one morning she finds her mother sitting on the living room couch with a stack of familiar notebooks at her side.

"Mom?" Lami speaks up after a pronounced pause, yawning and rubbing an eye with sluggish movement, "What're you doin' here?"

"Am I not allowed in my house?" Her mother asks in response, though her tone is light and distracted as she flips through Lami's notes on St. Monroe's and its various curiosities, "I'll be home for the day. Unfortunately, even doctors need days off… in conditions like this."

Lami gets the impression that her mother is not happy with the circumstances, but lets the comment slip aside. She doesn't think either of their parents wishes to discuss the dreadful realities of their situation. Whether it's to protect their children or to keep themselves removed from the disease; quarantine; budding war that is bubbling within their kingdom when they are at home… Lami can't say.

Crawling onto the couch and nestling next to her mother, Lami leans in and cranes her neck to get a good look, "What're you reading?"

"This language of yours…" Her mother says, voice trailing as she traces a segment of letters, "How strange…"

For a moment Lami thinks she is referring to theEnglishshe has written in spattering throughout her work before she realizes that her mother is referring to the secret language of the library alcove.

"Yeah, there were a bunch of books, maps, and scrolls with it," Lami says, rolling over so she can lean back into her mother. She doesn't need to look at it; she can practically see the letters with her eyes shut.

"Do you have any other.." Her mother stumbles with her words for a moment, "samples, of this language?"

"I have a book." She lolls her head back, "Well, two books, if you include the one the President sent me."

"Oh?"

It's not a very impressive or interesting book, in Lami's opinion. Small, thin, old- it's not one that Lami had recognized. Even Law had expressed his disappointment when she showed him. Now that she is in Flevance… Well, a secret language isn't something very high on her priority list anymore. Certainly food for thought once she is no longer at risk ofdying, tragically, three times over.

"Dunno what it's about, though."

Her mother doesn't say anything for a while. Lami is half dozing when she finally speaks, "Have you told anyone about this? About the language, the books?"

"Mm…" She thinks for a moment, "Law. Then Law told you and Dad. The President must have known too, though, since she sent me the book."

Fingers brush through her hair and Lami hums at the touch, "I know you and your brother have adventurous minds... But, dear, promise me... Don't tell anyone about what you found, don't show anyone these books of yours."

Her mother's voice is soft, vulnerable.

"Do you know what it is, then?" Lami can't help but ask, infinitely curious.

"No.. but if the wrong people were to find out about this, I fear what they would do. There are people in the world that shun those who do not fall under the status quo, who would rather erase the mistakes of the past than face the consequences. This... Language of yours could be innocuous, but there is a chance that it could be seen as a threat."

This is not something that Lami is unaware of, though she is surprised to know that her motherdoes.

"I won't tell anyone," Lami says instead of asking one of her hundred questions, "I'll make sure Law doesn't either."

"Thank you," Her mother releases a relieved breath, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, "I suppose my worry is for naught; you've always been well versed with secrets."

Lami blinks, slow and dazed. She finds that she doesn't have anything to say in response.

Sitting on the living room floor, Law and Lami sort through polaroid photos for her future photo album. Law's critical review over the photos catches her by surprise, though it simply makes her laugh when his reasoning is silly or ridiculous.

"You look like a frog." He grumps, squinting his eyes as she tosses the photo into thekeeppile.

"It's cute."

"I don't think you know what that word means."

Lami's cheeks puff with indignation, "I-"

"Kids," Their mother's voice calls from the kitchen, both of their heads looking up in unison, "would you mind coming in here for a moment? There is something we must talk about."

Exchanging a look with Law, the two of them scramble from the floor and towards their mother. She is sitting at the table, hands clasped together, and looking over a few articles. From their aging appearance, she can only guess that they are not recent. Which, given that the mostobviousconversation topic is amber lead, leaves her rather curious as to what her mother wishes to speak about.

Lami's books are at her side, one of them open with a pen wedged in the binding.

"Come, come." Their mother gestures for them to sit on either side of her.

"Whoa!" Law exclaims, clamouring onto a chair and grabbing at one of the older articles, "Gold Roger!"

Lami takes a look at the other articles; Gold Roger and his various exploits. Something in her stomach churns, excitement sizzling in her veins.

Twining her fingers together, their mother takes a moment to take a deep breath before saying, "Now, I know both of you have questions. Your curious and relentless minds are something you have, unfortunately, inherited from both your father and me."

"Unfortunately?" Lami quotes, gazing at her St. Monroe's notebook. It's settled on the map she made.

"It means trouble will always follow you." When Lami turns to look, she sees a small smile softening her expression, "Though, I must say that it is something of an inheritance. Trouble, that is. But.. you're both old enough now to begin this conversation; the truth of our family, the one that your father and I have kept from you both."

Lami looks down at Law and makes eye contact with him, just as caught off guard as she.

"It's not that we wish to maliciously keep you in the dark. Sometimes it's bestnotto know; knowledge is a blessing, but it can also be a shackle." She sighs, slides Lami's notebook closer, and flips to a blank page. Writing down their names she continues, "Trafalgar Law. Trafalgar Lami. These are not your names, not completely."

Oh, Lami thinks, understanding finally settling,oh.

"Trafalgar D. Water Law... Trafalgar D. Water Lami..." She says as she writes it down, sliding the notebook to show both of them, "D. is an initial; a hidden name. Water, a taboo name, your truth. You mustn't tellanyoneof your heritage, the names you bare, you must keep it secret. Law, Lami, do you understand me?"

Law scratches at his jaw, mouth pursed with confusion, "Why, though?"

Lami stays quiet.

"In this world... You will find that some names bear weight to them." Their mother starts, slow and careful with her words. Lami can tell that there is more to what she is saying; that their mother does not want to explain everything to them. "D. is a name, a title, a lifestyle. Our predecessors have done us little favour with their actions and because of this we, who also bears the name of D., are persecuted in kind."

"Gold Roger, they call him. It's easier to prevent a maelstrom this way, keep it at bay for as long astheycan manage," With a wry smile she takes the article of Gol D. Roger from Law, staring at the photo of a smiling man, "In reality, he is a D. as well; Gol D. Roger by birth. But words, names— there ismeaning, emotion, inheritance behind them. The King of the Pirates took the world by storm, his departure leaving ripple effects akin to a tsunami. No matter the effort, those who would rather subdue those of idealistic minds will find themselves the reasoning for the dawn of a new age. It's because of men like Roger that D's are regarded as trouble incarnate; devils, revolutionaries. We must hide our names, keep it secret lest we find ourselves at the tail end of a witch hunt."

"Wait…" Law murmurs, gears turning, "does that mean...Wearerelatedto the Pirate King?"

Lami nearly shoves her face into her hands in secondhand embarrassment, though their mother softly laughs.

"No, it's nothing like that."

"So if we have to keep it secret because people won't like it…" Lami starts, leaning so hard on the table that it jerks forward an inch, "then what does itmean? D?"

The Will of D, one of the greatest mysteries of the once tale, a question that hashauntedher since her arrival in this world. Is bloodline, an initial, a masquerade, enough to cement her as a D?

"Does the D. stand for anything?" Law asks in tandem, grabbing Lami's notebook.

For a moment their mother doesn't respond, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, "Kids… some things cannot be told, not in a way that matters. You.. feel them, experience them. You live them— or you don't. Don't feel too pressured by this knowledge; live not of what you are, but what youwantto be. Dream, pursue your goals, and you will find the answers have been with you all along."

Lami waits for their mother to continue. She doesn't. Not bothering to contain her disappointment, Lami throws herself back onto her chair with a loud groan. What's the point of cryptic behaviour? Why does everything have to be so needlessly difficult?

Law does not seem to share her thoughts, staring up at their mother with a mystified look.

"Don't be impatient, Lami." Their mother's lips quirk with amusement, "The both of you are so quick to jump to a destination, an answer to a question, that you forget that it's thejourneythat matters. That helps you grow; enlighten. Law, you could not become a doctor tomorrow if you suddenly hadallthe medical knowledge necessary to be one; you would lack the experience, the familiarity, the confidence. Similarly, if I were to tell you now of the meaning behind our names, barring the immense danger I would immediately put you in, I doubt either of you wouldtrulyunderstand."

She sighs, continuing her speech as she stands up and collects a glass of juice from the fridge, "Admittedly, it's the fault of myself and your father for enabling your behaviours. We have allowed you both to mature too quickly, forgetting to teach you the important lessons in life. Sometimes I fear that I have shackled you both to a life where every mistake is branded as a failure, every action rushed with impatience to achieve a goal…"

Staring down into her cup, their mother is quiet for a few seconds, "This, I hope, is not thewillI have inherited to you."

Lami does not have any words to say at this, doesn'ttrustany words that she might speak out; frustration and muddled understanding bubbling in her gut.

"Mom.." Law starts, trailing off before renewing with passion, "If you have inheritedanythingto us, it is the dedication to help, to care. I can't speak for Lami, because we both know how much of a sore loser she is, butfailuredoesn't scare me! Without failure, we can't grow, and those who don't fail will find themselves at a roadblock they cannot pass because they have never learnthowto."

It sounds like he is quoting their father, but Lami pushes that aside for the moreseriousissue, "Hey! You arejustas much of a sore loser asIam!"

"I amnot! You're too stubborn to admit when you've lost!"

"That's nottrue, I am perfectly capable of admitting defeat!"

"Oh? What'sthisthen?"

"The truth!"

In the background, as they continue to bicker, their mother places her glass onto the kitchen counter. Wiping tears from her eyes, she smiles.

"It's because of youthat I didn't get to ask Mom any more questions," Lami grumbles later that night, once it hits her that she allowed Law to distract her from the conversation. Now their mother is at work. Who knowswhenthey will see her next.

If.

"Me? You're the one who started the argument!"

"Yeah, because you called me a sore loser!"

"Because youareone." He squints at her, golden eyes resolute in his opinion, "Look, continuing this fight is just going to further my point. What would you even want to know, anyway?"

Flabbergast, Lami stumbles over her words as she stares at him with wide eyes, "What would I- are, are youkiddingme? There areso manythings that conversation started that I'm racking my mind over! How could younothave questions? What are the D's? What is thiswillshe is talking about? Where did it come from? What is the relation? Why do people consider them a risk to society? Isthatwhy Mom doesn't like Gol D. Roger? Did Mom find out all about this from her parents, who she never talks about by the way?"

Some of the questions Lami has suspicions on, relating to dreams, the void century, and Joy Boy— but what her motherknowscould be more telling to her than anything else!

"Huh.." Law hums, chin in hand, "Now that you bring it up... Yeah. That's pretty curious. But, you know, it's just a name."

Throwing her head back with a groan, she wondershowthey can be related, "I even forgot to ask about the reasoning behind our Watertabooname! How could you do this to me Law! Theonetime I had an opportunity to find out answers!"

"Hey, you did this to yourself! If you could have justacceptedit then you'd have all the answers!" He shakes his head, obviously considering her childish as he says, "Plus, we can just ask Mom the next time we see her."

Lifting her hands to cover her face, Lami gives a long, drawn-out whine in response.

( if they see her.

tick tock )

Lami startles from her book when the front door opens and closes, the shuffling of shoes and clothes echoing into the family library. She waits a long moment, caution staking its claim before she hears the familiar tenor of her brother's voice. Relaxing, she slides the book she has been reading onto the table and follows the noise.

"I'm- I'm, I'm sorry!" A voice she does not recognize, trembling and hoarse,sobsin the kitchen, "I just- I just didn't know, know where togo."

Hovering between the kitchen and the dining room, Lami is silent as Law grabs a cloth from the cupboard and wets it.

The boy who sits on the floor is splattered withred, skin blotchy with white spots and hair beginning to go ashy. She stares wide-eyed, fingers curling around the frame of the doorway. She knows this boy, distantly and with simmering reproach: Owen, Law'sallegedbest friend.

"It's okay." Law says, voice grim and face set with determination, "I'm glad you came here, though you should go to the hospital or one of the clinics..."

When he sees Lami, he plucks minutely at his shirt and looks at his friend on the floor. Following his gaze, she thinks she understands what he is silently asking and gives him a nod. Kneeling, Law uses the wet cloth to wash the blood from the boy's face.

Turning on her heels, Lami hurries up to Law's room and ransacks his closet for a shirt and pair of pants. She ends up grabbing a pair of socks and underwear, just in case, and hovers at the top of the stairs. Lami can hear the boy sobbing again, words unintelligible and mashed together. Hands shaking, she wonders if she should leave them be; if they would like privacy. Or would that be considered abandoning Law?

Biting at her lip, she ends up jumping down the stairs two at a time.

"I have clothes you can change into," Lami says once she enters the kitchen, ignoring the way the boy jumps at her sudden appearance, holding them out to him.

Law ends up grabbing the clothing instead, placing them on the floor as he says to Owen, "It doesn't look like you are hurt, at least…"

The boy, Owen, doesn't say anything, just turns to stare at the floor.

Exchanging a glance with Law, she gestures towards the door with a silent question. He shakes his head, nodding towards Owen. Lami barely holds back a grimace, but she knows better than to say anything about it; the blood strewn across his school uniform is enough for Lami to gather thatnowis not the time to be cruel or selfish.

Lowering herself onto the floor, Lami sits beside Owen. He does not move to acknowledge her, but he doesn't show any sort of displeasure either. Taking the cloth from Law, she grabs Owen's hand and begins to scrub off the blood. It would be more efficient for him to take a shower, she thinks, but Lami highly doubts that he has the energy or the will to doanythingat this moment.

( for a moment she thinks:this is the first time i have seen so much blood;

but this is not correct— she has stabbed a man in the thigh before, has felt it's warmth between her fingers )

She's not gentle or tactful with her ministrations, she knows, even when she tries.

He doesn't seem to mind, though, fingers curling into hers momentarily before she brushes them off so she can continue.

Law places a bowl of clean water in front of Owen, a new cloth in hand as he washes the boy's neck.

"They just wanted help…" Owen says after a few minutes, face red and puffy, "They just- they just wanted to go to a hospital. It's sobusyhere- so they just-"

A sob wrecks through him, tears and snot dripping down his face, "And, they, theyshotthem. I couldn'tsavethem, I couldn't drag Dad away! AndMom-" his voice cracks, the subject changes, "They told me to live… To run. So Ileftthem there, Law! How- how could I have done that? They're dead now! How could I-"

Shrugging off Law and Lami, he curls up into a ball and covers his face with his arms.

"I'm abadson!" Owen continues, voice breaking, "I left them!"

Looking at Law, she can see the lines of indecision on his face as his hands curl over the bloodied cloth. Neither of them is equipt to handle this sort of situation. Owen should be at the hospital, where they have counsellors who he can express his grief with.

Lami surprises herself by being the first to speak, "Don't blame yourself for the actions of others."

Oh.Thatcame out wrong, didn't it?

There's a moment of silence where Law simply stares at her with bewilderment and Owen turns to glance at her over a bicep, "What.. what do you mean?"

"I mean." She starts, wondering if she should say it delicately or not, "It's not likeyoushot them, you know? Or got yourself sick. Don't rob the person who killed your parents of blame and place it on yourself. Especially when their last words for you were tolive. It's okay to grieve their deaths, but just know... you're not a bad son. You're just... a son. One they were willing to die for. So, they likely thought you were a good son if they were willing to go so far for you."

She's not sure if the wordsworkor not. If her tone is too blunt, too wordy, or if the sentiment comes across properly. Whatever the case, Owen throws himself at Lami and begins to cry and sob once more onto her shoulder, fingers digging into her back. She tries not to gag or seem distressed by this sudden invasion of space; he smells of blood, piss, and mud. It's distracting. It's gross.

But, he's a boy who just watched his parentsdie. He is afriendof Law's. Theleastshe can do for him is withstand the moment and awkwardly pat his back in an attempt at comfort.

Law joins the hug, giving his friend reassurances and his condolences. For some reason, when they make eye contact, Law seems thankful.

Law and Lami escort Owen to the hospital once he has shed his bloodied clothing.

The entire walk is done in silence, hands held, and apprehensively looking around them. For the first time, Lami can hear the distant echo of gunfire. Owen's hand tightens in hers, choking on what might be a sob. Or a scream.

"Don't worry." Law murmurs, hat casting shadows over his face, "We're with you."

By the time they reach the hospital, Owen is shaking in his shoes. The waiting room is overflowing with people riddled with white, children slipping from their chairs and convulsing on the floor with pain, nurses running patients on stretchers down the hall, blood smearing on the floor behind them. It'sloud. Lami winces, practicallyfeelingthe residual pain in the air along with the sorrowful moaning and whimpering.

"I'll go find Dad." Law says, jaw set in a line, "Help get Owen set up."

He doesn't wait for an answer as he runs off, leaving Lami alone with his best friend. Sighing, she tugs the quiet boy with her as she approaches the line leading to the registration desk. The wait islong. She attempts to start a few conversations with Owen but he does not wish to talk. He simply holds her hand tighter, pressing against her side whenever someone steps too close to them.

The lady at the registration desk takes one look at Owen and hands Lami a ticket with a number on it. Mouth thinning at the415depicted, she thanks the woman and drags Owen to find someplace to sit. It's too busy to find two seats beside each other, so she forces him to sit down between two elderly ladies while she stands in front of him. He refuses to let go of her hand, even as she jerks her hand away. From the look in his eye, she suspects there is no conscious thought or choice in this, simply needing something to hold onto. Or, perhaps, simply because he can.

"They can't get away with this!" A man yells at the front doors of the emergency room with tears streaming down his face, catching the attention of everyone in the room. He's young, in his twenties perhaps, chest coated in blood. At his side a single nurse pushes a stretcher further into the hospital as she yells for help, the patient bleeding profusely enough for Lami to see it from where she stands.

The room erupts into quiet mutterings; agreements, retorts, fears.

( the beginning rumble of war drums. )

"Shooting us down when we seek asylum— shutting off our supply to water and food— refusing medical support—" The young man falls to his knees as though he can no longer hold himself up, shoulders shaking with emotion.

A dull part of her wonders at his dramatics before she is snapped back to reality by the uttercallousnessof her thoughts.

"We cannot allow this to continue—" An older man intones, skin whiter than any she has seen thus far. In the wake of his comment a torrent of voices speak up at once;

"How are we to fight back—"

"Myhusbanddied trying to get help—"

"Well, we have no shortage of lead—"

"War? Isn't that an extreme measure—"

"My daughter—"

"We're going to die anyway, right—"

"If they want blood we willgivethem blood—"

Lami winces at the noise, her free hand rising to cover her ear. The back of her neck prickles withsomething, the agitation and rising emotions palpable in the air. She canfeelit burrowing in her skin; electric and seething. Shutting her eyes in an attempt to brush it off, Lami reminds herself to breathe.

"Are you okay?" Owen asks, barely audible over the commotion.

"Fine." She says through clenched teeth, voice tight.

"Everyone, everyone—" A nurse yells over the noise, "Please be reminded that this is a space where quiet is appreciated! For our guests and our patients, please keep your tones to a whisper. Now, could number 297 please come this way!"

Law and their father show up before Owen's number is called.

Within the past hour, most of the room has dissipated, leaving behind mostly children and the elderly. Many had left in spirit ofretaliation, voices loud and blurring together as dozens left for a better place totalk. It leaves Lami feeling off-kilter, as though the world has found itself a few degrees counterclockwise, attempting to adjust to the new perspective she has found herself in.

It doesn't make sense, not really, and she is glad to be free of her thoughts once her family arrives.

( owen will never havethisever again, she thinks. )

"Come on, kid," Their father says as he approaches Owen, and moves to pick him up, "Let's get you checked up, hm?"

For the first time in over three hours, Owen lets go of her hand so he can wrap his arms around her father's neck. He doesn't say anything, he just buries his face into her father's shoulder.

"Kids, stay here, alright?" He says, casting a worried glance towards the front doors, "I'll be back."

Law and Lami murmur their agreement, watching as they leave.

"How long has it been like… this?" Lami asks, still trying to adjust.

"About a week." Law says, pulling his hat over his eyes, "Since the quarantine. The hospital is overflowing with patients and is understaffed, every day the patients double in number." He pulls her to the side where they can sit down and so he can whisper privately to her, "The hospital is thinking about closing its doors; there are too many afflicted patients of amber lead to keep up with since they're getting a lot of low priority cases coming in. No one wants to be turned away, even if they only have a small spot. But there is a rising number of emergency cases surrounding the hostilities from the border of the quarantine..."

"Well." Lami winces, "I mean, yeah, I meantthat, but I mostly meant the... You know. War."

"War?"

Lami blinks, "About an hour ago the waiting room cleared out because they wanted to help with the war effort."

He stares at her with wide eyes for a moment. Tugging his hat over his face, he turns forward and leans on his elbows as he takes a shaking breath, "Right. Of course. This is the most logical next step for rising tensions…"

Law looks like Atlas at this moment; bent, as though carrying the world on his shoulders. It's a moment of dysphoria, the mixing of mythos and thought.

"You know.." She slowly intones, "You don't.. have to fix this. This isn't on you."

When he throws his hat on the ground, it takes her by surprise, by not as much as a fiery glare he directs to her, "Then whois? Whoisgoing to fix this? Whoisgoing to stop this war from happening, from the escalating..thingsthat are happening!"

"It's not something thatcanbe fixed by one person. There are too many variables at play to evenconsiderstopping it, whether it be one person or an army! I think it'senoughto just... Do what we can, in a moment like this. Help the people in front of us, support those who are too far gone to be properlyfixed."

"Funny to hearyousay that." He snarks, "Where is the relentless ambition?Do what we can? Pft. Isn't your motto: if you do not try, you are guaranteed to fail? If we only do what we can, we'll never bemore?"

Lami gaps, but cannot utter a single word in return. He is right. If this were any other situation, she would advocate fortryinguntil their mind, body, and soul is too exhausted to continue, would advocate for them to pushpastthis and succeed anyway.

But,thisis different. Fire, disease, genocide— it's not something two kids can deal with.

"I'm just trying to be realistic here." She mutters, fingers entwining.

Law merely scoffs, slouching in his seat. He does not believe her.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

12.

PICK YOUR POISON

genocide.

Rain falls over Flevance, casting a grey fog over the White City.

Lami sits at the living room window, arms perched on the sill as she watches puddles form on the white stone bricks that make the streets. There has been no passerby, no carts or trolleys. Only the rain to keep her company as she wonders and wonders; are the Flevance citizensreallygoing to fight against the quarantine? Has the fighting started, yet? Were the Flevance conflicts always supposed to be this drawn-out, painstakingly slow?

Thunder rumbles in the distance, just as ominous as it ispromising.

She always thought herself to be at the center of thisplot; that her knowledge afforded her an ounce of importance in the events unfolding. It's as humbling, relieving, as it is frustrating to realize that this is as far from the truth as can be— Lami accounts for nothing. She is, by all accounts, a bystander watching as those with any modicum of power claw for whatever scraps the universe might be kind enough to give. It's a reminder, yet again, that there is nothing she could have feasibly done in the wake of fire, genocide, and disease.

(funny to hear you say that, law had said,where is the relentless ambition?)

Closing her eyes, Lami sighs and rests her forehead against the cool plane of the window. Rain pitter-patters close by her ear, constant and soothing. She could almost fall asleep if it weren't for the ghosts that refuse her any rest.

"You shouldn't stay so close to the window."

It's Law, voice drawn out. He hasn't spoken to her since they left the hospital last night— or maybe it's that Lami hasn't spoken to him.

"It'sdangerous." He tries again, heat starting to sink into his tone. Or maybe it's protectiveness.

"Nothing's happening."

And it's true, she thinks, eyes opening and focusing on the water droplets trailing down the window.

"There is more to the world than what is in your line of vision," Law says, voice flat.

It irks her, the passive wisdom he seems to have collected at some point. When did this happen? Was she just not looking? Did it just not bother her, until now?

Lami releases a comically large breath, knowing that she is just grating on her nerves at this point. Law has always been ridiculously intelligent. It's not that he is needlessly wise, but rather Lami is proving to be progressively more incompetent in the matter. Self-awareness is useless if there is no action put into place.

Flopping backward onto the floor, she sprawls out like a starfish and stares at the ceiling in silent defiance. She knows he isrightbut stubbornly refuses to cave in and let him hear it. Law approaches, huffing with quiet scorn, and sends the room into darkness by shutting the window curtains. There's a moment where he simply stands there, staring at the fabric in his hand. Lami says nothing, watching him in turn. Falling to a crouch, he then teeters backward and joins her on the floor.

"I hate waiting." She grouses, staring at the ceiling.

( ticktock)

"You know," He says in response, almost conversationally, "I havenevermet anyone more impatient…"

Lami fights the impulse to remind him that he is only ten; that there is much left in store for Law.

For Lami, it starts at the grocery store.

Gunfire sparks nearby. It could almost be misconstrued as fireworks if not for thescreamsthat follow; outside of the store and within the hurried hustle of shoppers who make haste to leave the vicinity. There is something smooth in how the customers move in tandem— like this is a practiced act despite the thick anxiety and panic that weighs heavy in the air.

"I should have known better..." her father whispers, dropping what food he had managed to acquire from the barren shelves so he can scoop up Lami with one arm, "We're too close. Law!"

Her brother pops out from behind a shelf, grimacing as he sprints over and lets himself get picked up.

They exit out the back, where the grocery store owner is graciously allowing people to leave. The trek home is long and tense, their father making the occasional self-deprecating comment for considering to take them out in the first place. Lami tries to catch Law's eye, but he has pulled his hat over his face and is purposely not looking at anything or anyone.

The moment they are within the door of their house, Law and Lami are let down.

"Pack your bags," their father says with a strained smile, "I think it's time we take you to the Sisters."

For a moment, they simply stare at him until Lami deadpans, "TheSisters? Really?"

"They'll take care of you," he says, likethatis the major concern here, "it's not safe for you to be here all by yourself anymore. The church has set up a sanctuary for those caught up in the conflicts- beds, food, supplies. It was idealistic of me to believe that you kids would be fine on your own, so long as I could step in every morning..."

Mouth dropping, Lami sputters out a few incomprehensible words before looking to her side to get Law's support in this— only to find that he has already left. She isn't given the luxury to stare or put together an argument, her father pushing her gently towards the stairs.

"Come on," he says, voice soft, "now is not the time to be stubborn."

Mouth pursed, she stares up at him. Her father is not faring well; eye bags more pronounced, his hair unruly and long, bloodshot eyes and pale skin—

Lami pauses her thoughts, examining his portfolio with sinking dread. His skin, while not the patchwork of amber lead she has seen in patients, is notably whiter than she has ever seen it. In fact, the closer she looks the more pronounced the pooling smudges ofwhitelook on his face, on his hands. Hairashyin colour, a far cry from his messy black locks. She wonders when this happened, or if it's something that has alwaysbeenbut undetectable in its small increments.

He places a hand on top of her head.

Nodding demurely to his silent request, she decides with simmeringdreadthatnowmay not be the best time to pick an argument. Rushing up the stairs, Lami makes for her bedroom. It has been neglected since her return from St. Monroe's, used mostly as a space to hide her belongings. Clean, well-kept, easy to access the things she will need in the future; waiting precisely for this moment. She grimaces as she looks around, then takes a moment to unhook her bag from the back of the door.

Emptying her satchel bag onto her bed, Lami takes a moment to seriously consider what sheneedsto take and what she doesn't. What she thought she would need five years ago is much different than what she thinks now. But more importantly, there is a good chance that she will not return here ever again.

Her heartpangs, then, sharp and inescapable.

( home— she'll never behomeagain; will neverhavea home again )

Finding herself horribly reminded of her final night at St. Monroe's, the rush; the packing; the building unease and panic, Lami moves numbly as she pilfers through her dressers for clothing. Nothing light coloured, easily stained, or difficult to clean. Blacks, dark blues, and greens; linen and cotton; t-shirts, shorts, and long sleeves. The only sweater she can afford to take is immediately pulled on, refusing to allow it to take up space in her bag. In her trance, she almost forgets socks and underwear, but quickly backtracks.

Clothes, admittedly, lay low on her list of importance and are temporarily placed beside her bag so she can better gauge how everything will fit in.

Her books, however, are irreplaceable. She grabs her notebooks first: the one's detailing her past world, the once-tale, St. Monroe's and it's mysterious language. The President's mysterious book is added in as well. There are some she hesitantly leaves behind; stories she once held dear to her, song lyrics and translations, a dream journal only partially filled out. Sentimentals that will mean little to her on the road. There are far too many scrapbooks filled with information on this world for Lami to feasibly carry around and it's with a heavy heart she discards them to the side. She can always start over; therewillbe another time for her to restart her collection.

The photo album she and Law have worked on, though— it ranks the highest on the list.

A laugh escapes her, unbidden, as she stares down on it. When had her time with the Trafalgar's become more important to her than the future of this world?

Placing the album delicately on top of thekeeppile, Lami quickly slaps her cheeks with both hands. Irritated and realizing that she needssomesort of wake up call, though she has yet to receive it. The world is moving around her, constant and relentless. She needs to stop asking questions,whyandwhen, and needs to start takingnoticeof those around her. She needs to stopthinkingand startdoingandfeeling, or else she will always be stuck trying to catch up to everyone else's coattails.

Shaking herself, a poor attempt to hype her mood, Lami grabs the final essentials for her bag. The polaroid mechanism, the sack of cash she has slowly accumulated, and a few pens and pencils can all be found in her room. She scurries around the top floor of the house, grabbing various objects from the bathroom and her parent's study.

Pausing at Law's bedroom door, she peeks in and sees him sitting on his bed. His backpack is at his side, though it doesn't look like he has started to pack yet.

Thinking that he needs his space, Lami leans over the railing to see where her father is. After a second of silence, she realizes that he is in the kitchen talking to, what sounds like, her mother on the Den Den Mushi.

Tiptoeing downstairs, she waves to her father as she enters the kitchen. Lami chooses to ignore the baffled look he sends her and the pause to their conversation. Instead, she pilfers through the cabinets and starts shuffling through the plastic containers. She leaves once she finds one that looks like it might be big enough to hold her notebooks, sending her father a thumbs up as she goes.

Seeing the opportunity present itself, Lami then sneaks into her parent's room and quietly shuts the door behind her. It takes fifteen minutes to find the emergency money stashed away in a box at the top of the closet. She's not sure what it is about her family and hiding things in closets, but she figures it must be hereditary.

"Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad." Lami mutters to herself as she stuffs the belli into the container, not bothering to count the amount right now.

It's a heinous action, stealing from her parents like this— but Law and Lami will need this moneymuch moreonce they have escaped this hellhole, once everything is said and done. Flevance is a very rich country. It would be terrible if it all went to waste- or right into the pockets of those who might ransack the city once barren and empty. There is little she can do for Law at this point to make the heartache go away, but she figures food in their bellies is a good way to start.

Lami returns to her room. Her money sack is barely large enough to accommodate combining her money with her parent's money, which usually isn't something to complain about, but she acknowledges that her limited space is becoming an issue. The container is necessary for safekeeping- the clothes and everything else is for base-level survival purposes. Law had been fine in the once-tale, so everything she is packing now is simplyflavour. But the container would keep her work clean and, hopefully, waterproof. Wrapping her notebooks in a shirt, she stuffs them in and clamps the sides of the container in place.

Wincing as she looks over the objects she has stockpiled, she wonders if she is being excessive.

Aggressively running her fingers through her hair, Lami reminds herself that she does not know how long they will be on their own for; it's better to have too much than too little. Lawsuffered. She will be there to mitigate it.

Putting everything into the bag proves to be a puzzle in itself; the container of books is too wide to be laid flat, she has a dozen small objects that must be placed in a cloth bag which makes it difficult to fit in with the other flat-planed objects. Her polaroid attachment and its box fits cozily into a corner. She ends up just squishing the clothing into any available spot and spends five minutes teaching herself how to efficiently open and close the bag.

"Are you done?" Law asks from the door, backpack at his side, "Gez, what do you have in that thing?"

"Yep. Done."

Wrapping the strap over a shoulder, the bag slides off the bed with athunkagainst her hip. It's heavy, of course, it's heavy, but it's comparable in weight to her bag in St. Monroe's. Simply bulkier.

"Is that full ofbooks?"

Law appears at her side, squinting down at her discarded notebooks. She understands his skepticism. Books are much heavier than anyone gives credit for, which is the main reason why she has decided to abandon the books in their family library. It pains her to know that the knowledge will all go to waste, but theyreallycannot afford to lug a cart around.

Despite this, Lami can't help but snip back, "No. I'm not an idiot."

"Ehh." Law says, voice flat as she follows him out the door, "The jury is still out on that."

"Oi."

"Are you kids done?" Their father asks as they enter the kitchen, eyes widening as Lami heaves her bag onto the counter with anotherthunk.

If she's crafty she can probably fit some non-perishables in the small pockets on the outside of the bag, which is what she's thinking as she starts searching through the cupboard.

"Whoa!" Law grits out from behind her, lifting the bag, "How heavy is this? Twenty kilograms?"

"If you think my bag weighs twenty kilograms then you've never had to lift twenty kilograms."

"Lami.." Their father laughs, "Why did you packtoilet paper. You're just staying with the Sisters, you know. There's no need to bring so much!"

Whipping around, she sees that they are both going through her bag. Honestly, she thinks their reactions are alittledramatic and excessive. Sure, it's certainly more of a survival-pack than a sleepover bag, but it's not as though it's overflowing.

"Hey! You never know when you'll need it." Stomping over, she brushes away their hands and stuffs nutrient bars into various gaps and pockets, and decides thatnowis the time to change the subject before they look too closely at the bag's contents, "Also. I don't think we should go to the Sisters."

Their father immediately sighs, "Lami, I told you-"

"Take us to the hospital instead!" She climbs onto the counter so she can look him in the eyes, "We can be ofhelpthere, even if it's cleaning or intern duties. I'msurethat the hospital is taking a hit with the conflicts and the poisoning."

Law pulls himself onto the counter beside her, an arm resting on Lami's shoulder as he leans into her and towards their father, "She's got a point, Dad. We won't be a bother; we'll do whatever you tell us."

"We aretotallyandcompletelydependable."

"And? It'll be good work experience for me and it'll give Lami something to do so she's not twiddling her thumbs and driving herself crazy-"

"Oi!"

"-all day. But, really, we both know that the hospital can't afford to turn down volunteers.Especiallysince neither of us is showing imminent symptoms of poisoning."

"You'll do whatever I tell you... so long as it's something you want to do, huh." Their father sighs, again, rubbing his forehand. She'd say that they are causing him grey hairs but—

Well. Amber lead has already kick-started that.

"I mean, we are just offering some alternative solutions to our current problems," Lami says, attempting to sound pragmatic instead of petulant.

"Is staying with the Sisters a problem, though?"

"For nonbelievers like us?" Law scoffs, "Yes. Plus, at least this way we can help in some way."

"Total heathens." Not that Lami would consider herself anonbeliever, given her circumstances in this world.

"Youcouldhelp with the Sisters…" Their father says with evident defeat, though his dry laugh sounds a tad bit relieved even as he continues with, "Gosh, your mother is going to hang me up by my toes by letting you kids do this! But it might be best to keep you close…"

Law and Lami take the small victory, bumping their fists together as they prepare to depart.

The next two days pass in a whirlwind.

As expected their mother is not pleased to see their arrival at the hospital, but she is quick to get over this and immediately sends them off to work. There is no time or energy for arguing; little care for proper protocol when what little staff they have are falling apart.

Law is shackled to their mother's side in helping with the rising number of emergency cases coming from the war front. He hassomepractical experience and steady hands, capable of making stitches and helping their mother in the surgical room. Their paths rarely cross, but a certain look of grim determination has set on Law's face; blood-stained gloves, uniforms and all. The emergency room catches Lami by surprise whenever she is sent over; the blood, the smell, the noise.. and then the quiet.

Lami spends most of her time with her father. His priority is the amber lead disease, despite how long her mother spent researching it. A labour of love, one might say, and a show of love and trust to give it to another.

Her father spends most of his day working with patients that are at the cusp of death, trying desperately to mitigate the seizures and organ failures that take to the patients one by one. Lami watches as most of the patients die, despite his best efforts, and watches as her father lifts himself back up with the mantra,i'll save the next one, i'll save the next one. He spends any available moment taking notes and surveying data, and every couple of hours he will send out a distress call to one of the hospitals to the surrounding countries.

Most of them hang up as soon as they realize who is calling, but some of them stop to listen. It's cruel, the moment of hope that sparks in his eyes before the inevitableclankof his Den Den Mushi.

"If we could just have blood and the proper supplies.." He chokes out at the end of a long night, bent over the Den Den Mushi, "Then we coulddosomething. Why don't any of them listen?"

Lami doesn't have any words that will comfort him, so she simply hugs him around the waist.

From then on, her father is no longer passive and polite during his phone calls; becoming more aggressive, loud, demanding. The hospital can barely contain the patients they have, and it's becoming steadily more difficult to deal with the increasing dead bodies. The morgue is long overbooked, the doctors regretfully rolling them out into the back of the building.

In a rare moment of seeing her parents together, her father grabs her mother into a tight embrace, voice wobbling as he says, "The ministers, the royals— none of them are answering my calls;anyone'scalls. What are they doing?"

Her mother smooths at his hair, looking very tired at this moment, "Shh. We have to focus on what's in front of us; what wecando."

It's dreary; Lami watches it all with static in her ears.

It's sunny and warm in the morning that her parents make the executive decision to close the hospital doors.

"It'll be safer this way," Her father says, voice firm and eyes dark, as he inspects the remaining workers of the hospital, "For us and our patients. It'strulyunfortunate that we must do this… but we have a duty to our current patients. The war is creeping upon us; drawing nearer every hour. The longer we keep our doors open the more likely we are to be taken victim ourselves."

"There are clinics around." Her mother points out, "Those outside are not left without hope."

Hope, Lami thinks bitterly. Such a word doesn't quite deserve to be in a city like this.

The directors of the hospital, along with the council, are either dead, almost dead, or left in the middle of the night to be with their family. Those who are left look towards her parents for guidance or are self-sustained enough to work in tandem with them. None of the other doctors, nurses, and cleaners look pleased by this choice of action; but they also look exhausted and wrung out. There's only so much a handful of people can do to support an entire kingdom, especially when they are being assailed from multiple sides.

No one disagrees, so the doors close.

The gunfire, screams, and pleas of those at the gates, somehow, become background noise for everyonebutLami.

She's not certain whenit started; the voices, the weight, the lights.

Butitcomes and goes in waves. Moments where the hospital isbusyand lively, Lami finds herself rendered useless and running away to the furthest corner of the hospital. A few days ago she promised her father that she would be able tohelp, but in moments likethisshe is overwhelmed; overstimulated, festering and fidgeting, wanting to pull theelectricityout of her skin. It's loud, loud,loud,and no matter how hard she presses her ears and squeezes her eyes shut she can never seem to get thevoicesout.

A woman cries as a child passes. Avoicegoes out. A boy screams as his arm is stitched. A man weeps and pleas at God;please, I'm not ready, I'm not ready, I don't want to di—

"Lami?"

Law's voice, muffled by her hands, is almost ignored. But after a moment she squints down at him, standing on the stair platform below her.

"Are you okay? Should I go get Dad?" He asks, this time, rushing up the stairs to gently grab her face. He pulls at her hands, looks at her ears and eyes with practiced calculation.

"'S loud." Is all she manages to get out.

Law pauses, looking around them with a faint grimace.

The stairwell is empty; silent. She knows this, canhearit. The quiet around her.

But,fuck, it's alsonot.

"I'm fine." Lami says, knowing that she sounds decidedly not fine and maybe a little like a frayed wire, "I just.. need a minute."

"I can ask Dad if you can go to bed early tonight." Even as he says this his voice is uncertain. He continues only when it becomes obvious that she has no intention of replying, "Are you in pain?"

"No," Lami sighs, unsure how to explainitin words, "no pain, really. I'm fine. It's just… a lot."

"A lot."

"Yeah."

There's a moment of hesitation before he sits on the step below her, and a moment even longer before he wraps his arms around her waist. The tenderness of his actions leads her to believe that he is misunderstanding what she means; what she's trying to say; but how could he know, with how vague she is being? Though, she can't think of the words to properly convey thevoicesand the static; the silence that follows. Nor can she fathom what might be going through Law's head or what he picks out from her words.

Nonetheless, she returns the hug, pressing her face into his hat and idly noting the smell of disinfectants. Slowly, slowly, focusing on that smell and the rough press of his fingers on her back, Lami pulls herself back together, thevoicesfading away.

Rubbing her eyes with the side of her palm, Lami walks down the morose hall of the fourth floor.

Most of the inhabitants of this floor are rich; single rooms with extravagant beds, unlike the first floor which is littered from wall to wall with stretchers and small metal beds. The fourth floor is quiet, besides the soft sobbing coming from one of the nurses. But honestly who can blame her when everyone is working twenty-hour shifts, watching loved ones and familiars die while facing the pressure to maintain efficiency while working.

Lami and Law have only been at the hospital for a handful of days, but already it feels like they've been here forweeks. She feels tired and desensitized; there's no time to properly process what is going on, no time or energy tofeelorthinkwhen doctors are constantly yelling at her for this and that. She can't imagine how the adults who have been fightingthisfor weeks must feel.

But, then again, hasn't Lami been fightingthisfor years, too?

Running her hands through her hair, Lami dismisses this thought. Panic and foreknowledge isdifferentthan experiencing situations first hand, as she has already started to witness. Perhaps she is too quick to dismiss the struggle she has gone through since she arrived in this world, but Lami cannot help but watch the nurses, doctors, and patients and think that maybe she has the better end of this deal.

( it's easier, safer— to dismiss; set aside personal struggle. )

Lami pauses when she sees that one of the room doors is left slightly ajar. Peeking in, the room is barren; bed clean, tucked and floor mopped.

Quite sad, Lami thinks as she slips in, considering that a family had inhabited the room since she started helping out at the hospital.

A small shoe sticks out from underneath the bed; hardly the size of her hand. Lami's mouth thins into a line as she bends down to pick it up, swallowing thickly at the implications. She passes it from hand to hand, quietly thinking to herself that it's a fucked up world when a child's death is quite low on the list of tragedies.

The hospital no longer makes any sort of attempt to announce the fatalities; it's too disheartening for the patients and staff. No one wants to hear that their disease has a one hundred percent fatality rate.

"Come on, dear." Lami hears her mother say from the door, "The next family needs this room."

Looking over her shoulder, Lami indeed sees a red-eyed family hovering near the door. Hiding the shoe behind her back, she offers her best attempt at a smile as she ducks out of the room.

Just like with everything else; there is no warning, no time for preparation when gunfire erupts outside the hospital.

She's with Law when it happens, both of them trying to work together to sew a man's stab wound shut. The man thrashes against Lami's hands as she holds his shoulders down, quite numb to his agonized shouts. She doesn't even know if people are in pain because of the bullets, wounds, or because of the amber lead; maybe all of the above, a combination of everything.

"I hear that the soldiers are giving children and Sisters refuge," Law says conversationally between the man's gasping pains. "I told them I couldn't leave with you here, though."

Lami feels bad; not because of Law, but because, regrettably, the hospital doesn't have the proper supplies to make dying easier.

"Really?" She mutters idly, hands digging into the man's shoulder. "After everything they've already done?"

"...That's what the sister said, anyway."

But when the first round of rapid gunfire sparks, the emergency room is lulled to silence.

When the second round of gunfire sparks,chaostakes the room by storm.

Voices; noises; relentless despite any effort by the doctors. The man's elbow drives into her stomach and Lami finds herself grunting and sliding down the side of the makeshift bed, bloodied hands pressed to her ears as dozens, no, hundreds move at once— yelling, feeling, shoving, screaming, desperate to getaway. The man stumbles out of the bed, tripping over Lami and tumbles to the floor. Another round of gunfire has the whole room jumping and suddenly babies are screeching, people sobbing,voiceshitting her from all sides.

A hand wraps around her arm and drags her off the floor, pulling her through the mass of people who yell; demand; cry.

They're small; weaving through the crowd and escaping to the staff room. They pause long enough for Lami to grab her bag from her designated closet, ignoring her brother's anxious nagging. But they don't stop there. They continue through the supply room, then out into another hallway before swerving into the custodian stairway.

"You think they'd be used to that." Law says, tugging her up the stairs, "I'm pretty sure Mom and Dad are on the third floor."

"Thanks." Lami manages, rubbing a hand over her face, "That sounded closer than before."

"Closer than comfortable."

( she can feel it; thevoicesgoing quiet outsideandbeneath them )

"You know.." He spares her a glance, "You should get that checked out."

"I hear the wait time is ridiculous."

"Awful." He scoffs, pulling her into the third floor. It is quiet; unnervingly quiet.

"Dad's down the hall," Lami murmurs, rubbing at her forehead again. She can feel a migraine coming; creeping up on her. She doesn't think today is going to be a good day; bile rising, throat stiff and burning. Her hands won't stop shaking.

(is this it? she wonders )

"Kids!" Their father calls from down the hall; his voice loud but nothing compared to the slaughter downstairs, "In here. Your mother- I think she's on the second floor. We need to enact the emergency protocols—"

Law leads her into the room their father leads them into, grimacing as he enters, "Lami is getting weird again."

( a part of her knows, understands, that they cannot hear thevoices; the screaming; theintensity. there is electricity in her veins; lights behind her eyes. unbearable; searing; merciless. no words but somehow she knows, she knows, sheknows—

and thevoices—

she canhearthem crying, canhearthe moment of dissipation.

lami wonders what is worse: the shrill sobbing; fear; the horror of the broken, or thesilencethat takes its place. )

She's not sure how she gets from point a to point b; the time lost in the torrent.

But somehow she ends up in her father's arms, his shaking fingers running through her hair, whispering soft assurances. The door is closed, Law nowhere to be seen. She can hear gunfire, now, but thevoicesare still there; quieter, persistent, but decreasing in number.

"Where's Law?" Lami asks, dragging herself off the floor.

"He went to find your mother." By his tone, Lami gets the idea that Law ran off on his own without consulting their father.

"... Sorry."

"Don't be." Soft, so soft, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Lami's head feels like it's stuffed with cotton; thoughts tangled up and muffled. Lami should be doing something, sheknowsthat she should be doing something; but it's lost in translation, sand leaking between her fingers.

Her father is now on the Den Den Mushi, begging some hospital for help. They are being attacked; their disease isn't contagious, is preventable; why isn't the government reportingthis; that they need supplies and help; call off the attack, please—

His words fall on deaf ears, hers and the hospital.

A small, quiet part of her wondershowher father still cares; after all this tragedy and rejection, he still tries andtries. Even while the doctors and patients downstairs are being—

Suddenly, it hits her like cold water.

"Law—" Her voice squeaks out, terror lacing through her like freezing snakes. He's down there, he's down there,he's down there.

The doorknob rattles, Lami and her father both jumping into motion, but it's just her mother. She glances behind her and looks at the two of them with a grimace. There's blood on her coat. But, at this point, it's something of a common occurrence; no longer a novelty.

"Come here."

She leads them out into the hall and into one of the administration rooms, hushing Lami anytime she tries to ask aboutLaw, about what's going on below.

"They're going through the building." She says, quiet as she carefully closes the door.

"Is thereanyway we can evacuate the patients?"

"They're coming from the front and back doors; the first floor is practically flanked. However, the basement is still a possibility… If we can lead everyone to the custodian stairways, we might have a shot at getting out of here."

"And after that?" Her father asks, going through a filing cabinet and stuffing papers into a bag, "We could take them home; we have some room. Or the Sisters."

"Neither have the defences to protect us from the soldiers."

"The Sisters are getting evacuated with the children," Lami mutters, wide-eyed. She can't understand it; she can but shecan't— how are her parentsstillmore worried about the patients than themselves? Why are they speaking so candidly; how are they thinking so logically; Lami's mind feels like cotton and static. Selfish—Lami has always known herself to be selfish; but how can her parents look at their situation soselflessly?She can barely follow the conversation; can't quite grasp the transactions.

( a small, bitter; cruel; sharp part of her thinks themreckless—

what of law? what of lami? do these parents care more for their duty; their values, than that of their children? )

Her father heaves a heavy sigh, "That's a relief."

"I wonder if they will have a second evacuation for those who are still left…" Her mother questions, looking over to Lami. After a moment she shakes her head, as though trying to shake off her thoughts. Gently grabbing her by the shoulders, her mother says with steel to her voice, "No matter, we have to focus on what's happening now."

It takes a moment, then, to realize that her mother is guiding Lami to the closet at the back of the room.

"No—"

"Lami now isnotthe time to be stubborn—"

But the thing is; they don't know, they don'tknow. Theoriginal Lamidied in a closet; laden with lead and fire licking at her flesh. The very thought that everything that she has done, everything that has led up to this point, would wind her in the very same place is horribly cruel at the veryleast. Lami doesn'twantto reenact this horrible scene, doesn't want to subjugate herself to any sort of cage when there are soldiers in the building.

( she doesn't want todie— )

"We need to find Law." Her mother says, voice firm as she opens the closet doors, "We also need to make sure that the custodian stairway is clear. Lamipleasestay put until we come back."

"No—" Lami all but spits out, struggling as both her parents lift her and hoist her on top of a box. It's notfair. Her parents and thevoices; hounding her, emotions vibrant and soloud,"I don't want—"

"Above all, you have to be quiet," Her mother murmurs, "and stay put."

"We'll be back, alright sweetheart?" A kiss is, once again, pressed to the top of her head as her father's stubble pricks at her forehead.

Throat and eyes burning, Lami cannot help but vehemently think that she hasneverheard anything that sounded more like alie. From the grim smiles they wear, she wonders if they even truly believe the words they are saying; if they think they will be back.

"We love you." Her mother murmurs, similarly pressing a kiss to Lami's forehead, "Never forget this, love."

No longer able to hold herself together, Lamishakes. Chest trembling as a sob clogs her throat, tears flooding her eyes as she violently shakes her head, "No— Don't say, don'tsaythat if you— if you were coming back you wouldn't—"

"Shhh." Her father murmurs, kneeling onto the ground and pressing his face to her stomach, "You have to be quiet, sweetheart you have to be quiet. Please, please listen to us. Just this once."

Lami doesn't think she has what it takes to bequiet—

The spider web of splinters that have made her mind tremble and crack underneath theweightof this, this,this. How is she supposed tocontainthis storm of emotion; the inevitable, the known, the cloying dread, the events she haswaitedfor, the plethora ofvoicesandlightsthat she did not expect. Law, Law,Law— she doesn't know where heisand how she is expected to saygoodbye? Alone?

Her parents are going to die: fact.

It's always just been a matter of time.

"I love you—" Lami chokes out, voice strangled as she tangles her fingers into her father's hair, needing them to know, needing them toknow;"Ilove you—"

She's still shaking as her mother softly intones, "We have to go. We've wasted enough time."

"This isn'twasted." Her father rounds on her mother then. For the first time in her life, she seesangerflare in his watering eyes, "Our children arenevera waste of time."

Gunfire, then, sparks closer than before.

The argument is dropped the same moment the closet doors are shut.

Curling up against the back of the closet, she can hear her parents whispering to each other as they approach the door— and can hear;seetheirvoicesbehind her eyelids. She can see them, too, through the shuttered doors, but it'sdifferent. Lami aggressively rubs at her cheeks, wiping the tears away, and desperately trying to get her breathing under control. It's difficult, knowing thatnowisn't the time to get caught up in her thoughts and yet finding herselfspirallingas air tears in and out of her throat.

Shecan'tlet this get the better of her. Lami pushes on, considering her options, fingernails digging into her arms. Listening to her parents will get her killed. It's what happened to the original Lami, anyway. There's a good chance that Law is still out there, somewhere, somewhere, and she needs to find him. And her parents—

More gunfire. Lami twitches. Maybe her parents have enough time to—

The door to the room bursts open.

There's no time to react; no time tothinkbefore bullets are flying through the air. Her parent's bodies fall to the floor with a sickeningthud. Their cries are silenced by more gunfire. Some of the bullets pass through their bodies, hitting the walls behind them and tearing the wooden door above Lami's head. She doesn't move. Glass shatters, furniture collapses. She's never known what sound a body makes when it's been shot; finds herself surprised by howloudit is. Still, she doesn't move.

Lami stares; frozen, breathless, hands pressed to her mouth.

"Two infected eliminated."

It happens so fast. One minute her parents are— and then the soldier isleaving—

Something wet andachingunlodges from Lami's throat, smothered by her hands.

The room is quiet; but there is still avoice, soft and muted. Her mother's body twitches, rolling over with a pained sob.Slowand trembling, her mother crawls on her knees towards her father, grabs his hand in her own and releases a heavy, burdened breath. Glancing towards the closet, her mother's face falls with relief as a gentle smile adorns her face. It seems out of place. Her body is ridden with bullet holes; blood leaking past her lips; Lami doesn't have the time to count the puncture wounds.

Her mother then collapses onto her father, hands curled with his. She does not get up. Hervoicegoes silent.

Unable to move, unable to think, Lami stares.

Time slips, then.

Maybe it's a minute. Ten, even. Thirty, an hour, two hours—

There are no thoughts. No feelings. Numb; full of white static, eyes drawn towards her parents entangled hands and the way the blood seeps from their bodies.

The hospital had been so loud; and yet, it's not until an agonizedsobtears through the room that Lami realizes howquietthe hospital has become. Thevoicesthat have plagued her all day, the heavy pressure, and emotion aregone.

Nothing.

Her reaction time is slow. It takes her a long moment before she registers that the sob did not, in fact, come from Lami.

"Mom—" It's Law, she notes, voice hardly above a dying whimper as he crumples to the floor, "Dad—"

She doesn't think she has ever heard Law sob likethis, Lami thinks distantly. Wet. Convulsing. She doesn't think he's breathing. He'sloud; he's going to attract attention.

It's the thought that gets her to move, finally.

Law startles like a rabid cat when the closet door creaks open, but the strangling cry that is drawn out of him when he sees Lami ismessyandtorn. He doesn't get up from where he kneels in their parent's blood; can only press his hands to his face and continue to weep as he repeats Lami's name over and over again.

Stumbling over, limbs not working like theyshould, Lami falls to the floor beside him. Lawimmediatelydrags her into a hug— or something reminiscent of one; fingers digging too harshly, shaking too profusely to becomfortable, kneeswetwith blood, voice going hoarse under the frequency of his sobs. She lets him cling, he lets her cover his snot-covered mouth.

She doesn't let go until he has gone quiet, though his body continues to convulse in silence.

There are very fewvoicesleft in the building; below them, to the far right. In front of the building, behind.

It doesn't mean that it will stay that way, however.

Law doesn't react as Lami pulls away, simply stares at the floor as though he does not have the energy to do anything more.

Lami doesn't think. Merely staggers around the bodies of her parents and grabs her bag from the other side of the room. She feelsdull. Like her chest has been carved out; like there is a space between what sheshouldfeel and what shedoes.

Fumbling through her bag, Lami grabs hold of a box. She lets the bag fall to the floor, then, in favour of grabbing her father's Den Den Mushi— which, frankly, looks as similarly shocked as Law does. Frozen; horrified; staring at their parents. It startles when Lami picks it up and starts taking apart it's communication dial. She's not thinking; she doesn't consider asking the Den Den Mushi if it's alright for her to touch it, if it's okay. Instead, she silently attaches her polaroid mechanism.

Law moves after the flash, head raising and face twisting with emotion.

"That's fucked up." He says, voice cracking and barely above a whisper as Lami takes the picture out of the slot and waves it in the air, "Lami, that'sfucked up."

Distantly, as she can see the vague shape of her parent's bodies form in the photo, she can recognize that, yes, it is indeed fucked up. Presently, her mind is full of crackling white noise; knowing,knowing, that she needs this.

Her movements are mechanical as she places the dial mechanism in her box and then tucks it away in her bag. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, Lami lets the Den Den Mushi ride on her shoulder. Looking at the photo, she realizes that it is too blurry to properly make out the image.

She takes the Den Den Mushi off of her shoulder and tries again, then realizes: oh, her hands are shaking too much.

Lami stares at her hands, idly wondering why, why,why.

The third photo is better, but it's still not quite what shewants.

"Stop," Law says, suddenly in front of her. When did he get in front of her?

She blinks, languid, wondering if he had that much blood on him when he got here.

"You've got your photo." He chokes out, gripping her hands; and,oh, he's crying again. He has already cried, isn't he tired of crying?

Staring at their hands, Lami gives a quiet nod. She tucks the photos away and lets the Den Den Mushi back onto her shoulder.

Law has his hands pressed to his eyes as he says, "We have— We have to get out of here. The Sisters— they said that the kids would be evacuated, if, if we cangetthere we might—"

Lami doesn't quite ignore him, but she's not listening as she kneels next to her parents. Their hands are still entwined. Their left hands. She runs a hand over her father's face, tangles her fingers into her mother's hair. They are empty, empty,empty; she canfeelit, even though their bodies haven't gone cold.

"I'm sorry." She whispers as she leans down, presses a kiss to the back of her mother's empty,emptyhead.

The first casualties that will pave the road to Lami's survival.

"Lami, do you hear that?"

Shattering glass. She doesn't pay any mind to it. Instead, she turns to pull her parent's hands apart. It takes a moment, but with enough effort, she manages to pry their wedding rings from them.

"Lami—" He might be crying, again, "Their dignity, theirrings— are you going to leave themanything?"

"I took their money, too." She says absently, rolling the bloodied rings in her palms before she tucks them away into a pocket inside her bag.

When she stands up, she finds that Lawis, in fact, crying again, quietly whispering to himself;I don't understand, fuck, I don't understand—

The floor beneath themshakes; the building groaning as an explosion goes off on one of the lower floors.

Law is still crying as he takes her hand; still crying as he leads them through the hospital; still crying as Lami takes a photo of the massacre on the bottom floor, flames starting to lick at the curtains and the beds of the crowded, bloody room; still crying as he leads them through the city of Flevance.

Flevance is no longer white, she thinks, as they make their way to the church.

Flevance is now a spectrum ofreds; the red of fire that spreads among the buildings and trees, the muddled red and black of the sky filled with smoke that coils in her lungs, the red of blood that is splattered on the walls and seeps into the streets.

She has always hated the white, white,whitethat demands holy devotion, weighing their bodies down with poison and false appraisal—

However, the red, red,redthat reduces the city to ash and bone is worse.

Law is no longer crying.

His grip on her hand has yet to lose its strength. Her fingers have gone numb, but she doesn't care enough to point it out.

Lami has lost count of how many dead bodies they have passed.

The streets stink. She could have lived her life without the knowledge of what burning flesh and feces smell like, but this is the reality they live in now. It's all strangely surreal; time skipping forward in flashes. She can't tell if it's due to the shock or if it's because she doesn't care— but maybe she doesn't care because of the shock?

She doesn't know; can't remember. All she can do is follow wherever Law is leading her.

Lami swears she only blinks.

But she finds herself at the church, surrounded by dead children.

Law is on the ground, kneeling, curled up before the dead body of a Sister. He's not crying; or, if he is, he is no longer capable of the body-shaking sobs she has listened to for the past… she's not sure.

Taking the Den Den Mushi off her shoulder, Lami takes another photo. There are no soldiers, novoicesaround. Only the dead, the silent.

She never knew thatfirehad a sound; thewoosh, the splintering of wood, the moment where a building succumbs under the steady heat of the fire's assault.

Lami is learning a lot of new things, today.

"I guess she made it easy for them, huh?" Lami says, voice hoarse and quiet. She doesn't so muchkneelbeside him as shefallsbeside him; as though she is a marionette that has been cut from its strings. Closer, now, she can hear Law's soft, strangled cries.

The nun is still wet with tears, fingers digging into the dirt. Lami wonders if Law would cry again if she were to wipe the nun's face— her features are forever twisted into one of regret and mourning, and the least she could do is smooth it out. She wonders what the Sister's last thought was; what the last thing she saw was. Did the soldiers kill her last? Did they make her watch the children die before her?

The nun's clothes are still in one piece, though. So, she supposes there aresomemercies after all.

Not the one the nun was looking for, evidently.

At her side Law curls over and presses his face to the dirt, body shaking once more as he presses his hands to his mouth. She wonders if she said that out loud. Lami drapes herself over him, belatedly realizing that these children were hisclassmates; hisfriends. If they were to go through all the bodies, they would likely find Owen, sweet Owen, who had dedicated himself to living for his parents. He'd probably still smell, though probably worse now that he's dead.

Law needs comfort.

She's not sure she can give it, self-aware enough to realize that something isbroken; twisted in her— chipped and frayed at the edges.

Hollow.

He shifts underneath her, embracing. When they pull away he grabs her face, presses their foreheads together, andbreathes.Beneath the snot and tears, his expression sets with grim determination.

The dead bodies are Law's idea.

Neither of them is thinking properly. Neither of them can talk without setting the other off in some way; Lami's words too blunt and dazed, Law's raw with emotion and rising hysteria. Neither of them can talk at all, really. It's too much, everything is toomuch. How can they even hope to process it all?

A laugh, high and wiry, sneaks out of her. To think, a couple of days ago the country was tooloud— and now it's tooquiet! Thevoices,lightsare gone; smothered away one by one like candles. A couple of days ago she would have given a lot to be away with theloudness. But now, butnow— Lami presses herself against the side of a building, hands covering her mouth as she tries to muffle the intruding thoughts and unbidden giggles.

"They are taking the dead bodies out of the country," Law says, returning from his espionage mission. There is absolutely no emotion to his voice. He doesn't even sound concerned over Lami's behaviour anymore, passing the point of having the energy to care needlessly.

"Probably to burn them." She says, trying to keep a straight face, "They seem to like fire."

Law simply regards her for a moment before saying, "If the bodies are being taken out, it means thatwecan be taken out too."

Lami nods, trying to recall ifthisis how Law escaped in the once-tale. She can't remember. But it's on-brand for Law to do such a morbid thing.

Odd, she thinks, that her opinion ofmorbidnesshas shifted. Compared to the things she has seen today, Lami's not sure how highly ranked she would putstowing away in dead bodieson a list. Watching her parents die would be pretty high. Standing in a street full of dead children is up there. Again, a laugh bubbles at the back of her throat and she struggles to keep it under control.

Law cradles her face with his hands, pulling her from her thoughts, forcing her to look at him in the eyes. He looks exhausted; broken; eyes bloodshot, yet glint with somethingfierce, "Lami, not— not now. Okay? Not now."

"Why not," Lami mutters, petulant, grabbing his hands in turn. She doesn't know what he's talking about.

"You always laugh before— before you cry." His voice cracks then, tone attempting to be soft as though he's handling a delicate object. It becomes increasingly more wired as he speaks, "And when you cry you get sad, and when you get sad, you— you don't move for three weeks. I need you to keep moving, okay? If I'm going to get you out of here, I need you to keep moving."

It's oddly specific. She wonders when it becamehimgetting Lami out of Flevance, instead of the other way around.

The realization is a spritz of cold water.

"Come on."

Law leads her to the street. She can hear; seevoicesnearby, wanting to warn him but he's already darting across the street and underneath the cart. Lami rushes to keep up with him after tucking the Den Den Mushi into her bag, diving under with him and holding her breath to hear; see if the soldiers saw. They don't move; idly talking with one another.

She's not sure what's more disgusting in this moment— the soldiers talking candidly near the cart full of innocent corpses that theyslaughtered, or theliquidthat drips down onto her face.

Wiping her cheek, Lami's face contorts when she sees that the liquid is not red.

"Ready?" Law breathes out, staring at her with wide eyes.

She nods.

Turns out hiding in dead bodies is more difficult than expected.

The soldiers aren't paying attention. Who would be desperate enough to hide in a cart full of dead bodies?

But the actual act of gettingintothe cart and wedging herself through various limbs isdifficult. The bodies weigh alot, some of them she doesn't want totouchbecause they are rotting, bloated, blue and rigid. Her hands slip on liquid, sink into flesh. Her bag keeps getting snagged by every other body she climbs on or wiggles through.

It only takes two or three minutes of careful maneuvering before they settle, but Lami nearly breaks down sobbing at least four times.

Law is no better; wide-eyed and stricken mute with disgust and horror.

Thestenchof rotting corpses and the slow crawl of bodily fluids caressing the exposed spaces of her skin and clothing nearly has her vomiting on the spot. She can'tsee, caved in on all sides; thesmellis eye-watering and makes her throat and nose burn; bodies weigh down on her, limbs painfully digging into her thigh and ribs; and she's becoming achingly aware thatdeathhas ataste.

The cart suddenly jolts, nearbyvoicesblurring together unintelligibly. Lami and Law wait for a long, quiet, period. When the cart shudders to a stop, she takes a moment to look over at Law, wondering if they should leave, if they should risk it— until the bodies above her unexpectedly crush down, leaving her gasping and struggling for breath.

She can't help the choked out wheeze that escapes as the air from her lungs is torn out, fingers curling and finding purchase on a head of hair and wet, sopping fabric.

Trembling, scared— suffocating.

"Lami-" Law whispers close by, hand wrapping around her own.

She can hear him but shecan't. Mind funnelling and spiralling into panic as her lungs try to helplessly findair—

She can't breathe, she can't—

The wind is taken out of her lungs as her body hits a hard surface, head cracking against the exposed flesh of a bloated stomach. She doesn't have time to recover, doesn't have time to think, as bodies tumble after her, rolling over her and dragging her further down, down,down.

Lami's fingers dig into flesh, grounding her to a spot as the avalanche of corpses continues. She hides her face into the crook of her elbow, gritting her teeth to keep the pained yelps at bay. There arelightshere, above and below. Lami knows better than to move or call out for Law, even in her shocked state. Despite this, she almost shrieks with the body she is using as an anchor starts to slide and give way to the current. Blindly shooting a hand between bodies, she grabs onto a slick and wet limb— unsure what it is, butdesperateto keep herself in place.

It stops.

Time flashes— or maybe she passes out again, not recalling whether she managed to get her breath back after getting winded.

Thevoicesabove are gone, now. Flickering, painedlightsare all that is left; saturated with emotion and agony.

Lami groans as she tries to lift herself, body stinging uncomfortably. There's a body half on top of her, leaking andheavy. She uses what strength she has to topple it, vaguely listens to the wetthudsit makes as it descends.

Closing her eyes, she rises to a kneel and takes a moment to simplybreathe. Counting her inhales and exhales, Lami becomes strikingly aware of the rain that is drenching her, how violent she is shaking, and howawfulit smells. Her fingers curl around the strap of her bag, gripping it tightly then loosening it in tandem with her breathing. Calming herself, it seems, is difficult when she is in apitfull of dead bodies.

Mouth trembling, Lami sniffs uncomfortably and looks around for Law.

A mountain of bodies cascades from the top of a fissure down to the wet soil, spilling and fanning out. It paints a horrific vision; body parts torn, hanging limp, bent in directions theyshouldn't. Everything is tinged red with blood, but also brown andblack.

Her eyes water and sting as she looks down at herself; red, brown, black. Her body convulses, then succumbs to the stench as she vomits onto the body she is straddling. Wanting to wipe her mouth, but more scared of what is coating her arms, Lami allows herself a single horrified sob before she sniffs and takes in a few deep breaths.

She needs to find Law.

Panic builds, tightening her chest as she frantically looks around. She digs her heels into the bodies of those before her, vomiting once more when her foot ends upsinkinginto a torso. It proves fruitless, so she stumbles down towards thelightsthat flicker at the bottom of the crevice.

The time she spends looking for Law is long and brimming with tears, wildly pulling at bodies to look underneath, begging,begging, whatever being put her into this world that Law wasn't crushed beneath all the bodies. She doesn't rememberthis, doesn't remember anything about a pit of bodies. Lami trembles; determined to find him but intruding thoughts start to take its toll on her.

( what if she doesn't find him? what if she has to do thisalone? )

Lami nearly falls apart when she spots Law's stupid white hat at the bottom of the pit. She doesn't bother to try to be careful as she descends— practicallyflyingas she throws herself into action to find him. A single moment of disgust is spared when her feetsinkinto the mud at the bottom, the smell indicating that it's sogginess isnotbecause of the rain.

She follows thevoicethat is nearby the hat, pulling a body away to expose Law. He's unconscious, blood seeping from his brow, but he'salive.

Of course,hewould land in the one semi-dry patch of land at the bottom of a pit, though his shirt isruinedby a variety of different assailants.

"Law!" Lami calls, pulling at his shirt.

He doesn't wake up.

"Come on— we need togo."

He doesn't wake up.

She tries again and again to no avail.

Despite Law's previous request, Lami can't help but fall to a crouch and start to helplessly laugh over him— breath scraping at her throat like thorn and briar. She presses her hands to her face and tries to hold back the storm of emotion that threatens to breach past the numbing shock. There are no tears; just loud, invasive, hysterical laughter.

Fuck. It's not over, is it?

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

warnings. / all of the warnings!

13.

PICK YOUR POISON

the pit.

Rain.

Lami holds her hands out, watching as the grime that stubbornly clings to her skin slowly wash off. Even in the dim light, she can see that her fingernails are filthy. Caked with reds, browns, blacks. It almost makes her sick to look at. It's not as terrible as the way her hair has stuck together amidst chunks of excrement and flesh, which is more difficult to ignore. She is soaked through, the fabric of her shirt and pants heavy and hanging low on her shaking frame. There is liquid between her toes— or maybe it's not liquid, the squishing mush soaking through her socks.

Her shoes will be useless after this, Lami thinks distantly.

Her cheeks hurt, her eyes hurt, her throat hurts. The world around her is waterlogged and distant; as though she has her hands pressed over her ears. It's too dark for her to see all too well, only the moon overhead to light the way. There's a stinging pain in her ribs and at the back of her head. Lami can't remember when she stopped laughing. The hysteria is gone, leaving her dull andexhausted. She's tired. She wants to sleep. She's not sure what to do, now.

Lami is alive.

For now.

There is no sense of victory. The space in her chest has robbed her of any sense of accomplishment. She is surrounded by corpses, their skin slick with the reds and blacks of their deaths. Lami doesn't think she will get the stains out of her clothing. Law doesn't look any better; the white of his shirt will likely never be anything other than a light brown.

It's a good thing she put her books in a container.

Lami blinks, slow and languid before she reaches into her bag. She tries to use the flap to act as a cover, but the fabric is practically soaked through. Pulling out the Den Den Mushi, Lami offers a faint wince. Its shell is slightly cracked, and its eyes are closed.

Is it dead, too?

Aiming its eyes towards the pile of bodies piling over the side of the fissure, Lami attempts to take a picture. The Den Den Mushi stirs, but the polaroid mechanism whirrs before fizzling out. She tries two more times, before accepting that the machinery is broken. The Den Den Mushi will need a new home, soon. Unless it dies before she can switch it to the dial shell.

Gently placing it back in her back, Lami once again winces when she realizes that the photos that she has taken are slightly wet. Kneeling in the patch of dirt beside Law, Lami carefully tucks them away in the dial box and clasps the bag back into place.

Releasing an unsteady breath, Lami looks towards Law.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she takes a deep breath and aggressively slaps her cheeks. They can't afford to stay here for any longer than necessary. She doesn't know howthisturns out; ifthiswas supposed to happen in the first place. But that doesn't matter, now. It'shappening. She knows that the longer she stays the more likely the soldiers will become aware of their presence. From the rotting, bloating state of some of the corpses at the bottom of the pile, Lami can only assume that they will come back as this fissure has been used to dump bodies.

A graveyard.

Not today, Lami thinks. This is not her grave; this is not the end.

She willnotdie here.

Staggering to her feet, Lami makes her way back towards the mountain of bodies. It's with a muted sense of horror that she realizes that there arevoices, quiet and aching, within the mound; pinned down and crushed beneath the empty husks. Suffocating. Alone. Afraid. In pain.

Closing her eyes, Lami breathes in and out.

Climbing back to the top of the fissure proves to be more difficult than getting down, but she manages to carefully maneuver herself over the slick and slimy carcasses. Lami pauses before she can breach the surface; taking a moment tolistenandlookfor thelightsthat dance behind her eyelids.

She can feelthemin the distance. Static. Motionless. Waiting.

Lami doesn't know what they are doing; their purpose, but she gets the feeling that escaping through here will be difficult. They are beingwatched.

Sliding down, Lami finds herself almost accustomed to the feel of the corpses. She's unsure what to make of this.

Pressing a hand to the mud wall of their graveyard, Lami feels around the fissure until she finds a pathway that is big enough for her to pass through. Squinting into the darkness proves useless, however, she can feel the dull, waning pulse of lights in the distance.

When Lami returns to Law, she grabs his hat and once again tries to wake him up. He does not. She wedges the hat between her chest and the strap of her bag.

Lami takes a moment, then, to press a hand to her mouth and release a wavering sob. But she knows; it's her turn, now, to get them out of this mess. It is her turn to help Law.

Steeling herself, Lami leans forward and pulls Law into a seating position. She kneels behind him and wraps her arms around his chest, lifting him to his feet and spends a moment attempting to keep him in place while she maneuvers around him. Pulling an arm around her shoulder, Lami presses her back to his chest before grabbing the other arm and crossing them over her clavicle. Her arms and legsburn, and she leans forward to use her body to support the weight.

There's no time to think. She grips his wrists tightly and drags him towards the opening in the fissure.

Her feet sink into the mud; she canfeelLaw's dragging behind her and slowing them down. Lami grits her teeth and plows forward, forcing her way through the dark and stepping around limbs and rock. Rain gets in her eyes, hair plastered over her face. She takes a moment to wipe her face, but it does not help in the wake of the pouring rain. The pathway itself is dark and shadowed; no amount of moonlight can help her, and she is hesitant to pull out her flashlight. What if a soldier saw?

Slow, so slow, Lami feels her way through the slit in the dirt with one hand. Both of them barely fit through the crevice, and her feet sink deeper into the ground and threaten to drag her shoes off with each sopping step.

After five, no- ten minutes of walking, panic begins to set in.

No light, caved in on both sides, unable to turn around and backtrack.

Closing her eyes, Lami spares another moment to breathe in and out as she leans against the wall. This is fine. She is used to this. The tunnels in St. Monroe's had also been dark; cold; daunting. At least there is no rain in her eyes.

So it continues.

By the time Lami sees light, the pathway has become difficult to move through; jagged rock protruding out of the walls around them and digging into her sides and arms, nearly tripping over roots and slippery clay. She is practically squeezing through the tunnel before the exit is suddenly in front of her. There are faintlightsnearby. A second graveyard.

Panic seizes her chest as she steps forward and is met with a freefall; breath caught in her lungs as they fall from the crack in the fissure down, down,down, to the sopping, stinking mud. Lami lands on her feet, but buckles forward and flings both of them teetering to the side. The mud that slaps her face iscoldand sodden, an arm sinking almost all the way through.

Thestenchhere has her eyes watering and burning. Lami only has a moment's notice to pull herself up before her throat clenches and she is gagging into the mud. Her chest convulses, but there is nothing left in her stomach. Instead, tears fall from her eyes at thepain, at the way her body doesn't seem to be responding how she wants it to— locking up and shaking, desperately trying to breathe through the retching.

Lami doesn't wait; she frantically turns towards Law and rolls him up and out of the mud. Maybe she should take a moment to catch her breath, to examine her ankles— but theinsistent, needling desire to get out, get out,get outhounds at the walls of her mind. She tries to drag him onto her back once more, but her muddied hands slip on his arms and she fumbles back down into the mud with his face awkwardly pressed in her armpit.

"Law—" her voice breaks, "wakeup."

He is silent.

"Law." Lami closes her eyes,hatingthe way they water, "I don't— If I—"

Silence.

Head bowing over him, Lami breathes in and out.

There is no choice. Shehasto do this alone. No amount ofbeggingis going to help her, here. There are no voices that will answer; none that she is interested in listening to.

Her entire body shakes andhurtsas she draws him onto her back, fingernails digging into his arms in an effort to keep him in place. They will both be bruised and aching tomorrow. But there willbea tomorrow, which is far more important than the way her body threatens to fold over. She refuses. They need to escape.

The mud here is easier to walk through, but it creeps past her ankles and up her shin and hides the rotting bodies from her limited vision. She nearly trips over two before she accepts that she needs to slow down; that there is a good chance that if she falls again they will not get up for a while. Lami can't let this happen; time is of the essence, paranoia cloying and swirling in her gut. They need to get out; they need to get outnow. Ten minutes ago. An hour ago. They need tohurry.

Lami nearlyscreamswhen a hand loosely wraps around her ankle, avoicewhispering so quietly below her that she hadn't even noticed it's presence.

A woman looks up at her. The moonlight highlights the mud that glints in her hair, the way a part of her jaw has been torn off and exposes the insides of her mouth. The woman is missing an entire arm and shoulder. One of her legs is twisted and sharply pointing out of the mud in a direction it shouldnot.

"Hel—"

Lami tugs her leg free.

"—e." She thinks the woman is crying, "—lease."

Swallowing around the thorns in her throat, Lami closes her eyes. The woman continues to whimper and wheeze her broken pleas.

"—lease, —lease, —lease—"

Fingers tightening around Law's arms, she turns away from the woman's suffering. There is nothing she can do here. Nothing that she is willing to risk; nothing that will guarantee her and Law's survival.

It's unfortunate. However, Lami doesn't have theluxuryof mercy.

( lami ignores the burning in her chest, the way tears freely fall from her eyes to the sounds of the woman's wet, defeated sobs )

Hours go by— it has to be hours later by how her legs burn, how the moon has shifted in the sky. But Lami isn't keeping count, isn'tthinking. She just knows that she needs to keep moving. Keep going. Don't stop.

The rain has eased when Lami finds the next mound of bodies that cascade from the edge of the crevice. If she were to guess, the ledge here doesn't look as high as the pit she was dumped into. Moonlight filters through the breach in the clouds, casting a soft light onto the horrific image in front of her.

Contorted, rotting corpses. Severed limbs. The stench here isworsethan before, the decaying of their bodies more progressed.

The panic has all but faded; leaving her with the familiar static and cotton that dull her mind and chest.

There's alighthere. Faded, close to flickering out. She can't grasp what it'ssaying, though. Maybe there's nothing left of theirvoice. Simply waiting for the end.

The less said about her ascent from the pit the better.

There's a moment where she almostbreaks; her body folding in on itself as she bares Law's weight, locking as she chokes and heaves. There is nothing left in her stomach. She only manages to cry and spit, horrified and humiliated as drool dangles from her lips and chin. Burning, burning; everything's onfireand yet shecannotgive up, cannot stop, cannot give in. Even as her limbs sink into bloated flesh. Even as Law slips from her shoulders for the third time. Even as the sobs that tear at her throat; even as she gasps for breath.

As she gets to the top she can feellightsin the distance, slowly approaching.

No time; there's no time for her to lament, to consider backtracking.

Desperately looking around, Lami catches sight oftreesto the nearby left. Pulling Law up onto the firm, solid ground, she forces the remaining energy she has towardsrunningto the tree line. Without the mud pulling at her feet, it is almost easier, though thepainthat laces through her legs and arms has her staggering.

The soldiers don't see Lami's and Law's escape. She manages to drag them both away before the soldiers approach from the right, fighting to keep herself quiet and as low to the ground as possible.

Gunfire sparks.

Lami jerks, ears suddenly unclogging, forcing her and Law to the ground. Gunfire, once more, though this time Lami is certain that they are not aiming ather. Something in her trembles at the knowledge; at the sound of artillery, but she doesn't have thetimeto address this; to waste this opportunity. Picking Law up from the ground, she doesn't ponder over this curiosity.

Unable to carry him on her back any longer, Lami takes Law by the armpits anddragshim the rest of the way to the tree line. No time. She can't breathe; her mouth tastes metallic and her throatburns. Have to go. Too close, too close. Her entire body isshakingwhen she accidentally runs into a tree trunk; is barely capable of pulling Law over a root and further into the forest before she collapses into a bush.

Her mouth tastes like blood, dirt, death as she focuses on her heavy breathing, vision going blurry with exhaustion. The echoing shots remind her that they are still not safe, and she forces herself to kneel.

Lami can't see into the forest; she doesn't know where to go, what to do. Only that she needs to protect them. Shetriesto stand up, but her legs refuse to stay solid. She can't give up, not yet— and yet, despite this, her limbsrefuse. Knees buckling, hands trembling so fiercely that she can hardly bend her fingers. Swallowing the sobs that threaten to break free, Lami looks at her surroundings. There's not much she can do, not when Law is still unconscious and she has already pushed her body past the point of functionality.

Grabbing Law by the shirt, she slowly crawls and pulls them behind a tree trunk that has been swept over; its roots exposed into the air.

A poor excuse for a shelter, but it'llhaveto do.

She does not sleep.

Lami stares into the darkness of the forest; feeling empty and carved out. Her limbs refuse to move; refuse to stop their insistent trembling. Her mind refuses to rest. Heart still racing, sleep evading her attempts. She is past the point of crying; detached, numb, cold.

(bang. bang.

two bodies hit the floor. )

Time slips. Hours, probably. Smoke. She can smell smoke.

When she has the ability, she turns and drags herself to look past the treeline and towards the graveyards.

The ground and sky are red, red,red; dawn breaking over the horizon, plumes of smoke smothering the air, and the bright, raging fire burning within the pit like a long, jagged line to Flevance.

She can only stare.

She does not dream.

There is only silence.

Hands.

There arehandson her, shaking her, pulling at the sleeves of her shirt— panic surges, raking its teeth through her abdomen.

Sobbing; someone is sobbing over her.

Her eyes snap open, heart in her mouth. Law is curled over her, tears falling onto her shoulders as he desperately tries to wake her. He's making noises, but they don't translate into words properly. When he sees that she is conscious, he doesn't bother to hide the way relief washes over him or the way he falls into a fit of sobs.

"I thought—" He chokes out, pressing his hands to his face, "When I woke up I thought—"

He doesn't finish his thought.

She doesn't need him to.

At some point, they walk through the forest.

It's less of aforestas it is a patch of woods, but even still the flora and rock prove difficult to maneuver around. Lami's body won't stop shaking, tripping over her own feet every other minute, every limb feeling sore and loose. She can't even lift an arm to brush the hair out of her face. The mere humiliation that bubbles in response nearly has her doubling over in a fit of quick, shaky breaths.

Law must notice her plight; he reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ears with a notable grimace.

Neither of them talks.

What's there to say? How do they say it? They both know what they need to do: escape. As far as they can, as far as their bodies will let them. Neither have the energy for anything else.

It's not until Lami trips over the fourth rock that the silence breaks.

She limply pulls herself into a sitting position and stares at the gashes on her hands and knees. Blood seeps in no particular hurry. Curling her hands into fists, she observes the far-away feeling of pain.

"Ow." Belated, also reactionary as opposed to an actual expression of hurt.

Law sighs, though there isn't any emotion attached to it. He stares at the ground flatly before turning to her.

"Give me your bag."

Slowly blinking, Lami stares. It's almost as though he has lost his voice; frayed and a mere whisper of what it used to be. Is it because of how much he cried yesterday, or because of the events that transpired? Well, it could certainly be both.

He sighs again, this time with open irritation as he grabs the strap of her bag and tugs it off of her. Once he has the strap settled comfortably across his torso he reaches a hand out to her.

"Come on."

Lami takes the hand. Neither let go.

They walk.

And walk.

And walk.

Eventually, they sleep.

Or, at least, they pretend to sleep; laid upon a grassy hill, staring up at the night sky, neither speaking but fingers still twined.

Lami stays awake even asexhaustionhas physically manifested in all parts of her body; heavy, languid, aching. Her eyes burn from the strain, gut and stomach ache from a multitude of inflictions, headache still as present and irritating as the day before. Shadows dance at the corners of her eyes, startling her until she realizes that there are no soldiers around. Law falls asleep at some point, fingers going lax and slipping free as he curls over to his side.

Shewantsto sleep. She doesn't want to be awake anymore.

Not right now, anyway.

( bang. bang.

two bodies hit the floor. )

"Lami—"

She jerks awake.

Fingers are curled in the fabric of her soiled and dirtied shirt, roughly shaking her with desperation. Law weeps when her eyes open, body slumping down to press his face into her stomach.

A horrible, high, ragged sob claws out from his throat.

"I thought—" He starts before his voice dissolves into a whimper.

Lami stares at the sky, static present in her chest.

Blue. The sky is blue; not a single cloud in the sky. There are no more traces of theredsthat somehow stay painted at the back of her mind, the reds of the fire, the smoke, the blood that ran through the streets—

"It's okay," Lami says quietly, voice hoarse and quivering, "You're not alone. I'm not going anywhere."

Two truths and a lie.

There's no way to properly describe how time seems to wrinkle and blur around her.

Lami remembers but doesn't recall, their trek through the farmlands. In a vague sense, she isawareit happens. Aware that night falls and morning rises. However,howshe ends up at the stream with Law leading her along— well, it's lost. She merely blinks and there she is.

Law doesn't seem to be leading her to the stream, though. Which is unfortunate. They stink and are coated in what Lami would prefer to only think of as days oldmud, though she is perfectly aware that it isnotentirely so. Lami should also do something about their injuries. Infections would be rather difficult to deal with.

Belatedly, she realizes that she doesn'tneedto just… follow Law. She can stop.

So, Lami stops.

Their hands tug on each other as Law takes the extra step forward. He jerks abruptly, evidently not expecting this, and turns to look at her.

"What?"

"We should wash up." The words are choked out, and she is surprised by howsoreher throat feels.

Law stares at her, "The ocean is close. Can't you smell it?"

She shakes her head, not understanding the importance. All she can smell isthe pit; the smoke; the scent of burning corpses. Lami doesn't think it'll ever go away. Her nose will simply continue to burn to those rancid smells.

The moment he gives up the effort to argue is obvious. He sighs, lets go of her hand, and stares blankly at the stream.

It's the closest thing she will get to acceptance, so Lami doesn't hesitate.

The first thing she does is grab her satchel from Law, dump its contents onto the grass, and drop it on the ground beside the stream. Her lips curl with distaste when she sees the black and brown streaks that have managed to leak through the fabric of the bag. She separates the clothing from everything else and places her toiletries bag in her lap. The container of books is carefully inspected; while the plastic looks cracked in a few places, the t-shirt wrapped around the books looks free of filth.

The poor Den Den Mushi is still alive. She should make sure to take care of it.

"So you did pack books," Law mutters, poking at the water with a stick.

Lami shrugs.

Nudity a couple of weeks ago meant something different than it does now, she thinks as she strips out of her clothing.

What does it matter anymore?

Modesty meant nothing when she became horrificallyintimatewith the corpses of the pit. It's almost laughable, really. Just bare skin. Yesterday there had been plenty of bodies without skin or limbs, felt it with her fingers. Sure, only the burnt ones were actually in the nude, but somehow stashing away in a cart of corpses and climbing all over the dead feels more... indecent. The gauge is broken, now, perhaps. How can one reasonably compare the two?

She grabs the soap from her toiletries bag. The water is cold, terribly cold. But, somehow, it's comforting in how her reality seems to zoom in on the biting rocks beneath her feet and the cold, cold,coldstream that surrounds her. Goosebumps prickle at her skin and this time when her hands begin to shake it is for the cold and the cold only.

Cleaning herself is done mechanically and without much thought. It takes longer than she expected, despite not having any expectations in the first place. She ends up passing the soap over to Law after he follows her into the water, though he lookssignificantlyless pleased about the experience than she feels.

Turning around, Lami begins the long process of dealing with themessof her hair.

It's cathartic, almost. Watching the filth all wash away.

"You know.." Lami murmurs, distant and offhanded as she combs her hair with her fingers, "I didn't realize that dead bodies farted so much."

Law's only response is a small huff. But, after a moment, it becomes a sharp laugh. Then, after another moment, a crackle of broken, rough chuckles.

"... Really?" Lami mutters, almost disbelieving as she looks over her shoulder. It wasn't a joke.

"There's a science behind it," Law says, voice barely above a whisper.

Silence falls over them. Water minutely splashes, birds nearby chirp. Lami finds that she suddenly can't stand it; the space between them, the quiet, their lack of words.

"Tell me about it."

"Okay." He says, almost too quickly, as though he is also feeling the weight of stillness, and continues as though reciting a textbook, "Well... The body continues to produce gas post-mortem as the bacteria in us continue to respire. More often than not this causes bodies to bloat when left for some time…"

Lami is not ashamed to admit that she cries when she puts on a clean(ish) set of clothing.

While Lami sits and sobs her eyes out, Law takes their filthy clothing and digs a hole with his fingers so he can bury them. After this, he dons some of Lami's extra clothes and takes the small first aid kit to pilfer through. Hetchsquietly to himself, apparently displeased by the basic utilities offered by a travel kit.

Silence. Lami is awfully aware of how loud she is; and yet, she can't stop. There is areliefso stark and blinding inside of her that ithurts. Ithurts— after everything she has done, she would have thought she would behappy, if not at leastappreciative. But instead, the reliefcauterizesher insides, it doesn't feelgood. The process of physically removing the evidence of what happened is startling, alleviating, excruciating. She doesn't understand.

"Do you.." He trails off, voice faint.

She merely shakes her head.

Taking her hands in his, Law quietly cleans her palms with antiseptic wipes before carefully applying gauze pads. After this, he does the same to the few gashes that coat her arms, legs, and knees. Lami simply watches. Both of their limbs are littered with purpling bruises and shallow gashes, though she can't remember where they could have gotten them. A part of her wants to poke at the worst of the bruises, but Law swipes at her hand when she moves to do so.

By the time he is finished the tears have stopped and she has managed to catch her breath.

Handing her the pack of antiseptic wipes, Lami returns the favour in kind. Her motions are far less concise and careful than his, and she spends a good five minutes solely cleaning the cut on his forehead.

"What do you plan to do with the rings?" Law asks, suddenly, surprising her. His voice is raspy again, quiet. He probably spoke too much earlier.

"What?"

"Do you… Do you plan on selling them?"

Lami slowly sits down, fiddling with the gauze in her hands before realizing that sheshouldn'tbe doing so. There's areasonwhy bandages should be sterile. She clicks her tongue as she reaches for the box and realizes that it's almost empty. Already.

"No." She sighs, grabbing one of the last of the bunch and takes off the adhesive tape hanging from one of her fingers so she can paste the gauze onto his forehead, "I was thinking… Well. Not really. But I think, keeping them."

He's silent, then.

"Maybe I'll string them on a necklace." She says. She hasn't thought about it. There are more pressing things to think about. Or, not think about. She's not thinking about a lot.

"Like this one?" He tugs at the leather string around her neck, exposing the library key to St. Monroe's.

"I forgot that I was wearing it." Lami mutters, "But, yeah."

More silence.

When she's finished with his minor injuries she sits down and fiddles with the dressing on her left palm. Law idly paws at her hands to get her to stop.

"Did... you really think I was going to sell them?"

"I have no idea what to think."

That makes the two of them, then.

They reach the ocean around sunset.

"The first thing we buy when we get into town is a proper first aid kit," Law tells her, dull and staring off into nothing.

She doesn't have anything to say to that.

Lami is used to nightmares plaguing her nights;

The blacks and whites of her dreams that swirl into nauseating caricatures of the fears that lay embedded in her mind. The cold, cold,coldgrip that has sunk into her chest, the splinters of her mind that remind her always, constantly, that she isdifferent—

It's the first time, however, that reality has managed to transcend the horrors of her mind. Somehow, not evendeathcan compare. No amount of creativity can beat the events that have occurred.

It's freeing, almost.

This is the worst it gets, right?

Not again, Lami thinks as she jerks awake to the feeling of hands startling her from sleep.

Law's not crying this time. She's not sure what to make of this. It's dark out, though she can see the orange clouds of dawn beginning to creep in the distance. Law is, however, mumbling something frantically under his breath. He relaxes when she moves and grumbles at him. They are silent as Law releases her shirt from his grip, leaning down and pressing his face to her shoulder.

Neither of them manages to sleep after this, so they continue to walk.

"Law?"

It's nighttime again; though neither of them is asleep. Clouds sprawl across the sky, covering the view of the stars.

Her fingers tangle in the grass above her head as she says, "We're never going to see Mom or Dad again."

There's finality in saying this out loud; as though making it real. With reality and time twisting and falling through her fingers, it'sniceto have the stability offact.

Despite this, her mind still struggles to wrap around the—

(bang. bang.

two bodies hit the floor. )

"Yeah."

There is nothing to his voice. An empty bullet casing.

Lami presses a hand to her mouth, biting at a knuckle. Solid thought evades her, but she fears that she has said the wrong thing. Is she being selfish? Is something cathartic to her, harmful to Law?

Releasing a breath, she lets the hand slip to the grass.

She knew this. She chose this. This istheconsequence, the weight of her survival. There is no point to this broken record of her thoughts, especially now that everything isdonewith.

One day the static will leave; it'll rip her open and stare without sympathy as her entrails fall to the ground. There will be no end to the pain. However, she'll carry it on. Wear it, brandish it like armour. Lami will have no choice as life continues to move on ambiguously; uncaring; unwilling to wait for them to reorient themselves to their new reality. Until then… she needs to keep moving while the cold, numbing static has its grasp on her; keep the momentum, so that when she finallysnapsshe won't beableto stop.

It's bittersweet when they find a port town. Law and Lami spend nearly an hour simply watchingfrom a distance.

Dark emotions splay out clearly on Law's expression. It's unfamiliar; it's strange and unsettling, his contorted features and blazing eyes. The boy at her side is not the same boy she has grown up with; he is not the boy that would make pillow forts and read comics with her under their blankets. This is the boy from the once tale. Cold. Angry. Rotting. It's only when his fingers graze upon hers that she recognizes her brother; the one she has known.

It's not that she doesn'tunderstand; Lami is certain that she fairs a similar, but unfamiliar, look.

The surrounding countries, at best, did nothing while Flevance suffered. Cut off their trade routes, refused aid, ignored the pleas of their civilians and doctors. Raised fences and turned away refugees. At worst, they were a part of the allied forces that picked off the citizens one by one; set the town on fire and—

(bang. bang.

two bodies hit the floor. )

Lami's hands curl into fists around the strap of her bag and she can feel the scabs on her palms crack and sting with pain. An unknown emotion coils like a snake in her gut; rotten, cold, and unforgiving in its abhorrence. She wants tospit. She wants to carve her nails through something made of flesh; wants to make ithurt. Her hands shake with the need; teeth clenching and heart racing.

However, their stomachs grumble in tandem; days of travel with only crushed nutrition bars have done nothing to satiate them. Their only saving grace is the fact that neither of them has much of an appetite. She's not sure they ever will.

( not for food, anyway. )

Lami can still smell the pit; the smoke. A constant memory that haunts her.

It becomes abundantlyclear that the town does not want them around.

Upon finding a shop to buy a first aid kit, they are promptly met with a broom to the face and the angry, shouting words of a shopkeeper who chases them down the block. Nevertheless, it's also clear that Law and Lami are assumed to bebeggars, not Flevance runaways.

Law's face is near murderous as they hide in an alleyway; jaw set, and fists curled. She doesn't think he even looks all that dirty, though his expression in nearly enough to startle any adult with half a mind. There is dirt on his clothes and face, sure, and maybe they still stink of the pit. But all in all, it's practically nothing.

"Money speaks louder than words," Lami tells him, taking her money sack out of her bag with a flourish.

Well, the second time around still results in a broom to the face and a few more added insults aboutthievery. Lami has to drag Law away before his actions match the utterlyenragedexpression distorting his face.

Lami ends up planting Law in an alleyway and telling him to stay put while she runs her errands. He isclearlynot happy with this, but she ends up leaving him there anyway.

It's distracting; the unfamiliar emotions that Law is showing, the feelings that she cansee;hearfrom him. She doesn't like it. She knew that this would happen, yet she still doesn't like it. He'll likelyneverbe the Law that she has known— this fact hurts. She mourns for her brother; for someone alive but not.

Alongside this, days of silent travel has left her ill equipt for the sudden onslaught ofvoicesandlightsthat ring in her ears and her mind; relentless and constant and so much like thehospital—

(bang. bang.

two bodies hit the floor. )

Lami spends more time on her errands than she wants. Admittedly, most of it is spent quietly huddling in an alleyway with her palms pressed to her eyes and wondering to herself what she is doing; why she can't just actnormal; why won't thelightsgoaway; why is everythingwrong—

Her first stop is at the inn.

The innkeeper favours her with a look of thinly veiled disgust but brightens when Lami dishes out enough cash for a night's stay and a bath. The innkeeper doesn't ask any questions, simply informs Lami that she will get the tubs filled with water for the two of siblings as soon as possible. The insinuation that they will not be allowed into their room until they wash is heavily laid out, though Lami cannot help but agree.

Her second stop is a clothing store. Lami spends less than five minutes in the store, grabbing the cheapest and blandest clothing she can buy. Black and blue t-shirts, two pairs of shorts, and two pairs of flip flops. The store clerk similarly looks as though he is about to throw her out until she dumps out the belli required and leaves immediately after.

Grabbing Law, she heads back to the inn and pointedly ignores Law's displeased comments. There are too many complaints to keep track of.

The innkeeper shows them out back where the tubs are filled withwarmwater, offering them soap and shampoo as she does so. Lami knows immediately that she does not regret the money spent, no matter how frivolous the expense or how dark the looks Law is sending her. They strip down, toss their clothes into a pile, and get clean.

"This is a waste of money you know." Law grunts out, teeth clenched and scrubbing his skin harshly.

"It's not a waste." Lami snips back, without any actual emotion in it, "I want a bath. I want to sleep in a bed."

They are silent for a while.

"Don't forget to clean between your toes," Lami says idly, noting how the colour of the water has turned a muddy brown. Maybe they were dirtier than she initially thought.

"Why do..." He sighs, seemingly unwilling to put forth the effort to continue.

"Cleanliness is important." She shrugs, distantly quoting, "'Keep yourself clean, make sure your clothes look nice, and down the line when the world starts hitting you— don't let anyone see how depressed you are'… and whatnot."

He doesn't understand the reference. It takes her a moment to remember that he wasn'ttherewhen it happened; that he never knew Barlow or listened to her confusing words of wisdom. Not that it matters anymore. Lami will likely never meet any of those people ever again, though she will keep some of the things she learnt close to heart. She, for one, has no intention of letting anyone take advantage of her or Law's state of mind, or letting theworldsee how terribly it has reduced them to.

"I don't know what I expected." Law says, unbidden, soft, spitting, and almost to himself, "I just—" a laugh "— you'll never change, will you?"

It doesn't sound like a compliment.

Lami stares down at the water, wanting to ask what he means but not wanting to hear the answer. She says nothing, and neither does he.

That night they are offered supper at the bottom floor of the inn.

A live band is stationed in the corner of the room, attracting the attention of locals and tourists alike. It doesn't take long until the room is full of sea shanties, lofty jigs, and carefree laughter. Drinks and food go round, and soon the dining area resembles a pub more than an inn.

Lami and Law sit at the table closest to the door leading upstairs. The contrast between the jovial atmosphere of this town and her disparaging mood isdisgusting; the dark, unknown emotion coiling once again in her gut. Somewhere, there is a pit full of corpses who once made up Flevance. Days ago, her city was torn apart by bullets and fire. Weeks ago, her city was cut off and left to die by the indifference of countries who didn't bother tofact check.

Law stands up abruptly from his seat, snatches their room key, and stomps upstairs. Lami doesn't bother to try to stop him or point out the fact that he has yet to touch his food. She knows why he can't stand to sit here; listening and experiencing their indifference and privilege. Instead, she dully watches the room, mindlessly eating despite the nausea that curdles in her throat and chest.

She wonders, idly, if her parents were given a graveyard pit to rot in or if the soldiers had left what remained of their bodies in the crumbling, charred hospital. What of the Sisters? The children in the streets?

It's cruel.

She'll never know the answer.

There's only so much Lami can take; once she finishes her meal she leaves. She takes Law's uneaten food up to their room and forces him to consume it. Lami did not survive Flevance only to watch Law starve himself to death. She observes, bland and unwavering until Law has eaten all that he can.

The leftover supper is given to their Den Den Mushi, who still looks rather drab and lifeless despite having changed into the Dial shell.

They should name it something. Lami's not sure what, though. After everything it has been through, it deservessomethingbetter than what Lami and Law have given it so far.

"I want to get off this island."

Lami doesn't look behind her, merely continuing to feet the Den Den Mushi vegetables. Law's voice is simmering with ill-hidden resentment. She gets it.

"Okay."

He sighs, as though he hadn't expected her to agree. It catches her off guard.

"We'll leave. We'll get off this island—" it sounds as though he has begun to pace "—then what? We need a house. Money. How do we get money? A job, I need a job. Wait, how do we get a house? Do we have to make one? Find one that is empty? Fuck. I don't— No, it doesn't matter, we can figure that out later. Job. I don't have the proper certifications to be a doctor, but I think I can probably find something…"

Lami half listens but then whips her head around when his words properly sink in.

"Wait,what?"

Law pauses his tangent to stare at her, "What?"

"House? Job? What are you talking about?"

"What doyoumean?" He looks just as flabbergasted as she feels, and she doesn'tunderstand.

"You.. want to find a job?"

"Well, how else am I supposed to get the money?"

Lami gawks. Shecannotwrap her mind around the conversation; she cannot find the power within her to understandat allwhat he is talking about and how he got around to talking aboutjobsandhouses.Has her mind always been like this? Water slipping through her fingers? Words fizzle on her tongue as she attempts to articulate her bewilderment.

"For what?" Is what she ends up saying.

"For ahouse—" he sounds annoyed, now, "are you evenlistening?"

"Iamlistening! I just— I don'tunderstand."

"We need a house! For that we needmoney,and for money we needjobs—"

"No, Igetthat, I am perfectly capable of understanding the financial struggle of domestic living—"

"Then what are you—"

"—I just don't getwhywe need a house or job!"

Law is supposed to go toDoflamingo. He's supposed to join a pirate crew, find the man who will love him, and then get the fruit that will solve all of their problems— so,why? What isthis?Why is he talking abouthousesandjobswhen they just watched their parents getmurderedalong with the rest of their country? Is this something that happened in the once tale? Does something else happen to influence Law into Doflamingo's lair?

Fuck. She doesn't rememberanyof this.

"Wh—" He cuts himself off, looking genuinely confused and sincerely says, "Lami, I have to take care of you. To do that we need a house, well I guess an apartment or room will do, a job—"

The realization hits her in the face like a brick wall, his words fading away from her mind as her mind screeches to a halt.

Oh.

Oh no.

It's sweet.

It's— it's really sweet, that above everything that has happened, Law is focused on taking care of Lami. Time and time again, she finds herself forgetting that he... loves her. In an abstract sense, sheknows. Of course she knows. But, she constantly finds herself in moments like this where she cannot guess what he is going to do because she keepsforgetting. That he feelsresponsibleas an older brother. That he wants what is best for her, just as she wants what is best for him. Lami wants to slap herself on the forehead for being so clueless as toforget. She almost laughs, almost.

Nonetheless.

She can't let this happen, no matter how well-intentioned he is.

"Law!" Lami cuts him off, eyes wide and mind whirling into action, "We are going todieif we don't do anything. You get that, right?"

Law barks a sharp, mean laugh, "We're going to die no matter what. Doesn't matter what we do or where we go— we'll be dead in three years, four tops. But, at the very least, Ineedto make sure that... That your, our, last few years are…"

He stops, doesn't finish.

Lami doesn't give him the time, anyway.

"So you just— you just want to.. What? Settle down?" Her hands curl into fists, feels the scabs on her palms itch and ache, "Really? That's it? Aren't youangry?"

"Are youfuckingwith me right now?" He asks, suddenly, voice harsh. Golden eyes slice into her and she understands that she has said the wrong thing, "You're thelastperson I want to hear that from, Lami! Am I— yes, yes I'mfucking angry. What about you Lami? Areyouangry? You seem pretty fucking candid to me."

"What?" Lami blinks, "Yes I'mangry, I just—"

"Really? Never would have guessed."

"I don'tunderstand, Law!" Why are they yelling at each other, why is he angry at her?

"Surprisingno one!"

Bristling, Lami grits her teeth together, "Settling down isn't going to doanything, Law! Do you think we'll just be able to move into a city without any repercussions? Eventually, we'll start getting the patches! Then our hair will turn white! What'll they do then? Quarantine us? Shoot us down? Exterminate an entire city because they are under the impression that it's contagious?"

"Then what doyouwant, huh?" He stomps forward, pointing an accusing finger at her, "What else are we supposed to do? Please, let me know since you seem to have all the answers—"

"That's not fair—"

"Life's not fair, Lami! Look at us! No onefuckingcares about us. At the end of the day, we're going to die just like— just like the rest of, ofthem, and I'msorrythat I want to make sure that it happens to you comfortably! I'msorrythat I'm just— that I'm just trying to be your brother!You, of all people, don't get to accusemeof not being angry, okay? Not when you're taking those pictures, packing escape bags, and using the last of our parent's money ona luxurylike the world around you means fuckingnothingto you."

Lami's mouth twitches into a grimace.

Ouch.

There is a part of her that wishes to defend herself, but she understands that there are more important issues here.

"Look, my bad. I didn't mean to dismiss yo—"

"Seriously? This is the worst apology I have ever—"

"I just!" Lami raises her voice, idly thankful for the live band downstairs that must be muffling their argument, "Look at you! You've given up, Law.Idon't want to give up. I don't want todie. I don't wantyouto die! I want you to take care of me in five years, ten years, twenty years!"

"We're going to die, Lami. That's just nature. There's no fucking cure to this. If Mom and Dad couldn't figure it out, I don't thinkanyonecan. They were probably just tooniceto tell us the trut—"

"It is also nature tochange! To evolve!" She waves a hand in the air, as though trying to summon the right words to convince him. Lami doesn't need him to suddenly believe that the world is rainbows and sunshine, because it'sfuckingnot, she just needs him tofight, "If we settle down now, wearegoing to die. That's a fact. But therehasto be a way to fix things. It's a big world, Law! There is so much we don't know."

"It's not something that can be fixed by one person, Law." He parrots in a mockery of her voice, "I'm just trying to be realistic."

Crossing her arms and pressing her lips together, Lami tries to ignore the way her eyes burn and the way her jaw trembles.

...Touché.

Law, at least, looks alittleguilty for hurting her feelings but not enough to take back his statement.

She gets it. He has a point. She's a horrible hypocrite who is currently attempting to manipulate her brother so they can join a mass-murdering psychopath. But. She knows that she is right. Lamiknewthat there was no saving Flevance and decided to cut her losses. There's no excuse for that. Nothing will ever change this. They're gone. However, sheknowsthat there is a cure; she knows that thereisa way tofixthe poisoning that'll slowly wane at their strength until they are nothing but patchworks of white.

It's justreallyinconvenient, though touching, that Law would push aside his anger for her.

Closing her eyes, Lami breathes in and out. They are talking, but they aren'tcommunicating. Merely going in circles without addressing what they are both trying to convey. Law wants to take care of Lami and doesn't think that they can be saved. Lami wants to make sure that they both live to be old enough to watch the Celestial Dragons burn down in their homes while she listens to their final dying breaths. There has to be some sort of middle ground here, something that she can say to convince him that they want the same thing even if their beliefs aredifferent.

"Fuck realism.Fuck it." Stepping forward, Lami gently takes Law's face in her hand and stares him in the eyes, "We are going to live, Law."

He laughs, bitter and rotten, but she continues before he can say anything.

"One day, you'll become a doctor. Not just a doctor: the best doctor. You'll save as many lives as you'll lose, but you'll make a difference in the lives of hundreds, thousands. One day I'll have a library with hundreds of books and a terrible tragedy will leave me with nothing, but I'll know thatit's okaybecause you'll be there to help me clean it up. One day, maybe, one of us will get married and have kids- or whatever adults do when they get old- and we'll tease each other about our poor taste. We'll use Mom and Dad's rings because we're sentimental like that. One day, you're going to have to give me the awkward sex talk because Dad never got around to it—"

"Awful," Law chokes; maybe on a laugh, maybe on a sob.

"I'm trying to be heartfelt, here—"

"You? Heartf—"

"But it's going tohappen,Law. We are going tolive," She insists, taking another breath as her eyes burn, "I'm going to make sure of it, okay? You don't have to believe it, you just need to know thatI knowit's going to happen."

They are silent for a moment, Law's gaze switching from eye to eye, the gears obvious turning in his head.

"And then." She continues, voice quiet, "When, not if, we live… We are going torazethis island and everyone responsible for the production, selling, and shipping of amber lead. We'll find our Nobles, take their heads, and hang them on the walls of the World Government. The newspapers will be next. We'll find them. Post our pictures, then use their blood as ink as we list the crimes committed. I don't know who else is responsible, but we'll find them. We'll slaughter them. We'll make themregrettheir indifference to our plight and the death ofthousandsas theychokeon their own excrements."

Law gaps at her.

"We'll make themhurt," in contrast, she gently thumbs at his jaw, "we'll be the ones that will have the last laugh."

"That's so dramatic." Law chokes out as he reaches up to grab her hands. He doesn't pull them away from his face, though. Then, his mouth trembles and he presses their foreheads together whilelaughterspills out.

It sounds light-hearted, almost.

She's not sure what to think about it; she makes the conscious decision tonotthink about it.

"Yeah. But it sounds nice, doesn't it?"

"We can't just..." He trails off.

"Why not?"

"You deservebetter—"

Lamireallydoes not deserve anything other than what has already come to her, what is yet to come. She knew, she knew, sheknew— and she did nothing anyway. It is simply the cost of survival.

"Flevancedeserved better, and yet they are dead and those who willfully let us simmer in the amber lead are wealthy andfree. It's notfair."

"Why dotheyget to live?" Law asks, rhetorical and dark, blunt fingernails digging into her skin, "What makes them more special than us? What gives them theright?"

"What's the point of giving up now?" The image of a waterfall of corpses is seared to the back of her mind, the rancid stench of smoke and rotten flesh that refuses to leave, "Sure, we could live the easy life and then die miserably… or we could fuck them up."

"And still die miserably." Law points out.

Lami shrugs, "We'll survive."

"Liar." He scoffs.

Despite this, he looksrelieved. His eyes alight with somethingmalignantand sharp.

The lights are out. The night is quiet.

Law and Lami lay in their shared bed, quietly whispering to one another all the things they would like to do once they confront their nameless enemies. It escalates to a contest to see who can come up with the most morbid and dramatic schemes possible. The winner is always Law, despite her best attempts to get creative. Lami supposes that she is simply too straightforward and inexperienced to properly come up with elaborate and detailed murder methods.

It's.. something.

The static, the gap in her chest, is still present in quiet moments like this. However, the unfamiliar, rotting emotion that has pierced its claws into her feeds into theangerandneedto inflict thehurtthat is swelling within her onto others. She canfeelit encouraging Law, can feel him goading her on as well.

It's cathartic, morbid, and will definitely lead Law and Lami to psychological roads that she cannot even fathom... But theangeris easier to face than thehurtor thesilence.

"What are you doing?" Law sputters out when Lami interrupts their game, manhandling him so that the side of his face is pressed to her left shoulder.

Dully staring at the ceiling, Lami says, "Dad would do this with me."

(bang. bang.

two bodies hit the floor. )

The air leaves her lungs. She stares at the ceiling.

Law's fingers tangle into the fabric of her shirt. Maybe he's saying something, but her ears are filled with thatstaticagain, the intrusive thoughts telling her to go, leave, get out, now, have to go, need to leave, be safe, be safe— When she settles back into her mind, Lami pretends not to notice his soft sniffing. She doesn't remember when or why he starts crying, only that he suddenly is and doesn't know what to do about it. Instead, she runs her hands through his hair and tries to forget the space that exists between what she feels and what sheshould.

"Don't wake me up this time." Lami mutters, "Just check my heartbeat."

She thinks he laughs, but she doesn't think she would know if he didn't.

Law still wakes her up in the middle of the night. This time, however, it's with an elbow to the face.

Jerking awake and pressing a hand to her cheek, Lami groans and rolls over. Groggy and dazed, she tries to process being awake; half aware of Law's foot that is digging into the back of her knee, while also half stuck inthe pit. It takes several minutes before she realizes that Law is mumbling and moving in his sleep. Probably a nightmare.

She can't recall him ever having a nightmare before.

Then again, Lami isn't recalling anything useful nowadays. Time keepsslipping.

"So. This isn't how I expected this to go." Law says from where he is tied to a barrel.

"I told you we should have justpaidfor a ticket." The rope digs and cuts into her arms. Lami knows that she'll have a spectacular looking rope burn from all her thrashing, once they get free.

"What? And waste all of our money? No way."

"Money ismeantto be spent. What wouldyouhave spent it on?"

"Asword, obviously."

"A swo—" Lami chokes on her words, staring blankly at the wooden ceiling of the boat they are in.

She can't help but sharply laugh. He lashed out at her last night for spending money on a bath and a bed when he was thinking about buying asword. What anidiot!

"Law, we can'tafforda sword—"

"Which is why we need to save—"

"I can't believe you'd rather—"

"Look, I'll admit this hasn't panned out—"

"You tried tostabhim!"

"And it didn't work. Butnexttime—"

"Next time?!"

Sparing a glance towards the door, Law raises his eyebrows and then raises hishands. She realizes a moment later that he has somehow managed to cut the ropes and has simply been holding onto the ends to keep up the illusion of being held captive.

Lami gaps at him, "Hey, get me free too!"

"Can't. It would take too long. Just lemme know when someone is coming," Law sneaks around the barrel and melds himself into the space between the door and a table. He has the small scissors from her travel first aid kit in his hand, now, and she wonderswhenhe had taken it, "They'll never see what's coming for them."

Gazing at the ceiling, Lami wonders at what point from exiting the inn, attempting to sneak onto a boat, getting caught, and getting into a scuffle that Law decided thatmurderis the solution. Paying would bemuchmore efficient, especially since the sailors refused to touch her bag due to its stench. Not to mention,murderingthe crew will just leave them stranded in the middle of the ocean since neither of them knows how tosaila boat.

"Just—" Lami huffs, awkwardly trying to sit up, "get back to your barrel. We should wait and surprise them once the boat is docked."

He makes a face.

Sneaking off the boat turns out to be easier than she thought.

Several sailors chase them through the dockyards, yelling a variety of interesting phrases that Lami doesn't have the proper translation to but figures are colourful curse words. If it weren't for Law'sattemptat murder, she might have taken the chance at talking it through. However, she highly doubts that they'd be willing to listen to two scrappy kids after all that has happened.

Law and Lami manage to lose them after several sharp turns. Secretly, she thinks it's because the sailors don't think it'sworthchasing them for, and doesn't want to risk souring the delighted expression on Law's face. Once they have caught their breath, they high five and make their way to the food market.

Law didn't even kill anyone. Lami feels as though she dodged a bullet.

They end up laying in a piece of grass outside of town when the sunsets.

Neither of them has spoken in hours; not since they argued about whether or not they should stay the night at the inn. Lami, evidently, lost the debate despite her thorough and completely logical reasoning. His desire for aswordmay be well-founded, but she doesn't think conserving money is worth it if it's at the expense of theircurrentpredicament and livelihood.

She's not sulking or anything, but she is certainlynotpleased.

Lami isn't sure atwhatpoint she falls asleep; only that when she wakes up Law is missing.

It's notuncommon, per se, as everyone needs to use the bathroom and sometimes they really just can't stand to be in another person's presence— but Lami can't hear hisvoiceeither.

For several stressful hours, Lami sits and laments; wondering if she should go looking for him, if she should stay in place, if he got kidnapped, if he simply wandered off. She still has her bag, though, and she didn'thearanyone approach and take Law…

Sleep finds her for a second time, but it's hard-won.

( bang. bang.

two bodies hit the floor. )

Lami's body jerks awake as someone aggressively starts shaking her.

This is a wake-up that she has become strangely accustomed to over the past week, and relaxes when she notes that thevoiceis familiar. Lami almost wants to paw at his hands, roll over, and go back to sleep, but he continues shaking her until it starts to aggravate some of the injuries she got during their fight the day before.

Kneeling over her is Law; face battered and clothes scuffed.

"Law!" Snapping up into a sitting position, heart pounding, she chokes out, "What the f—? What happened?"

"Doesn't matter." He ignores her protests with a sharp grin, slapping a piece of paper onto the grass between them, "Look— if we are going to do this, we may as well do it therightway by going to the biggest, wickedest guy around."

Confused and still partially asleep, Lami stares at him before her eyes follow his arm down to the bounty poster on the ground:

Donquixote Doflamingo.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

warnings: violence, strangulation.

14.

PICK YOUR POISON

donquixote.

"So, are you going to tell me where you went?"

Lami's voice echoes through the field, the sky above them painted in soft pinks, purples, and blues. Crickets chirp and flocks of birds migrate from one red tree to another. It's cold at night on this island, their thin t-shirts inadequate to protect them against the seasonal islands.

It's been a week.

A week of relative silence and secrecy.

Law has yet to tell her where his bruises, bloodied nose, and scrapes came from, nor where he found the Doflamingo poster and the information of the Donquixote's current stronghold. He clearly got into a fight of some sort; he likely lost, given the state of his left eye.

Ordinarily, this wouldn't bother her. The siblings have always worked alone and convened when necessary; have the understanding thatsecretsare not a bad thing. They are individuals who are allowed agency, despite their young age and debatable maturity. But there are so many things that Lami isnotthinking about that she finds iteasyto fall into the circular, obsessive fixations of unanswered questions and theories. Lami's mind refuses to skirt away from the suspicions; worries; concerns, the inadvertent hypocrisy ofirritationin the face of secrecy.

When he doesn't respond right away she adds, in case he forgot, "You know, how you found out about the Donquixote Pirates?"

Law hums, but it's purposely drawn out and mockingly contemplative.

When Lami spares a glance she sees that he is tapping his chin in a way that, if she weren't already suspecting him of it, leads her to believe that he is making fun of her.

"So, areyougoing to tell me what happened after—" his voice falters, but Law trudges on with a stubborn grit to his tone, "—Flevance?"

She quiets immediately.

( her hand sinks into bloated flesh; mud seems to grip at her ankles, dragging her down, down down, despite the green, green grass beneath her feet; the stench, the stench it burns, itrefusestoleave— )

Lami says nothing. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

There is nothing to tell.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Law mutters, not unkindly.

She isperfectlyaware of the fact thatshe, of all people, has no right to hound Law for answers when she has spent her entire life with secrets up her sleeves. Her dreams reflect these fears, the daytime dramas of her thoughts as she envisions his reactions now that everything is said and done.

Lami will never tell him her secrets.

She knows this, understands that she has norightto expect honesty from him.

Despite this, she cannot help the curious, stubborn, needling part of her that wants— no,needssomething to focus on, something tangible, and in front of her. It's simply unfortunate thatheis the only thing of substance; the only thing she can bear to think about with the crawling; spiralling thoughts that are prone to overwhelming her.

Lami startles awake from a nightmare—

( dark; suffocating;bang bang; she can't breathe; cold coldcold col-)

—clutching her bag to her face, hands shaking, gasping for breath.

Frantically pushing the bag away, Lami curls over as her body locks and convulses with painful retching. She struggles to breathe; she can hardly connect two thoughts, trying to remember where she is and what she is doing and why she needs to go, go,go—Heart racing and hands wringing together, she presses her forehead to the wet grass as she squeezes her eyes shut.

Breathe, she reminds herself.

By the time she sits up and brushes the hair out of her face, Lami has forgotten what the dream was about. She can still feel the icy chill of a nightmare lingering as she stares blankly at the dirt beneath her. There is a space in her chest that she does not quite understand, but sheknowsthe cold; the icy tendrils and the unspoken promises it keeps. Dull echoes of gunshots ghost at the periphery of her thoughts. Thestenchis back; rotting corpses and burning feces.

Lami never knew that smell could be amemory. She wishes, instead, for the lilac scent of shampoo, of rustic aftershave.

She wipes tears from her eyes, not knowingwhenthey started to fall.

Static sharply encompasses in her mind and ears. She doesn't have the energy to feel humiliated when Law reaches over and takes her hand.

Lami jerks awake.

She presses her hands to her face as Law harshly sobs, his words muddled by the fabric of her shirt and falling on deaf ears.

Three weeks.

It's beenthree weeks.

Horrible, horrible, she feelshorrible— that every morning, when Law wakes her up to the misbelief that she hasdiedin her sleep, all she feels isfrustration. Malignant and festering in her throat and gut; the type that simmers and refuses to dissipate, making every small inconvenience feel horrendous.

It's not fair, sheknowsit's not fair of her.

But she rarely gets any sleep. When was the last time sheslept? Thanks to her broken thoughts and visceral nightmares Lami never makes it through the night, and then every morning before dawn Law frantically shakes her awake like it's clockwork. It's terrible, it'sterriblethat she is so self-centred that her first thought is aboutherand not about thepainthat he is going through— the pain that she canfeel; hearfrom him—

But, fuck.

Lami is tired, she'ssofucking tired.

She just wants to crawl into the dirt and sleep for a few days, weeks. Wash out the thoughts and simplyexistfor a moment, without the past; present; future haunting her like a flock of vultures waiting for a moment of weakness. She wants thevoices;lightsto go away, to quiet, to give her a moment of peace.

Fingernails dig into her scalp, eyes shut, and trying to wait out the irrational thoughts and emotions. It's frustrating— it's all sofrustrating.

She doesn't want to be like this.

"Sorry," Law says later that morning as they are walking around a lake.

He doesn't need to specify what for; Lami is aware of the fact that she has been grumpy and silent ever since he woke her up. She can't help it; there aren't any words worth saying. Her frustrations are not worth speaking out when they are both teetering the line of sanity and irritation.

More than this, she's starting to pity Law. He looks just as exhausted as she feels, but the red blotches of his face contrast starkly with his pale skin and the purple and green bruises. If she were in a better mood she might make a joke about how his face has turned into a rainbow.

But she's not, so instead, she kicks a rock into the lake.

Law looksawful. She's not sure how they are going to get into a town like this.

"It's okay."

Lami rubs at her face, ignoring the black dots and shapes that contort at the corners of her vision. She doesn't care anymore. She just wants to skip to the part where they get to the Donquixote's lair so she can finally get somesleep. Time isn't wrinkling like before; reality taking its root despite the static and the dull white noise that substitutes her thoughts and emotions.

They need to eat, they need to sleep, they need clean water.

The apples that Law managed to steal in town were good for the first two days, but now they are soft and bruised. Law doesn't seem to care; aimlessly biting into them without thought.

Lami can't stand to touch them. The soft, sinking flesh and the rubbery skin reminds her too much of ThePit—

( of bloated chests and the way that red and brown liquid would leak between her fingers— )

She stops walking.

Swallowing over the lump in her burning throat, she takes a moment to breathe. Lami can't afford to throw up again.

Maybe it's ridiculously vain of her, or maybe just stupid and irrational, but she would hate to degrade her teeth at this age and wind upwithoutteeth when she is older— though, of course, this is with the assumption that teeth in this world function the same as the previous world, that they are made of the same mineral compounds, that bile affects the enamel similarly.

It's the questions about dentistry that manage to calm down her impeding spiral. Though, alternatively, she begins worrying and panicking over how expensive the industry might be.

A ferocious yell startles a flock of birds from a tree.

Law stands in a clearing, hefting rocks and logs much too large for him and throwing them into the lake with a startling amount of urgency and rage. His hands already look torn and scraped, yet he keeps going with another howl and a subdued splash as another rock meets its watery demise. It's been over a half an hour since he started and he is running out of material to throw.

Sitting on a rock not too far away, Lami watches dully. She doesn't think she has ever seen anyone go through such vicious mood swings before.

They are lost.

Law refuses to admit it, but they both know that they are lost on an island that they have never been to. They have walked eight days and theystillhaven't seen anyone, let alone a town. Law was bamboozled: fact. Whoever gave him the tip about Doflamingo's location had unmistakably messed with him, sending them both into the wild with a fake map and fake information.

Choosing to stay silent on the matter, Lami can't say that she is especially surprised.

Nothing is evereasy. It's naive to think otherwise.

"If I—" Law chokes out, his voice low and fraying after yelling for a half-hour after not speaking for days, "If I see that manever againI'm going to—"

Lami sighs, chin in hand, and elbow on thigh. She has lost count to the number of things that Law is, allegedly, going to do to this man. Some of them seem impractical and even unrealistic, though most ultimately result in murder.

Maybe she should be worried, but instead, she's just tired.

"Stop throwing sticks and get over here," Lami huffs after another fifteen minutes. She's not surehowhe has the energy to be so consistentlyangrylike this. Justwatchinghim makes her want to lay down and take a nap—

Fuck. Wait. Why didn't she just take a nap?

Pressing her hands to her face, Lami acknowledges the fact that she is not functioning at a normal— well, not functioning. Unfortunately, there is nothing she can do about this at the moment besides keep moving forward. One step at a time, and so forth.

Law stomps over, holding his hands out with an unfamiliar scowl.

Taking out the medical kit from her bag, Lami tries to distract herself from the thought that there is a stranger in front of her; a boy that she does not know.

After a day and a half, they deliriously find a petering fishing village.

Lami forces Law to wait outside of the town, only half-glad when he doesn't put up a fight and merely finds a bush to curl up under. She can hear him snoring before she takes a step to leave; something that inflicts both jealousy and relief.

She regrets the decision almost immediately.

Though the town is small, thevoicesthat suddenly appear rake at her mind— it had been so, so,soquiet. It takeseverythingin her to beat past the rising migraine and paranoia, forcing herself further into the town with shaking hands and shuddering breaths.

There isn't a food market here like in the other towns; instead, Lami finds a small grocer of sorts and nearly cries when she sees all the ripe fruit and canned goods. The man at the counter offers her a questioning stare as she purchases an armful of various items, but says nothing when she hands over the cash. When she asks about a ferry or a boat that might take her to the next island, he merely laughs as he gives her a paper bag and directs her to the docks.

She understands his amusement. The "dock" is a single beam of wood, fishermen meandering with tiny wooden boats moored to small metal rings. The onlygoodthing she can gather from her situation is that the people of this village look just as dirty and worn out as she does. Despite this, it takes her the better part of three hours before she finds anyone willing to take them to the next island, at the cost of helping the man with household chores. The bartering goes on for longer than she would like but Lami readily agrees when the prospect ofchorescomes into the picture, following the man to his house and setting aside her groceries.

Law will not be happy with it, she knows, but there's little to nothing that'll make himhappyat the moment.

For the next four hours, she helps the fisherman clean out an unused room of his, pretending to listen to his long-winded stories as she finally puts her obsessive need to organize things to good use.

He offers her a place to stay for the night. She says no.

Lami is not naive.

The next day finds them back on the ocean; the wind coldbut the sun hotly beating down on them. It's not too long after midday when the fisherman decides that it is time for a nap. He relaxes against the back of the boat and covers his face with his hat. Law and Lami exchange befuddled expressions, but when the man begins to snore they take the moment as an opportunity to eat the sandwiches Law prepared that morning.

"He's weird," Law mutters to her, eyeing the man darkly.

"Yeah."

"What if he throws us overboard?"

"Then I guess we swim."

Law sends her a look that clearly expresses that he isnotamused.

Rolling her eyes, Lami turns to the side and lifts her shirt to expose the fishing knife that she has affixed around her ribs. The leather sheath is old and faded, but when she saw the option to take it last night... She did. She isn't going to takeanychances with strangers, seemingly kind or otherwise.

Law makes a hand gesture and a face that glitters too excitedly to say anything other thangive it.

Shaking her head, Lami jerks her shoulder towards the fisherman and lets her shirt drop. She doesn't want the fisherman to see, and honestly, there is a possibility that Law might try to stab the man before they get to shore. It's not something she is personally looking to deal with.

Sulkily taking a bite of his lunch, Law sends her a glare that says more than his words ever could.

Shaking her head at his dramatics, Lami settles into the uncomfortable wood of the boat. One of them is going to get a splinter at this rate, but they aren't in a position to complain about it.

"So…" she starts, deciding that a change in conversation is necessary, "I can feel people,"

"What?"

"You know, I canfeelthem."

Law sends her a rather convoluted look, "Anyone with a sense of touch can—"

"No, I mean—" Lami cuts in, minutely frustrated, "theiremotions, theirpresence—"

"Lami, you're the least empathetic person I know."

Huffing and crossing her arms, Lami doesn't bother to try to argue his point. She's not sure how she can describe thelights;voicesthat seem to manifest whenever she is around people. Lami has gotten pretty good at tuning Law's out; or maybe she has simply become accustomed to its constant presence— but looking at the fisherman, she canhearhis dull and quietvoice.Seethelight;impression of him, even when she isn't looking, even when her eyes are closed. The fisherman'svoice; light is notsayinganything, at the moment, simply there and existing.

"I can—" She plays with her bottom lip, wondering whatwordsshe needs, "I cansensepeople. Where they are. What they feel."

When she hazards a look towards Law, she sees that his face is scrunched up into one of confusion. It's almost cute, the way his nose wrinkles— if it weren't for the green and yellow bruises that ring his eye and cheeks.

Running a hand through her hair, Lami slumps backward, "You know what— Never mind. Let's just— Forget about it."

If Lami doesn't understand, how couldLawever understand it? Ever believe it? Ever want to talk about it? The fact that she even brought it up is silly, a thought that makes embarrassment simmer like steel in her chest and throat. She should have just... stayed silent, wait until she had evidence, andunderstoodit more before saying anything.Whydid she say it? What's the point of even bringing up the topic when neither of them has the chance of actuallyknowingwhat is going on with her?

Feeling pathetic, Lami chews on her lunch and makes the conscious choice to ignore the contemplative look that has fallen over her brother's face.

It's early evening by the time they reach land.

From the harbour, the town looks large and sprawling with many streams of heavy, grey smoke billowing from tall chimneys and a long, brick bridge that cuts through the gulf.

The fisherman tells them that the port town is known for its fisheries, which has led to quite the economic boom on the island but has taken away business from the surrounding area. Despite this, Spider Miles is primarily a hotspot for growing industries, which has left the island slowly degrading due to pollution and urban sprawl. Because of this, there is a limited agricultural emphasis for their food supplies and a heavy focus on the hunting scene- which is a popular sport among the nobles. He also informs them, in not so many words, that the town's fishery and hunting practices are unsustainable and will inevitably run the species into extinction at the rate they are going. She's not sure if this is an issue of overfishing, a result of pollution, or mere spite due to competition.

An interesting discussion, though Law sleeps through most of it.

Once the boat is tied to the pier, Law and Lami immediately scramble onto the dock. It's with mild reluctance that Law waits as Lami politely thanks the fisherman, though he grumbles his complaints once they have fled the busy waterfront.

"What's the point?" Law says as they make their way through cobbled streets, ducking out of the way of a tall man with immaculate clothing, "We're never going to see him again."

Lami shrugs, not understanding why he even cares, "Do I need a reason?"

He shoots her a look, mouth pulling into a frown. Clearly, he doesn't think they should have to say thank you at all. She understands, in the manner that everything and everyone sucks, but she doesn't understand why he feels so vehemently towards this.

"Whatever," he mutters after a beat of silence, "go find someplace to get medical supplies. I'll go look for information on Doflamingo. We can meet up by the pier."

Lami opens her mouth to refute his decision: Law's track record with information gathering is lacklustre at best and his visible injuries will not aid in his endeavour in the slightest—

She doesn't get the opportunity to speak; Law is already gone.

Huffing at his behaviour, Lami runs her hands through her hair. She's too tired to run after him, and figures that she may as well go along with his plan for the time being. The fishing knife is still strapped to her torso, so she won't have to worry about Law going on a murder spree— well, unless he finds a weapon, or unless he tries to attack someone with his tiny set of scissors. Or, worse, he tries to attack someone with nothing but his bare hands...

Lami stops walking.

Rubbing her nose, she quietly tells herself to stop worrying.

Law may be traumatized, erratic, volatile, and unpredictable at the moment but he still has some semblance of rationale at his disposal. A town as busy and posh as this will surely have some sort of security or infantry unless there is a Marine posting in or around town, and Law woulddefinitelyknow better than to try anything illegal, right?

…

Groaning, Lami realizes that she is not going to make herself feel better by thinking about this. There is nothing that she can do, anyway, except wait and see how the dice fall.

The first three shops Lami tries are a bust.

One of them refuses to allow her entrance, due to her ratty and dirty attire. Lami tries to reason with the shopkeep but winds up with a fly swatter smacking her in the face. She doesn't bother to try again.

The second she spends less than three minutes in. Upon glancing over the merchandise, she immediately spins on her heel the moment she looks at the ridiculous price depicted on the tags. The amount of zeros has her sweating the entire time she searches for the next shop.

The third store, advertising pharmaceuticals, does not supply bandages, gauze, or disinfectant. She really shouldn't be surprised, but she is still disappointed upon leaving.

Slouching onto the ground outside of the shop, Lami heaves a sigh. The sun has already set and the longer she spends aroundpeoplethe more high-strung and irritated she finds herself.

There are so manypeoplearound, so manylightsandvoicesthat all seem to dance together in an unintelligible fashion, a swarm of mosquitoes buzzing in her ears. It's annoying. She can feel the frustration bubbling inside of her once more; the desire to cover her ears and cut off the rest of the world.

It's sort of pathetic, really, but Lami can't bring herself to care.

Regardless, Law most likely wantsactualmedical equipment, not the cheap stuff that comes with travelling packs. For all of Law's prattle about Lami wasting their money on vanity, he sure loves his expensive and mildly unrealistic requests. Swords? Medical equipment? Lami's money pouch is already feeling light, lately. There's no way two runaways can afford asword.

She wonders if they'll even be able to affordfoodfor the rest of their journey— who knows howlongthey'll be travelling for? Eventually, they will run out of money. Eventually, they will have to find alternative ways to find food, shelter, water. It's not that Lami has any real issue withstealing, per se, but she knows that there are better, safer ways to go about solving their problems. She's not sure it's worth taking a beating every time they try to steal something; their lives are more important.

The logic gets messier the more she thinks about it: eventually they'll be in the situation where every decision is risking their lives. To steal or not to steal— either choice could lead to their death; which is worse, brutality or starvation?

Sighing once more, Lami pushes herself back up.

When Law gets back she'll tell him there are no medical supplies within their price range. It doesn't matter that she hasn't checked every shop in town: the cold, hard truth is that they need to focus on the needs they havenowand not in the future. They can deal with it when one of them gets hurt.

Fixing the strap of her bag, Lami makes her way towards the pier. She doubts that Law will be finished with his information gathering anytime soon, but she'd rather not hang around the shady side streetsorthe posh, cobblestoned main streets.

No matter where they go, Lami always feels as though she is a nail that sticks out.

This has never been a quality that bothered her, but now that it is actively working against her it is quite inconvenient.

It's as she is passing a dimly lit alley that her bag is suddenly pulled at, the strap jerking against her neck and minutely strangling her as she digs her feet into the dirt and stands her ground, refusing to be pulled.

A confused, frustrated sound grunts from behind.

Lami tries to tug herself free, but she is held firmly in place. Twisting in the strap, Lami scowls as she sees a man attempting to open the fastenings of her bag with a shaking hand.

Middle-aged with short, messy hair and pronounced eye bags. His clothing is wrinkled and filled with holes, though the track marks on the inside of his elbows say more to her than anything else. It's not something that she should be judgemental about, but it's a different matter when he is attempting tomugher.

Kicking out at him, Lami twists her body around to shake him off. He resists, grasping the bag in both hands and dragging her into the alley. A struggle ensues— Lami pushing backward, trying to make sure the straps of her bag don't snap. In her attempts to keep the integrity of her bag, the man continues to pull her in, eyes going wide and frantic as they are spotted by a wandering couple.

A flip flop is lost in the battle, and Lami inevitably loses with a scowl.

Her bag means too much to her. The food, the notebooks, the mementos, their clothes, theirmoney, theireverything— everything they own is in this bag; everything of their present and past. Their father's smile, the secrets of the once tale, the poor Den Den Mushi who still has no name. If she lets go— If she lets him take it—

No.

Sherefuses.

Lami digs her fingernails into the man's hands, prying them off as he gives a startled whine. They wrestle, then, for purchase.

From this proximity, she notices that the man is mumbling something under his breath. Wife? Money? Something about drugs? It doesn't matter. There are more pressing matters for her.

Determination isn't enough to win a battle like this— not when she is starving, exhausted, and trying to fight a grown man.

Head smacking against a rough brick wall, Lami chokes out a strangled growl as hands find their way to her throat. Instinctively reaching up, she tries to claw at his eyes— but she can'treach, nails digging long red lines down his forearms instead. The more she tries to fight against him, the harder it is for her toconcentrateon anything but the way the world is zooming on the pain from her throat.

For some odd reason, panic only begins to set in now— her hands curling around his wrists, jerking at them in a silent demand to be letgo.

He does not. Fingers tighten and she suddenly finds it very difficult to breathe.

Thoughts lose purchase— her vision starts to funnel. Time warps; then seconds, ten minutes, an hour spent suffocating and convulsing.

Lami is starting to see stars when the man gives a confused, dazed sound. His hands loosen, body sagging against her and dragging them both to the ground. She follows him, unable to do anything but, hands pressed to her throat and going through the desperate motions of regulated breathing.

"You're an idiot."

Law's voice is flat and judgemental, and Lami gives a quiet wince. She would defend herself if she were able to talk but decides to focus on breathing. The world is spinning, bile rising at the back of her throat. Her neck burns. Lami worries that she has torn something. In her past world, she would either be dead or have damaged her trachea. Somehow it is difficult for this to feelreal, as though she is detached from herself.

"You have aknife, you- you—" His voice trails off with an aggravated growl, hands curling around her bicep and kicking the man off of her.

The man, she sees, has fallen to the dirt; blood spurting from a small incision made on the back of his leg. Law tries to direct her out of the alley, but she refuses to move. Her legs feel like mud is clinging to her feet; to her shins, stuck to the earth. Instead, she stares at the man; he's not conscious, but he's not dead yet. She can still hear hisvoice.

Lami waits until hislighthas petered out before letting Law escort her away.

She's not sure why, but it feels important.

Ignoring the lecture and suspicious looks from Law, they make their way a few blocks before he lets her rest against a grandiose water fountain. He tries to inspect her neck, but she flinches away whenever he tries to touch it. In the end, Law paces back and forth as Lami reorients herself.

"How do you feel?" Law says, apparently abandoning his grumblings as he cleans the blades of his tiny scissors with the bottom of his shirt, "Can you talk?"

The realization hits her— Law just killed a man.

She watches his indifferent motions, wonders if he even understands what has just happened. If it has sunk in, yet. Given the way he casually raises an eyebrow at her, there's a good chance that it hasn't. It's not the only possibility, though. What if this isn't the first time he has killed someone? What if he simply hasn't viewed it as something important to bring up? What if he genuinely doesn't care?

Law killed a man with a single cut. For some reason, she thought it would take much more than that.

Lami stares at her hands.

"Maybe," It doesn'thurtto say, thankfully.

"Good," Law huffs, "I know where The Donquixote's are."

His words fall on deaf ears; Lami's eyebrows furrowing with thought.

A man is dead.

Maybe she's in shock, but she can't find it in herself to care.

Instead, she's annoyed. Instead, she's worried about the state of her bag. Instead, she wants something cold to drink. Instead, she's relieved that she isn't dead.

A laugh bubbles in her throat. She raises a hand to cover her mouth to quiet herself. Is it odd that she isn't upset about the fact that they havekilled someone? That she has always found it an inevitable outcome? What does it say about her that Lami is more upset about the fact that sheisn'tupset? That she is more upset by the fact that there is a blank space where she is supposed tojudgeLaw for his actions, a blank space where she is supposed to feel angered or sad about the death of a family man who likely just needed money? It'sfunny, in a way, and isn't that sort of fucked up?

Blandly, she wonders what it says about her morality.

Lami's worry over Law's behaviour has never been about the moral consequences of killing; it's born out oflogic, apathetic and uncaring for the actual actions and more about the repercussions that might happen toherif they get caught.

"I think something might be wrong with me," Lami says, voice as rough as sandpaper as she continues staring blankly at her hands.

She's always known that she is a little broken; a chipped cup, or a crack in a windowpane.

But this feels a little much.

The genocide was cruel. There's still a part of her in The Pit. But, looking back, Lami might have killed a man at St. Monroe's— had stabbed him without a doubt and has never wondered about her actions. Has never feltguilt. He might be dead. She never cared enough to eventhinkabout it, so wrapped up in her own thoughts and future.

Maybe Law was right, maybe she hasn't changed. Maybe she's always been like this— not just all talk;truly, honestly, selfish beyond redemption, stitched together guiltlessly by all her secrets and crimes. The patchwork person she needs to be to survive.

"There's something wrong with this world," is all Law says in response.

Her mouth quivers.

That is not the answer she is looking for.

They spend the night in an alleyway as far away from the crime scene as possible, huddled against an overflowing dumpster. It's cold at night, far colder than the mild daytime sun would suggest. The streets are bustling, even late into twilight, and at moments she can hear the distant sound of gunfire—

She doesn't sleep.

Rats and stray cats skitter past throughout the night, forcing Lami to curl up into a tight ball.

She hates it; she decides that she hatesthis. The blood and dirt underneath her nails. The familiar burn of hunger in her stomach. The way her shorts have somehow changed colour. The looks strangers give her as she passes by. The sopping soft flesh of rotting fruit. The fact that they ran out of toilet paper three days ago. The brush of fur against an ankle. The nightmares that torment her nights, the thoughts that haunt her days. Thestenchof rotting flesh that will not leave.

Or maybe that's the dumpster.

She hates this.

Law is asleep with his head on her shoulder, lightly snoring with a hand wrapped around her wrist and an arm cradling his hat. Maybe it's cute, but she can't help but think of the sight of him calmly cleaning his set of tiny scissors.

Lami looks vacantly at the ground.

For the first time in weeks, she's not sure if she wants to sleep.

( bang. bang.

two bodies hit the floor. )

For the first time in weeks, Law does not wake her up in the morning.

Instead, when she wakes, she finds him missing.

Lami waits, chews on stale bread, feeds the Den Den Mushi. Time drags on, her legs restless, worries multiplying by the minute.

It's not until late afternoon that he comes back, looking smug and accomplished as he declares that he has a lead on Doflamingo. In three days, they will have ameeting— what this means, she doesn't know, as Law leaves shortly after with a strict plea for her to stay put.

She does not stay put.

Silly of him to think Lami would listen.

Three days pass.

She wanders the town, snacks on spoiling food, watches the passerby with dull apathy.

One night Lami fights a rat for the food in her bag, which proves to be the most interesting andhumiliatingevent she experiences during the time Law is gone. Given the fact that she is out of toilet paper, she thinks this is quite a feat.

"Are you sure they are… here?" Lami asks, squinting at the large dumpsite in front of them.

The sheer amount of junk is appalling; it's practically the size of a city itself and a heavy smog lingers like a blanket in the air. How much of the metal here could have been refurbished? What about the furniture? What is the purpose of needless waste to this scale? Especially so close to the town— eventually the worth of real estate will plummet, as the smell is too much for most people, and the wealthy will depart to cleaner passages. The city and land will have to deal with the toxic consequences of having a landfill so close to the civilians, water supply, and the ocean...

Amusement simmers as she idly touches her neck— they killed a man a few days ago and Lami is upset about the junkyard.

"That's what the guys at the bar said."

She turns her scrutiny towards Law, watching as he kicks a piece of debris with a scowl.

They've already been given false information before, and they are lucky that it was something as harmless as getting lost in the woods for a few days. What if they are led into a trap? Sure, theft would be horrible, but what if it leads to something more drastic— child trafficking, forced drug addictions, and slavery all being the first to come to mind. It's not like Law has the best track record and they can't afford to believe every schmuck they find in bars.

Law's face flushes when he catches her staring, "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"No, but I can hear your judgement." He grumbles, pulling his hat over his face momentarily before whipping around to face her, "It's different this time."

"Right," she says, voice flat.

"No, really— see, there they are," he points in the distance towards the tallest building in the junkyard, "you'll see."

Crossing her arms, Lami offers him a frown.

Admittedly, the two men on the balcony they can see have some… strangely loud voices, their lights burning brighter than those she has heard; seen before. Unease wells in her stomach. Electricity tickles at the back of her neck.

They shouldn't waste their time here, especially when the ocean is filled with vagabonds who have little qualms killing children who annoy them. Lami doesn't want to place her bets on a random pirate crew or group of wannabe thugs. Being utterly insufferable in the best of circumstances is the young Trafalgar's curse, as well as their most defining traits. Nothing with this situation sits well with her— in fact, she's certain that the men are already aware of their presence, though she can't quite explain how.

"Are you sure—"

"Look, worst comes worst we run away, right?"

"There are definitely worse scenarios—"

"Give me your knife—"

"What, Law—"

"Come on it's just a test—"

"A test? For what—"

Lami and Law wrestle for a moment before she realizes that it doesn't matter. Law already killed someone. Why is she bothering to fight against it? If the town has authorities then they will already be looking for the culprit; given how much Lami managed to scratch up the man's arms and wrists, they will know that there were likely two individuals caught up in the murder...

Letting Law unwrap the knife from her torso, Lami stares at her fingernails. She'll have to wash them as soon as possible. Although ignorant of the advancements of forensic sciences in this world, she doesn't want to take any unnecessary chances here. Getting arrested for manslaughter would certainly be a damper in her plan. She could also be worrying over nothing. Maybe this town is just as corrupt as Flevance; maybe the authorities don't care about some no-name man.

Law carefully ties the knife to his side; clearly, he's not trying to hide it, but now that Lami is looking at him… It appears as though Law has something bulky under his shirt.

"Stay here," He says, placing his hands on her shoulders so he can stare her in the eyes properly. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Lami blinks.

( "we'll be back, alright sweetheart?" )

Eyes and throat burning, Lami's vision swims as panic cleaves her chest— loud, intrusive thoughts return; the inevitable, the known, the cloying dread. The urge to vomit rises, but she stamps it down as she rapidly blinks.

She's about to tell him, her thoughts, to fuck off when—

A surprised chirp is strangled out of her as Law jumps over a mound of garbage and rushes towards the two men in the distance. It's not subtle. She's worried. They'll know, they'll see. Go, go— she has to go. There is no way that Lami is going to let him go on his own this time.

( bang. ba— )

"Shut up, shut up, shut up—" Lami tells herself, grasping her head and struggling to breathe. Stop, she needs it to stop.

She needs to be in the here; in the now.

Lami tries to follow him but finds herself tripping over a piece of pipe and faceplants into a pile of scrap metal.

Rubbing at a sore spot, she scowls.

Grumbling under her breath as she picks herself up, she can hear the distant conversation as Law approaches the building. The two men are too quiet for her to hear what they are saying, though they descend from the wooden balcony into the junkyard. More lights emerge from the building; smaller and quieter, much quieter, though buzzing with energy.

Debating her options, Lami slinks low to the ground and tries to be as small as she possibly can while running through the labyrinth of worn furniture and garbage. The men's voices are loud, she doesn't think it would be smart to run at them headlong like Law, knows that she needs the element of surprise should things go south.

Another voice appears; lounging on the railing of the balcony. Loud and singing, difficult to ignore— though she actively pays them no mind. There are more important things.

When she peeks up from between a barrel and what used to be a fence, Lami sees that Law has already engaged the men in battle. Admittedly, he's not doing a bad job, per se. Better than she would expect. His knife swings around, however, it is consistently parried by a sword wielded by the thin, tall man. By Law's body language, she can tell that he is genuinely attempting to kill. The men, in turn, look; feel entertained by his efforts.

Shit, Lami thinks, hurrying to reach them faster—

A test; Law had said that this was a test of some kind. She's not sure of the validity of this, however, though she is certain that Law believes it to be true. There is a good chance that they are simply taking advantage of a boy in dire need.

Looking around, Lami picks up a piece of pipe. Hardly a good weapon, but it'll have to do. She carefully maneuvers around junk, sticking close to the ground. Squinting at the men, she does have to admit that the taller man looks rather familiar— though this doesn't necessarily mean that he is in the Donquixote crew. The other man, whom she can only describe as wet, seems to ring a more familiar bell. The man with the singing voice, perched on the balcony, is too far away to see properly.

Ducking behind a portion of a refrigerator, Lami gives the two children watching the test a side-eye. For some reason, they all start laughing.

Law looks from person to person, shoulders hunching in an all too familiar way.

Anger simmers in her chest.

She creeps closer so she can hear what they are saying, but ultimately catches the ringing of metal clashing as Law starts wildly swinging once more.

"You can't kill a person with spirit alone!" The man with the sword says, towering over Law. He sounds on the verge of laughing again.

"Then how about this!"

It's only when Law lifts his shirt and brandishes the collection of oddly circular shaped objects that Lami realizes why he had asked her to stay behind.

"I have bombs!"

Lami stares, deadpan.

"I'm going to die soon anyway—" he continues, "—so you're nothing to be afraid of!"

Eye twitching, Lami's fist tightens around the pipe in her hand. If Law survives this she's going to kill him herself—

A shift in the air.

The tall man's amusement sours into a frown, his voice tensing. His sword hand adjusts its grip.

( bang. bang.

two bodies hit the floor. )

"You shouldn't mess with—"

Lami doesn't think— all she knows is that this man is getting serious; that she needs to stop him, she needs to get them out of here, they need to go, go, go—

The pipe hits the side of the tall man's face harder than she expects; not that she expected much, but she certainly doesn't expect the man to stumble, nor for everyone in the vicinity to startle to attention.

She doesn't think— she grabs a piece of scrap metal and whips it at the tall man, using the anger and bubbling panic within her as fuel.

"Lami!" Law doesn't sound happy at all as he shouts, "This is my test! Stay out of it!"

His voice startles her out of— well, whatever it was.

"He was about to whoop you!" She tries to yell back, but her throat croaks due to misuse and a flare of residue pain.

Whatever.

She grabs a discarded dial mechanism and throws it at the tall man. He dodges this without issue, looking rather annoyed and confused as he adjusts his glasses. Exchanging a glance with the wet man, he kicks Law in the side— sending her brother flying through the junkyard.

Heart in her throat, Lami crawls over the mound of garbage between them. He's still alive, thank god, but her relief is short-lived.

A hand takes her by the back of her shirt, lifting her into the air. She knew the man is tall— however, it's not until she is raised higher and higher that she realizes just how tall. He is easily the largest man she has ever met, hoisting her at least three metres into the air. The fabric of her shirt cuts into the undersides of her arms and the spot where her neck and jaw meet, leaving her wriggling in the air and pulling at her neckline in efforts to push herself up and to breathe, breathe, breathe—

"Who's this brat?" The tall man, of course.

Lami tries to kick him. She misses.

"Put her down!" Law growls, trembling as he picks himself up from the ground and charging at the tall man with his knife brandished, "She's my sister!"

"Sister? Ne, ne, kid, you never said anything about a sister—" The wet man says, keeping a safe distance from the one-sided scuffle.

"It's a two for one deal!"

Her shirt pinches at a soft spot on her neck— the section she'd been strangled the other day, and she thrashes wildly. The conversation continues, falling away from her attention as she croaks out what is supposed to be a threat. The tall man smoothly avoids Law's attacks before using his sword to disarm him.

"Diamante!" The man with the singing voice calls out, "Don't kill them. This is just a test, after all."

The tall man, Diamante, seems to consider this for a moment as he hums, "If you say so, Doffy."

Lami drops.

She manages to land awkwardly on her feet, trying to balance on two separate pieces of scrap metal. Barely a second passes before Law is pressed to her side, fingers curling around her arm and harshly pressing onto her skin. She doesn't look at him, hands rubbing her aching neck and thickly coughing into her elbow. Why everyone seems to treat Lami like a ragdoll is a mystery to her, though she wishes that they would leave her neck alone.

The unfamiliar emotions coiling in her stomach sour and curdle as she glares at Diamante. She can tell from Law's voice that he is similarly, if not more so, murderous than she.

"Uah, so scary," Diamante drawls, seemingly amused once more as he beckons them forward with a hand.

He nor the wet man look back as they ascend the wooden stairs.

"Are you okay?"

Turning to Law, she ignores his question in favour of choking out, "Bombs, Law?"

Lami would have tackled him to the ground if it weren't for the fact he already looks at Death's door.

Face twisting into a scowl he mutters under his breath, "Well, if I said anything you would have told me not to."

"Bombs?" She says again, trying to stress her point as she grabs him by the front of his shirt and aggressively starts shaking him. At some point, he lost the grenades, which worries her. Now there are a bunch of bombs in the junkyard, which certainly is a recipe for disaster.

Lami stops.

They are being watched; she shouldn't be so shortsighted.

Unfurling her fingers from Law's shirt, she ignores his quiet ramblings and explanations as she turns towards the building.

The singing man perches still on the balcony, chin in hand. It's the oddest thing: though his voice shines; though his light sings— Lami cannot feel anything from him; there is no sound to his voice. Bright; demanding; loud, but the absence of sound does not feel… cold or calculative, like she would expect from a man like this. Just... silent.

From this distance, she cannot see his face, nor any distinguishable traits typically attributed to the leader of the Donquixote Pirates. Regardless, Lami no longer needs to see to know who this is;

Donquixote Doflamingo.

The back of her neck tingles, and she raises a hand instinctively to apply pressure to the electricity that's stuck under her skin.

Lami's body jerks, startling her from her reverie.

Law's hand firmly grips her wrist, dragging her over piles of metal debris and towards the building. A quiet, fierce expression has befallen his face, golden eyes sharp with his mouth pressed into a taut line.

When she looks up, Doflamingo is gone.

Feet dangling from between the posts of the balcony's railing, Lami waits.

"Where did Doflamingo go?" Law's voice muffles as the door closes, though their voices still carry from the open window.

"What, you think he hangs out with every recruit?"

Allegedly, Lami is supposed to wait while the Executives evaluate Law's performance. She doesn't particularly care about being left out of the conversation. So long as they are allowed into the crew, then there isn't anything for her to properly complain about.

Well, aside from the child abuse— but this is just something she will have to get used to. She signed up for this, persuaded Law into this knowing full well that their time with the Donquixote family will be difficult, painful, and traumatic. There are parts of Law and Lami that will break in the tutelage of the Donquixote, and they'll spend the rest of their lives running on this broken glass.

At this point, however, everything will be difficult and traumatic. At least this way they can get rid of the lead poisoning and garner themselves an actual future outside of hardship and disease.

Despite this, logical reasoning does little to soothe the crackling storm in her chest.

Years— they have years until they will have agency. Freedom.

Closing her eyes, Lami sighs and rests her head against the wooden beam. It'll be worth it. It has to be worth it.

A rapid set of footsteps drags Lami's attention to the stairs. Three lights are approaching, two that are familiar, small, and buzzing, while the other is bright and quiet. The two children from before peer at her from the edge of the stairs, as though animals waiting for an attack. A moment passes in silence before the hesitation breaks; the two rushing up the rest of the way. Though they favour Lami with curious looks, they pass by her and climb onto the windowsill.

"Trebol, Diamante!" The boy says.

"Cora's back!" The girl chirps, practically halfway through the window.

Recognition suddenly hits her: the man who Law will love, the man who will save them.

A heavy set of footsteps shortly follows. The man, Cora, is tall— nearly double her size and looming as he passes. The black, feathered coat is familiar, though the facepaint, sunglasses, and hat seem odd and mismatched. She can't help but hold her breath— feeling, feeling, feeling something; something small and burning, as though the world has clicked into place around her.

He says nothing. She watches as he silently enters the building.

It's a bit anti-climatic if she is being honest, and she spends a moment frowning at the junkyard.

A loud thud, a burst of laughter from the children.

Lami pulls herself up from her spot as a commotion startles from within the room. She positions herself by the open door so she can see what is going on, observing as the children pick themselves up from the floor. Cora goes and sits in a chair beside the executives while Law remains stoically standing by the door.

Moving to Law, she gently brushes her fingers against his elbow to notify him of her presence. He doesn't respond, merely watching with an unimpressed expression as Cora spits out hot tea and flips his chair backward.

Hm.

Lami squints, also judging the man for this show of clumsiness. It has to be faked, right? There is no way someone could be this…

Cora smoothly stands up, brushing his hands against the sides of his pants.

"It's Law, right?" Diamante says, leaning forward and gesturing towards her, "What's your name, kid?"

"Lami," Law answers for her.

"This is one of our other officers." He waves his hand toward Cora, "His name is Corazon, and he's a total klutz. But he's good at his job— he's Captain Doffy's little brother, so it shouldn't come as a surprise. Don't bother talkin' to him; he had a real bad shock in the past, so he can't talk no more."

As Diamante speaks, Lami watches as Corazon approaches them. She nudges herself and Law out of the way, in case he is trying to get out of the door, but he follows her path. It's not until he's reaching out a hand that she pulls Law away, unease once again settling over her.

"Also, he hates kids."

There's a moment where they simply stare at one another— or, at least, she assumes so, given his sunglasses —before a leg shoots out and manages to catch both Law and Lami in his attack; launching them backward. There's no time to react, no time to think, as they crash through a window and are sent hurling over the balcony and into the junkyard.

Law screams, Lami curls herself around her bag.

The descent happens faster than she expects, body slamming into a pile of scrap metal with a loud, painful crack as she lands on her side with her head smacking against a hard surface. Releasing a choked, guttural sound, Lami struggles to find her breath for what feels like the third time that day. The place where Corazon kicked her is burning with pain, as though hot embers have poured into her chest.

It takes her a long moment before she can roll over, vaguely aware of the fact that Law is practically yelling her name. She goes rigid at the movement, nausea rising in her throat as she closes her eyes and swallows around it. Pressing a hand to her back, Lami coughs out and shakily inhales. Her other hand goes to her head, and she winces when she feels blood seeping down over her cheeks and neck.

Her hands tremble as she unfastens her bag and reaches in, pulling out the Den Den Mushi with simmering dread.

Fortunately, it's alive.

Falling back down, Lami releases a heavy groan, bloodied hand pressing against the side of her head. She can't focus on anything except for how her body seems to pulse and burn; this is worse, she thinks, than the pains she experienced in the pit. It hurts to move, it hurts to breathe, it hurts to think.

Law finds her, huffing loudly as he collapses beside her. Despite the blood smearing his face and arms, his voice is loud and buzzing with energy. It feels inappropriate to their circumstances, but she finds herself surprised that he managed to keep his hat on.

"Lami! Are you okay?"

Lami grunts, slightly worried when her mouth tastes metallic, "How many times have you said that since we got here?"

"How many times have you almost died?"

"You seem to think that's on me," she mutters, sniffling as she brushes the hair from her face.

Law has almost died just as much as her, anyway.

He fiddles with her bag, dragging out their medical kit before sending a harsh look towards the Donquixote building, "What the fuck is wrong with him? Who just... does that? I swear I'm going to—"

Her thumb traces the lines of the Den Den Mushi's shell, stuck in her thoughts as Law inspects her head and continues to viciously whisper. Lami says nothing as her mouth pulls into a frown, merely staring at the sky as Law manhandles her.

Something must be wrong.

She thought Corazon was nice.

Chapter 17