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deathsdoctor) wrote2010-11-08 12:18 am
deathsdoctor) wrote2010-11-08 12:18 am
001
[It is cold. It is so freaking damn cold out up this mountain, even by the standards of a North Blue native…]
[To backtrack a little, sometime between last night and the early morn, some vague ill defined time when the journals were quiet and most were asleep, Trafalgar Law awoke. In a copse of trees, at the bottom of a gorge surrounded by towering cliffs of rock, and completely naked except for a ridiculously thin pair of white cotton pants.
And wings. Small but sleek raven black wings ending with yellow tips. That twitched painfully with every inhalation and exhalation of salt free air.
He can feel them. It’s wrong, on so many levels. He’s been kidnapped, this is obvious (the how escapes him for now, the near impossibility of this act staggering), he’s probably been drugged (no matter how he tries, he can’t clear the fog obscuring his senses), but the mutilation…
Revenge? No. Not a job like this. This is surgery beyond the skill of any he knows are practicing on the Line. He doubts even Vegapunk can knit flesh and bone, nerve and muscle fibre quite like this, and the rumours of what he can do are...
Enough.
Law extends the wings slowly, testing, ignoring the flames flaring. Flex, flare – such fine muscle control, so quickly, so naturally, should be impossible as well. It takes the brain years to refine coordination like this. He delicately prods the base of the wings. There aren’t even scars.
Who did this?
No matter. Not now. The payment for these services rendered would be the same.
Blood.
Head spinning, senses muffled, back a mass of seething fire, Law finds the curious book first. Then his boots and socks next, and only those. Gee, thanks bastards. You mean for him to walk, but where? His frown only grows more pronounced as he finds the pages of the book blank. And wouldn’t you know, he hits upon that rare moment of utter silence. The book is just that, an empty book. He closes it before there is a chance for anyone to make a noise or appear on its pages.
He discovers the rocks after that. They look like flint and they brightly spark when he strikes them. Excellent. The temperature is dropping as the night wears on and he has to do something fast before anything more severe than mild hypothermia sets in. Now there is a solution.
And faced with the choice of losing a still potentially valuable source of answers and getting through the night alive, and without facing the additional ironic joy of losing limbs through frostbite, when he had gained extra already…
… paper makes excellent kindling.]
[Daylight finds Law making his way through the mountains, bookless, armed with a torch (for warmth now – the best he can do) and the rocks tucked securely in his pockets. It’s still cold, but with light the temperature has risen to a point where it’s just irritable and painful in turns to someone of the shounen persuasion.
He’s so grateful for the boots now.
The pirate knows now he’s been drugged. Not because the fog’s still there, because it is. But because he has a guide. If voices in your head constitute a guide.
It doesn’t really talk. Not through words. More like impressions – like the feel of the wind in the sails on a warm summery day – that make their point clear anyway. But it’s chatty and friendly and somehow steering him around the greatest of dangers in these difficult mountain heights. And for a voice in his head, it’s not half bad. It’s certainly helpful.
It – or he – the voice insists on being called he – his name is Kipinn. Law thinks anyway. He chatters back. It’s all he can do besides keep moving and hope to find civilization. And wonder what has happened to his crew, if this is what happened to him.
The day’s so breezy. He waves his hand like Kipinn suggests (suggests, not demands, they had established that early on) and the breeze feels slightly stronger.
These are insane drugs.]
[Nightfall, and the threat of anything more than mild hypothermia returns. He’s almost made it out of the mountains – he can see trees in the darkening gloom and lights pooling beyond that but he won’t go any further tonight. Law knows that the hypothermia promotes poor decision making. And the dark hides dangers better faced in the light.
He’s already bearing the marks of his trip through the mountains, you see.
Time brings him to a cave. It looks to have belonged to a bear. It might still belong to a bear. It certainly will be interesting to find out either way. It’s a cozy thing, for a cave, and one crackling fire makes it even cosier.
And then…
And then he sees it.
That book. In perfectly pristine condition. Lying upon a stone shelf like someone had followed Law in and placed it there. It’s exactly the same book he burned to stave off the cold.
Maybe it’s not drugs. But it’s definitely someone fucking with him. He grabs the book without a second thought and NOW he hears the voices as it falls open.]
[Which brings us back to this: It is cold. It is so freaking damn cold out up on this here mountain, even by the standards of a North Blue native, even with a fire, and the window displaying the feed from the journal occasionally seems to be shivering. There is light flickering in the background, visible as the journal’s pages are flipped, but a face doesn’t come into view, just yet. Whoever’s on the other end is trying to make sense of all this, and right now ‘sense’ means sitting down and listening to you talk on this crazy den den book. Finally though, he’s had enough…]
[VOICE:]
Luceti? …is that what this place is called? But where exactly is it? I’ve never heard of any place like this before.
[It’s mildly said, but… answers. He wants answers. You can hear it vibrating in the inflection of his tone.
Can you really blame him?]
((OOC: Putting this up tonight. Will answer tags tomorrow evening after work.))
[To backtrack a little, sometime between last night and the early morn, some vague ill defined time when the journals were quiet and most were asleep, Trafalgar Law awoke. In a copse of trees, at the bottom of a gorge surrounded by towering cliffs of rock, and completely naked except for a ridiculously thin pair of white cotton pants.
And wings. Small but sleek raven black wings ending with yellow tips. That twitched painfully with every inhalation and exhalation of salt free air.
He can feel them. It’s wrong, on so many levels. He’s been kidnapped, this is obvious (the how escapes him for now, the near impossibility of this act staggering), he’s probably been drugged (no matter how he tries, he can’t clear the fog obscuring his senses), but the mutilation…
Revenge? No. Not a job like this. This is surgery beyond the skill of any he knows are practicing on the Line. He doubts even Vegapunk can knit flesh and bone, nerve and muscle fibre quite like this, and the rumours of what he can do are...
Enough.
Law extends the wings slowly, testing, ignoring the flames flaring. Flex, flare – such fine muscle control, so quickly, so naturally, should be impossible as well. It takes the brain years to refine coordination like this. He delicately prods the base of the wings. There aren’t even scars.
Who did this?
No matter. Not now. The payment for these services rendered would be the same.
Blood.
Head spinning, senses muffled, back a mass of seething fire, Law finds the curious book first. Then his boots and socks next, and only those. Gee, thanks bastards. You mean for him to walk, but where? His frown only grows more pronounced as he finds the pages of the book blank. And wouldn’t you know, he hits upon that rare moment of utter silence. The book is just that, an empty book. He closes it before there is a chance for anyone to make a noise or appear on its pages.
He discovers the rocks after that. They look like flint and they brightly spark when he strikes them. Excellent. The temperature is dropping as the night wears on and he has to do something fast before anything more severe than mild hypothermia sets in. Now there is a solution.
And faced with the choice of losing a still potentially valuable source of answers and getting through the night alive, and without facing the additional ironic joy of losing limbs through frostbite, when he had gained extra already…
… paper makes excellent kindling.]
[Daylight finds Law making his way through the mountains, bookless, armed with a torch (for warmth now – the best he can do) and the rocks tucked securely in his pockets. It’s still cold, but with light the temperature has risen to a point where it’s just irritable and painful in turns to someone of the shounen persuasion.
He’s so grateful for the boots now.
The pirate knows now he’s been drugged. Not because the fog’s still there, because it is. But because he has a guide. If voices in your head constitute a guide.
It doesn’t really talk. Not through words. More like impressions – like the feel of the wind in the sails on a warm summery day – that make their point clear anyway. But it’s chatty and friendly and somehow steering him around the greatest of dangers in these difficult mountain heights. And for a voice in his head, it’s not half bad. It’s certainly helpful.
It – or he – the voice insists on being called he – his name is Kipinn. Law thinks anyway. He chatters back. It’s all he can do besides keep moving and hope to find civilization. And wonder what has happened to his crew, if this is what happened to him.
The day’s so breezy. He waves his hand like Kipinn suggests (suggests, not demands, they had established that early on) and the breeze feels slightly stronger.
These are insane drugs.]
[Nightfall, and the threat of anything more than mild hypothermia returns. He’s almost made it out of the mountains – he can see trees in the darkening gloom and lights pooling beyond that but he won’t go any further tonight. Law knows that the hypothermia promotes poor decision making. And the dark hides dangers better faced in the light.
He’s already bearing the marks of his trip through the mountains, you see.
Time brings him to a cave. It looks to have belonged to a bear. It might still belong to a bear. It certainly will be interesting to find out either way. It’s a cozy thing, for a cave, and one crackling fire makes it even cosier.
And then…
And then he sees it.
That book. In perfectly pristine condition. Lying upon a stone shelf like someone had followed Law in and placed it there. It’s exactly the same book he burned to stave off the cold.
Maybe it’s not drugs. But it’s definitely someone fucking with him. He grabs the book without a second thought and NOW he hears the voices as it falls open.]
[Which brings us back to this: It is cold. It is so freaking damn cold out up on this here mountain, even by the standards of a North Blue native, even with a fire, and the window displaying the feed from the journal occasionally seems to be shivering. There is light flickering in the background, visible as the journal’s pages are flipped, but a face doesn’t come into view, just yet. Whoever’s on the other end is trying to make sense of all this, and right now ‘sense’ means sitting down and listening to you talk on this crazy den den book. Finally though, he’s had enough…]
[VOICE:]
Luceti? …is that what this place is called? But where exactly is it? I’ve never heard of any place like this before.
[It’s mildly said, but… answers. He wants answers. You can hear it vibrating in the inflection of his tone.
Can you really blame him?]
((OOC: Putting this up tonight. Will answer tags tomorrow evening after work.))
no subject
I don't know about wolves, plural, but there is a rather large wolf in there - talking one - seems to claim most of the woods as her territory. You should probably watch out for her if she's still around.
no subject
...
Do you know what they're for?
[Listening again]
Hn. Really? I'll keep that in mind. I hope she doesn't mind the scent of bear.
no subject
...As far as the wolf goes, I've never actually seen her, so I don't know what she likes or dislikes.
no subject
Interesting. Sounds like... hmm. [Holding onto that thought] Nevermind. I can't imagine they're good things to have in a fight though. It would be too easy for an enemy to just reach out and grab them or cut them off entirely.
...
The Malnosso. So that's what they're called.
no subject
Have you taken much of a look through your book? You should be able to look up a guide with a lot of information on Luceti. Someone had to point it out to me at first, but it's very helpful.
no subject
[So have you caught sight of his face yet, Mister Coby?]
I'm grateful for all of your help. I owe you.
no subject
Don't worry about it! Everyone's new at some point.
Though... you seem a little familiar. I don't know you, do I?
no subject
[Hmm... Now who else is listening to this?]
no subject
[He scratches his head.] It just seems like I've seen you before somehow.
no subject
Mmm... perhaps we've passed each other by? It's a little difficult to tell through a book, and the fire doesn't cast as much light as I would like. Maybe it would be easier to see in the light of day.
[The conversation they need to have is not for the ears of the rest listening.
Especially Mister Strawhat.]
no subject
Ah... Perhaps we'll run into each other once you get back?
no subject
no subject
no subject
[Smile]
Have a good night, Mister Coby. I'll see you soon.