deathsdoctor: (Misc | Zzzzzz)
Sumire, quit it…

[Ah, the trials of pet ownership. Especially pet ownership on a Saturday morning when all you want to do is sleep in and the cat? The cat won’t quit until she gets a little love and attention.

Even if it means she has to use such underhanded tactics as kneading a guy in the breasts with her claws out.






breasts!?]


HNN!

[Yeah, he – wait, no, she, has nothing more to say about that. Female. Woman. Right. Like he… argh… SHE had a run in with Emporio Ivankov, and this is just a Devil Fruit effect. Rolling out of bed now. Staring in the mirror.]




[Okay. One thing more.]

… hnnn… great. I need coffee.

[And a bra. Or better yet, bindings. Icons really don’t do justice to how bosomy Law is for such a slender frame. OP woman you know.

Or she can just let it all hang free.

… so tempting right now…

But coffee first. PRIORITIES.]

[You can catch the lady in question stalking into town not too long after. You see… the clothing problem hasn’t stopped at bras and other lacy unmentionable related troubles. Comes with the territory of being a slender but muscular guy and suddenly finding yourself in possession of some damn hips – we don’t lie – but as tempting as just saying fuck it all and going stark naked, Law rather likes her dignity.

After that, it’s the flower shop for some seeds for herbs. Lunch is next… maybe she’ll even poke up to Cloud Nine out of curiosity, and then it’s time for some hardcore training just so she can get used to this body. Her center of gravity is so off right now.

After that… who knows? Lady Law here will be all over the place. Catch her wherever.]

((Tags will be answered with [personal profile] deathsdoctorine))
deathsdoctor: (Fight | Sticks and stones)
[ Not too long before the draftees are returned to Luceti, all snug and cosily tucked in their beds (or in random and embarrassing drop-off points in the enclosure – whatever works), a figure cloaked and hooded in black staggers into the village. Weaving like he’s dead drunk – reality? Dead tired – he occasionally trips and catches himself…

… and then…

… and then just faceplants in a snow drift when it becomes one trip too many. He’s just going to just stay there for a moment. He feels like shit.]


Ughhhhh.

[Yeah. That’s enough of that. Picking himself up and dusting himself off, the figure reveals himself to be Trafalgar Law, freshly returned from one month full of missions.

Armed to the teeth. Worn to the bone and bleary eyed. And apparently lei’d.

… no, you aren’t imagining things - there is a tacky plastic floral garland hanging around his neck. Like you’d get on some cheap tropical vacation.

Don’t you dare suggest he’s been on one, folks.

And when he looks around, finally registering the Christmas lights and the general emptiness of the village, he mutters…]


Oi… what I’d miss?

[Go ahead. Spoil his triumphant tired return and tell him about all the draftees about to drop in. The draftees that possibly and quite probably need medical attention.

It isn’t like he desperately wants to find a bed and get some sleep. And it isn’t like he desperately needs that sleep either.

Not at all.]
deathsdoctor: (Annoyed + Neutral | Oh come on)
[So on the evening of the nineteenth, a message appears in Law’s journal. He takes one moment and groans. Now? Apparently the Malnosso were feeling generous. For a roughly month’s worth of missions, one right after the other, they in their infinite wisdom decided to give him more than a day’s notice to get his affairs in order.

They gave him a day – and looking at the clock – and seven hours notice. Be in the tunnels and transport at four am sharp on the 21st.

Generous.

So, that night, two filtered messages go out:]


[Filtered TO all medical staff (including Raine Sage, Mia, and Litchi Faye Ling)]

I’ve just received two back to back missions from the Malnosso. I’m leaving early on the twenty first. Unfortunately, they want me for a month, roughly. So I need classes covered and someone to keep on top of everything going on at the clinic until I get back.

[Filtered AWAY from Blackbeard 100%]

Oi, guys. I’ve got a couple missions, and I’m going to be gone away for a while. I need someone to keep an eye on my boat. [Oh, he knows that some people might be opportunistic bastards. We shall be READY for that.] And, I need someone to take care of Sumire for me.

[The next day, aside from being all around the village and at home to prepare for this mission before he leaves to teach class at three sharp, he’s going to be visiting the FMA house, aka House 23 with a small request. HOPEFULLY he’ll get Gracia, but who knows… it might be –ohgodno- Maes.

But the request is simple.

Watch his house while he’s gone, guys.]
deathsdoctor: (Fight | That flat dead stare)
[It’s an overcast dawn. A small blessing. Because light smarts, and the glow creeping past his closed eyelids is irritating enough.

There is water all around him and he feels sick and powerless. From the noises around him, he can only guess he’s been dumped in the fountain, partly draped over the edge to keep him from drowning. It’s… not a good place to be, for a Hammer. The second feeling is something cold constricting around his throat.

The collar.

He snarls, trying to drag open his eyes. It does nothing, he knows, aside from push some very raw psychological buttons. A parting gift from the goddamn Malnosso. He had caused them so much trouble.]

… please, let it have been worth it.

[It was the only thing he had to hold onto there, and force of will lets him drag himself out of the water fully to flop on the ground. And he just lays there for a while, letting feeling and pain and sense of himself flow back in, and the blood trickling from his wounds to mix with the dust beneath him. Law hopes it remains quiet a little while longer – he could use the peace, despite the sickness that refuses to leave him. Drugged. He’s still drugged. That’s what it is.

But he can’t lie to himself. It’s not just drugs.

And then his fingers wrap around the metal choking him and tear, mindless of the damage it causes to his flesh, and the collar shatters. It was only cheap metal. Easily broken. Unlike the memories of…]


Fuckers. Fuckers.

[It does him no good to reflect on it. Or what Bepo could have experienced at their hands. But the memories parade themselves in front of him unwillingly – what they did to him, what they made him experience - what they made him experience again.

He pushes himself to his feet and starts walking... The condition of his body doesn’t matter. He’s only mostly dead. It shows - the wounds from when he was taken, the beatings from the guards, the tortures – and he doesn’t care. The open shirt and New Feather pants are plastered to him, and aren’t pristine white anymore. He doesn’t care. He can feel concern start to press on all sides around him – sharp and jagged, and he stumbles because he can feel it – and he doesn’t care.

He feels everyone nearby. It’s so---

Don’t touch him. Don’t TOUCH him. Fuck, he doesn’t care.

He just wants to get home.]


[OOC: Law’s Mallynap effect is that his Haki’s been awakened. More on what that is here. It’s untrained, and Law can’t filter anything out, so he’ll be sensing your character’s presence and intent if they approach. It grants a sort of empathy. It also allows him limited precognitive abilities, such as predicting the attacks of opponents before they come.

I’m having real troubles with LJ on my end, so tags might be sporadic. Hopefully LJ will iron itself out quickly enough that I don’t keep you waiting too long.]
deathsdoctor: (Fight | Swordpointing)
[Good evening, Luceti. Good evening, Community Housing Unit Two.

How is your night going? Are you with loved ones or friends tonight? Having dinner? Working? Perhaps, just perhaps, you’re contemplating turning in early for the night. It’s peaceful, as evenings go, after all. The stars are bright, the winds soft and perfumed with the scents of the nearby forests.

And over the journal, there it is…

… the sound of glass breaking. A book falling and thudding open… a snarl.

Here we go, that same old song and dance.]


Wha--- [ka-chink] WATCH OUT, BEPO!

[It happens with brutal speed and the journal window is obscured in blinding blue flaring light and shouts and screams and panic are drowned out in the sound of crashing and the ever rising roar of destruction and tremors that crescendos with an explosion. An explosion that tears out the exterior walls of Apartment 40 and most of the roof above it upwards and outwards in a cloud of concrete and twisted metal and other debris to fall like rain below.

Michael Bay would be proud.

And then a soft voice, horrified:]


Bepo…

[The voice changes then, becomes cold and unyielding as something looms into view. It is limned with blue fire and heavily bleeding, and it wields a sword.]

… listen up and listen well, you and your masters eavesdropping, because I’m going to say this only once. No one fucks with a man’s nakama and should expect to live. You want me?

[Death beckons.]

GET OVER HERE.

[And everything is drowned out in light and fury and rips outward from the apartment, ripping and slashing through the walls to the rest of floor eight and through the floor downwards to leave gaping rifts and wreckage in its path all the way to the sixth, and the roar only rises and the building shakes again.

Then it stops.

Eerie silence reigns.]


B-bepo? [COUGH. HACK. The sounds of someone dragging themselves across the floor.] … still alive. [The voice is wavering, relieved, before steeling.] Still alive.

[Bloody tattooed fingers pull the book closer, and something drips on the pages, and the man makes another wet, hacking sound.]

That can’t be…

… all of them…

[ And through that crimson veil, NOW you see it, in amidst all the wreckage and blood splattered everywhere, the remains of droids. The undefeated droids. Now empty eyed and shattered and reduced to no more than useless pieces. They don’t even twitch… just spark. Impossible, isn’t it? But long moments pass and yet…

No more come.

Look. The impossible is impossible no more.]

OOC information be here. )

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