I Think Law Deserves A Thread Where He Infodumps About Comics To Cora, Who Knows Absolutely Nothing,

i think law deserves a thread where he infodumps about comics to cora, who knows absolutely nothing, like the nerd he is.

"....... cora-san." the sickly child sighs out heavily as if he was instead a parent of the two about to go on a lecture; unable to smother his incredulous, wide eyed expression as he raptly watches said man finish stomping out the sad, charred remains of their itchy blankets. that the blond had set on fire after a light breeze had blown his still hot cigarette ash onto the bag that was safely holding together their meager, but ultimately, better than nothing, sleeping supplies from the elements. was was the key word here.

the undercover marine's luck was so atrocious law still couldn't believe it, even after months of them traveling together. alas, law was too tired to fuss & fume over the accident, so he merely squeezes the bridge of his nose with the tips of his spotted fingers to rein in his emotions & peaking headache.

"...... it'll be colder tonight than yesterday. I hope you have enough room in that ridiculous coat for me." he huffs after a short, terse pause; parchment paper-thin face pink from sudden embarrassment at his rather .... childish suggestion. (mettleburdened)

　　❝ ...good call. ❞

　rosinante agreed at once, half-surprised the boy didn't yell at him for the screw up. usually when law was grouchy like this, he tended to get set off more than usual by the older man's 'quirks'. yet, here he was, giving him an out. he supposed he should be grateful for that, even if it was more out of resignation of having no other option than anything.

the donquixote was certain he could salvage some of what was in the bag. a little char didn't hurt anybody, and he'd slept with moldier, more ratty blankets when he had no other option as a child. but, that could wait until tomorrow; it had been a long day and, for now, his coat was enough for both of them. ❝ absolutely, kid. i've got plenty of room in this thing ー it's huge! ❞

at least the pair still had their weather-proof tarp ー currently staked into the ground ー as a makeshift cot. it would be enough to keep their backsides dry, at least. small victories. rosinante situated himself on the ground and opened his coat, as if inviting him to jump right into his lap.

❝ this is thing weather-proof and disaster-proof. comfy & warm as can be, i promise. ❞

// @mettleburdened

　　　❝ i - uh, sure! sure - ❞

　rosinante fumbled, caught between honoring law's demand for silence and his own eagerness to take every opportunity he could to talk. the older man had always been quiet, even as a boy ー but recently, he felt like his experience working under his brother's crew had rewired his brain.

his carefully instilled self-discipline to keep himself quiet at all times had gone out the window; the two of them had been traveling together for roughly a month, and just having the unrestricted ability to talk ー not having to look over his shoulder, not having to look for where he set his pen & paper down ー was a luxury he wanted to take advantage of. much to law's chagrin, clearly. he settled for a nod, large palms tenting themselves over the little doctor's, pinning the splints in place with an index & thumb and allowing law the space to slip his hands free.

rosinante took his brief role as physician's assistant quite seriously, watching law's movements and adjusting the placement of his own hands accordingly with each pass law made around his ankle with the wrappings. once law had wrapped it enough he was sure the splints wouldn't move, he let go and resisted the urge to fish for one of the last cigarettes he had on hand.

　flaunting one health problem he had in front of law right as he was in the middle of fixing another seemed in poor taste (not to mention, with law sitting so close to him, the very real risk of rosinante setting himself on fire was now a risk to both of them).

within thirty seconds, the agony of the last several hours ー the pain that pulsed upwards, from heel to glute with every step, stronger & stronger by the second ー felt more like a memory he had simply heard about rather than experienced himself. the donquixote couldn't help but tip his head back, a soft exhale passing into the open air.

there was still throbbing, still a sharp pain lying in wait to strike again the moment he next twitched any muscle in that foot ー but, for now, rosinante was over the moon, once again forgoing his promise of shutting up.

　❝ shit. that... that's better... ❞ he sighed dreamily, the relief evident as the features on his face began to smooth out. guess he didn't need that cigarette, after all. ❝ so much better... thanks, kid. ❞

   a barely audible grumble is let out in response as small, ashen hands pull a field kit from his pack. he doesn't want the apology or excuses, and he sure as hell doesn’t want the dumb, quiet, sympathetic look that corazón is giving him either. the pity irritates the boy even further, as if without it he doesn’t already know the full weight of his situation. stop it. stop looking at me like that! 

   what is the heart executive’s purpose in all of this? Law still doesn’t understand. what does the man think they’ll find? how many hospitals had they visited? how many more did he want to torture Law with by dragging him to, before finally realizing that there is no help for him? no one wants to help him. all of the townsfolk, all of the doctors and nurses and orderlies, they only see a walking, ‘contagious’ zombie, so why couldn’t this jerk just leave him alone, and let him die, like every other person in this shitty world had?

    ❝ be quiet, ❞  his tone is firm, breaths steadying as lungs gradually calm from the small amount of previous exertion. an effort is made not to look up at the man — he can’t take it. Instead amber hues remain shadowed beneath the brim of his hat, gaze kept down and focused on the injury in front of him. ❝ and let me do my job. ❞ his job, the skill that gives Law even a momentary sense of purpose to a quickly dwindling life. let him do this one thing so he can feel normal for a few minutes.

   dwarfed in comparison to the executive’s leg, the little doctor’s hands reach out to roll and cuff the length of a light-colored pant leg by a few inches, making the injury more accessible. at first glance, observant eyes immediately note the clear inflammation and swelling of the man’s ankle — ha, as suspected. the tiniest smirk itches to appear. 

   turning away for a moment, the boy retrieves a few items from his medical kit, depositing them beside the man’s foot — a little jar with a small, hand-written label on the lid, a beige fabric roll, white tape, and two folded pieces of what appear to be a malleable-type metal. from the jar, fingers scoop a cream-like substance, then begin applying it to the area of inflammation. and though his irritation at the heart executive seems never-ending, Law’s hands are mindful in their work ( gentle even ) in the way they handle tender areas. 

    ❝ that should start helping with the pain and swelling … ❞ the words are muttered under his breath, as if reluctant to share this information, yet also unable to stop himself from giving a proper explanation. but as he continues to quietly go about wrapping the swollen ankle with compression fabric, the perpetual scowl typically worn by the raven-haired boy almost seems to relax, even if by only a little. 

   it’s short-lived. just as features start to loosen, Law’s disgruntled frown deepens once more. the two strips of metal, shaped to fit snugly against either side of corazón’s ankle, cannot both be held in place by one hand while the other secures them in place with the tape. his hands are too small. 

   Law freezes to stare at the situation, analyzing, irises darting to one hand then the other, trying to figure out some way to make this work without needing another set of hands. stupid corazón and his stupid big leg. his chin dips further, eyes fixating on the ground as moving lips direct a mumble at the patchy, dry grass below. 

       ❝ can you ... can you hold this here? ❞

probably won't get to these for a few days, or maybe not until early next week, but here's a tentative meme/inbox call from cora.

i'll pick 1-3 memes from your tag to send in. no cap, though i might be selective about what i decide to turn into threads depending on how many people like this. just trying to gently ease myself back into things.

ー the burning keeps me alive.

(ind. donquixote rosinante)

　it was never his proudest moment, whenever rosinane lost his cool like this. once he calmed down, usually several hours later when they were either back on their little dinghy or after setting up camp for the night, the guilt would follow pretty immediate. not because he assaulted a doctor; not at all ー fuck the doctors. but his outbursts did tend to set off a domino effect and create problems for others ー like the other patients, for example.

hospitals never seemed to have enough staff to keep up with the amount of patients as-is, and rosinante knocking one of their lead pediatricians out cold didn't help matters. here he was, furious he couldn't get these doctors to provide care for his little traveling companion, and delaying other sick people from getting the care they needed. what was the proper word for that? ironic? hypocritical? he wasn't sure.

but, speaking of his little traveling companion...

months ago, if rosinante lost sight of law, he would have panicked. but that was at the beginning of their journey together; back when law still had the stamina to walk the same length of miles in a day that rosinante did (or could at least for himself to); back when he still had the endurance to run, jump, climb, and all the other things children of his age could do.

they were past that now. dangerously, dangerously past that.

　❝ law! there you are... ❞

rosinante would rather pull his teeth out than call that a 'positive' thing, but law's worsening respiratory system at least ensured he couldn't run neither fast nor far. sure enough, the older man found him a short distance from the treeline to the left of the hospital's main gate, having followed the tiny trail of footprints in the snow.

　❝ hey... c'mon, you're gonna soak through your clothes, sitting on the ground like that... ❞

ੈ✩ ｡˚  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧  𝐡𝐮𝐞𝐬  𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐭,  taking  in  the  snowy  terrain  around  them.  this  had  to  be  the  fifth  winter  island  in  a  row,  and  now  they  were  all  starting  to  blend  together.  law  wanted  to  blame  that  on  the  similar  terrains  or  the  lack  of  time  they  spend  in  one  location,  but  he  isn't  stupid  —  the  disease  is  getting  worse,  he  has  a  month,  and  even  that's  pushing  it.  with  a  sigh,  law  lets  his  head  fall  atop  his  pulled  -  up  legs,  pressing  his  cheek  into  his  knees  until  it  hurts.  crying  is  useless  no  matter  how  much  he'd  like  to,  and  so  are  all  these  hospital  trips.  they'd  been  kicked  out  of  yet  another  one,  and  while  corazón  was  busy  throwing  a  fit,  the  boy  had  run  off  —  but  based  on  footsteps,  it  seemed  the  blonde  had  finally  found  him . . .

@code01746 gets a little law starter.