*gathers All Of The Law Muses And Puts Them In A Box To Stare At Forever* - Tumblr Posts

a package had, somehow, found its way aboard to polar tang and in the captain’s quarters. how did mail even get delivered to a submarine that spent most of its time underwater? a holiday miracle, perhaps. the contents of the package were strange; a leather bag with a collection of antique-looking jars & medical tools, and a letter addressed to heart pirates’ captain. 

to the “surgeon of death”,

   not to criticize, but could you have maybe picked something a little nicer for your nickname? i know you can be a morbid little freak sometimes, but that doesn’t inspire much confidence in your ability as a doctor. just saying. if my surgeon for my ankle reconstruction as a kid was calling themselves “dr. death”, i might have turned around and hobbled myself right out of the hospital.

but, speaking of things that are morbid and/or freaky, i found these antiques. i think it’s a bloodletting kit? my choices were between either this or an orbitoclast, and… it’s not that i don’t trust you with lobotomy tools, but i don’t trust you with lobotomy tools. it’s not that i think you would hurt anybody, but you’re too mischievous for your own good sometimes and i feel like you’d use it to scare your friends or something. like i said: morbid little freak (love you, though).

maybe you could tell me more about them next time i visit? or, another great idea—you come visit me? hmm? or, call… sometimes, y’know? i know you’ve got your own life, and your own things going on, i’m sure you’re busy—but if i’m the only one who calls, i just feel like i’m bothering you, y’know? it’s strange; all i wanted during the thirteen years we were apart was to bother you—i had so much i wanted to say, so many little gifts i bought with the hopes i could give them to you one day, but now i’m just… scared to?

i don’t want you to be annoyed with me calling you every day, i guess is what i’m saying. it’s hard to tell if i’m if i’m the only one calling. but i know you’re busy, so i don’t hold it against you, but, if you're not annoyed… maybe call me after you get this? or, when you’ve got time. if you want. no pressure.

　　　　　　　　　love you,

  　　　　　　　　　　 cora

law settles down on the bed, the soft norther-style fur hat placed on the small bedside table, on top of a pile of books he had been reading all at once, a mixture of medicine matters, historical events of the new world of recent centuries and maybe a comic tugged in between. golden eyes take in all the lines of the card. "not like i was the one who suggested it," he sighs a little. his crew had been awfully excited about the navy's pick for them. at least, he's luckier than some others with epithets they'd never get rid of again.

there is certainly no denial when it comes to accepting he has quite a morbid humor at times, somewhere closer to being scary than funny. he can't change it ... ah, cora-san does really know him well, it cracks a small grin on his lips as he gives the tools a short look. it's a gift so he would cherish it either way, no matter if they might not leave the polar ever again.

white teeth bite down on roughed-up pink lips, an indication he is doing this far too often whenever he is by himself, too many thoughts to find solutions to each of them at once. of course, law knows this isn't far from the truth. whenever it comes to staying in touch, it's oddly difficult for him. somehow, he started to put up walls in his life, even for those closest to him. he should be more mindful of how they hurt them one or the other way.

he often thinks about calling but whenever he does try, he finds himself realizing that there's nothing he i has to tell. instead, he knows all he wants sometimes is to listen to the other man. how he rambles ahead, about everything and nothing and it's all that breaks through a comforting silence. law is the opposite, not a man of many words but he can cherish the neverending stories of the blond.

"tch," he sighs, carefully placing the letter in between the pile of books. "calling underneath the sea really ain't that easy," fingers tapping against his knee before he pushes himself up, instead, pulling out an empty line and a pencil, words scribbled down as he writes his thoughts down. this, unlike talking, comes much easier to him.