@hisivoryskinâ
While it was disheartening, he and his twenty-some odd crew disembarked from the safety of the submarine; whispers of survivors from around the world; an island deemed to be nonexistent, yet here he was. Here they were. Marines had set them all on edge, however there was this intense need to look around, even if they would encounter troubleâ much to his surprise they were only regarded a few studious looks but otherwise ignored. With their Log Pose out of commission, Law had his crew rooted closely to the dock. Heâd venture in alone.
There was a time when heâd thought the Nagi-nagi to be out of his possession, forever lost to another before he could find and reclaim it. It would hold no purpose to him other than to keep the last of what was so important to him (and perhaps pass it on to a member of his crew). The mention of it had caught Lawâs attention immediately, Room opening beneath his palm into a swirling cloud and dome of blue. He wasnât attacking, rather rerouting his position to higher groundâ replaced only with an object heâd switched places with. His skin was cold, though he was sweating, a hot flash of anxiety lighting his nerves to make way for the adrenaline.
There was no way, no way in h e l l  would that be physically possible for the other to survive. He saw the wounds; he saw the blood and Law was sure as hell he knew when Corazon took his last breath. There was no way he could find a man like that in a populated area of those he couldnât recognize, nor remember ever seeing. However now, he would not be leaving until they found him. The vantage point gave him no leads; nothing to help him see, however; a short drop back down to land had Law confront the Marine. âWhere can I find him?â
Short, sweet, and to the point. Aggressive and surely pressed for time at this point. Anxietyâ what would he even say? Do? Would he still feel the same comfort around him?
âWhere can I find the silent man?â
The older man looked rather surprised when the younger male suddenly without warning was practically there, almost like the bastard teleported or something. Although it also probably was due to the fact he wasnât watching his surroundings when Law arrived.
âWhat Rosinante? The fucker lives alone up on that hill.â He pointed a crooked finger at what looked like a very large slapped together shack on the fourth hill that surrounded the town.
â Heâs a weirdo if you ask me. Heâs always yammering about how his son is the worldâs greatest doctor or some shit, but if you want to talk to him, he might throw a kid like you out. Heâs all fucked up in the head, guy canât even walk straight let alone invite strangers to his house.â The man then mumbled and just went back to his work, which was, just standing there and doing nothing of use. He seemed far too old to be an active marine, but still wore the damn coat and acted as such.
The shack, from this distance looked like an average found wood and put together house from the outside, but the closer anyone got, the more they realized, how large it was. It was not a house built for a smaller man.
After a few minutes, a blond scraggly haired and hunched over, while fumbling figure came out of it, to kick at a wall as if he was testing its strength or his own. In one of his hands, he held a cane, while the other seemed to be holding a cigarette. The man was in a black coat with a feathered trim around the top, and from the corner one could see a blue painted smile on his face.
At this point the words â You damn fucker.â Could be heard even from the distance Law was at.
The name.. So it was him, without a doubt. He felt like he was about to burst; Room flourished without itâs drawn command; though for the moment he flashed the Marine a grin. âMaybe you should listen to your elders. I am the Surgeon of Death.â It wasnât like he was threatening the man; but he wouldnât give the time to explain any more than that-- already displacing himself with objects in order to reach Rosinante as quickly as he could be carried.
As he grew closer, Law took his time to slow down, eventually walking the rest of the way up the hill. What would he say? Or do? Would he even be able to do either? Already, he was holding his breath, swallowing thickly before exhaling rather slow. Clearing his throat-- Law hoped to catch the otherâs attention.
Itâs been too long; way too long. And the moment his eyes met a painted face, he was done. Law struggled to stay still despite the harsh beating of his heart, pulse skyrocketing every moment he stood before Rosinante. âCora-san.â A name he hasnât spoken since their separation; printed only on the back of the trench coat aboard his ship. For the moment, he wore the feather-trimmed, long sleeved shirt; jolly roger marking the front of his chest.
