it leaves a bad taste in his mouth; the politics, the coverups, the inability to face failure. he has his own failures to attest to, ones that he'd rather close his eyes to and never acknowledge, the ones that keep him up some nights. but, that simply wasn't an option.
the world government, on the other hand, doesn't intend on learning from their mistakes , which dictates how the navy handles theirs. especially a mistake of this magnitude. they're intent on reducing donquixote rosinante to a blip in the system , to leave his body to rot beneath the snow.
" you aren't supposed to be outta your bed. " garp finds iselda standing at the railing outside her room, practically bandaged from head to toe. it's a wonder she can even stand in the state they found her in. listening to the doctor rattle off all her sustained injuries made him sick.
approaching closer , he stands alongside her, bracing his elbows against the cool metal of the railing. beneath the dawning sun, soft pinkish sky and bright rays, her swollen face, purple and green bruises blooming all over and marring her face, freshly set nose, kept in place with thick bandages--- all of it in full view. her left sleeve fluttered in the wind where her prosthetic had been , it had been damaged in the vicious battle, torn from her and battered, pieces scattered in the snow.
" d'you hear me, iselda? " ( garp + iselda ; 001. )