deathsdoctor | 014 [Action/possibly voice]

[ 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.]

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[He allows himself to slump and lean against the nearest upright surface (in this case, a tree) to read through the announcement and the list.

There are a lot of familiar names on it. Nami. Sanji. Ace. Kotestu (he wonders how that optimism has fared). Frey. Vash. Raine. Mia. Sayo.

Shikamaru.

And with every name his head throbs a little more and his vision swims.]

If they're not talking to us, they've got more internal problems then they're letting on, for starters.

I got the impression that wasn't the way they usually handled things, yes.

[It is peculiar, and it makes him wish he had more experience with the Malnosso to infer what it might mean. But he can only go off the experience of others at this point.]

This is the first draft since they began the missions, correct? I wonder if it has anything to do with that.

Yeah.

It might... [There's a hesitant pause in his tone. They're listening. He does not like to speculate about the Malnosso too much over the feed.] not all the other Malnosso are happy about us being freed from this cage, even temporarily and restricted as we are.

[...Temporarily. He doesn't like to think about that.

He does get the sense of hesitation, though--always listening, aren't they? That's not unfamiliar...]

I see. They seem to certainly have some mysterious motives.

Say, Law. How about that cup of tea we discussed?

Gonna have to happen tomorrow. [Regretful. He would like to talk about what happened there - and about him and the nurse. But tired, and getting more tired. The world is getting dark around the edges. Smeary. Like it's been painted and smudged in with oils.] I don't know how much longer I can keep conscious at this rate. And I'll need to check in at the clinic before I do anything else in the morn.

[Draft. Draftees. Injuries. Priorities. He told you he was a doctor, didn't he?

... smeary. His head is smeary.]

But I will definitely see you tomorrow.

Right. It can wait. [He's eager to talk, as well, but it isn't that pressing. He's more than happy to let Law get some rest before asking him all the questions about all the things--some perhaps more personal than he's expecting with regards to what he knows now.

Was his brother...]

Good. See that you get your rest. I can't imagine you had much time for it out there. [From what he gathered from Ed's mission experience, at least.]

[A small wan chuckle.] Sleep isn't really listed as an essential activity for workers for the Malnosso. But I will.

[Yes. He expects that talk sooner or later. And he has his reasons for not telling you the first time after you returned. You were so new and he? Was leaving... with no certainty of return, into that. So rushed. It was not the time.

... and how do you approach something like that?

How, Maes, how?

Not when you can't remember. Not when you can't understand.]

Good night, Maes.

[Bluntly and directly is his way of doing things. But he knows full well that doesn't work for everyone. So it just might depend on waiting for that opportune moment to bring it up.]

Good night, Trafalgar. Take care of yourself.

You too.

[And the journal feed ends. Conversation over. And Law stares upwards, still leaning against the tree trunk at the sky. It's snowing - and the stars are hidden from view.

The Supernova sighs.

Trafalgar.

His first name. So few people actually use it; they can be counted on the fingers of only one hand. You were told, weren't you?

Because, Maes, that was what you called him before.

And then Law sighs again, and pushes off to start walking again. To the village now - time to leave the lonely road behind.]

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