Oft got without merit, oft lost without deserving

[Hello Luceti. You’re greeted by the sound of a journal opening and muttering. And in the far background, rustling. Like something is squirming around in the distance - wrapping, twining, growing.

We might have a problem here.]



Is there anyone in the village with extensive knowledge of fairy tales? We have a situation on our hands we could use some advice dealing with. [Or maybe even a rescue, but Law’s pride keeps him from saying that much - for now.]



Thorns. [Katara’s voice piped in.] Lots and lots of thorns. They’re growing and overtaking the house, and we’re not sure why.



We think they’re connected to a kidnapping effect. The lady affected has been in an unnaturally deep sleep for days and nothing seems to wake her. [Nothing. Not even beer bottles perched on her head. 8|a ] Has anyone heard of anything like this?

((This is an open post that can be fielded by anybody trapped in the house. Threadjack to your hearts’ content - Law’s journal is made to be snatched from him and anyone else who has it.))

[ 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.]

[It’s an overcast dawn. A small blessing. Because light smarts, and the glow creeping past his closed eyelids is irritating enough.

There is water all around him and he feels sick and powerless. From the noises around him, he can only guess he’s been dumped in the fountain, partly draped over the edge to keep him from drowning. It’s… not a good place to be, for a Hammer. The second feeling is something cold constricting around his throat.

The collar.

He snarls, trying to drag open his eyes. It does nothing, he knows, aside from push some very raw psychological buttons. A parting gift from the goddamn Malnosso. He had caused them so much trouble.]

… please, let it have been worth it.

[It was the only thing he had to hold onto there, and force of will lets him drag himself out of the water fully to flop on the ground. And he just lays there for a while, letting feeling and pain and sense of himself flow back in, and the blood trickling from his wounds to mix with the dust beneath him. Law hopes it remains quiet a little while longer – he could use the peace, despite the sickness that refuses to leave him. Drugged. He’s still drugged. That’s what it is.

But he can’t lie to himself. It’s not just drugs.

And then his fingers wrap around the metal choking him and tear, mindless of the damage it causes to his flesh, and the collar shatters. It was only cheap metal. Easily broken. Unlike the memories of…]

Fuckers. Fuckers.

[It does him no good to reflect on it. Or what Bepo could have experienced at their hands. But the memories parade themselves in front of him unwillingly – what they did to him, what they made him experience - what they made him experience again.

He pushes himself to his feet and starts walking... The condition of his body doesn’t matter. He’s only mostly dead. It shows - the wounds from when he was taken, the beatings from the guards, the tortures – and he doesn’t care. The open shirt and New Feather pants are plastered to him, and aren’t pristine white anymore. He doesn’t care. He can feel concern start to press on all sides around him – sharp and jagged, and he stumbles because he can feel it – and he doesn’t care.

He feels everyone nearby. It’s so---

Don’t touch him. Don’t TOUCH him. Fuck, he doesn’t care.

He just wants to get home.]

[OOC: Law’s Mallynap effect is that his Haki’s been awakened. More on what that is here. It’s untrained, and Law can’t filter anything out, so he’ll be sensing your character’s presence and intent if they approach. It grants a sort of empathy. It also allows him limited precognitive abilities, such as predicting the attacks of opponents before they come.

I’m having real troubles with LJ on my end, so tags might be sporadic. Hopefully LJ will iron itself out quickly enough that I don’t keep you waiting too long.]

[Coming from here there is a voice coming from the journals, and just a voice. There is no portrait or video because, you know...

Trafalgar Law is just too fucking busy.

You might recognise his voice though, you might not. This voice belonged to the one running the medical center during the farmlands draft. But. The easy, laid back tones are gone. In their place? Hardness, crispness, bluntness. A near military sharpness. Calm, but there is an icy undercurrent and a steel resolve.

This is the Captain speaking. And he wants your attention.

Shit needs to be done. Someone has to step up.]

Attention everyone. The Town Clinic has been destroyed. [And Law is terribly, TERRIBLY grumpy about this fact.] All wounded must be brought to the Battle Dome for treatment. We need any and all individuals with any medical knowledge or healing abilities to pitch in, whether it's to operate, run triage, or nurse the wounded, and we need you all now. We also need people to search for wounded and to bring back any survivors. [Oooor pull them out of the line of fire. Same diff, really.]

As well, we need volunteers to donate blood. The Medical Center's supplies are running low.

[Short, sweet, direct, and done. Now back to work, and chaos and the choking scent of blood.

Medicine at its finest.

So here it is, doctors, healers, and helpers of Luceti. Your call to arms.

Strap on your boots, steel your nerves, and prepare yourself.

It's time to roll.]




((OOC: This is an shoutout and organizational post for all the medics and rescuers looking to get in on the action but not sure how to insert their characters, as well as for people to just react and find each other in the chaos. The actual healing thread is here. Law will not be answering every thread... he's a busy guy, and if he does, he'll be pretty blunt and looking to keep things short, so I HIGHLY encourage threadjack everywhere for everyone.

Go nuts folks. |D))