cxnsolatio

[cxnsolatio]

/ ooc. Yeah, sorry I lied. I'm having trouble with getting use to my new work and just want to cry. It will pass, don't worry. I just guess I'll "see you" on the weekend.

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/ ooc. hi, everyone! sorry for the silence this week, i started my new job in a new pharmacy. between today and sunday, I'm writing drafts and what i finish I'll queue so the blog shows activity doing the weekdays, and i have to revise some protocols in-between. hope you're doing well. dm's are open as always.

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our lady of the blind gate by emil melmoth

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What's the best thing about my muse?

Let me know what you like in the ask box

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The veins on his forehead bulged threateningly as he listened to Dr. Patches's tittle-tattle of clown types, unaccustomed to hearing a voice other than his own stretch a minor footnote into a full essay. Another time, another place, a lesser amount of prejudice, Law would have been quite pleased to bask in cultured chatter. ❝ Reinforcing what I said earlier, I did not come to pontificate on subjective merriment or commedia dell'arte. You could learn from your idols and pantomime accordingly. Save me the trouble of your pesky voice. ❞

It was a good thing he was slim. The passageway the clown had him traverse was too strait even for an alley cat's liking, and someone's afterthought of turning it into a spare dressing room was so daft it became ingenious. Behind his melancholy hostess, Law stuck his tongue out at a balloon in the guise of a flamingo, all the more flamboyant in a pair of plastic glasses empty of lenses and covered in gaudy pink sparkles. How kitsch! But say, that feathery coat of a sage hue over there, draped atop cloths of stripes and polka dots, that one did have thrifting appeal. Maybe Law would return for it after his business with the clown was through. With a final middle finger erected and directed at the flamingo, Law returned his gaze to the massive orange shape resembling a pumpkin that was Patches and stopped in his tracks.

His brow furrowed deeper at her words as if it were made of children's playdough. Everything coming out of the woman's mouth was perfectly aggravating, from the notion of having been lured into this house of horrors under a false pretense, to the thought it all had been in vain — the sticky floors, the glittery curtains, the tasteless pleasantries of the circus — if there was no specimen to be found at the end of the motherfucking rainbow.

❝ I would hardly call that a trick. Falsification without cunning is nought but a brainless action. ❞ He concluded coolly, finally stepping inside another antechamber to his personal Tartaturs.

There were books, yet this was no library. There were beakers and Bunsen burners, yet this was no laboratory. The colourful tones that reflected off the furniture dirtied up the place, giving it the aura of a clandestine drug-producing facility, at best, or the living quarters of a destitute dope fiend, at its worst. Thus, what had started as a steady walk towards the table became a quick run, as Law feared for the state his precious alga might be in, at risk in such foolish hands!

Pumpkin, bumpkin.

❝ YOU…! HARE-BRAINED GIRL! ❞ Law snapped as if Patches had just insulted his darling mother, and she could count herself lucky he had not hit her with more vulgar language. The anger raging inside rendered Law momentarily unable of producing articulate speech, let alone quality, deep-burning insults. ❝ You haven't the foggiest! Grr! ❞ He pulled at his hair, threatening to pull it off his scalp in one brazen motion. ❝ Fuck this uncontrolled and chaotic environment! This fucking light! Don't you know plants are photosynthetic and the misuse of light's wavelengths and wave amplitude could cause an unwanted reaction, thus compromising any scientific endeavour--❞

Wheezing, Law had to stop for breath. He patted his pockets for a salbutamol inhaler. The indignity of the situation the poor alga had been exposed to, bare and desolate under some clown's garish palette, made him angry as if the plant were factually his. His specimen, his research, his motherfucking results!

Law rested his cheek against the glass of the tank for a moment, almost as if saying 'don't worry, dear, daddy's got you'. He found comfort in the idea that he could revert this situation and save the alga once it was safe in the controlled environment of the Tang. As for the bluish pickle bobbing about in the water and staring back at his distorted figure, it stayed mum on the subject of salvation.

One single drop of sweat tumbled down Law's forehead.

Oh, could there be no end to his misery?!

❝ Yeah, no shit?! If someone had already found out how to best use this alga for medical purposes, they would have published peer-reviewed articles already, wouldn't they? There's no biblio-- ❞ Law's speech cut off a second time; a most rare precedent that seemed increasingly habitual as of recently. To him, it was an embarrassing nuisance. To her, a possibly proud victory. Not many women could boast about having a similar effect on Trafalgar Law… whatever that meant.

❝ What do you mean you're not a girl'? You must be what, fifteen? ❞

And the surprises just kept coming. Boy, did he hate the wretched, foul, anathematised, motherfucking circus!!

✚✚✚ @circus-and-shenanigans // continued

Law followed the little clown throughout the sinuous insides of the big top, through the narrow alleys between seats, one heeled foot fitting at a time. He held Kikoku higher against his shoulder, almost as if a parent would carry a toddler in a crowded space for fear of losing them. It was the dirt floor he minded, to spare his sword the dishonour of meeting with some gluttonous child's half-licked, sticky-as-glue lolly. Law grimaced at the vision of paper wraps and unpopped kernels of corn sprawled under his feet. How had he allowed himself to get caught up in this mess, again?

Oh, yes. The funny (as in 'peculiar' rather than 'amusing') clown girl had lassoed him in with the promise not of entertainment, but of medicine.

She had said she was a doctor, a claim that earned her a studious gaze bundled up in doubt. This orange thing was a doctor? For all his brilliance, Law did lack the necessary amount of self-awareness to recognise that most civilians, too, would doubt him a doctor when he sported a loose shirt buttoned up with haste over his jeans and black polish over his fingernails so casually. Both he and the clown were as far removed from the semblance of a textbook doctor, with their one white coat and two rows of white teeth arranged into a reassuring smile as could be. All things considered, it was discerning of a circus to harbour a medical team, only not right next to the menagerie, he hoped, for a nomadic, strenuous lifestyle offered plenty of opportunities for injury. And the jolly roger lulling in the wind above the tarpaulin had not escaped Law's atttentive watch. Pirates required medical assistance more than the average person.

❝ Listen, Raggedy Ann...! ❞ he started, an edge of warning to his voice, her jab at his aquatic lifestyle returned in kind as he manoeuvred the space towards the reserved compound of doors and platforms the audience had no idea lay within and underneath the circus. ❝ I'll have you know submarines are lots of fun. ❞

What the hell did she know of his literary soirées? Of the crew's monthly talent shows? Of the most exciting, free-for-all race to the loo after every Tuesday's taco dinner? Why, she was but a simpleton, all too excited to watch some other idiot in oversized shoes juggle up some balls and deem it as entertainment. If there was a literal embodiment of the panem et circenses phrase, here it was.

❝ I am not a man to be toyed with. I did not come here, to the very depths of Satan's rectum, to discuss the concept of merriment over tea with a child. Where is the chlorophyte? ❞

She had said, and not just in passing, to be in possession of a rare species of algae Law had read about in his studies. Although, admittedly, phycology was a field of pharmaceutical interest he generally buried under other priorities. The species was said to be at least a hundred times more efficient than other maritime eukaryotes in boosting immunity and serving as an anticancerous agent, nothing short of a miracle if proven true. If he could get this alga into his laboratory and multiply it so he got enough specimens to sample from... Only the hypothesis of an unprecedented scientific breakthrough could have made him enter the circus tent.

Trafalgar Law hissed, catlike when the faux flower hit him with a surprise drizzle. Though hygienic, he would rather take his shower the conventional way. Just like he would like to keep his feet not stepped on by stupid miniature velocipedes! ❝ I really, really hate the circus! I'll take my clowns in the form of Ruggero Leoncavallo, thank you.❞

His eyes were daggers directed at this Doctor Patches character, but then the gold in them melted and glinted with mischief. Kikoku made another move on his shoulder, ready to lose her sheath. ❝ There is no fucking chance a clown can trick me. ❞

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❝ I'm already doubling the posology. ❞ The trained doctor's voice was deadpan but his expression did not meet the neutrality the tone implied. Law just could not resist a simper, nor the opportunity to bestow his blessings upon a damsel in distress. ❝ Lucky for you, I find myself in a charitable disposition. It happens more often than people assume. I wonder why that is. ❞ Ever fond of theatrics as, he pinched his chin and furrowed his brow, pretending to give the question a good reasoning. Why, he was such a delightful person…

Law produced a sepia-tinged bottle from the backpack which covered his person this afternoon. Judging by the clatter it made being moved to the front so that he could be half-unzipped, it seemed to be weighed down with recent purchases from the local apothecaries and dispensaries.

❝ You do understand this ❞ Law shook the bottle in Nami's face, the motion soundless as the soft capsules hugged each other and made for no amusing rattling, ❝ is only to aid with migraines, nausea and the sporadic bout of anxiety. You are not getting high on this medicine. ❞

After hurling the bottle at the navigator with certainty that she would catch it mid-air with feline reflexes, Law turned his now free palm upwards in a universal gesture for monetary compensation, the index and thumb pointed forth like the wicked claws of some folklore villain after ailing the princess with an ulterior motive. ❝ The first two capsules were a freebie, but you will have to pay for the whole bottle. That's where I draw the line as far as philanthropy is concerned, I'm afraid.

❝ That will be 88,000 berries. Credit is a financial practice I do not care for. ❞ And Nami knew better than to tease purchasing in a non-pecuniary manner. She ought to know by now that her charms had no effect on him. Not her puppy eyes, so big and round. Neither anything else qualifiable under the same terms, for that matter. ❝ Although... seeing how formidably altruistic I am, I am willing to accept a trade of equitable value instead of money. ❞ Again it surfaced on his face, that totemic grin a wolf character had once greeted a little girl character walking the forest in a red cape with.

❝ Furthermore, ❞ The backpack closed back up and hanging from its perch again, Law careened closer to Nami, his face centimetres from hers. ❝ should you be interested in trying the kind of stuff you can get high on, that, too, can be arranged. ❞

@cxnsolatio replied to your post “Head? Aching. Don't go near her. Don't touch her....”:

"Here, take two capsules of cannabis sativa."

​Oh?

Oh.

"You know, it's a big headache. Could I maybe have... a few more?~"

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               ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵐʸ ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳᶦᵉˢ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᶠᵃᵈᵉᵈ ; ᵗʰᵉʸ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ ʰᵃᵘⁿᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵒⁿᶜᵉ ᵃᵍᵃᶦⁿ.               ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵐʸ ᵐᶦⁿᵈ ᶦˢ ˢᵒᵐᵉʷʰᵃᵗ ʲᵃᵈᵉᵈ ; ⁿᵒʷ, ᶦᵗ'ˢ ᵗᶦᵐᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗʳᶦᵏᵉ ᵃᵍᵃᶦⁿ.

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/ ooc. i am so happy i got carmen tickets for june! it's my favourite of the french operas. *squeals*

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✚✚✚ @cisnecorazon

It would take time to get used to his mere living condition, the confirmation of his continued existence, let alone to assimilate him anew, learning if the heartful man of his boyhood had modified his personality in the slightest or grown out of his more unbecoming antics. Everyone changed — an infinitesimal amount per random interval — but longing was a complainer. It wished for resistance against nature's due course; it craved a beloved moment to endure, no longer fleeting and lost, an eternal vignette of how things must truly be. It made Law wish Corazón remained the same to facilitate reconnection and prolong their last happy flashes as circumstantial father and son. Nostalgia did have the habit of colouring memories a rosy hue, but Law knew the joys he recalled from those days with Corazón to be real, not just a coping mechanism of caprice. An egotistical want, for certain, but love has a way with selfishness in all its forms, including this one.

One pesky observation that change had, indeed, remained constant — how dare it? — bothered Law at first, as he realised Corazón did not seem as hauntingly big anymore. The boy had done a good deal of catching up to the man since, the same noun acquired for himself in the process, though a full metre still set them apart. But the unease soon materialised into a soft smile, as Law understood some things, such as the awe this impossibly tall, gangly man of avian resemblance in him inspired, were meant to be.

They were, if not unchanged, an untouchable pair.

Law cleared his throat, the reverberation causing his smile to dissipate. His voice was strictly business. ❝ Let's show you the Tang. ❞

He guided Corazón through the busy docks, avoiding shipments of unnamed crates and barrels of obvious alcohol being unloaded from the conventional ships of local merchants, or otherwise consigned unto pirate vessels alike, and the contrary as well, his feet well accustomed to the bobbing of the water below the old wooden ways. Here, they avoided a prancing quartet of children playing ball; the children of sailors perhaps. There, an escapee goat munching on some bastard's precious map.

The silence between the two heavied on him, urging Law to shatter it, but he was never a fan of speaking for the sake of having thoughts materialise, and he recalled Corazón as a man of silence, though of grand mute showmanship. The seagulls calling from above were never a good augury amongst seamen, so how come their loud chatter seemed to lift Law's spirits a tad? To a sheltered boy who knew no better, seagulls promised adventure on the high seas, not rue over dark waters. ❝ The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared; merrily did we drop...❞ he murmured within earshot. A moment of tension could be afforded. They had plenty of time to talk, Corazón and him, so long as neither shot Coleridge's albatross down.

❝ Don't you forget it, ❞ Law admonished as he set a freshly-produced cigarette square between his lips, ❝ I am the captain. That means your allegiance too. Just like it means I'm responsible for you as well. ❞ A cloud of smoke was released and, with it, a sense of wariness.

Some others may wear the title of captain lightly, moved by authority and selfish grandeur, or even childish dreaming, but not Trafalgar Law. He understood it as an honour, for it meant people deposited their dreams on his back; their very lives on his hands. He had to be capable. More than liable, Law had to prove time and again that he was deserving of having said honour bestowed upon his body.

Now, he had one more person to keep.

❝ Well, here we are. ❞ He concluded as they reached the submarine's assigned place of mooring. You could say it was unorthodox for pirates to follow docking etiquette, but no one had appeared to collect their fare yet. Good luck finding a fellow willing to tax the Surgeon of Death. ❝ The Polar Tang. How do you like it? ❞

❝ She was much different at first. ❞ Law interrupted before Corazón could begin a response, perhaps prompted by a need to show off his accomplishments. True enough he did not appreciate unnecessary chatter, but seldom do we get to do just as we would like and not as we ought to. ❝ Just a nondescript submarine we coloured yellow and emblazoned with our jolly roger. But we worked on her as time went by and restorations both minor and major were needed. We developed skill. Personally, I think she's fucking glorious. ❞

Law ventured a look in Cora's direction again, his eyes big and round like a boy's and his mouth hard and busy like a man's. He patted his newest comrade in the arm.

❝ Welcome home, Corazón. ❞

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@cxnsolatio said it here first, folks

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✚✚✚ @circus-and-shenanigans // continued

Law followed the little clown throughout the sinuous insides of the big top, through the narrow alleys between seats, one heeled foot fitting at a time. He held Kikoku higher against his shoulder, almost as if a parent would carry a toddler in a crowded space for fear of losing them. It was the dirt floor he minded, to spare his sword the dishonour of meeting with some gluttonous child's half-licked, sticky-as-glue lolly. Law grimaced at the vision of paper wraps and unpopped kernels of corn sprawled under his feet. How had he allowed himself to get caught up in this mess, again?

Oh, yes. The funny (as in 'peculiar' rather than 'amusing') clown girl had lassoed him in with the promise not of entertainment, but of medicine.

She had said she was a doctor, a claim that earned her a studious gaze bundled up in doubt. This orange thing was a doctor? For all his brilliance, Law did lack the necessary amount of self-awareness to recognise that most civilians, too, would doubt him a doctor when he sported a loose shirt buttoned up with haste over his jeans and black polish over his fingernails so casually. Both he and the clown were as far removed from the semblance of a textbook doctor, with their one white coat and two rows of white teeth arranged into a reassuring smile as could be. All things considered, it was discerning of a circus to harbour a medical team, only not right next to the menagerie, he hoped, for a nomadic, strenuous lifestyle offered plenty of opportunities for injury. And the jolly roger lulling in the wind above the tarpaulin had not escaped Law's atttentive watch. Pirates required medical assistance more than the average person.

❝ Listen, Raggedy Ann...! ❞ he started, an edge of warning to his voice, her jab at his aquatic lifestyle returned in kind as he manoeuvred the space towards the reserved compound of doors and platforms the audience had no idea lay within and underneath the circus. ❝ I'll have you know submarines are lots of fun. ❞

What the hell did she know of his literary soirées? Of the crew's monthly talent shows? Of the most exciting, free-for-all race to the loo after every Tuesday's taco dinner? Why, she was but a simpleton, all too excited to watch some other idiot in oversized shoes juggle up some balls and deem it as entertainment. If there was a literal embodiment of the panem et circenses phrase, here it was.

❝ I am not a man to be toyed with. I did not come here, to the very depths of Satan's rectum, to discuss the concept of merriment over tea with a child. Where is the chlorophyte? ❞

She had said, and not just in passing, to be in possession of a rare species of algae Law had read about in his studies. Although, admittedly, phycology was a field of pharmaceutical interest he generally buried under other priorities. The species was said to be at least a hundred times more efficient than other maritime eukaryotes in boosting immunity and serving as an anticancerous agent, nothing short of a miracle if proven true. If he could get this alga into his laboratory and multiply it so he got enough specimens to sample from... Only the hypothesis of an unprecedented scientific breakthrough could have made him enter the circus tent.

Trafalgar Law hissed, catlike when the faux flower hit him with a surprise drizzle. Though hygienic, he would rather take his shower the conventional way. Just like he would like to keep his feet not stepped on by stupid miniature velocipedes! ❝ I really, really hate the circus! I'll take my clowns in the form of Ruggero Leoncavallo, thank you.❞

His eyes were daggers directed at this Doctor Patches character, but then the gold in them melted and glinted with mischief. Kikoku made another move on his shoulder, ready to lose her sheath. ❝ There is no fucking chance a clown can trick me. ❞

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sometimes I just need to draw a Law after work

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“Il maestro dice che è una cosa meravigliosa morire per la fede e Papà dice che è una cosa meravigliosa morire per l'Irlanda e allora io mi domando se al mondo c'è qualcuno che ci vorrebbe vivi. I miei fratelli sono morti e mia sorella pure, ma chissà se sono morti per la fede o per l'Irlanda.”

— Frank McCourt - Le ceneri di Angela

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@chatcambrioleur replied "No booty".

❝ I got ninety-nine problems. What, you expected a different ending to that...❞ His face contorts into an expression of grotesque frustration. ❝ Sentence fragment. I now speak in sentence fragments. Great. ❞

Excellent. Simply marvellous! He's got no money, no glutes, no lovers and now he can't even grasp the basics of the English language. You can make that a round hundred problems, Nami.

Surely he cannot sink any lower.

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/ hc. i like to imagine that law quotes scripture at random times and it's always a mystery to his interlocutors whether he means it or not, because it's not much different from his everyday behaviour, when he shares with the crew the teachings of great intellectuals or reads aloud to them during a storm. but sometimes, even law himself is unaware of his parroting of the teachings that were so inculcated into his schoolboy brain.

He's feeling particularly full of himself and sacrilegious? My friends, remember Isaiah 41:10 💅

Someone is doing nothing? In his submarine? In this economy?? PROVERBS 16:27, BITCH! 💢

[cxnsolatio]

Does he gotta booty?

✚✚✚ anonymous

Such insolence... And what an insipid topic of conversation, too. In a world filled with poetry and philosophy, politics and religion, this person wants to discourse about his most respectable derriere? And they expect them to indulge in trifles? Don't be ridiculous, now, nonny — Trafalgar Law's above such mundane worries.

❝ First of all, I do not care for the use of the word 'booty' except when talking about plunder to be shared amongst crewmen. That is, I assure you, not the case of my backside... ❞ A protective hand hovered over his buttocks. ❝ As much as I share of this infatuation you show towards human anatomy, prey tell, why should my anatomy in particular concern the likes of you? ❞

Law huffs, bothered and bored, a dismissive hand sending nonny away. He'd rather not comment on the physical attributes of his gluteus maximus.

❝ And secondly, if you are unwilling to change your parlance into something more substantial, you could make yourself useful through manual labour, if you can't keep up with my intellect. Grab a bucket and a mop, wise guy. The floors need a good washing. Come on now, I'm not getting any younger and the Tang's not getting any cleaner. ❞