Chapter Text
Law wakes, a deep feeling of wrongness settled in his gut.
“Hgh… po…”
He groggily opens his eyes, crusted with tears, only to close them a second later. He fumbled for the comfort of Bepo’s fur as he always did after a particularly bad morning, only to touch nothing but air and concrete.
Though the feeling of a splitting hangover (that could only be caused by Mugiwara’s post-battle parties) dulled his senses, he quickly gained clarity as he noticed the absence of his crew. Sharply sitting up and opening his eyes, fully now, he observed his environment.
He was alone. A quick check with the use of observation haki confirmed that no familiar presences were near him. Though he was confident in his crewmates abilities, he still felt a pang of concern.
Considering they had just fought Kaido and Big Mom’s crew, they were exhausted, easy targets. It was the best chance for any marines or bounty hunters who wanted to get a jump on them.
Hopefully they were with the Straw Hat Pirates. Even if their alliance had ended, he trusted that rubber idiot with his crew and that no harm would befall them under his watch. Especially with Law’s absence.
Anyone but the Kidd Pirates. Law shuddered at the prospect. Killer was alright but his captain was a hard headed brute.
Slowly— the piercing headache discouraging him from moving as hastily as he would’ve liked— Law checks his belongings. Kikoku is tossed off to his side and he could tell it was agitated with his lack of care. Law expresses his apologies by dusting its sheathe and double checking the blade for scuffs.
He checks if his head is still covered by the white and black fur hat— confirming its snug existence by swiping his hand above his head. A small comfort.
Lastly, he checks his pockets. The lack of his den den mushi makes him grimace. He vaguely remembers leaving it in his office on Polar Tang.
Standing up, he notes the absence of restraints. He didn’t feel the fatigue of sea-stone, only the fading pain of a migraine caused by one too many drinks he had been peer pressured to have by the straw hats swordsman.
He uses Scan on himself, but everything comes up clear except for some minor head trauma.
He stumbles a moment. The ground beneath him wasn’t like the wood of a ship, the metal of his submarine, nor the unsteady texture of sand. Pirates like him weren’t often used to stable earth.
Looking around, he found himself to be on top of a building, surrounded by many more of the same cookie cutter architecture. It appeared to be late in the afternoon as the sun was starting to set, an orange haze overtaking the heavy fog that surrounded the city.
Law frowned, before hacking a cough. A horrid smell of… something catches his nose.
It was as if he was back on Punk Hazard, where the air smelled of chemicals and smoke. Swatting his hand near his nose in a useless attempt to ward off the stench, he turns his attention back to his surroundings.
He… certainly wasn’t near water, he could determine for sure. Whatever island he had woken up on, Law was far from its shore. Somehow his frown deepened even further.
Law doesn’t think too hard on how he had arrived here in the first place. It was the Grand Line after all, anything could have happened— ranging from devil fruits to the ocean’s unnatural phenomenons. All his concern now was to find his way back to his crew.
Standing around like a dunce would do him no favours, so Law decided to pursue his investigation on the ground. Pulling up his hand with a quick and practiced gesture, he uses his devil fruit to call upon a Room. The blue dome covers the building before disappearing just as quickly as it appeared.
Now on the dirtied floor of an empty alleyway, Law makes his way towards the main street. Easily identifiable with how loud and busy it was with all the people it seemed to hold. Metal boxes that moved on wheels— cars, he recalls— wasn’t technology he was accustomed to, but he’d heard about such things in the making. Though it was curious how this island had gotten ahold of it first however.
Before stepping out of the alleyway, he spots a tattered, but somewhat undirtied cloak sitting on a dumpster.
Law would rather call Mugiwara his friend then wear such a thing, but the fact of the matter was that he was in unknown territories, and having marines find him with no clues to the whereabouts of his allies or his location, was more troublesome than a stain on his clothes.
His bright yellow shirt and blue furred jacket would certainly do him no favors in his mission to blend in. But throwing them out was out of the question, as tattered as they are from the recent raid.
Throwing on the dirty thing, grimacing slightly as he feels… something… stain his arms, Law steps out onto the road with purpose.
—
His first stop is a bar— such establishments often thrived in gathering information. If serving drinks wasn’t its main source of profit, it would do just fine selling the collected gossip of chatty drunks.
When Law first asked the location of one, the last place he could expect was inside a church.
The Jezebel was, Law could admit, beautifully haunting. The painted glass laid colorful lights across the pool tables, and large chandeliers lit up any dark corners. It was quite a busy place, with many of the tables already occupied by lively folks determined to bet away their savings.
His appearance to the establishment draws some eyes, especially with Kikoku by his side, but they are quickly disregarded once they considered him harmless enough. Law sat down at the farthest chair and set down the nodachi carefully. He waits patiently for an attendant, tapping his fingers across the counter in a steady rhythm.
The bartender comes over to take his order; a cup of water, as he’d rather not drink again right after a hangover. The man shoots him a questioning look, but it was one that Law did not catch, as he was busy observing the other customers at the bar.
When Law turns his gaze back to the counter to accept his drink, his eyes widen slightly.
He isn’t surprised by much. Especially with what crazy things he has witnessed in his life. However, when the man who serves your drink has his head aflame, it would make any person raise a brow.
The bartender wore a red fedora with a matching dress shirt. He suited a coal colored vest that matched his tattooed skin and tie. Round shades colored bloody hid eyes that observed Law carefully. Couldn’t forget that he was on literal fire, yeah.
The man doesn’t let the act go unnoticed. “You're not slick. You really think I ain’t seeing you eyeing me like that?” the bartender snarks, “What? Never seen an Ixian?”
The man huffs like he made a funny joke, muttering under his breath something Law couldn’t catch.
“No… I—“ He couldn’t get another word in before the flaming man was off to serve another customer.
He scowled, but it was more so in confusion rather than aggression. What had made the man so hostile?
Law touched his face subconsciously. Was it his face? His eyebags? Did he look weird? His crewmates sometimes told him to look less scary, but it wasn’t on purpose.
His scowl deepens. Whatever.
He returned his thoughts to the bartender. ‘The man must be a devil fruit user,’ had been his first guess, but the Mera Mera no Mi was already eaten by Mugiwara’s brother, and he had no knowledge of any other flame related fruits. Not a lunarian either he assumed, by the lack of wings.
Sipping his water, he turns his gaze back onto the other people in the bar. Realization slowly dawned onto him that not everyone was… fully human, as he observed more closely.
Men with horns lounged around a pool table, laughing loudly at a horrible play another had done. A woman was having a conversation with another man, but Law caught the glint of sharp teeth that lit up when she smiled too wide. A man was halfway through a wall— semi-transparent as he spooked a friend into spilling his drink.
The surgical side of him wondered about the anatomies of such species, how they differed from humans.
The thought of cutting a few of them open did cross his mind, but he quickly waved them away. The fallout isn’t something he’d want to deal with for something as simple as medical curiosity.
His attention turned back to the bartender, but it seemed the man wasn’t going anywhere near him anytime soon.
Just as he was about to give up and leave, a stranger took a seat beside him.
Law studied the newcomer. He was a portly man. Greying hair and an unkind hairline hinted at his age. Though he seemed friendly, Law could feel an underlying sense of authority hidden beneath the exterior.
The stranger spoke first, “I’m sorry about him. He’s had it tough these past few years, with all the fighting going on in the north.”
It seemed the stranger knew the bartender, and had watched the short scuffle between the two.
“Ah, I see…” Law awkwardly replies— he doesn’t recall any major battles going on in the North Blue.
“It’s awful isn't it? Folks fighting over someone else's war. It just breeds prejudice.” He points at the flaming man. “My friend has to deal with all sorts of unkind customers. We don’t tolerate any of that here.”
The man stared into Law’s eyes with smothering intensity.
“That not a problem for you, is it?”
Instinctively, Law knew this was an interrogation. A chance to clear up any confusion.
He held the man’s eyes with an equally fierce gaze. “No. None of it is my concern—“ A hand slaps his back, abruptly cutting him off.
The mood completely turns one-eighty. All caution had evaporated into thin air as the man seemed to accept his short answer.
“Good, good! But ah— where are my manners?” He offers a hand, which Law dazedly accepts. “My name is Hanks. Owner of this fine establishment.”
Still winded at the hit— this old man hit hard— he wheezes out, “I’m… Corazon.”
“Sorry to bring up such a sore subject.” Hank huffs, Law could tell the man had a tired air about him.
“I know not many like to bring up the Ixian War, but I don’t want no supporters of those ‘Friends of Humanity’ in my bar. Gotta make it clear.”
He takes out a smoke, looking at Law expectingly. Law looks at the cigar in distaste. “I don’t smoke.”
Hank shrugs. “All good.” He waves at the bartender, “Hey, light!”
As if it were reflex, the bartender points at Hank, his fingers imitating a gun. A shot of flame bursts out at his fingertips, singeing the end of the stick with startling accuracy.
Hank waves in gratitude, taking a long breath on the newly lit cigarette.
Law narrows his eyes. The shot had almost hit him.
Meanwhile, Hank continues his conversation, oblivious to the two’s hostility. “All they’ve been doing these days is go around and harass folks, not very friendly if you ask me.” He chuckles, but his heart wasn’t in it.
“I don’t think I’ve heard of them before.” Law said, but half his attention was still on the bartender.
“Just a no-good group of people who think humans are superior. Folks like them popped up when the Ixians and came around,” Hank explained.
His eyebrows crease in carefully hidden rage. “Word of advice; stay away from them.”
Law’s attention returns to Hank at that statement. He has encountered people similar to their description; human supremacists, an awfully unpleasant bunch.
In his last encounter, they had the gall to insult Bepo to his face. Safe to say their bodies had been split into parts and thrown into the sea shortly after.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
His short remarks left Hank with not much conversation to continue on.
“Ahem… well, I hope this hasn’t soured your opinion of my establishment. Swear, you won’t find any better drinks nor bigger billiards than here!”
Law had seen billiards ten times the size of the ones in Jezebel that were made to accommodate the giants in the Grand Line. In comparison, these ones were like miniatures.
He didn’t voice those thoughts.
“Mm, no promises. I’m not sure if I’ll be sticking around long.”
Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Hank stands up from his seat and looks over to the bartender. “I’ll go talk to him. You two can talk things out.”
That was convenient. Law lets a rare, genuine smile take over his face. “Thank you, Hank-ya.”
“Sure, sure.” he waves dismissively, but the man smiled back.
As Hank leaves, Law watches him go to the bartender to explain the misunderstanding. It seemed their conversation went off track several minutes in, so he placed his observations elsewhere on the other customers while he waited.
A few minutes of people watching later, he notices the bartender nearing his seat. Hank had left to speak with other customers, so the two were left at an awkward standstill.
Law would much rather be elsewhere, but this was his only chance to gleam any information. Information which he desperately lacked in his current predicament.
He nods in greeting. “Didn’t mean to offend. I’m not from around here.”
The bartender huffed, “It’s alright, figured as I’ve never seen you ‘round here. Apologies for my own outburst, we sometimes get a few new folk who don’t… take kindly to people like us.”
Law frowns in sympathy. “I’ve heard.”
The man moves closer to him, “Names Infernus.”
“Corazon.”
The two observe each other cautiously. Red eyes squint at his knuckles, the word ‘DEATH’ tattooed on them.
“Interesting tattoos you got there, hm?”
Law cringed. The tattoos were great in intimidating enemies, but meeting new people often led to stares of wariness.
“It’s a reminder,” is all he says.
Infernus smirks in amusement, but doesn’t question any further.
“So, where you from Corazon?” Infernus takes Law's glass and refills it. “Your accent is… unique.”
“The North Blue,” Law accepts the glass back.
“Huh… and what are you doing here? Excuse me for any offense but you don’t look particularly…” He looks at Law’s clothes. “Y’know.”
“None taken.” Law racked his head for an excuse, but none he could justify on the spot. There was nothing wrong with being upfront, but even the truth was somewhat sketchy of an alibi.
“Believe me, but I’m actually… not sure. I’m just trying to find a way home, but I’ve got no memory of how I got here in the first place.”
Infernus gives him a stare dangerously close to pity. “Nah, don’t worry. We’ve had a few cases of amnesia and disappearances here and there. Supernatural shit, typical York.”
York. Was that the island’s name?
“Alright, enough questions from me. At this rate it’ll turn into an interview. You have any questions yourself? I assume ordering some water at a bar of all places wasn’t your main concern.”
Law nods. “Where in the red line are we? I’ve never heard of such a… peculiar island.”
And it was true— he couldn’t spot any identifiable landmarks in his previous walk. What was more questionable was the lack of marines in the area as well.
An island as advanced as this one would certainly have the marines deeply clawed into its system, but as far as he’s concerned, Law hasn’t seen a speck of white and blue.
“The red line?” Law pauses in his sips. Infernus continues on, oblivious, “We don’t have anything like that here.”
He raises a brow at that, but Infernus couldn’t see it under his hat.
“Well, you're in New York. But folks call it the Cursed Apple nowadays since the Maelstrom—”
A library would be a good place to stop by. So many new terms he couldn’t keep track of.
“—you came at a good time, economy's been booming since the end of the second war, if you think of sticking around.”
Law hummed in his glass, “Never heard.”
He could see Infernus’s eyes widen under his glasses, “What, World War II?”
What had been going on outside since his stay in Wano? “No… haven’t even heard of the first one.”
“Wow… you really have been living under a rock…” Law scowls. “Ah, wait sorry, amnesia.”
At least he had the decency to look a quarter apologetic. “Guess it’s that bad, huh?” Infernus says.
“Hn.”
The conversation stills to a silence, both parties unsure how to continue. Law thinks up another question in a half-hearted attempt to resolve it.
“Which Blue are you from?” Infernus's confused expression presses him to continue, “You aren’t from North I would assume. Too cold. West, maybe?” It wasn’t a bad guess. Law notes that Infernus’s outfit was reminiscent of Bege.
“Well, we are in the West. But what’s all this blue talk you got going on? ‘Cause I ain’t ever heard of no blues.”
Law puts his glass down fully now, a thoughtful expression setting his face. “Were you born in the Grandline then, by chance?”
“…Nope. Born and raised in York.”
“No, I mean… what part of the sea are we in?” Infernus’s concerned expression didn’t deter Law from asking more questions.
“The Atlantic. You alright?”
“That’s not a sea,” Law says flatly.
“And you failed geography,” Infernus shoots back.
Law goes still. It didn’t make any sense. None of their conversation seemed to line up, so much so it felt as if he were in a different world.
“Yeah,” he mutters after a beat. “Seems that way.”
Infernus has an indiscernible look on his face. “Amnesia, hm?” he asks rhetorically.
Law pushes the half-finished glass towards the bartender’s side of the counter. “I seem to be more lost than I’d thought.”
Before he could get up and leave, Infernus stops him. Law watches as he takes a receipt and writes on it, slipping the paper into his hand.
“A friend of mine can help if you're in any trouble, though he’s a little busy as of late. Say my name and hopefully he’ll make a little time for you.”
Law gratefully takes the paper, carefully folding and tucking it into his pockets.
“…You really didn’t have to.”
“An apology for what happened earlier. Consider it a welcoming gift.”
“Still.”
Infernus scowls halfheartedly. “Just take it! If you want to pay us back, come back for a drink.”
Law grins, “I will. Are there any den den mushi stations nearby?”
“Huh? A den den…” Infernus shakes his head in dismay. “There’s a telephone booth in the next street over. Use that.” Law sighs, he didn’t have the energy to ask. He takes a couple of berries in his pockets and tosses them into Infernus’s expecting hand.
“See you around, Corazon.”
Law doesn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. “Thank you for your help.”
Just as Infernus was about to move on, Law abruptly turned to face Infernus in the eye. A question that lingered like thorns in his throat.
“Wait, one last question.“ A small sense of anxiety dredged its way into his guts. He didn’t know what to expect, but he desperately hoped for a specific answer.
“Have… have you heard of the name, Gol D. Roger?”
Infernus held Law’s steady gaze, replying with complete candor,
“No.”
—
It was only seconds after Corazon had left that Infernus realized he had paid in some unknown foreign currency.
He considered calling up Abrams to give the man a punch to his face when they met— but dismissed the thought— figuring the guy was already troubled enough.