lil winner » trafalgar law.

chapter 4 // eyes are the window to the soul

❝ the root of suffering is attachment. ❞

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you followed him down the halls of the submarine, and he led you to a normal-looking door 3 rooms down the hallway from his. huh, guess you had full privilege to annoy the hell out of whoever lived nextdoor now. knocking on the walls of one's neighbors were the surefire way to get yelled at. the wood was a little cracked and disfigured, but still seemed pretty usable. 

opening it revealed a plain room for one, with one singular bed in the far left corner, and a desk right across. the light was on the ceiling, with a fan attached. there was no window. granted, it was a submarine, but that was pretty impressive. now, if there were just a window so you could see all the fishies-

"you'll stay in here," he stated, snapping you out of your daze. you nodded, walking in. you set your spear against the side of the bed, against the desk, standing up and ready to be grabbed. then you sat down on the bed, noting how it was decently more soft than the cheap motel bed you rented for fewer berries than anyone would rent a room for. 

he looked perplexed. did he see a damn salamander in there or something? 

"do you have, uh," he scratched his head, seemingly searching for how to suggest it to you. "any other things you need to bring from somewhere? like from another house?"

you stared at him blankly. he stared right back at you, unblinking. staring contest? 

then your mind, after a full night of thinking about possible outcomes when you asked to join his crew, finally found its ability to reboot. it was fully fried, short circuiting. hell, does anyone have something to boot up systems that worked? 

honestly, you had even forgotten that being part of his crew involved traveling, and generally, living with them. you wondered if they made good housemates- er, submarine mates? 

"oh! uhhhh, yes i do," you stated. for some reason, you no longer had the energy to be excited and cheerful or extremely outgoing like the night you stole his wallet. instead, you felt drained. and tired. like you could flop on the ground like a dying fish and let the soul seep from your body. 

was it really that hard to do something as simple as asking to join his crew? shit, your social battery sucked ass.

"well, where are they?" he asked, and you waved at him absentmindedly. 

you did have some clothes in the little cheap apartment you were renting, packed in a compact little bag in case you ever needed to go anyway in the nick of an eye. it was just in case you ever had to run. 

because, you know, you were kind of on the run. over the years, you had committed so many thieveries, so many vandalisms, so much destruction that you couldn't even remember or count them all. however, the people you stole from every week didn't forget, nor those who got their bars trashed.

"i have like 3 different sets of clothes already packed at the apartment i'm staying at," you suggested, and he looked at you as if you were crazy. 

"that's the least amount of clothes i've ever seen anyone own," he stated, and you snorted. 

"well, you know, i don't exactly care much for clothes," you stated. "they're not all that important, nor do i have the luxury of going shopping leisurely." at this, he cocked an eyebrow and then looked down at his own attire.

safe to say he cared at least a little bit about what he wore. just a little.

you stood up from your bed, walking outside towards the deck. leaning against the railing, you looked up at the sky, noting just about how long it would take for the sun to set. it wouldn't be too long now; maybe an hour or two?