Since setting out to sea, he has abided by a single rule as a pirate doctor - to not abandon any one of his patients. This time will be no different.
No matter the odds, Trafalgar Law will not let Murasaki Arisa die.
« Trafalgar D. Water L...
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"You drew her so beautifully here."
The Marine officer's eyes flashed open at the remark, betraying the fog of lethargy evident within those bright azure pools. It took him a moment to recognize his current surroundings, incongruous as they were to the dreary, clinical confines he was accustomed to in the base where he worked. Saffron beams of late afternoon sunlight eased past the overhanging boughs of the tree he sat against, casting scintillating striations against the pallor of his uniform. Before him sprawled the plains - a rippling, goldswept expanse of tallgrass which disappeared into a thin ribbon of lavender fog obscuring the base of Amenoka-ji's encompassing alps.
Straightening, he blinked once, twice, and drew in a greedy lungful of the cold mountain air. His dispersive gaze came to a rest on the familiar figure to his right - a slight young woman who lay reclined under the shade next to him, both their shoulders brushing against the aged grey trunk - and the rigidity in his posture presently dwindled. Unlike him, however, she was fully alert and engrossed in flipping through a battered leather bound sketchbook. Seeing him stir, she gave him a knowing smile and nestled closer to grant him full view of one of the pages.
The Marine stared down at the sketch. A small crease formed upon his brow as recognition immediately kindled in his electric blue eyes.
"I can see the resemblance with you," the woman mused thoughtfully, resting her chin against her knuckles. "Not so much in the eyes - I feel like it would be more obvious then. Maybe the nose or the mouth; I can't quite put a finger to it..."
He sighed. "There isn't supposed to be anything realistic about that," he muttered, pushing the notebook away.
"Isn't this how you remember her?"
"...many years ago, maybe."
The woman stared back down at the sketch, tracing a finger over the faded lines. "Well, it's a shame you never finished this one," she finally said, quieter now. "No doubt it'd look wonderful in full color."
The officer's face had grown closed off. Pointedly saying nothing, he began to pluck at the tufts of grass hemming the gnarled roots of the trunk.
Slowly, reluctantly, the young woman lowered the book back down to her lap. The expression on her face grew pensive as her attention drifted to the distant summits. The gleaming silver strands framing her face stirred against the wind's subtle caresses. When she spoke again, there was a distinct softness to her voice.
"You should know that she was never looking for perfection, Shige. She doesn't need you to be a saint, an artist, a soldier...anything, really. She's old and alone now. Maybe all she needs is...is for you to be able to depend on her again. Just a little bit."
He scoffed. "Like a child."
"There's nothing wrong with that. She's your own mother." A grimace perturbed her features. The young woman slowly lowered her head, pressing a weary hand against her temple. Her voice began to thin. "What am I even saying? I don't know why....why I bother...."
