In Chains

Rusty Chains

Samira rocked her rounded hips to a foreign tune as she waited for the timer to activate on the dryer. It wasn't hard work, despite her broken arm, but the quantity of dirty clothing made her head spin in doubt. She had never seen a pile so immense, and yet accustomed to the simple mechanics of the machine – Shachi taught her the effective way to use it – the pile never came to be done.

A curse, she alleged. The clothes had to be. How else were they amassing? Samira panted and brushed her lengthy white hair over her shoulder. It was sticky and musty beneath the engine room. Take away the music and she was confident that sooner or later she'd lose her mind.

In regards, Samira pressed the button to replay the piece once it ended. She resumed her dancing as the notes poured from the opening of the shark eye. Remarkable, this device was. Samira had never seen one before; Shachi called it a tone dial, a moon shaped shell decorated with russet bands that recorded sound and replayed it back. He revealed to her – when she asked – that a member of his crew bought the foreign dial at a merchant stall. It came preset with the tune, but could be recorded over if ever they found a piece better suited to their tastes. She hoped not; she honestly liked this tune. It lured her to dance.

The timer on the dryer went off with a loud buzz, and Samira returned to her work. She fished out the toasty polyester boiler suits and dumped them into a large rolling cart, then put in another soggy batch from the washer. Swaying over to the amassing pile on the floor, she gathered as much as her arms could tote, intending to wash another load, but a noise caught her attention.

Samira turned towards the stairs and saw Ikkaku there, watching her with a canny smile.

"Oh! I wasn't aware you were standing there." Samira laughed softly and filled the washer. She played off her shock incredibly well; her heart was honestly pounding.

Ikkaku ambled over and leaned against the machine. "Sorry for that, but I didn't want to interrupt. You dance extremely well."

"That ... oh, that was just me swaying from side to side. There's an entire dance that goes along with it," she explained.

Samira was not timid when it came to music and dance. Her mother taught her plenty about the world; traditions and lore. Her favorite was learning the various styles of dance – she'd perform them in front of the people of her homestead. The one Ikkaku caught her doing was invented by her country.

"An entire dance, huh? Ya got to show me some time," said woman chirped.

Samira agreed and leaned against the machine next to Ikkaku. She got along fine with said woman; they shared an honest sized room, and with the brief time given, they became quick friends. Samira didn't reveal much about herself, other than her dislike of the crew's uniforms, but Ikkaku didn't share much with her either. She wanted to know how such an amiable woman came to be a pirate, but like herself, thought that whatever reason she had was her own business.

"Are these clothes cursed? They seem to be growing."

Ikkaku gave her a look of shock, then laughed. "Almost seems that way, doesn't it? But, no. Some of the crew in the engine room go through uniforms quicker than the others, so they dump them into the chute and they amass down here. Shachi did ya real dirty, making ya do this chore; though it's better than others."

"I'll be sure to thank him when I see him again," Samira huffed.

She would honestly like to see that; fortunately, she would. "We're expected to reach the next island soon; a place called the Crocus Sea. Ask nicely and the Captain may let you come with us."

"I'm certain he will," Samira said darkly.

Law swore to hand her over to the authorities upon reaching the island. She knew nothing about him, but she assumed he was true to his word. Her heart filled with dread. Was there no way to sway his decision? Perhaps ask him to let her go. Samira hadn't seen Law, or heard from him since he dispatched her from his care; her arm was evidently fine enough for him not to worry about.