Chapter Text
"Save them! Save them and I'll join your crew!"
"Swear your undying loyalty to my Jolly Roger."
"Trafalgar Water Law, I swear will follow you off the ends of the damn planet and through my next life if you save them!"
"Then we have a deal."
Law stared down at the townsfolk in front of him, entirely unimpressed. It had been a few months since the battle at Marineford, and the gears of fate were finally starting to turn in Law’s favor, but when Silvers Rayleigh had, back on Amazon Lily, told the Heart Pirates about a yet-unrecovered poneglyph, Law hadn't expected the island near its supposed resting place to be so... agrestic. The crowd before him milled about in an entirely unremarkable way; the fishmongers and farmers showcased their stock, the salesfolk and craftsmen advertised their goods on large, sparkling displays, and the various civilians and otherwise rather boring shoppers shuffled around, going about their boring lives in an entirely boring way.
…however, Law was not unaware of how the few pirates amongst the crowd stiffened their shoulders and dropped their hands to their weapons upon seeing him, their eyes flashing suspiciously; it seemed that his reputation as a new Warlord of the Sea had preceded him… good. With luck, that should make things easier. Law smirked to himself; the wary glares of the surrounding strangers held no significant bearing over him— he was here for the poneglyph, not for the residents, after all. Law motioned for his crewmates—Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo—to split off and he stepped forward, walking through the marketplace and listening closely for any kind of information he could glean from passing conversations.
Law scowled and crossed his arms, leaning up against the side of a signpost; his eavesdropping had been, largely, unhelpful; nobody around seemed to be talking about the poneglyph, and the conversations leaned towards the agricultural... and hushed mentions of nearby marines. After an hour or so of trying to surreptitiously glean what information he could, Law knew his temper was beginning to fray. Initially, he had considered his Warlord status as an asset for this particular circumstance, but there had been enough people shooting Law unrepentant glares to get on his nerves. Becoming a Warlord had been necessary, yes, but he didn't particularly relish this kind of attention.
"On your left!"
Law glanced over his shoulder as a voice called out, and he watched disinterestedly as a sunglasses-wearing woman dashed past him, her wavy, fiery ginger hair streamlining behind her like a flame as she chased down a pair of positively filthy children who were shrieking in laughter.
“Get back here, you little rascals! Your parents will kill me if they see you like this!”
And then they disappeared around a corner, leaving only footprints and kicked-up dust in their wake. Law rolled his eyes, holding back a scoff— civilians.
Law spent another twenty minutes actually talking to the various salesfolk and pirates, but they had nothing useful to say. Not a damn person knew about the poneglyph— and Law was beginning to think that he had been had by Rayleigh. His displeasure only grew when Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin regrouped, shaking their heads; their searches hadn't been fruitful, either.
Well, at least there was no shortage of food stalls— Shachi had returned with various snacks, distributing them casually to his captain and crewmates, and the four men (or, technically, three men and one Mink) sat themselves down on a nearby, stone half-wall and mused about their bad luck. Law was just about ready to call it quits and return to the Polar Tang to do some underwater searching without assistance from the townsfolk, but he paused when he noticed his first mate’s attention suddenly directed down the street. Bepo’s fuzzy ears perked up and he looked over off to the side, curiosity blossoming in his dark eyes.
“Captain, do you hear music?”
Law listened closely— he could just barely make out what sounded like fiddles… and he inwardly groaned when he caught sight of Bepo’s obvious interest. The polar bear Mink was, to put it lightly, a music-lover, and Law knew that, with or without his permission, Bepo would want to go see the performers. It was easier to just… agree and supervise. Arguing would be too much effort and would result in the same outcome, anyway.
“You want to go listen, don’t you?” Law asked flatly.
Bepo nodded vigorously and he grabbed Law’s arm, all but dragging his captain down the dirt road to a clearing between some buildings, with Penguin and Shachi in tow. Upon arriving, Law’s eyes narrowed, and he immediately took note that the residents here did not seem to be the same kind of unexperienced farmers, fishermen, and traders from the marketplace— no, these people were all pirates, and their numbers were… many. Law didn’t recognize any high-value faces, quickly thinking back to the bounty posters for this area, but he adjusted Kikoku on his shoulder anyway, his blank expression turning down into a frown. But he needn’t have worried; the pirates hardly spared Law a glance, and those who did look over simply chose to ignore him. No self-respecting pirate would pick a fight with a Warlord, after all; apparently the damn title was good for something, at least, after the difficulty it had presented him in the market.
After a long, drawn-out final note, the song that Bepo had dragged Law and Shachi and Penguin over to hear had died out— and Law was about to tell his first mate that it was time to continue “gathering” information on the poneglyph (as if they had actually gathered any information to begin with) but he stopped when he recognized the redheaded woman from earlier standing in the middle of the clearing with the other pirates, dusting dirt off of her skirt and laughing with the musicians.
Law watched the girl with idle interest, crossing his arms as she kicked off her boots and hopped backwards a few steps, landing lightly on her bare feet in the middle of the stone plaza. She spun once in a circle, her skirt twirling out around her legs—showing off a bit more thigh than Law had been mentally prepared to see—and she raised her hands to the musicians. They all took a breath together— and began to play.
Law flinched in surprise as the pirates around him started to clap and stomp in time, a good majority of them chanting out in surprisingly well-harmonized vocables, and the woman twisted up into a dance. She was graceful the way a fighter was graceful— meaning that her movements, though well-balanced and precise, were sharp and raw. Law blinked a few times— he could hardly believe he had mistaken her for a civilian. Shachi whistled appreciatively as the woman twirled again, but Law quickly shut his crewmate up with a glare.
The woman laughed when she heard Shachi’s whistle, though she hadn’t seen who it had come from, and with another flashy, exaggerated spin, she opened her mouth and began to sing.
“He was twenty-four years old
When he met the woman he would call his own;
Twenty-two their crew, post wedding bells' toll,
On the ship that his brother built ‘em.”
Wait—Law’s eyes widened slightly as the words registered in his brain—he knew this song. This was a popular folk song from his home sea—from North Blue—that told the story of a navy nurse and a pirate who fell in love and eloped, taking the Marines on a wild goose chase down the Red Line. His three crewmates also recognized the song; Penguin and Shachi nudged each other appreciatively, and Bepo’s eyes were practically sparkling.
“On the summer day when he proposed
He gifted her a wedding ring of pyrite gold—
And he asked her father, but her daddy said, no:
A pirate won't marry my daughter.”
With a huge smile, the woman skipped up to the edge of the circle and began pulling in other pirates to dance with her; two among them being an older woman with long, starkly black hair and a tall, bearded man with blonde hair gone mostly silver, and Law narrowed his eyes. Could they be…?
“The two of them went on the run,
Don't care 'bout religion;
He was gonna marry the woman he loved
Down on the Red Line border.
She was Nancy Mulligan
And he was William Sheeran;
He stole her name and, oh they were young,
Down on the Red Line border.”
The ginger girl spun and twisted and skipped and twirled, pulling silly faces at some of the pirate brats that were screaming happily as they dashed haphazardly around the stone courtyard. She laughed and joined hands with the older, black-haired woman, and they moved around each other like wind dancing with fire. The matronly pirate shook her head with a grin, and then she took over the lyrics:
“Well, we met in North Blue on the brink of war
When I was working in a navy's ward—
Never had I seen such a fine lad before;
I fell in love the moment I saw ya.
You said I was your yellow rose
And we got married wearing borrowed clothes;
Now our children sleep under marigolds,
But we still have one granddaughter.”
Law’s suspicions were all but confirmed, now— he, Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin weren’t just hearing a song from their childhoods, they were standing in the presence of living folktales. It was almost enough to send a crack of exhilaration through the dour pirate’s disinterested mask…
almost.
The ginger woman—the granddaughter?—began to sing again, trilling out in her light, bright, lilting voice as the older lady bowed to the audience.
“The two of them went on the run,
Don't care 'bout religion;
She was gonna marry the man she loved
Down on the Red Line border.
She was Nancy Mulligan
And he was William Sheeran;
He stole her name and then they were wed
Down on the Red Line border.”
The crowd hushed down to a mere whisper, the musicians cutting out and simply clapping in time as the bearded man knelt down and kissed the back of the black-haired woman’s hand.
“To the snow-white streak in her jet-black hair,
Over fifty years I've been loving her;
Now we sit by the fire in our old armchairs—
You know Nancy, I adore ya.”
The man spun to his feet and scooped up his wife, his eyes twinkling merrily as she laughed in delight, slapping her hand across his chest. Their granddaughter grinned wolfishly, her sunglasses glinting in the afternoon light, and she danced off to the side as the music picked back up, leaving the center of the plaza to her nauseatingly affectionate family members. Law rolled his eyes in mild disgust. Ugh, romantics.
“A pirate born near old Loguetown,
He never once worried 'bout the king and crown
'Cause he followed his heart and was homeward bound;
There's no difference, he’ll assure ya.”
The young woman spun past Law so closely that he could smell the spicy, papery, peppery perfume she was wearing, and he unconsciously took a deep breath in, finding himself temporarily disoriented by the scent before she was once again out of his reach, energetically conducting her fellow musicians into the final chorus.
“The two of them went on the run,
Don't care 'bout religion;
They were gonna marry the one they loved
Down on the Red Line border.
She was Nancy Mulligan
And he was William Sheeran;
He stole her name and then they were one
Down on the Red Line border.
He stole her name and then they were one
Down on the Red Line border.”
And with one loud, final cheer, the song ended. The pirates surrounding Law and his crewmates shouted wildly, whistling and stamping and hollering and clapping, and Law didn’t even bother to scold his crewmates for applauding the performance as well— he, however, was not inclined to join in, himself. The circle of pirates gradually dispersed as they all filed off, presumably back to their ships or back to work, and as Law beckoned his crewmates to follow the crowd, he felt a twinge on the back of his neck… his skin was prickling as if somebody was watching him. Law glanced off to the side, unalarmed and annoyed, making immediate eye contact with the sunglasses-wearing woman…
…and she was scowling at Law with all the vicious fury of a raging, boiling volcanic sea, the outlines of her eyes almost bright behind the dark lenses of her glasses. Such was her rage, in fact, that Law couldn’t help but wonder if he had, in his pirating journey, wronged somebody she held dear. Law sighed to himself and squared his shoulders to her as she stalked over, drawing the attention of the elderly couple and his own crewmates. What a pain.
“Get out!” The woman demanded, flinging her hand out to the side as if she were going to slap Law. There was no incoming blow, though— not that it would have landed, even if she had tried. “Get off this island! We don’t welcome your kind here!”
Law raised an eyebrow, staring the woman down flatly. “My first mate isn’t causing any problems,” he gestured to Bepo, who was blinking in alarm as the woman shouted at his captain. “We’re docked for information, and nothing more.” Shachi and Penguin filed in next to Law, casually resting their hands on their hips. Despite her anger, this woman was no threat to their captain, and they would follow his example. If Law was calm, so were they.
…the lines of their shoulders were tense, though; she really was quite pissed off.
“It’s not the Mink I have a problem with,” she seethed, her hair twisting around her face in the wind as if it had a life of its own, “it’s you.” She jabbed a finger forward, her hand only inches from Law’s chest.
Law narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, knocking her hand back with the motion. "You have a problem with pirates? Considering the company you keep, I find that implausible."
"I have a problem with Warlords," she emphasized through gritted teeth. "You're a government sellout; a fucking dog on a leash. What respect could I possibly have for a man who would stoop so low for power?"
Within the blink of an eye, Law drew Kikoku from its sheath and flicked the blade up to the girl's throat, a tiny trickle of blood leaking from her punctured skin. What did this woman know about why Law became a Warlord? How dare she speak to him this way! He expected her to back off, or to even let out a cry of pain from the small cut— but she just… laughed.
And laughed.
And laughed.
Law’s blood ran hot at her obvious disregard for him. "What's so funny?"
"You will forgive me for not being intimidated by a pirate whose name is 'Water'."
The frown on Law's face twisted into a furious snarl and he pressed his ōdachi closer to the girl, its sharp edge drawing out a slight wince from her between her derisive, goading, gasping bouts of laughter.
"How did you— do you have a death wish, woman?"
The flame-haired woman grinned viciously and wiped a tear away from beneath her sunglasses, not even bothering to try and move back from Kikoku’s sharp tip. "Is that a joke? The only productive thing a corpse can do is decompose; I'm too fucking busy to die."
She didn't look away. She didn't even flinch. She goaded him and taunted him and mocked him in front of both total strangers and his own crew members and Law was beyond furious... but, somewhere deep down inside, he couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit—the absolute tiniest bit—impressed by her willpower. However, before he could even consider returning his ōdachi to its sheath, the old man stepped forward and closed his bare hand around Kikoku, paying no heed to the blood dripping from his sliced palm as he steadily forced the blade down.
"Yer pride is showin', gosling; don't antagonize the Warlord."
For a split-second, Law had almost interpreted the scolding as being meant for himself, but at the man’s second sentence, when the girl's shoulders dropped and the righteous fire in the lines of her face died down to a mere smolder, he knew the words were not cultivated for his ears. Fucking good thing, too— Law was already on edge from being laughed at; if some random old pirate had called him a baby goose, he would have flipped his fucking lid. Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin also relaxed; evidently, their thought process had followed Law’s.
"...yes, gramps." The young woman then turned to Law, her lava-like expression cooled off to a near-impassive mask… save for the slight curl of distain on her lips. "You, Warlord. Follow me."
Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked off to a long, rectangular wooden building. Law warily eyed the old man, returned his sword to its sheath, and signaled to his companions, and the four of them followed the girl from a distance, noting that the elderly couple did not follow.
…it wasn’t his fault, really; Penguin was an excitable fellow and he just… couldn't contain himself.
"That old couple— were they THE Mulligan Hand??"
The woman hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. “…they are,” she acknowledged, unlocking the door to the wooden building and walking through, not bothering to hold the door for the pirates— Bepo caught it and allowed his captain and crewmates to enter the building before following, closing the door shut behind him.
"Where I grew up in the North Blue their love story was a LEGEND—" Penguin began to gush, but he shut up as soon as he caught eye of his captain's glare. Shachi snickered— he was quieter about it, but he, too, shared Penguin’s curiosity.
Penguin's outburst may have done something good, at least, for the tight line of the girl's shoulders had relaxed some, and she regarded him with a curious tilt of her head as they all entered the building. She gestured to large wooden chairs alongside a long wooden table and waited for the pirates to seat themselves.
Law’s eyes quickly glanced over his surroundings, taking note of anything that could be dangerous or difficult to deal with. Fortunately, there seemed to be nothing particularly out of place in the building; the walls were wooden and the ceiling was tall, and there were doors and halls that led off to other rooms. There was a stone fireplace, and the walls were covered with paintings and photographs and various shelves full of knick-knacks— it seemed like an average, comfortable home. Law’s eyes flicked back to the woman when she moved forward and sat herself opposite the pirates, pulling off her sunglasses and tossing her long, fluffy hair back out of her face.
It was an intimidation tactic, Law knew it was, because as soon as her sunglasses were off, it was very, very obvious that there was something wrong with her left eye. The woman’s right eye was healthy and whole and pale jade-green in color, but her left eye was… scarred, damaged, blemished, marred— mutilated. Red and pink branching fractal scars cracked and spiked over her left cheekbone and temple and sclera, while matching, twisting, white fractal scars spiraled over her pupil. Her pupil was large and dark and unmoving— as if her iris had been fully dilated, leaving none of the green color remaining.
Law met her gaze evenly, not allowing himself to show even the slightest reaction or sign of discomfort as her eerie, mismatched eyes stared straight through him, and he couldn’t help but morbidly wonder if she was blind in her left eye. Electrical damage, of some sort? The scar patterns intrigued him.
The woman laced her fingers together and rested her chin on her hands, studying Law with such scrutiny he almost felt as if he were being dissected in the fathomless pools of her eyes— as if he were caught in an x-ray. The cut on her neck was still slightly bloody, and a single ruby drop rolled down her throat and over the top of her chest, soaking into the cotton of her blouse. When she spoke again, it was jarring.
“What business does a Warlord of the Sea have on my island?”
“Introduce yourself first, then we talk,” Law said tersely, “you obviously already know my name.”
She narrowed her eyes and Law felt so observed that his lungs prickled as if they were filled with dozens of tiny, red-hot needles; like fire ants crawling around beneath his skin. It was… unpleasant, to say the least.
“Oh, yes, where are my manners?” She hissed sarcastically. “Mulligan Nancy Sídhe, granddaughter of Mulligan Nancy Anne and Mulligan William Lotl of the Axe-o-lotl Pirates. Now answer my question.”
“How do you know my full name?” Law demanded, deliberately ignoring Sídhe’s introduction despite having asked for it; he didn’t like her, so he wasn’t going to play her game— he wasn't going to play by her rules.
“Answer. My. Question.” Sídhe all but spat, slamming her hand down onto the table— she obviously had no respect for Law...
…and that royally pissed him off. Law opened his mouth, a hot retort burning on his lips— but, fuck, he didn’t want to invoke the authority of the government— he only needed the status to get close to Doflamingo. The bitter taste it would leave in his mouth just wasn’t worth the effort of bullying random angry women— not even this particularly nasty random angry woman. Whatever. Whatever— this woman’s opinion about his reputation wasn’t important.
“…we’re here about the poneglyph,” he said bluntly. He would not give this… this rude woman the satisfaction of knowing she was getting under his skin again.
Sídhe blinked once, and Law felt the pressure ease off his lungs. Then she nodded sharply and crossed her arms over her chest, wiping at the crusty blood on her throat. “…I read your name in an obituary when I was ten.”
Law felt his blood run icy. He spoke softly, enunciating his words clearly so there could be no mistake as to what he was really asking: “A what?”
“An obituary— a list of names that was published in newspapers across the world for the dead city, Flevance.”
Law bit the inside of his cheek hard. The goddamn fucking piece of shit government knew what the Amber Lead was doing to the citizens of Flevance; they knew and they exploited the city to squeeze out as much money as possible— and in the end, after even authorizing the murder of its residents, they had the fucking audacity to publish obituaries? It must have been an underhanded tactic to “warn” the world about the “contagious” disease. How hadn’t Law heard of this sooner? Had Corazon kept it from him? He must have— the foolish, kindhearted, wonderful man must have been trying to spare Law’s feelings... Law’s heart ached at the realization.
…wait, when she was ten?
“You mean to say the paper was published when you were a child?”
She shrugged. “That too.”
“…elaborate.”
“I’ll trade my information for yours,” Sídhe answered coolly, turning her gaze off of Law to inspect his crewmates. As soon as she looked away from Law, the uncomfortable tingling at the base of his skull disappeared— and when her odd eyes scanned over Bepo, his fur stood out on end, making him look like a bit of a puffball. “I’m a pirate; I don’t give things away for free.”
Law propped his elbows up on the table and narrowed his eyes, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. He didn’t like this woman. Fuck her interesting scar, fuck her nice-smelling perfume, just… fuck. “Fine. What do you want?”
“Who told you about the poneglyph?” Her eyes snapped back to Law’s, done staring down Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin.
Law appraised Sídhe calculatingly, contemplating how much of the truth he should reveal to her. After a moment, he decided to only respond to her questions exactly as she asked them— he would not volunteer any additional information.
“Silvers Rayleigh,” he answered in a monotone.
Sídhe blinked again and her brows raised slightly. “So, the old scoundrel is still kicking, is he?”
“Elaborate, first,” Law reminded her sternly; he wasn’t going to let her distract him. But… he was slightly disconcerted that he just name-dropped a member of the former Pirate King’s crew only to be met with a blink.
Sídhe huffed and rolled her eyes, but acquiesced. “I have perfectly memorized everything I’ve ever read. I was ten when the articles were published, and I was ten when I read them. Simple.”
“As in… photographic memory?”
“Close enough.”
Oh? Now that was a curiosity. Law’s eyes lit up as he appraised Sídhe with newfound interest, meeting her mismatched gaze with his own intense, calculating gray eyes. An ability like hers would be a huge benefit to his crew aboard the Polar Tang— he was still bitter over the fact that the Straw Hats had claimed Nico Robin as their researcher; when it came to researching the poneglyphs, there was nobody better to have around. But to have a crew member with the ability to store an entire library’s worth of information in their brain? The ability to perfectly regurgitate obscure scraps of knowledge and tiny, easily-forgotten details at will?
…fuck. Fuck. Law did not fucking like this woman— Sídhe. He did not like Sídhe. She was rude, blunt, hot-tempered, and abrasive as sandpaper, but if it would get him closer to uncovering the mysteries of the poneglyphs, unraveling the mystery of the Will of D, and becoming King of the Pirates… he would have to make some concessions.
“Join my crew,” he demanded. He wasn’t asking— he was telling.
Sídhe’s eyebrows met in a sharp “V” shape and her expression grew positively thunderous. “How dare you!” She screeched, standing up so abruptly that her chair toppled to the ground behind her, and Bepo flinched at her volume, covering his soft ears. Sídhe dug her nails into the wooden table, and, if Law hadn’t known any better, he would have assumed the woman was about to launch herself over said table at him. “No! A million times no! I should throw you off my damn island for such a demand!”
That went… just about as well as Law had expected. Perhaps a bribe?
“My submarine has an extensive library,” he mentioned casually, watching Sídhe’s face for even the slightest change in expression— if she memorized everything she read, she was probably starved for books on an island as small as this one. Ah— Law’s intuition had been right on the money; Sídhe’s eyes widened just a fraction, a hint of longing coloring her face before she regained control over her expression.
“Bribes don’t work on me, Warlord,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest again; her eyes were narrowed as she glared at Law. She made no move to pick up her chair and sit back down, and a lock of her hair fell down into her face, obscuring her scarred left eye.
“Pity,” Law said with a smirk. He’d clocked one of her weaknesses, at least; that was better than nothing. “Then give us the poneglyph.”
"I can't give you the poneglyph."
Law frowned. "Why not?"
"Because it doesn't belong to me. It isn't mine to give."
"We're pirates, we don't care who owns the damn thing—"
"You'll care about this one," Sídhe intoned flatly, cutting Law off without even a moment’s hesitation. "The poneglyph is in a Sea King's cradle."
"Why should I be bothered to care about that?" Law growled; he was so tired of dealing with her.
"Any sailor worth his salt knows that a Sea King's cradle is to be left well enough alone for the sake of everybody in a ten-mile radius," Sídhe’s mouth flattened into a thin line. "A cradle is not just a nest, it's a nest protected by dozens of the most massive, angry, dangerous sea monsters this side of the Calm Belt, and it’s full of vicious, hungry babies. Your crew wouldn't even make it halfway down there to find the damn thing, let alone make a record of it in any meaningful way—” she snorted derisively, shaking her head. “You'd all drown, oh mighty devil fruit-user."
Law leaned back into his chair, tilting his chin up to look down his nose at the girl in front of him. She didn't seem to like that one bit, and her visible green eye narrowed resentfully. She opened her mouth in a snarl, evidently ready to scold Law again, and—
BOOM!
The whole building shook as a deafening explosion sounded out— Sídhe stumbled where she was standing, clinging to the table for support, and Law’s crewmates leapt to their feet, looking around frantically to ascertain which direction the blast had come from. Panic sparked in Sídhe’s eyes and, without bothering to put her sunglasses back on, she dashed over to the front of the long house, flinging the door open and running out into the sunlight, leaving the confused Heart Pirates to handle themselves. Law bit back a curse and jumped out of his chair, following her out— what shit timing this was; he had more important things to do than get involved in the scuffles of a minor pirate island! But his irritation became confusion, and then that confusion became frustration as he exited the building— for, out in the bay, a small fleet of Marine ships was firing upon the island.
…what the fuck? What the actual fuck?! Could Law not catch a single fucking break?!
Law caught sight of Sídhe’s hair glinting in the sunlight as she sprinted down and away toward the beach, not bothering to pick up her boots from where she had kicked them off earlier in the square, and he ran after her. Law had a feeling deep in his stomach that something was about to shift— something very important was about to happen, and he wanted to be there to see it.
“No— no, no, no, no! Stay away from the beach!” Sídhe screamed, directing townsfolk back in the direction she had been running from as she staggered forward through the throngs— it was utter chaos. “Up, up! Behind the cliffs! Where are my grandparents?!”
A man caught Sídhe’s arm. “They’re on the shore— they’re facing down the Marines!”
All the blood drained out of Sídhe’s face and her eyes went wide in horror. “No— no, they can’t be—”
Law stopped and moved out of the way as a group of wounded men stumbled and wavered, walking up the cobblestone and dirt roads, dripping slippery, slick, metallic-smelling blood as they went. Another explosion of cannon fire rang out somewhere.
Sídhe whirled around, her eyes searching for something, for anything— and they found Law. She stared at him with rage, hurt, anger, misery, fear— and determination. “Warlord! Call off the Marines— save my people!” Her voice was desperate, and it wavered and cracked and split as she choked out the words…
…and a lightbulb went off in Law’s brain. The corner of his mouth twitched as he fought back a smirk— this was perfect. This had played out… perfectly.
“Join my crew, and I’ll use my status as Warlord to put this island under my protection,” he said evenly, adjusting Kikoku on his shoulder. He stared down at Sídhe as dawning realization crossed her face— and he knew in that instant that she hated him.
Sídhe’s eyes widened in fury and the lines of her face twisted. “Are you— coercing me? Is this blackmail?”
“I prefer to think of it as a business transaction.”
“Fuck you!” Sídhe screamed, tearing at her hair in agony as she came to terms with what she had to do— give up her freedom, lose her autonomy, and join the crew of a Warlord… to save her home. “Fuck you! Fuck you! “
“I am a pirate,” Law intoned, casually inspecting his nails as if they were having a conversation about the weather, “I don’t do things for free.” He threw Sídhe’s own words back at her— and from the look on her face, they stung.
But Sídhe had already made her decision. She made her decision and she hated Law for forcing her hand into it. "Save them! Save them and I'll join your crew!"
"Swear your undying loyalty to my Jolly Roger."
"Trafalgar Water Law, I swear will follow you off the ends of the damn planet and through my next life if you save them!"
Law grinned— he had won.
"Then we have a deal."