Chapter Text
Ginny feels tired. More tired than she has for a long time now. Even working as a slave the first time hadn't left her so tired. She knows why, of course. The disease running through her body has eaten through the reserves of her strength and what little remained after that...
She runs a hand over her round belly. Over the life that grows inside, that takes the rest of her health.
“~There’s many a bonnie lass in the town of Auchterless,” Ginny softly sings. More gently mouthing words than actual songs, in the complete darkness of her cell. A cell that she lives in between whatever experiments have been decided to be run on her for that day. Or week. Or some other amount of time.
“~There’s many a bonnie lass in ol’ Garioch.”
A darkness that slows the scales she can feel growing up through her skin. But only slowing. Not stopping. Not entirely.
“~There’s many a bonnie Jean in the streets of Aberdeen.”
Sapphire Scales, the asshole who gave them to her called them. Whatever they are, whatever illness they hold, those scales have been enough for the experiments to stop entirely. For the man doing them to declare her ‘only fit to discard.’
Bastard.
“~But the flower of them all-” a cough, enough to rattle her chest, “-lives in Fyvie’ooo.”
Ginny doesn’t know if babies can hear in the womb, but she figures it doesn’t hurt to try. Like it never hurt to sing at the bedsides of many a Revolutionary.
A song about a soldier who died before he could marry his love. A wry smile pulls at the edges of her lips, burning as it does. What song could be more fitting to share now than that?
The sound of a key being worked in a lock. A heavy door ready to be heaved open.
She straightens, bomb collar heavy on her neck. Here they come now. Here to ‘release her into the wild,’ now they’ve gotten all the use they can out of her. Upon that release, Ginny knows exactly what she will do.
She will sail home to her love one final time. She will make sure the child within her survives that trip. She will tell Kuma-chi that she loves him.
Then, and only then, she will allow herself to die.
Crrrk. The door’s hinges squeal. GRchk. The bottom of it crunches as it is pushed open.
Ginny waits for her fate to come calling, head held high.
~
Her fate, it seems, has different plans for her.
Because they don’t escort her to a ship, under a burning sun that will draw out her illness’ scales even further. Instead the guards bring her deeper into the heart of the Holy Land, into darker hallways. Farther and farther away from the sun. To a room of white marble, where it looks like the sun has never touched. Lit only by small candles on the wall scones.
There is a shadow sitting in this room, a shadow with shape and presence.
“So this is Saturn’s little lab rat.” The shadow speaks with a voice that echoes through her bones, grinding at her eardrums. Red eyes blink open, eyes wound about with a neverending spiral, to look towards Ginny.
There is weight in the eyes looking at her. Judging and finding her wanting like every Celestial Dragon Ginny has met in her life. But the pressure of this watcher is different. Like the gaze alone could kill her, not a command to the bomb at her throat.
For a shameful moment, Ginny doubts. Could the world ever really be free, if this darkness was what lay at its heart? Ready to drag them down whenever they sought to reach for the light. Bow down, that darkness whispers, nothing you do matters.
Nothing matters? Ginny knows those familiar internal words, knows them as she stiffens her lips in response to them. No. She won’t lose herself. She is a person and her name is Ginny. Even if she dies, even if the Revolution fails in the end...that doesn’t mean it never mattered.
“You may have run out of use to Saturn, but there is something else that may prove useful to mu.”
The crowned head tilts ever so slightly. Eyes still staring into her.
“Your past.”
So it’s like that, huh. Of course it is. If there’s one thing that this shitty place has wanted from her, it’s to steal the best moments of her life, to use those moments as a Freedom Fighter to destroy her loved ones.
“Tell me about your leader. Dragon.”
Ginny doesn’t even hesitate. “Never.”
If the torture she went through for ‘questioning’ when she was first captured didn’t break her, this monster’s grinding voice asking her for the same information definitely won’t.
Shadowy clawed fingers tap on its chair’s arm. “Loyal. He has such a keen eye for talent.”
If she didn’t know better, she would say that the monster almost seems pleased by her refusal. Instantly leveling it far more patient than any other Noble she’s ever seen, ever dealt with. Making it far more of a threat as a result.
Her heart rate is rising in her chest. To dangerous levels. Levels she can’t afford in the heart of hell, not when there’s another life depending on her body surviving right now. To calm herself down, Ginny decides, alright. This? They’re now Mr. Shadow. A silly name never to be spoken aloud, but the thought of the outraged response that saying it out loud would net her calms her heart. Just a touch.
“But it will be for the better, when you decide to tell mu more about my Beloved.” Red eyes glow. “A method for you to better protect him as you wish, mouse, from proper foes. Rest assured, there is no need for Beloved to be protected from mu.”
Beloved. That’s bad. That’s shit.
Ginny bites on her tongue. Hard. Because to say anything in response to that... she’s never been more aware of the heavy weight about her neck. Or the damage it’ll cause to her body should the bomb go off.
Because she’s seen this type of shit before, in Marie Goise. Never personally, always at a distance, but that’s more than enough. At times, a Noble would notice a slave beneath them. Notice and want them. The aftermath of that desire... never ended well. More often than not, the slave would end up dead. The less lucky- her fingers itch. No. She wouldn’t think that. Not connected to Dragon.
But how Mr. Shadow talks about Dragon, is like those Nobles with those pretty slaves. That’s the tone of infatuation. Obsession.
Oh, Dragon. He should have told them. Ginny, Big Bro, Kuma-chi, none of them would judge. There was nothing for him to be ashamed of, when Celestial Dragons as a whole were crazier than a bag o’ cats.
And this one, Mr. Shadow, seemed to be even crazier than the average.
“Mu knows how the followers of my Beloved are. Should you purposefully harm yourself or attempt to dispose of yourself in any way, in between sessions...”
A casual wave of hand. Like its owner isn’t saying horrible, monstrous things.
“Your spawn will take your place.”
Fuck. Fucking shit.
“Now...”
Guards are beckoned forward, towards where they're indicated. To Ginny’s own chained arms.
“Take the mouse to its room.”
~
The cell that Mr. Shadow’s given to her is much nicer than the one she had before. Has an actual bed in it and everything. But Ginny’s no idiot. She knows that the instant she ‘steps out of line’ and offends the noble over some arbitrary details, she’s doomed to go somewhere even worse than the experimental chambers.
And... her hand rests on her swollen belly again.
(“Your spawn will take your place.”)
Yeah. Whether Ginny wanted this baby or not, she’s not fucking dooming it to being bait straight out of the womb. Or to be reclaimed for whose sperm made it in the first place.
She heaves a sigh. If that means she’s bait then...
“Sorry Dragon. It’s not your fault.” Never was. Never will be. Nobles suck like that.
The cell is, of course, dark. Very dark. Kept away from natural sunlight and moonlight and stars so the scales won’t grow fast enough to kill her. But it’s lit with some kind of lowkey electrical light woven into vine-like cords. Enough for her to see that those cords are wrapped about the bars inserted into the cell walls, up to where said bars arch up overhead. Making a birdcage shape, inside of a room. A prison inside of a prison inside a hellscape of a prison. It may be pretty, but loses points for trying to disguise its real purpose. Also for having two doors, one birdcage bar door and a regular room door outside of it. Too many doors, fucking weird shit.
The dungeon back in Sorbet? Dank as hell, but much more straightforward. Same with the experiment cells. Not hiding that they were places meant for people to die in.
“Didn’t think I’d get to rating my shitty prisons but here we are...” She shakes her head, almost chuckling. Really, it’s the type of argument that she would probably get into with Big Bro. Kuma-chi would attempt to mediate but he’d been laughing too. And Dragon-
Ginny stops. Coughs.
She probably shouldn’t think about Dragon right now.
The air also stinks of incense. Not the usual kind she’s used to, that burns in churches. Something else that’s supposedly more medicinal in nature, that smells of... She sniffs the air carefully. Cinnamon? How strange.
Everything about this place stinks (less literally) of having been carefully prepared for a long, long time. But for who? It can’t be for her, Ginny knows she’s considered an insect by her current captor, a pest that somehow manages to be useful for what they really want. It’s not for Dragon either, her captor is certainly possessive enough that they wouldn’t want to risk vermin contaminating anything they create for Dragon. But who else is there? It’s clearly meant to be a cell. Maybe for when Mr. Shadow wants to put other Celestial Dragons into time-out? Weird shit. Whoever the intended guest was meant to be, they’re certainly not using it now. Leaving only Ginny to be trapped inside.
“Just me.”
A kick in her belly. A sudden jerk of motion.
Ginny laughs quietly, running her hand over the motion. “And you, of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to forget.”
No more kicks. Seems her apology’s been accepted, hah.
Now that she’s away from Mr. Shadow, from the other prying eyes of World Nobles, Ginny allows herself to truly consider the life growing inside her. Of the possibilities for that life.
Bonney for a girl, Bart for a boy, she decides. Strong names, good names. Names for if the baby makes it or not, because every person deserves a name. And the baby inside will be a person, not waste, not spawn, like every Celestial Dragon proclaims for the children of slaves.
She grimaces. Also... as much as she despises the thought, the presence of Mr. Shadow looming over her might be enough to scare off any Celestial Dragons who might even think of claiming her child as theirs.
(Hands clawing her sides, her legs, her neck-)
Ginny’s shivering. Enough. Enough of those thoughts, but she still needs to consider the reality, the possibilities for the baby. Because even if that particular Noble never seeks to claim Ginny’s child for the audacity of sharing blood, there are still risks of her baby being stolen away to be a toy if she grows up too pretty. Too sweet.
The world is truly a cruel place. But Mr. Shadow might scare those off just by in the vicinity, by being the apparent secret ruler of the Celestial Dragons.
The price being...
Ginny frowns, curling her hands together. Being around such a monster, of course. A monster seemingly obsessed with her friend. She’ll have to be careful, even more careful than before, under Saturn’s ‘care.’
“Well, Iva-chan says I’ve always been good at handling unexpected challenges.”
And this entire situation certainly is one of those.
~
There’s a routine that starts up, in Ginny’s new span of captivity. There’s always a routine for slaves, and as a slave, Ginny’s known many who have retreated into that routine. It’s much different from the ones she’s had before, both before God Valley and her time as Saturn’s guinea pig.
Mr. Shadow demands actual clothing for her, clothing that’s clearly tailored for their taste alone and in the sense that Ginny’s meant to be considered part of decor now. But only when Mr. Shadow sees her, otherwise it’s the same old, same old ragged smock. It’s a helpful indicator of what role she needs to play that day, if clothes are brought to her or not alongside her breakfast.
If no clothes are brought, then Ginny is left to her own devices in the cell-room that stinks of cinnamon. Left to spy at the cleaners who occasionally come through. She’d like to speak to them, possibly even do Tap, but right now?
Too risky. Not with a Master’s eye so attached to her existence right now. So, bored out of her mind, she waits and watches. Sings to herself ever so quietly, at times.
If clothes are brought...
Well.
Time to see Mr. Shadow for some kind of excursion. Like today.
Ginny sits before a stone table on a simple stool. A stone table carved with intricate patterns of what appears to be various battles and victories. She lifts her eyes from what appears to be a Buccaneer being disemboweled by a devilish knight, stomach churning, to look at her teacup instead. No, she doesn’t need to look at that. The baby in her seems to agree, wiggling ever so slightly.
The room is dark, like every place she’s been allowed in Pangaea Castle so far, curtains drawn to block any natural light. Yet she can still see well enough, with round orbs of lanterns hanging about from the ceiling.
Not enough to see the true face of who shares the table with her, of course.
She smooths out her dress, an intricate pale gray thing of velvet and pearl that covers every inch of her from neck down to her ankles. Something definitely different from her common slave smock, something to be worn to make her an added decoration to the decor surrounding her. The gray blends in with the pearly lamps and dishes, after all.
A fairy tale brought life. The kind where the fairies eat the guests.
Ginny’s seen too much of what is considered beautiful in the Holy Land to be impressed. Much.
But awe is important to show to assholes who will kill the people she cares about terribly, so she widens her eyes and looks about in feigned interest. Not that Mr. Shadow seems to care. No, there’s only one thing that Mr. Shadow cares about when it comes to interacting with her and that’s...
“Tell mu, what tea does Beloved favor beyond these walls?” Red eyes that Ginny hates that are filled with a hungry need to know.
Ginny primly sips from her tea cup. Herbs. Green tea, something like that. Barely more than water, no need to waste the good stuff on a mere slave. Enough to ground her in the moment and that’s all she needs to find her words.
“Dragon-sama doesn’t take tea much.”
Most likely due to horrible flashbacks from this, but Mr. Shadow’s totally going to miss that. Monsters like it always do.
Mr. Shadow hums, outright pleased by Ginny’s apparent show of respect to its ‘Beloved.’ Apparent being the important part here, because the respect Ginny has for Dragon goes beyond a silly ‘sama.’
Because, no offense to anyone else in the Revolution that uses the honorific for Dragon, Ginny simply doesn’t think of her commander in that way. Dragon-sama is some unreachable leader, a mysterious individual that Mr. Shadow wants to peel apart. Dragon is her friend.
Ginny hates dividing it up in her brain like that, but she’s done it before to survive in the so-called Holy land. So she will do it again. The worst part is that Dragon would forgive her, over and over, for what happens here. Would make the same choices, even, under the same threat.
(Dragon really is too good of a guy.)
Her belly boils and so does the life next to it. Kick, kick, kicking.
Shh, not now, baby. It’s not safe, she sneaks a hand under the table to tap back where she can feel the kicks. So active, so alive.
It might have gone unnoticed at another Celestial Dragon’s table. It wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by the guy who experimented on her but he would have said nothing, thinking himself above the bodies of insects.
Mr. Shadow does notice and does remark on it.
“Rare for slave spawn to be in the presence of mu. The last time mu was near one so young...” Veiled head tilts back in thought. “Ah. That was the infant Beloved sired for mu.”
For a moment, she doesn’t understand. When she does, though, it hits all at once. An anvil to her heart and skull at the same time.
Oh god. Oh fuck.
(Hands pawing at her breasts, her stomach, her legs, and she can’t move, can’t get away-)
No. Ginny sips her tea. Her hands don’t shake because everything depends on them not shaking. Like how her hands are never steadier than on a rifle. She sips until. Air. There’s nothing more coming up, nothing but air instead of lukewarm liquid.
Slowly, the cup is placed down on its saucer. Not on the table because god forbid that Ginny not follow the tea protocol of her friend’s fucking rapist.
There’s two teapots between her and Mr. Shadow, both patterned in different kinds of flowers. Yellow for hers, and small whites for the one that pours into Mr. Shadow’s cup. Daffodils and jasmine, that’s the names that were proclaimed earlier as an apparent part of the tea setting up process.
Ginny wants nothing more than to take them and upheave them over the monster’s head. Taste shitty tea and boiling water, bitch! But.
She doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. To do that is to die instantly and she can’t do that. Not yet.
“What happened to the baby, Master?” she pushes out. Because she has to know. None of her friends would ever leave an innocent baby behind to this hell, did the baby...die? Did they get sold off, father doomed to forever look for them? Or was the father forced to flee without the baby, fearing that the child would go up to the same evils as the Nobles around them?
Her stomach hurts.
“Ah yes, the infant...” Claws tap on the table. Shaking the porcelain, the glass. “Our offspring, Beloved stole from mu. Left his rightful place at my side and took the child to the filth of the world below.”
Oh.
Oh thank god. Oh thank Kuma-chi’s god, Nika.
Dead or not, at least the kid had a chance to be free before whatever happened next.
There’s a pressure emanating from Mr. Shadow, pressing down on Ginny’s everything. Enough to force water from her eyes, to trickle down her otherwise unmoving face. A face kept still by the same pressure along with the rest of Ginny.
Around her ears catch the sound of bodies thumping to the marble flooring, the pressure simply too much for them. Probably chosen for their duty because that pressure would be too much, arrogant bastards.
“Enough of that subject.” The pressure lessens, as Mr. Shadow shakes its crowned hand, folding claws hands before it and behind its teacup. Red eyes burn like embers.
“Mouse, speak on what plant life vexes my Beloved so.”
A clawed hand beckons another slave, a new one sent in to replace the fallen, over to quickly fill Ginny’s cup from the daffodil teapot. Ginny picks the cup up, needing something to fill her hands too. Before she uses her hands to-
Well. Easy enough to guess for anyone whose head didn’t reside in their own ass.
“Of course, Master.”
~
The King of the World considers mu’s next moves in the garden. But just not any section of the gardens, the portion that Imu has set aside specifically for the return of mu’s own Beloved.
Monkey orchids, blue roses, hooded orchids, to name a few. All flowers that Imu recalls Beloved favoring in his own visits to the gardens, species he took more interest in than their fellows. Patiently waiting to be gifted like so.
Like the mouse that waits to return to its owner, the ill one that played at fighting against the world itself. Only to discover, like all prey does, that the cats always come in the end. Still... So bold. As bold as Beloved is, was, even while Imu trained him to break at mu’s command.
Imu can see why Beloved has taken the mouse for one of his own.
But if that connection leans any way towards the physical...clawed fingers crunch a flower stem in a tightening grip. Something will be done. A claim more fully established.
The thorns of said flower aren’t even a sting, even allowing for how tight mu’s grip has dug them into mu’s flesh. Blood drips, but only as Imu allows it. As all things will be.
Barely more than a thought, to heal the wounds and make the blood vanish. Barely a moment more to fully crush the flower, toss it away to be disposed of.
Because even with that possible risk, of attraction between mouse and Beloved...
A good decision to make, to put the mouse to use instead of allowing Saturn to ship it off to die. To think that Imu had almost let that chance pass mu by, this chance that will allow Imu to grip Beloved tightly once more...
“Irritating to even consider.”
The mouse is clever, avoiding distinct landmarks and locations in the narratives she tells. Yet not clever enough when its aim is to prevent Imu from where the most likely location to find Beloved is.
Red eyes narrow.
It’s been quite some time since Imu put mu’s knowledge of plant life to use outside of the gardens, but that just makes Beloved more special, doesn’t it? For Imu go as far as that, all for him. From what the mouse mentioned, the plants that irritated him the most, the ones mentioned the most, lie in a certain area of the Grand Line. A certain area where further locations can be narrowed down.
Of course, he won’t be there all the time. Not him or his agents. Beloved is not a fool enough to do that. If he were, he would have never caught Imu’s personal attention for a sentencing in the first place.
On to the next thought, the next thread to draw: the child.
The mouse seemed surprised by the existence of a child between Imu and Beloved. How curious.
Imu tilts mu’s head thoughtfully, humming.
Has Beloved hidden the child away from his followers? Hidden them away like Imu did with Beloved from the world?
A light chuckle. “Oh, what a hypocrite, my Beloved, after all your complaints against mu doing the same...”
Of course, if Beloved is always doing, always out and about without the child, then reacquiring him will most likely happen without the child as well.
It will not be a problem. Beloved was desperate enough for the offspring during their brief time together that he will surely bend to Imu’s will to reunite them. If only out of fear what may happen to said child. Nonetheless, the nursery will be prepared to hold a child. Whether the last or a new one, between Imu and Beloved.
As for how their love should be reestablished...
Beloved needs to be made aware of much Imu missed him. Of how it cannot happen again. Imu has been too soft, really. Merciful when mu should not have been.
“This will be corrected.”
The air hangs heavy, on the flowers and leaves alike. Dry as it is and should be, in this particular locale. A heavy sign leaves Imu’s lungs, as heavy as the air itself.
Ah, if only Imu could hunt Beloved on mu’s own terms, instead of through intermediaries and servants. Never has that man’s curse been so irritating before this, before this want.
Mu opens mu’s mouth to bare newly grown fangs, fangs that thirst to dig into chosen prey. Focusing a small amount of effort pushes said fangs into oblivion.
Control. Control in all things.
Mu’s hand still remains upon this, does it not? Mu has further information and tactics that Beloved will not be able to predict, for lack of them being used against him. No trick works on him twice, but this will work because there will be no other.
A finely woven trap it will be, crafted by Imu’s own hand. Made finer by the number of rebels sure to be caught in it as well. Of the choice it will force upon Beloved.
“Mayhaps mu will show gratitude to Saturn for the little mouse...”
A thin thin smile. Teeth that lean towards sharpness gleam.
“After all, she will prove to be such lovely bait.”