#decided to revisit corpse party to see if it was actually any good or if it was just one of the first horror games i ever experienced

[akolnoix]

subject: no hard feelings! :D

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 128 Thoughts

Pacing, I think, is the single most difficult thing to do correctly when telling a story. Out loud or in text, you have to juggle every cue you’re giving off, keep it all relevant, and make it so when things fall into place, they’re falling to the gravity that the story’s been given.

That’s why we’ve got something of a problem in this arc.

I complain a lot, because it’s easy, and this is hardly a flawless work. Organization has also been one of the regular things this series just has trouble with.

Still, while I really feel that the last few chapters aren’t the best way to tell this story, the story chosen is a monster to keep in line.

[insert amusing pre-cut joke of your choice here]

Conflict is the root of every story. Character vs self. Character vs character. Character vs nature. Pick one, then plant the seed and watch the clash reform the setting. Knowing your protagonist often involves knowing your villain.

Eren has always been the best protagonist for this series. He embodies the fury of humanity in an environment that embraces complacency. He is the voice that shouts for people to do something.

Back in Trost, everyone on his starting squad plans on picking the Survey Corps. Because of his constant, unfettering influence. He’s the one who is always reminding them that there’s a world outside that they’re abandoning. He never lets Jean forget it. He interrupts parties with the vocal equivalent of hammering 99 problems to every door.

Eren is one of the top ten soldiers in the 104th, and he makes sure everyone knows what he’s using his skills for. And before they themselves are confronted with what’s being asked of them to join him, everyone in his social circle is ready to make the same choice.

Moving forward is what Eren does in a world that’s been trapped in stagnation. He is a force of change. He is a force of impotent rage in the face of disaster.

He is every reaction the humans inside the walls don’t have, because as a people, they can’t imagine what there is to be done about their problems. Staying within the safety of the walls and limiting their potential in return for not dying a bloody death seems fair, to them.

They are imprisoned, so Eren, our protagonist, seeks freedom.

Being born free is the linchpin of his first successful transformation.

His first rather disturbing act of violence comes from him murdering slavers.

The wings of freedom are the iconic brand of his chosen military branch.

Subtlety.

That’s all very straightforward and simple to work with.

Then we open up the setting, and things are still rather simple, just in a turn that kicks off one hell of a problem.

The world itself is a cage. Physically, in the form of internment camps, or culturally, in the form of how people think about each other and act. There is no freedom for the citizens of Paradis now that they have broken out of their shell. There is just another prison, and a ticking time bomb.

Naturally, in its most basic form, this would make the world Eren’s enemy, because Eren is the champion of freedom.

Only then, if you stick to the most basic form of the concept, the simple answer is that when everyone else dies, then you will have your freedom.

Eren might be the story’s protagonist, but that’s because he stands at the fulcrum of all the story’s core ideas. He makes the rest of the plot move. He is the focus point. He is why there’s a story, and not a jumble of confused, dying people throwing themselves at the problem of titans.

He’s not everything that’s going on.

The world’s cruelty is not what this story is about.

Eren starts thinking about the outside world because a boy shares his dreams of the ocean.

Mikasa takes the time to salute a little girl on a battlefield.

Sasha fights a titan off with a bow and arrow to save one child’s life. She dies because she won’t kill a little girl.

Levi chooses not to revive Erwin so that Erwin can die without being brutally abused as the rest of mankind’s sacrifice.

Niccolo’s entire concept of what he’s fighting for is disrupted because people like his cooking.

Gabi is protected and treated like a child by the 104th even after they know she pulled the trigger on their friend.

Colt dies because of his insistence on giving his little brother comfort.

Reiner’s still breathing because there’s a few little kids he can do some good for.

Annie just wants to see her dad again.

Humanity, as a general concept, begins in an easily condemnable place in the manga. One of the first things Paradis does is send out a large percentage of its citizens to die so that the rest can live. Meanwhile, the only people who do try to go outside and learn more about the world are smeared even as they’re bringing back corpses.

By the end of Uprising, there’s a crowd of cheering people waiting for the Scouts to succeed.

People are awful.

They can do better.

A lot of Eren’s objection to Jean is highlighted through that. He never gives Connie a hard time for wanting to join the MPs. It’s Jean, who’s vocally joining up just so he can take it easy, that Eren objects to. Jean doesn’t have to be a jackass. It’s a decision he’s making.

Jean decides to do better.

In the beginning, people are willing to settle for ‘good enough.' Slowly, as the arcs go by, we approach a near universal take of people seeing problems and taking preventative action.

Here, with the Yeagerists, we come back to the original sin of Paradis.

As long as this one little island is okay, and no one on it has to worry about death, what does the outside world matter? Especially when that outside world has repeatedly promised to kill them? Killing them all first isn’t a problem, it’s a solution.

Samuel’s there at the start of Trost.

Sasha saves his life.

Connie kills him.

They don’t hate each other. Neither one wants to pull the trigger. But Samuel is willing to see the rest of the world die if it means keeping Paradis safe. Connie isn’t.

Over and over, the cycle plays out the exact same way. People kill each other to free themselves. As long as there’s always an Us vs Them dynamic, the bloodshed continues indefinitely. The Eldian Empire enslaved the world through titans. Marley won its freedom and decided it was okay to do the same thing as long as they only enslaved Eldians.

The methodology is what’s going to fuck everyone over in the end.

During Uprising, it is routinely discussed that it’s possible the royal family and the upper brass do know something that makes a coup a bad idea. It’s possible that overthrowing them will bring Paradis into an even darker landscape.

What it comes down to is that whatever they know, they’re willing to let everyone else die if it saves their own skin.

Since that particular Everyone Else is united, the coup continues, and the island’s given its chance at actual peace.

Now, the Yeagerists are making that same argument.

Meanwhile, before we were dealing with this, we had Zeke. His argument was that seeing as the world would never change, Ymir’s people were all cursed and damned, it is for the best of all of us if we all die.

He’s the ultimate counter to Eren. Eren is fighting for life, while Zeke is only searching for the best death.

Only by all appearances, Eren’s fight has landed him in the exact same place. It’s only the question of which people are dying.

Getting back to Connie and Samuel, if you squint, Connie is betraying his allegiance to his comrades. ...If you squint. I know he feels that way, and I know what the chapter title is, but the Yeagerists are a genocidal cult who bully their way into power and try to kill off their actual Commander, who Connie is still following.

Samuel might not be aware of that, but that’s what we’ve got.

The closest Connie came to betrayal was throwing a Warrior Candidate into his mom’s mouth, and we wrapped up that subplot.

Without squinting, Samuel is betraying the ideals that Connie chose the Survey Corps for. Connie wants to save people. He doesn’t want all this death, regardless of how it benefits him.

So this whole conflict, throughout this entire chapter, is really all about who wants which people dead.

The Warriors are still fighting for Marley. Despite everything, that’s their home, and their base of operations if they ever want a chance at fixing things. Paradis has more friends on it than they like thinking about, but Paradis is not their problem.

Kiyomi and the Hizuru flock are pretty much... she is just so done, and it’s very easy to see why. This is not their war. They were looking for a beneficial partnership. For power and resources, sure, but they were willing to play ball. Now they get to watch as the nation they helped kills off the world and their only allies are rushing them to a basement. Hopefully to do something significant before their country burns.

What’s left of the Scouts who are actually following the legitimate chain of command is, surprisingly, focused on stopping Eren’s genocide.

Then I guess the rest of the world probably has opinions, but they don’t get any pages. But it’s pretty safe to assume Eren’s high on their ‘want dead’ list. If not all of Paradis.

We’ve got one group of people who are actually, actively, doing the anti-genocide thing.

The rest is just fighting over the biggest piece of the pie.

The conflict is that some people think genocide is bad, and some people think genocide is okay, actually.

And, you know, fine.

Only then we have Eren.

Protagonist boy.

We don’t know his conflict, and he has more power than anyone else in the entire cast. Unless we count the primordial ooze as a cast member. He is a giant stegosaurus monster who has threatened the entire world, and as far as anyone with eyes can see, he’s actually going through with it.

Nothing presented anywhere suggests that there is a way to stop him.

At best, if people succeed in killing him, they will have unleashed a bunch of mindless Colossals into the world. If we revisit our volume 1 knowledge, we know this to be a problem.

Making all of this really, really pointless.

Obviously, this is what all these characters would do in this situation.

Obviously, we have some feelings about them being forced to kill their allies while the world falls apart.

Obviously, the author probably being willing to fast-forward through all of this is not necessarily an indication that that is what creates the optimal story.

Obviously, these are important details.

The plot still might as well be a glacier.

There is one person moving pieces around. Everyone else is just scrambling on the board he’s created and rehashing whether or not genocide is a good thing every time they’re considering shooting someone they kind of don’t want to.

All of the tension is literally an ocean away.

As great as the character moments are, there’s nothing to ground them in. There’s just a baseless hope that somehow, there’s a way out of this, and the story doesn’t end with yet another genocide kicking off a rebellion.

Magath flips on his worst hot take immediately. He does that because his country is dying and it’s reorganizing his priorities and beliefs to line up with what he’s actually feeling instead of parroting the world that created him.

Yelena goes from being catatonic to being a nuisance because -- reasons?

Connie almost kills Falco then doesn’t, because he really, honestly, was never going to kill the kid and we all knew that.

The driving force of all these potential conflicts is just too distant. As much work as everyone’s doing, they’re only making progress towards getting to Eren.

When you have a character who can end the world choosing to end the world, it creates problems. When that character is your protagonist, it’s even worse.

In the past, Eren’s absence has spurred characters to action and revealed more of the world’s secrets. Presently, unlike in his various kidnappings, Eren is the one with the secrets. His absence is making people do stuff, but not stuff that has any tangible meaning outside of putting actions to the belief that genocide is bad.

Secrets, and people seeking answers, has been a major player in moving the plot from the beginning.

Here though, we have the issue of no one having the luxury of investigating why this is happening. Mikasa and Armin might be desperate to know, but they have no tools available to them except the airship. Which, again, just puts them in the same place as Eren. It does not give them much more than they had the last time they were in a room with him.

Whatever secrets are in place, they are insignificant next to the fact that the world is ending as they watch.

Only, you know, slowly.

Because the decision has been made that Eren’s perspective is going to be a Reveal. It has to stay private until the moment it’s relevant to the other members of the cast, or otherwise, what was the point of holding off so long?

The result is this. Too much going on in too little time, and all of it technically mattering, but not enough that spending 40 pages on it really changes how the story is progressing.

I’m not sure this is a problem that would be easy to see coming. In the design phase, I mean. I’ve kind of been cautiously whining about these concerns for several months.

But the stage is set like this: Eren pulls the doomsday trigger. Enough time must pass for Paradis to cultivate a new normal and for Eren to reach land with his squad of titans. The goal is gathering our cast and stopping Eren.

There’s a disconnect between what needs to be done and how much time it takes to portray those things.

Connie’s breakdown over feeding Falco to his mom is a character moment that helps to inform his emotions this chapter. That’s probably why it survived. It still drags four named characters off to a village in the middle of nowhere while Floch’s reign is establishing itself.

Magath’s turnabout this chapter is the culmination of a lot of the emotional connections he’s made with Eldians, and the attachment he has to his home, but it comes after driving in the point of why Marley is so fucking awful. He’s spouting rhetoric last chapter, then he’s immediately confronted with the birthplace of that rhetoric being destroyed thanks to events he’s had a part in forging.

Yelena goes from being willing to let Floch shoot her to having an interest in watching things play out. Courtesy of one background dump.

The emotional beats these characters are all due do not match up with what they have to do, and it’s making things come across as really disjointed. It’s a frustrating combination of this needing more pages, but the idea of yet more pages being spent off where the main plot actually is going on is exhausting.

The world is ending, but the world has been ending for months.

We’ve clearly got a checklist of things to get done before we meet up with Eren, but he’s hoarding the plot. Sticking around to watch the list be physically checked is...

To paraphrase some tumblr post from the past few months, it feels like laundry, mostly.

The story wouldn’t survive just jumping to Eren. The more time we’re away from him, the greater the impact when we finally know what’s up. The more time we have with our squad of unlikely, plucky heroes, the more we’re going to want to punch Eren in the face for not listening to them. Again.

It’s not that there’s no value in devoting chapters to all of this planning and reeling. It’s that no matter what happens here, it is not fixing the larger problem of Eren’s genocide campaign.

The plot is across the ocean, and we are months into watching our cast try to reconnect with it.

For me, that makes it a bit dull to read, but it is hard to hold it against the story. Writing the end of the world when you intend to make the audience care about the world -- even though the protagonist is ending it -- that is a lot of plot. Knitting it all together is not a simple task. You can see the seams popping.

Oh well.

One of the things I will stand by is that this manga is a great story told gracelessly. If you read it all linearly, problems are going to be noticed. Stuff be weird. Plus timed terribly.

But there’s a lot of emotion packed into it all. It’s a story that, when you look back in retrospect, free of any time line and observing only through the lens of your knowledge, it holds up and has power.

So I’m glad all of this stuff is being drawn, because one day, when the story’s over, having a fragmented, disjointed thread of progression isn’t going to matter so much.

Some stories survive on how they’re told.

Arguably, that includes this one, because the anime got people through the first few volumes.

This story, primarily, survives on the quality of what it is attempting to lump together.

...Not that I don’t wish it wouldn’t try a little harder to pace itself, but I suppose all that energy is being spent on Eren. You know. Since he’s the only one who has any of the parts of the plot that matter.

Uh.

As far as what actually happened this chapter, yay for Mikasa showing attachment to Kiyomi and crew. Intrigue for the question of where Eren is being such a topic (he’s a fucking giant stegosaurus last I saw figure it out). Sadness for Samuel being on the wrong side after surviving so long (Connie probably remembers Sasha saving his life). Sadness for Reiner trying to spare his friends the pain of what he went through for his cause. Pat on the head for Annie still being impossibly Annie. Pat on the head for Onyankopon just because (sorry about your life yikes).

The absolute funniest part of all of this, to me, is that Daz is now dead.

Beats freezing to death in a blizzard while two teenagers shout about philosophy over your unconscious body?

Anyway, another month goes by.

Much the way waves do in Wind Waker.

[especially-heinous-ada]

A Police Gala pt. 3

(photo is of the reader’s TV room) royalty free image found at https://www.pexels.com/photo/apartment-ceiling-chair-decoration-276653/ 

After some disappointment and struggle (my original was lost after my laptop failed), I have managed to re-write part three of the reader x Barba series. I just want to say thank you, and I’m glad that people seem to be enjoying it so far! I hope you enjoy part three, as well. There is some smut here for you, but it’s not what you think haha. 

If you haven’t already, please read part one and part two. 

Rafael set off down the street at a leisurely pace. He wasn’t exactly in a hurry to return to his empty apartment and be alone after having spent last few hours in pleasant company. He watched the water spray out from under his footsteps as he walked.  For a moment, he debated on stopping for a nightcap, but decided against it. His sopping wet suit clung to his body in a rather unpleasant manner as he walked. Luckily, it wasn’t too far a distance from your apartment to his. He found it an ironic twist of fate that you lived so close together, were both involved with law enforcement, and yet you still had no idea the other existed until now. It wasn’t long before he reached his apartment building. He stopped underneath the building’s awning, closing his umbrella and giving it a hearty shake to slough off as much rain as possible before going inside.

“Good evening, Giles.” He greeted the older doorman

“Good evening, Mr. Barba.” The man replied jovially. “Had a rough night?”

“Actually, it was quite lovely. Until this.” Rafael motioned to his entire body, in its soaking wet state. “It’s alright, though. It perked up at the end.” Giles nodded and considered Rafael’s words for a moment before responding.

“Well, have a good night. Take care not to catch cold.” He said. He seemed like he would ask more, but didn’t. Rafael wondered why, but supposed he, himself, was probably to blame for that. The older man was quite pleasant and Rafael enjoyed the occasional conversation with him, but he rarely had time to spare more than a line or two. He was always in a rush to get to the office in the morning and on the brink of exhaustion when he returned home at night.

He entered the elevator and pressed the button to ride up to the top floor, which was split between two large suites, his and that of his neighbor—an eccentric young tech guru. He rarely saw his new neighbor, and they never exchanged more than a nod of acknowledgement. That was fine with him. He suspected they didn’t have anything in common, anyway. A large group of people stood in the hallway outside their doors. Another party?  Rafael groaned and rolled his eyes. As he got out of the elevator, the group piled in. He wasted no time going straight to his door, opening the lock and ducking inside.

He put his umbrella in its holder by the door and slipped off his shoes, feeling too lazy to take care of them properly. He immediately crossed the apartment over to his bedroom, eager to change into something warm and dry. Once in his bedroom, he strips off his suit and hangs it on a rack to dry. He swaps out his underwear for a fresh pair and wonders whether it’s worth it to put pajamas on. He decides it’s not and lays down in bed. He mentally revisits his goodbye with you from earlier tonight and smiles.

Suddenly, he sits up and throws the covers off himself. He heads over to the rack where his suit jacket is hanging and slides his fingers into breast pocket carefully, taking the paper out slowly to avoid ripping it. He wanted to put your number in his contacts before he forgot. He looks down at it and frowns. The ink is smudged, making the phone number illegible. He sighs.

He tried to think of another way to contact you, but he had none. He knew that rich people like their privacy, so it was extremely difficult to try and contact them directly. He couldn’t just show up your apartment like a stalker. That was a sure fire way to guarantee you’d get a restraining order against him. He sat down, feeling defeated, thinking maybe he was destined to be alone.

I finally found an amazing woman, who’s interested in me, gives me her number and tells me to call her, and this happens.

He sighs again and climbs under the covers, thinking of the woman that he’s sure he’s lost his chance with.

God, she’s amazing. She’s intelligent, funny, talented, intriguing, successful, and sexy as hell. His mind turns back to the images from your lingerie photo shoot. He groans, feeling emotionally and sexually frustrated. At least he can solve one of those problems tonight, he thinks as he slips one hand underneath the covers.

Your breath is quick and jagged. What are you doing to me, Rafael Barba? You think. You’d thought that if you could get some release, you could relax, but neither your hands nor your toys could satiate you when you thought of him. And you couldn’t stop thinking of him. You turned onto your side, peering at the clock on your bedside table. It read 12:00 A.M.

You groaned and rolled out of bed, not bothering to put on pants because you knew you were alone in your apartment. You crossed over into the kitchen and pulled out a fresh bottle of wine from your wine cooler. You then grab a corkscrew from a nearby drawer and pop the bottle open. Tossing the corkscrew into the sink, you take a big gulp from the bottle and cross over into your TV room, sinking down onto your white leather couch. If some one-on-one time won’t take your mind off of him, maybe alcohol and late night television will.

You grab the remote and turn on the television.

“Today, the verdict came back in the trial of the “Date night ripper”of Manhattan.” At the conclusion of the trial, the jury returned a guilty verdict on twelve counts, including multiple counts of rape, murder, and mutilation of a corpse—”  

“Sick son of a bitch.” You say, taking another large gulp of wine.

“The prosecutor at the head of the trial had this to say.” The live video from the news station cut to a pre-recorded interview, which a caption indicated had been filmed earlier that day. Descending the steps of the courthouse, you see none other than Rafael Barba. You groan. Another gulp of wine.

“Of course, we feel really good about the verdict. We believe the jury ruled correctly. We’re glad that the citizens of New York can sleep a little easier tonight knowing that this man will not be roaming the streets—” He goes on to give a generic speech about how justice was served, etc. A typical speech , likely to be given by any A.D.A. who just won a case. However, that’s the only typical thing about him in that interview. His hair was perfectly coiffed and he wore a light grey suit with a peach checked dress shirt and baby blue matching tie and pocket square. You were impressed by his ability to dress himself so fashionably.

You groan out of frustration and click the power button on the remote. The television had not helped. Standing up, you cross the room to the table by your entryway, where you had left your phone earlier in your rush to get to your bedroom. You search your phone contacts to find someone tolerable enough to help you with this problem, as you obviously can’t handle it on your own.

“Hello, Damian. I miss you.” You purr as the handsome man answers your call. “How soon can you get here?”

Damian arrived outside the door of your penthouse suite in 20 mintues flat. You open the door and pull him inside, taking him directly to the bedroom. You waste no time pulling him toward the bed and stripping down to nothing. Damian was a model you used to work with. The two of you never discussed the possibility of being in a relationship. He’s not the kind to settle down with, but you can count on him to keep you company on the long, lonely nights.  Though you didn’t need the stimulation, you needed something to distract you from Rafael. Very badly.

You lay back on the bed and he positions himself between your legs. You moan softly as he kisses you, starting with your lips, then trailing down your body until he starts to lick the tender skin of your inner thigh. He shifts up and releases a hot breath on your renewed arousal and you groan. Finally, he takes you in his mouth and starts to suck. That’s right. Forget about Rafael. Focus on Damian. He switches from sucking to licking. Yes. Damian. Damian is quite good with his mouth. Being honest, this was your favorite part of the nights you spent together.

You run your fingers through his hair as he speeds up his rhythm. Your mind suddenly flashes to the image of Rafael’s perfectly coiffed hair from on the television interview and you can’t help but wonder how it would feel in your hands, with his head between your legs instead of Damian’s. The imagery intensifies your arousal. You’re supposed to be forgetting about him. Frustrated, you let out a low growl. Damian misreads the noise as one of pleasure. He lifts his head up to look at you.

“Ay, you’ve never made that noise for me before, mami.” He says with a cocky grin. You recognize that grin. You’ve seen it before—on Rafael’s face. Frustrated once more, you take Damian by the back of the head to direct him back to your center. He gladly returns to his previous task and takes you in his mouth, licking and sucking anew. Your breathing quickens. You try hard to think about something, anything, other than Rafael Barba as you feel the familiar pressure grow.

“Come for me, mami.” Damian says. “Come for me.” After resisting for a few more moments, you finally obeyed and allowed yourself to submit to your release. Waves of heat crashed over you and you felt dizzy. As you let the feeling overtake you, you panted and moaned and muttered something, over and over like a prayer. In the fervor of it all, you’re not sure what you said, and you don’t care to remember. You slide away from Damian and put an arm over your face, trying to steady your breathing as you start to come down from your high.  

“Who’s Rafael?”

You uncover your face and bolt upright.

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused.

“You said Rafael when you came, not my name. So who is he and why is he not here with you, instead of me? Kinda messed up to fuck a guy when you’re thinking about someone else.” Damian said, obviously pissed. Not that you blamed him. After all, you had just said another man’s name in bed with him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for wasting your time, Damian. You didn’t even get a chance to get naked.” You apologize. “You should probably go. I can pay your cab fare—”

“Nah, that’s fine.” He says. Then he thinks for a moment. “On second thought, can I have the rest of that wine?” He asks, pointing to the bottle on your bedside table. You agree with a nod. It’s the least you can do for using him like that, you think, feeling guilty. He picked it up and took a big swig.

“Good luck with that Rafael dude.” He says before crossing the room and walking out the door.

“Bye, Damian.” You call after him sheepishly as you listen to him make his exit and close your front door behind him.

You wake up the next morning, determined to do something about this situation. You couldn’t keep obsessing over a man you spent one night with and didn’t even fuck. To be quite frank, it terrified you how quickly Rafael Barba had become such a large part of your thoughts. It had only been three nights since your encounter. But he promised he would call. You were irritated that he dared to lie to your face. You didn’t know what you wanted—for him to apologize and ask you on a date, or for the opportunity to tell him off and kick him in los juevos. Whatever happened, you needed closure.

Since he was an attorney, you knew exactly where he spent most of his time. Luckily, you were familiar with the DA’s office, having toured it with the DA himself when you were a potential donor for his re-election campaign earlier that year. You took your time getting dressed, styling your hair and applying your makeup. You wanted to make sure he knew what he had been missing out on for the better part of that week. When you were finished, you looked yourself over in the mirror with a grin before heading out the door. Rafael Barba wouldn’t know what hit him.

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

Say, if they are also called Spanish chestnuts, but there's no Spain... would they be called Dressrosa chestnuts? … would make sense, right? (btw if it wasn’t obvious by now, this is framed as an actualy story arc)

16. Definitely not a date ( ffn ao3 )

Getting tea is another small adventure for Kat, though, as two especially chatty girls try to get into a conversation with her. Which in itself isn't a problem, trying to get 'him' join a dance party in the evening on the other hand.... was not something she would ever agree to. Not right now, nor at any other time, and especially not with people who wanted to get in her pants. The other problem she soon faced in this pickle was that Usopp ran after Luffy who was getting way too much into the 'visit everything you can' spirit and disappeared somewhere down the line.

The sweet release came in the person of three other familiar faces, two of which were beyond amused, and one that bore a mixed expression of incredulousness, desperation, anger and disappointment.

“What--- what did you...?!” is all that Law can manage after a minute of gawking at her. She could swear to see a tear in the corner of his eye. He's also dressed... tastefully, more than either of them are usually. Definitely not his style, either. One of the girls had a hand in that; apparently they've returned to the ship already. All in all, Law's pretty; some guy, probably not the first to do so, has seemingly also taken notice of that and is eyeing him until Kat catches the man red-handed... or eyed, and quickly moves along.

“Sssh,” she soothes him, squishing the cheeks of the man paralyzed by the sight of his defaced appearance.  “It's washable, the beard will grow back, and your earrings are on the wardrobe... Cute headband, by the way. Nami's, right?” she adds, looking at the golden-brownish striped accessory. Kinda odd to see him outside without any of his stuff; also, she should get a similar headband. It suits her.

“It is,” interrupts Penguin the scene which both him and Shachi, who is playing sword-bearer with Law's oversized piece strapped on his back somehow, find quite amusing by the looks of it. “The captain wouldn't stay put once he found out that you were out... Usopp told us you should be here.”

“Usopp?” she perks up, looking at them with Law's frozen face still between her hands. “Did he manage to find Luffy?”

“Yeah, the dude found the fair games and had a whole barrel full of apples and water in his mouth when we left,” laughs Shachi. “We should totally revisit that place later,” he turns to Penguin, who gives a decisive nod as an answer.

“Actually,” latter continues with just a wee bit too much artificial mulling as she releases Law from her grip, “since you've already been found, we aren't necessary here. You two can take care of yourselves,” he states, nodding towards Shachi.

“I agree,” his friend says, cracking a big smile and already stepping backwards. “Let's see what Straw Hat and Noseman are up to~”

By the time the sentence 'where the hell are you two going?!' gets formulated in Law's head as he's getting over the shock, the crowd has already swallowed them.

To Kat, this feels suspiciously like her Sunday afternoon adventure, except less bothersome or embarrassing, because her partner is just as unwilling as she is. Turning to Law, she sighs. “... do they do this to you often?” Or generally? Because she sees a trend here...

“Do wha--” the last bit gets lost as he sees her blinking at him with a face of fatigue and lament. She turns to the left, to the right, looking around with somewhat spread arms, then points them towards him. Then her. They are alone. That's what she's talking about... It's his turn to sigh. Painfully. “Oh, for fuck's sake.” They had to go and set up a 'date,' didn't they. This day is getting better by the minute.

“Took you long enough,” Kat notes, then takes a careful sip of the cup of freshly prepared green tea that just got handed to her.

“In my defense, it's been... years since they last pulled a stunt like this.” At least five, if not more.

“To be fair, though?” she turns back to him, stepping direction chestnut stand, “As long as I hang with you instead of the guys, I'm less likely to be flirted with, so... might as well play-pretend for the time being.” It's gotten annoying, so as far as she's concerned, fake date: start.

“You what?” He squeaks in her voice, deciding to follow her for the time being. He's left with little breakfast and is tempted to get something right here after running around, and those two dumbasses will be fine, too. Although... Shachi had everything on him, including the money. Fuck.

“I'm sayin' you're popular, Law.” After that, she frowns at the distance. “Some granny also slapped my butt,” she recalls the old woman from about fifteen minutes ago, shivering. It's just as bad as random old men doing the same. What was she even, back then? Fourteen? People are so gross. At least that woman's not targeting children.

“Good lord...” Law is just as mortified by the thought as she is, if not more. Shaking the image off and peeking up at her, he continues; “... I know you are not lying because you would have cracked by now, but I still have a hard time believing you. It's... quite rare for anyone to just walk up to me.”

“I'm telling you, there's been three plus-minus one women either staring or hitting me up. I guess... I make you look more attractive? Than you actually are?” she says, lifting a brow. That... just might be it. A handsome guy who's reserved, polite and just... legitimately nice? She'd be lowkey smitten as well. They stop at the end of the queue. “It also kinda applies to you and not-me,” she ponders. With that, she takes another sip of the hot drink.

“I'm... not exactly following,” Law admits after some delay. Especially the last part.

Let's try and put this into words for him... “Well... you can be quite a prick, you see- no offense. The very same quality also makes for a cute shrew, though; which you are, at the moment. That's all there is to it.”

“Um...” He can't make head or tail of what she's trying to convey, so he's just going to ignore being called a... shrew. “Am well aware of the first point. Seen enough women who don't give a damn, though.”

“Can't and won't argue with that, but it's not what I'm saying.” Seeing there are still three people before them, she turns back to drop an unadulterated truth bomb on this poor, socially inept man who's somehow worse at this than her. Preferably in a low enough voice as to not scar anyone else listening for a lifetime. They've already heard more than enough. “The thing is the following, Law: while both of us have decent looks, I'm not peppy or feminine enough to be attractive to the average man, and you are too much of a deep-frozen salt crab to be perceived as a viable partner. This much you can follow with ease, right?”

He nods, although he would argue about being that bitter. And quite frankly, she can be damn peppy when up to it.

“Okay, the catch is the following: we exchanged wrapping, and,” here she naps her fingers, “all of a sudden, I'm 'hot' and you're 'cute' to people despite everything else being the same,” she says, adding air quotation marks with her free hand. “I turned from puny buttercup into a bright sunflower while you blossomed into some brazen goth rose instead of the stinky corpse flower you like pretending to be. All because I'm a decent person with a hot male body, and you look like an underweight girl with an attitude that comes off like a crumbly butter cookie wanting to look tough. It's... some eldritch amalgamation of nonequivalent exchange... that makes us fit into an ideal for the other gender. And as such, people fucking love it.” Having finished that, she flips the sunglasses back on; it's their turn and she asks for one medium bag of chestnuts.

Law scowls at the young, but dull vendor while thinking about what Kat said just as the other looks in his direction while shoving the goods into a paper bag, and is greeted with a sudden smile. And a wink. Glaring another way, he eventually settles on two young women who giggle and whisper to each other while looking into a direction that's very suspiciously where Kat is standing. Kat, who's smiling politely while paying, and who may or may not have called him her 'worse half' just now while talking to the guy whose question he's missed.

This is quickly getting worse than being stuck in a skirt.

“You alright?” she asks a few minutes later after leaving the stove behind. “Like, I understand if you need a minute to get over the way that dude looked at you...” And talked about him as if he wasn't right next to her... so double fuck that guy, she ain't noone's 'cutie,' even if it's only her body we're talking about.

“Please, don't remind me,” he moans. They entered a less crowded section of the fair, and he still felt more people gawking at him than what's realistic.

“Chestnuts?” she asks, tilting the bag towards him. Maybe she should just... punch people who look at Law funnily. Sound plan.... except she has no memories of ever punching anyone, so maybe not. It would be weird.

He sighs, remembering that he's gotten hungry, then gives the paper bag a suspicious look. His stomach growls, too- hopefully she didn't catch that. “... never had any, to be honest. Are they any good?”

“May not be down your alley, but can't know until you give it a try,” she says, drinking some more  tea. “Careful, though, I just picked one that was still hot.”

While he's fiddling with the piece he fished out, she stops at another shop.

“... do you prefer cottage cheese and raisins, apple and raisins with cinnamon, pumpkin and poppy, or sour cherries and cinnamon?” she asks, pointing at the selection. He peeks up. Can't really tell what the food is in the first place apart from likely being something sweet. The sign says 'strudel'.

“Um...”

“You can just say no if you're not feeling adventurous,” she says, nibbling on a chestnut after securing the bag with her arm. “There's also a kind of ribbon-like cake down the road with sugary coatings, if that sounds any better. We also could go looking for actual food like meat, but there's only overpriced delicacies out here and I'm not that loaded.”

He is not feeling adventurous, that's true; does feel embarrassment upon being found out, though. But... he's hungry, goddammit, and the stuff smells damn nice. Closing his eyes, he groans. “By rule of elimination... pumpkin and poppies.” Latter is something he's also never had before. There is always hope that he won't hate it, though. Then again... explicitly sugary pumpkin? Maybe he should reconsider...

A small smile appears on her face again. “Also not a fan of raisins, huh?”

“... yeah.” He also has trouble imagining what apparently sweet cottage cheese could taste like.

Regardless, he's surprised to see her buy that kind for herself a minute later.

“Why'd you even get that?” he asks as Kat flicks one very obvious piece of raisin from the chunk of whatever she just bought.

“Because... it's my favorite, and fair food spares out the more expensive stuff from sweets, such as, guess what? Raisins~” With that, she takes a careful bite, checking for any additional suspicious brown dots before actually chewing.

He takes a tentative bit out of his piece. Not bad, though the texture is... something else. She pokes him in the shoulder to motion towards a bench. The surface is covered in dew, however.

Kat just lowers herself a bit and slides a leg across. Stuff is cold, but watcha gonna do.

“Hey, easy with my jeans!” he complains, also finally getting the chestnut piece open from one side.

“Washing machines still exist, princess.” With that, she's already settled down, putting the lukewarm bag of chestnuts in her lap and the tea cup aside as she makes a real effort at eating her piece of sugary cottage cheese. “Sit down so its noble sacrifice won't go to waste.”

He complies after short consideration. “... still rude.”

“You admitted being rude a few minutes ago, too, so fine with me,” she notes, already having devoured half of the thingamajig. She flicks it another few times to get rid of two more raisins.

Law meanwhile tries to ignore that the bench is rather cold... and that the current pad is about as wet as his pants would have been if Kat did not swipe off the water. He shivers.

“You cold?” she asks with a mouthful.

“Not really, but... I should have gone for something warmer regardless.” And ignore Nami's meddling. He has no idea what her problem with his getup was. So what if the straw hat and hoodie clashed? And he can wear anything that tells people to fuck off in a roundabout way, thank you very much. Jesus.

“Oh, hey, that guy...!” Kat perks up as one of the bushoo turns up around the corner. This one has cerulean blue mask and horns, making it stand out from the other reddish and brown ones.

“What about him?” Law asks, chewing on this weird pastry that he cannot really decide to love or hate at this point. Which is weird, because usually he can immediately tell whether he loves or hates food. Also, what even are those costumes?

“Nothing much, a nice old man who lives above the grocery shop opposite of us. He's always out on the festival around these parts, from start to finish. I hear he's had this self-made costume for decades... anyway, just say hi if he comes over, would you?” The man goes another direction, however, and is quickly distracted by a mother and her roughly 10-year-old son, both of whom Kat also knows. The lady is some kind of secretary and visits the cafe a lot with her kid, sometimes even husband. The cafe, which, well...

Kat turns around.

“What is it?” With that, Law crumples up the paper of the finished-up strudel.

“... checking how the renovation is doing,” she says, surveying the grounds. Law also takes a peek over his left shoulder.

There are two more shops closed near to the obvious target of attention down the road; one of them is nearly past saving. He didn't notice it thus far, but they've come around to the spot where that odd situation started a week back by now. The Cafe called Kukari, which he hasn't even seen until now, is near untouched by comparison. Yes, some windows and a pillar have apparently been crushed, but latter is close to being done and the glass should not be much trouble afterwards. Well, there could be more work behind the paper covers, too. What does he know.

“Yep. If the place was still in one piece... I'd be working right now. In your body. Or you in mine, but let's be honest.” She seems amused enough at the thought. Monday will be hell if she's still stuck in this body, though.... explaining this situation... how? Kat sighs. “I wonder if Adam's in there... he basically lives in the damn place.”

“Adam?” he slurs through the shell of the single chestnut he's been fiddling with, turning back around towards her.

“My boss,” she mumbles. Suddenly she has her doubts about sitting here, especially with Law around. That could go all kinds of wrong. Adam, please be at home, or at least don't notice a thing. Thanks.

With that, she also faces forward and grabs the lukewarm cup of tea. Looking back at Law, she cocks her head. “You still not done with that?”

“You bought the sweets right as I was figuring it out, okay?” Honestly, he's annoyed with this. Especially because he apparently likes chestnuts and getting the thing out is a nightmare. As is getting rid of the bitter, hairy middle layer that he hates with comparable passion.

She cracks a smile upon seeing his efforts. “Honestly, some of them are just really stubborn, it's best to have a knife around for this,” Kat muses, picking a few specific pieces from the bag. “Here, these should be easy enough.”

With that, Law gets a hand full of chestnuts that are just about popping out of their hard little prisons. “Thanks.”

As they are playing chipmunks (and making a mess of the spot as Law has no qualms about throwing the unnecessary bits onto the ground), they notice a light drizzle falling- a few seconds later, clouds dim out the already weak sunlight.

“Geez... haven't been able to keep up with the weather report,” Kat starts, glaring into the grey puffs; “I sure hope there's no actual rain involved. We could go into an actual shop... or pay another visit to my house, it's about as far from here as it's from the ships,” she muses while standing up at last and shoving the remainders of the still kind of warm chestnut bag into the hoodie's pocket.

“We're better off going straight back to the docks,” he replies to that, still seated. “You will have managed to skip another two hours, if not more, by the time we get back to business. I'd really appreciate if you stopped doing this.”

“Two hours ain't nothing,” she states, crumpling the shell-filled paper and napkins of both her and Law's strudels, then wannabe-telepaths the bundle to the dustbin when noone's looking; her aim sucks, after all. “Anyway, I need to return the cup first, so we'll take the long way around,” she says then, drinking the rest in big gulps, which she follows up with turning said object upside down. The murky leftover tea at the bottom lands with a negligible splash.

As Kat is waiting for him to pull himself together, she notices that the hair on his forearms sticks skyward. “... dooo you want your hoodie?” she asks, remembering the extra layer to spare.

Just as she utters that, he shivers. “Actually... I do. Yes,” he sighs reluctantly and visibly cold out here. Then, a second later, as she pulls it off...

“.... what the everloving fuck are you wearing?” he deadpans as the turtleneck appears.

“Bought it earlier today,” she beams. “For the record, you can't keep it.”

“Why would I?” Why would he? Good enough for a one time joke, but that's about it. Also, 'can't keep it?' That's such a Luffy thing to say.

“Because it's lame and nerdy doctor stuff?”

“Not part of my image, sorry.”

His image, he says. Kat tries her best to stifle her laughter and shoves the cartoon bear hoodie on his head. That's one image, alright. “Okay, whatever. Without the others this fair is pretty damn boring, no lie. Let's go already, if you want to that bad.”

“As eager as I am... I'm afraid of getting up,” Law confesses with a sigh as he's getting his hands into the sleeves. He just knows by now that sitting for a while will result in uncomfortable things direction pants afterwards. Sick and tired of it. Can't help it either, however, so he braces himself and gets on his feet. Can't ignore Kat's constant grin any longer, however.

“Wat's so funny?” he asks, hugging himself for warmth. This is a godsent right now- and the pocket housing the chestnuts gives a nice little extra, too.

“...you look adorable.” That big hoodie on her stick body is just... too cute. Looks as comfortable as it is, too. She could pinch his sullen, rosy cheeks.

“That would be you, not me,” he replies. Which is something he immediately regrets, placing a slightly sticky hand on his face.

She snorts. “Thanks.”

This otherwise totally forgettable line is on par on the embarrassment-meter with that last Saturday evening. Actually, scratch that. He's more embarrassed by this. And he feels he's blushing, too. Ugh...

As he's mulling over this, Kat sighs. “Don't worry, I know you didn't mean it like that.” It's always embarrassing when a comment burns you back... it just happens sometimes. Also dang, it is rather cold out here when there is no sun to shine. Just as she thinks about that, some rays break through the thinning cloud layer; not enough by far to get warm, though. “Now go, go, go, before I'm the one freezing my ass off,” she says, shoving the recovering Law a little to get started as she makes her way towards a long-ish stinky alley between restaurants to cut a few blocks of houses.

As they step inside, they fall silent. The cause of it is not just an awkward episode; as the buildings cover up the gentle warmth of the broken sun, an oppressive, cold silence sweeps through the alleyway. If the icy breeze had claws, that's what would have been tickling up their ankles and down their necks. They pass a broken cup that's just like the one in Kat's left hand.

There is a great temptation from her to take up the much faster everyday pace, and Law feels a pair of eyes on his back. Then it's two... three. If this is something bad, -and it does feel bad,- it's really bad; Kat has no experience and he has no real means to defend even himself in a brittle body like this.

Halfway through, she raises her head, and takes his hand; he feels it tremble a little as her fingers close on his. “We are running late, let's hurry.” Law follows the misplaced suggestion without protest. Hinting at being missed is good. Godspeed.

They can hear something clank behind a container as they exit back into the pallid light.

“I'm never going through there ever again,” Kat mumbles with a shiver as they mingle in the crowd while still firmly holding his hand. That was... really stressful. It was probably... some of the stray cats often in there, or a homeless person at worst, but that felt freaky as hell. And of course her lungs or something around those parts starts acting up after this. Just great.

“There was definitely someone in there,” says Law, blindly cutting through the masses by her side. May have been some thieves or other scum preying on fair-goers who took the route, but either way, no good news in there. They had luck.

By the time they are back to the booth offering tea, their speed is back to normal, but they are still kind of on edge. They take a half-hearted look at the games corner to check whether the boys are still out, which is to no avail, as expected. Walking back towards the shipyard at last and slowly getting over the experience, Kat speaks up:

“... by the way, do you want to switch hands or something? The other one should be an icicle by now.” She knows her own body well enough. When it's cold outside, her hands are just as chilly as the wind, even under some thick gloves. She hates it.

“... oh.” That is all Law can muster, realizing that he's still holding onto Kat. He kind of forgot about it, to be honest... partly because he's still hung up about the alley, and partly because, well... his body's hands are really nice to have around. Handy, one could say. … would be amused at that, wouldn't she. And Kat's also not wrong about the other hand hiding inside the paper bag with the maroni where it's decently lukewarm.

He releases her hand and puts his inside the pocket as well, looking up forward where the main mast of the Thousand Sunny is in sight. Write this up to the embarrassing shit he's done today, because boy, there was quite some of that.

As they get on deck, they are met with bright light again; the clouds decided it's time to let the sun shine just as it didn't matter anymore. They silently acknowledge that it's just one of those days when nothing goes quite as planned.