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[Another note, and he's grinning now. It's less irritating when he's not the only one getting dragged around. Misery really does love company.

"It keeps happening. I don't know what's triggering it, but it's an adventure at least."

It really has been, an exciting, expensive adventure full of things to see and new experiences. Then again, this whole place is a big, exciting, miserable new experience for him. And the longer it goes on, the longer his already shaken mental state further unravels.

"Thanks. If we can't find more, maybe I can sell some of my jewelry so we can eat somewhere. It's nice to have pretty things, but a full stomach isn't bad either."

Rosinante makes quick work of the mango after that, swishing motions of a transparent dark colored energy moving back and forth, one piece being cut off and then delivered to him, and then another. Until there's nothing left, to his quiet disappointment. He knows there's not a lot there, but goodness his abilities, excessive magic use, and sheer height mean that he eats a good deal more than most. He'll just have to make this work until they work together to get something else.]

Sell your jewelry? You don't have to do that, I can fish, or trade work to someone for some food.

[Though he can't deny that the jewelry is more likely to net them a lot more money quickly, and it's also pretty gaudy. Sure, he likes pretty, shiny things as much as the next person but there's a line between a special indulgent treat and having rings and necklaces and bracelets and everything this version of him has. It's just a lot. The sort of luxury his father had tried to speak up against.

Still. They have other things they can try first, and it's probably on him alone to achieve it. He finishes his drink, then slides off the rock and stands.]

I bet we can find abandoned fishing gear if we look. Storms get it tangled in the tidewrack and trees. C'mon.

["They're just items. As long as I keep my rings, I'll be fine."

Rosinante is aware that he's pretty useless physically. He's sickly, mentally and physically from the strain of his powers and the constant use of magic. He's gone two days without a proper meal on top of that, not because he didn't have money at some point but because he forgot. And he's not going to put the responsibility on his counterpart to feed him.

The note comes up again, and he plans on just telling him that they need to find a place to pawn his items, but when Rosinante brings up fishing gear he perks up incredibly. This sounds fun, and if he's going to actually be on a beach today he might as well try out some fishing for his dinner. So he just nods, grabs his parasol, and pushes himself up. If nothing else, he can use his magic to help out.

Not that he should when he's already exhausted. But in the end, he's not really the best at good choices.]

[It's kind of a relief to have someone to look after again, it's just weird that the someone is a version of himself. But he decides to think of it as an opportunity to be the older brother, in a mentor sort of way if not actual age. There is so much about this double of his he still doesn't know and is hesitant to bring up. He must have had a similarly dark childhood, if his voice left and never returned. Maybe he had it worse.

He flips his sunglasses back down over his eyes, and starts off down the beach. There's always interesting junk left behind by the changing tides and here in the New World - which is where he suspects they are, anyway - the wild currents and storms carry treasures from so many shipwrecks. Pretty quickly he snatches up a battered but usable wooden crate and starts using it to tote other finds - edible seaweed, a long but fraying rope, a long wooden pole that might have been the handle of some swabbie's mop or broom. Hell, with that and the knife he just has to strip some bark off the tangled, vine-like trees that cascade to the edge of the sand around here and he's got himself a makeshift spear. After traveling for months on limited supplies, he and Law got good at scavenging. It's kind of fun.]

So... Where did you grow up?

[He asks casually, as if that was ever a casual question, but he needs to know.]

[Rosinante looks around with great interest at the work that his counterpart is doing, with no small amount of amazement in him. He's so talented, and he doesn't understand how resourceful one person can be. This Rosinante doesn't have the same magic to rely on, which is honestly how he survived his own childhood. He would never consider scavenging like this, much less putting anything together with what he's found.

Then he gets asked a question, and it leaves him nervous. Not in the sense of the truth, he has no shame about that. But it all hurts. And for a moment, it's a rush of memories that he hates having at all, that he wishes he could figure out a magic to get rid of. But in the end, those memories are a part of what keep him going towards his goals. Any pain inflicted on him was because of the cruel and hateful in power, those who use the world like a careless child with a fragile toy. And he has to remind himself of that, that the agony suffered was and still is useful. It keeps him kind, and helps him to not give up on what he needs to do.

"I didn't exactly have a stable home. Especially after my father's death. I went from one town to another. Until Sengoku found me."

There's nothing in the world he appreciates more than the fact that he can control his magic, that the emotional bursts he puts onto his notes usually have to be focused on them. He can't imagine the obnoxiously dramatic rush that would accompany that.

"Is that how it was for you?"]

[The answer he expected, then. Not the answer he'd hoped for, though. With his power and status and magic, what if he had grown up in a more stable situation, with a loving, intact, alive family? What if?]

Yeah. It was the same for me. Doffy ran off, and I... went the other way.

[Certainly a turbulent time. He stoops down to grab up a tangled ball of fishing line and adds it to his collection. The rest of those details are things he won't ask for. They can be volunteered, but he knows how much he went through just trying to get over that tragedy in his younger years so that he could become stable, capable, and strong. Glancing over at the guy beside him - he must not have ever joined the Marines. There's no way, right? But the military service had done him personally a world of good. Put him in control of his memories, rather than let himself be shackled by them.]

I haven't spoken to Sengoku in months. Sometimes I feel like I should call him up.

[Rosinante curls in for a moment, not just physically but so strongly emotionally that it can be literally felt through his magic, even if it's just weakly. He's teeming with that dark chaotic energy, struggling to hold himself together, and thinking back to what Doffy did rips at him. He shakes it off though, working quickly to try to pull himself back from that place. He's going to be fine. He's going to be fine. He'll make this all work, somehow.

"Sorry. It's been a long week."

And he makes up for it in his mind by using that odd magic to untangle the fishing line, which slowly snakes itself about and into a neat little bundle.

"He'd like that, I think. I think about doing that sometimes. But he's never really forgiven me for my choices."

He can think about it all he wants, but after the choices that have been made on both sides the situation is all but helpless between them. He left the Marines, went on his own path, chose to take over the family and Dressrosa for the sake of his own goals. And his marriage to Law was all but a final straw between them.]

You don't need to justify it. I know how shitty things were back then - whoa! Hey, you can do that too?

[He's watching the fishing line, thinking about telling the guy why he can't actually just up and call Sengoku, about to say something either way but not sure what, when his toe catches on a washed-up branch and he's flung to the ground. The box doesn't fare well in the fall, as some of the boards crack under the impact of being sandwiched between wrack and his arm, but Rosinante meanwhile pulls himself up to his knees and spits out sand, then grabs his sunglasses back up from where they fell. Damn, they're scratched already now. Good enough to use, though.]

I'm good. Thanks for fixing the line, that was gonna take an hour or two.

[Let's just spend the next few seconds picking things up to cover for getting over that jarring fall, that one actually hurt thanks to the box.]

"Yes! It's good for a lot of things. I still want to teach you, you should be able to use it."

He's so happy to be helpful now, but then he watches his counterpart wipe out and he's taken over by a dark feeling, he's been walking elegantly on the beach with one damn mishap and his luck is not that good. When he gets it next, when the often spoken of Murphy reaches down to intact his law he's going to be screwed.

He's glad that Rosinante is good though, that it wasn't too bad. He's still worried a little, but although he can heal unless it's really bad he doesn't like to interfere. If anyone knows that he can manipulate the cells of others, in any way, it could lead back to him. And that's the last thing he needs.]

[With everything back in place, he stands, glances over at the note, and then wedges the mop handle between the slats of the box, helping stabilize it even though it makes it harder to fit longish objects in it. It's just too wobbly without, now. Must have really knocked a few of those nails loose when the wood cracked. But it's all right, better than nothing, and he continues on.]

Yeah, I really want to try it! Maybe after we get something to eat. How did you learn it at first?

[Rosinante is following a younger version of himself like he's a kid again, absolutely pleased with the idea of fishing, of having a potential friend, of teaching him magics maybe. That's the most exciting part to him, seeing if something exclusively from his world will translate to Rosinante. He loves magic, without it he'd be absolutely unable to effectively communicate, notes alone aren't enough. So this is important to him, something more precious than just teaching a skill.

"I was hungry. So hungry. And I couldn't lift the edge of the garbage can, it was stuck. And suddenly, I felt it. And I made the lid move."]

Way back then, huh? That's lucky.

[He can't even manage haki. Here's this version of him who can slice mangoes and untangle knots and make pens and paper write for him. Small, simple, but really handy. And yet the very basics of his own world's near-equivalent escape him. His devil fruit, too - after seeing all the things that have nothing to do with medical science that Law can do with his, it has started to make him wonder. What could he be doing with his that he isn't? Why doesn't it come to him with greater ease?

If he ever runs into Law, these are things he will bring up. This version of himself seems well-intentioned enough, but it's an easy act to pull and so he'll remain cautious about telling about too many of his own hidden strengths and weaknesses for now.]

Anyway, I was going to ask about Sengoku before I fell. How long ago did you and him part ways?

["It was! I don't know if I would have survived if I didn't figure it out. "

For what it's worth, Rosinante can't do anything with haki at all. He doesn't get it, it's something that even with some study still seems to slip from his comprehension save for a basic level. He can't do it at all, he can barely understand it. But magic? He can feel the chaos swarm him, taking him over and begging to be twisted and used. That he gets, and he can shape it with ease for many purposes.

And then they're back to the unpleasantries. Shying away isn't going to do anything for him though, especially when he wants this Rosinante to trust him as least as much as expected. Which is little, honestly. If he's anything like him he'll hoard secrets and his intentions, biting back and biding time. But a little harmless enough openness isn't going to hurt him, so he answers through his note.

"Our final meeting was nine years ago."]

[Nine years?! He almost falls again but catches himself at the last second so that it's merely a stumble. Even though he hasn't seen Sengoku in person in a couple years now - it being too hard to get away for a rendezvous in person while undercover - at least he spoke to the man a little over a week or so ago. And that feels like forever. It's why, even after his betrayal, he's considering calling. God, the man must be mourning him, preparing his funeral - what a horrible realization. It stops him in his tracks, as he looks down at the sand and the junk brought in by the tide without really seeing any of it.

But it's only a momentary pause, easily attributed to nearly falling, and he shifts the weight in his arms and continues.]

Must've been hard. For both of you, I mean. Do you ever think about reaching out or is it out of the question now?

[Rosinante looks away for a moment, out at the waters, as if he'll find some grand answer in the distance there. But there's nothing. Nothing but himself, his counterpart, and any of the people in the distance who are even less help right now than the oceans are. And none of them can give him words of wisdom for this, or help him breach the distance between himself and the man who changed his life.

"He's disgusted with me. I don't blame him. I abandoned my mission, left the Marines, and our last real conversation was cruel on both sides. I accused him of atrocities, he called me out on my sins. And when he came to my wedding? We spoke once, and we were still angry at each other. And that was the last time I saw him in person. "

He wants to give in, he wants to have Sengoku back in his life. But at this point, he's so messed up, so caught up in his insanity that he knows that at his best Sengoku wouldn't even know him any more. Doflamingo's death was the start of a dangerous spiral, and it's only gotten worse since then.]

Edited 2019-02-22 18:57 (UTC)

[A few steps, another glance at the paper, until eventually his counterpart finishes his paper. It's hard to hear - or, well, read - the news of their falling-out.

If he calls, he will be hunted. He doesn't expect acceptance, but he wants to talk. He wants to be forgiven, mostly, but he doesn't anticipate that happening when what he did probably set the Marines back deeply and hurt Sengoku personally. And it occurs to him then too that Sengoku may not be mourning at all - he might have done so thirteen years ago, and if he could speak with Law without calling for his arrest, maybe he will at least grant Rosinante the favor of a simple call. In the wake of all that's been happening, it must have occurred to him that he could be out here. Some version of him. It will be a shock but not a complete ridiculous miracle that he's alive and well.]

Part of me is optimistic that in my situation it would go differently. But I guess I don't know for sure. I still think of him as a father. I hope he still considers me his son.

[There's a pause without notes, without any sign of emotion or intent. But underneath the surface, there's something swirling and dark, pulling from feelings he's tried so hard to bury. But they're there none the less, and he misses his father figure, the one who first tried to pull him from drowning in his twisted inner self.

Sengoku always saw that there was something wrong with Rosinante, that he harbored something inside of himself that was dangerous, but he felt like he could help him. Sengoku worked so hard to make a difference in Rosinante's life. He had such high hopes that the child he cared so much for was capable of rising above his sickness and trauma. And perhaps that mix of pressure and love was what made Rosinante's struggles worse.

He shakes his head, hard, he's not going to get visibly emotional about this. He made his choice, and that's how it is. But maybe this Rosinante, this one who seems right and capable, would have a better chance. Maybe his choice would be seen as honorable, and right. But in the end, the Marines are monsters in his eyes. So he's not sure if Sengoku ever really cared about him at all at this point, or if he was just an investment into taking down some of the worst. So maybe none of them really mattered, and none of them would be safe if they made the call.

Even if it is that way, Rosinante still wishes somewhat that he could make things right between them.

"Well, you didn't denounce the Marines as worse than pirates, claim that the group of criminals you took over had higher morals than anyone he worked with, or have a highly publicized scandal wedding after he demanded you come to your senses. It'll probably go better for you!"

He forces a stupid grin, a face that he hasn't really even tried to have in years. But if he doesn't try for something akin to humor, it's too dismal to handle.]

[Wow. No, he certainly didn't do any of that. Talk about a violent exit strategy. But it's also good to know for interacting with this version of him, because he personally still has a lot of sympathy toward the Marines. No, they're not perfect. They've done some awful things in the name of helping the people that he's not so sure were right to justify. But the fact remains that their mission of peace and stability, of helping those in need, matches well with his own personal goals. Besides, everyone has done awful things they regret. Himself included.

While his own grin isn't quite as radiant as the other's, he does offer a smile in return. Yeah, he's had to make awful situations into light ones to get by. Once he told Law one of those white patches looked like a sheep, as if he was watching clouds. What? Have to laugh sometimes, or what good is life at all?]

You've convinced me. I'll have to find someone who knows how to reach him now, which could be hard. I heard he's retired, so the number I have won't work. But I'll figure it out.

[Neat, here's another tangled mass of fishing gear, too. This one has lost the hook, but there's a wooden bobber on it which is a helpful little find.]

Let me know if you see a hook. Or a dark-colored shell.

[When people love each other, and they're disappointed in each other, it can go so badly so quickly. And when issues of mental health, and morality come into play, it can further spiral downhill. It's not that he doesn't love his father figure still, that part of him will never really go away, but the pain is so raw and real nearly a decade later. And in his mind, it's too late for either to apologize.

"Good luck! If he's retired, that might make it easier anyway."

Any tangles in the gear that can be smoothed out are, and Rosinante starts looking around more in the name of finding a hook. Or a dark colored shell, for what reason he can't even imagine honestly. He can't find either, but a piece of scrap metal is just out of the reach, so he steps over a bit of debris, a large mass of palm roots, and scoops it up with that strange magic once more. This he can work with! He works to form a hook out of it, this takes a little more work since he's actually creating something out of it, even if it's just through shaping. But the results are nice enough, and he turns to show his success to his counterpart.

Unfortunately, he turns too quickly, and trips over a piece of something in the sand, landing face first on the roots he'd avoided so nicely. And this time he really hits hard, blood running from his nose as he sits up. Well. That wasn't what he'd wanted.

He holds up the hook with one hand, and digs through his many pockets for something to hold against his nose with the other.]

[Oof, he's lucky he didn't jab himself with that hook. He's already bleeding enough. Rosinante turns, then walks toward him and sets the box down to claim the hook from his outstretched fingers. He won't worry about the fall just yet, seeing as how it's probably just as normal for his double as it is for him.]

Wow, this is really nice, I didn't think about reshaping metal. Thanks! Tons better than carving one out of shell.

[He knots the hook on the end of one of the neatly-coiled lines, pulling it tight between hand and teeth, then buries the sharp tip in the wood to keep from losing it or causing any injury.

It's a shame he doesn't have a handkerchief or anything, but he waits patiently as he stands.]

Need a hand?

[Rosinante is glad when his companion takes the hook, it's the last thing he needs to worry about right now, he fell pretty hard this time. The skin under his eyes is going red and slowly swelling, his nose is certainly swelling up, and he's almost certain he's broken it. Shit. He can fix it, but he's already hungry and weak from a lack of food and and an overuse of magic. So he'll have to just make do until he's had a decent meal in him.

He sighs, and a note pulls up as he works a very stained handkerchief out of an inner pocket of his coat and presses it under his nostrils. This one gets a lot of use, there's no point in keeping fancy ones on him when he bleeds as much as he does.

"Not my finest moment."

He has a lot of not-finest moments, this isn't a new occurrence for either of them, although this Rosinante's fragility and health issues usually means that when he wipes out hard he doesn't recover quite as easily. It looks like he was right about today including a spectacularly clumsy moment after all. Too bad, he'd rather be wrong about something like that.

"I'm fine." He shakes his head and forces himself into a standing position. ]

I'm glad. Here, we can set up just down by those mangroves over there. Might find crabs there too, actually.

[Further down the coastline, the beach thins and is overtaken by the massive roots that keep the water still and deep at the mouth of a river as it enters the sea. There will be bigger fish there than here in the waves, or so he hopes. If not fish, then crabs. Maybe a snake. Hopefully the other guy can wait just a little longer for food.]

D'you like sushi?

[Rosinante looks down the way, towards where the mangroves are and nods. That's probably a good place for this. And the idea of fresh crabs is helping perk his mood up, seafood on the beach sounds wonderful. Even if they don't manage to catch some crabs to enjoy, this is an adventure and he rarely has anything like this happen in his day to day life.

"I do."

He starts heading that way, very carefully this time, he doesn't want to fall again or catch on something or whatever mishap his unfortunate long limbs might get him into.]

Good, that cuts down on the time spent smelling food while it's cooking and dreaming about eating it.

[He grins, stumbles a few times on his way to the mangroves, but it's nothing he can't recover from. Ah, to be young and incredibly durable.

Once near the edge of the deep green river of trees but still a good few yards away, he taps himself on the chest with a single word of "Calm", then sets the box down without a single rattle of its contents. If there are crabs here, he needs to get them before they bolt; they're so much more timid than fish. They react quickly to shifting light patterns so he's certainly not perfectly stealthy, but the lack of sound helps. Some of the smaller crabs, maroon with bright white claws, skitter away and hide in the roots as he steps forward, but the one he reaches for is higher up and wedged between the trunk and a branch. Before it can launch itself down into the brackish water he grabs it. A palm-sized snack for someone his size, but tasty enough, and after a few minutes back and forth he has three more in the box, all captured without a sound. They grab at each other, ignorant of their approaching demise, and Rosinante grins as he taps himself again to cancel the silence.]

Do you think you can get a fire started? These probably aren't any good raw but we can just grill them.

[Rosinante is entirely impressed, amazed at what the other Rosinante has been able to accomplish. He knows that if he was the one in charge of gathering food, they'd both still be hungry. Such an amazing trait to have!

He needs to avoid using magic, and if he was in a healthier state of mind he'd insist on just going out and pawning his things already. And he's in a rougher state still after the injury. But all he ends up doing is nodding, and working to gather up a few things to actually keep the fire going once it's been made. Magic fire is easy enough to achieve, easier for a mage in good health, but without food nothing thrives, even fire itself.

He manages to come across the supplies needed pretty quickly, adding paper from his notepad to help it along, and he pulls the magic up once more. This time, focusing it differently. Fire's unique chaos is a harder thing for him to focus on, think Rosinante, think. Think of warmth and good, gentle crackling and winter days tempered by the coziness of a fireplace.

Nothing.

So when that isn't enough to feel it out and shape it, he thinks of pain and burning and blistering loss, of the scent of charred flesh and the way a burning building sounds as it falls. And that causes the end of his magic to trail off into flames, settling neatly onto the mound he's made for it.]

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