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'i’ll be right here. don’t worry. ’ Ace says in the lack of something better. Stupid, generic stuff because no words, even if personal, sound right. Still, a bunch of cliché words should sound better than none to someone in need of reassurance.
Law startled at the creak of the door abruptly shoved open to slam against the wall. A jolt of panic shot down his spine. Hadn’t he bolted himself in? A glimmering beacon of light snuck through the gap into the darkness of the room. Footsteps closed in. Law hastily made himself as presentable as he could manage in the few insufficient seconds before the footsteps came to a halt beside him. Law stared at the bare feet of his friend—partner—lover—for a moment, silently demanding an explanation.
Eventually, Law raised his gaze tentatively to Ace’s shadowed features and Law’s expression hovered between exasperation and relief at Ace’s intrusion into his confidential brooding session. Ace’s words traveled to Law’s ears and Law hugged his knees tighter to his chest and pressed harder back against the wall, wishing it could swallow him whole, wishing he were incorporeal to fade into nonexistence. Since he evidently remained huddled up in the corner of the room, his wishes gone unanswered, Law adjusted his expectations and gulped a deep breath, cleared his throat, and gripped his calves. Without meeting Ace’s eyes, Law fixed a scowl in the opposite direction. Then he opened his mouth to chase Ace away. Instead, however, against his better judgment, he blurted—
“I’m cold,” Law mumbled, with a trace of a whine in his voice. He secretly hoped Ace would either be telepathic or be able to decipher the code in his (pleading) words. Perhaps the beads of sweat that dripped from his damp mop of hair and trickled down his temples after the sprint around the neighborhood—a futile attempt to work out all his stress—could be telltale hints that suggested the despicable thing Law craved: a hug.
"From today onwards, bread and all bread-related products are banned from this household. You wanna eat bread? You eat it outside, you make sure you clear all the crumbs from your fingers, before you come back in. Understand?"
Before questioning Law’s illicitly acquired authority and rebelling against it, a rebel with a wholesome cause, Ace scratched his chin as though something was amiss before his very eyes. Prolonging the scratch for dramatic effect, he tilted his head up and down, left and right in a slow and steady choreograph.
“Nah. I don’t see it” In spite of Law’s furious silence, Ace proceeded with his pantomime, scanning the room as fully as he could without ever switching his position. “No. Not a single one of them. I’m sorry, you wanna know what I’m talking about? Metal bars. Because this is a prison...?”
Law had waltzed in like the officer in a gluten-free bootcamp for proteinaceous offenders, up for a round of ‘I’m not taking any bullshit from you bread-loving maggots today’. Naturally, Ace couldn’t help feeling like a convict.
Just because Law had to care for his allergies, it did not mean Ace had to take part in the same diet of boring foods washed down with black coffee and a handful of psychotropics for dessert.
Bread was the staple food of life. If Law were to acquire power and channel it into banning bread, he might as well condemn an entire nation to starvation. There would be no bread in Law’s sad, twisted world, for which was a good thing the man did not dwell in politics. His ‘DEATH’ tattoos had never made greater sense.
“Right! As someone who’s actually been to bootcamp,” Military, not correctional. “I should tell you bread’s not among the list of forbidden things. In fact, even prison inmates eat it.”
Once seating cross-legged on the sofa, Ace got up and started a very civilian march to the kitchen, were the air cracked with low, soothing noises and filled up with an uncanny aroma. Law’s dictatorial tirade had quite by chance coincided with the hour Ace had been waiting for.
“Mr. Spotted Pants thinks he’s the president!” Ace gloved his hands with a cat-patterned pair of oven mitts - because they were just so cute! - and opened the oven’s door, allowing for the air inside to escape its own imprisonment and go right for Law’s nostrils. “I sure wanna see what he has to say about this!”
If Law was the prison guard doing his round and little bad cop theatre, Ace was the sassy jailbird who proudly flips him off between the jail bars, which is to say he presented Law with his latest batch of golden mini baguettes.
“UP YOURS, ROO!”A piece of bread was hurled at Law’s head, hot and all.
If Law thought himself big enough to declare a world free of bread, he had better be man enough to face the consequences.
Law is dying here trying to figure out ways to tell Ace he likes---loves---likes him. He goes up to Ace. "Hey, check this out." Law rips his shirt apart in the front, baring his large heart tattoo. Law remains silent for a long moment, expecting Ace to read the message on his chest. Law even waxed and shaved so no traces of hair would obscure any little bit of his heart tattoo. If Ace didn't get this, Law would be sad.
And sad Law would be, then, if his happiness depended on Ace’s ability to read subtle hints.
It was a funny thing. Ace could be perceptive, arguably more than people might think, as people don’t tend to think much of half-naked, narcoleptic young men - what’s the world coming to? - and he knew how to take hints as well. The tension accumulated in a fist was the prelude to a physical confrontation. A change in breathing might indicate fear, as might a barely perceptible shift. However, if these things were very well, to read code that was already ciphered was almost impossible.
For one, Ace did not understand why Law felt the need to rip the garment off his body. If he was feeling hot - and that would have been something! - why not undress it like any normal person? Law… it was foolish to think he was any more well-adjusted than Ace was, but this inadequate behaviour was far too outlandish for either of them. At least they were not in public, nor were they entertaining.
Similarly, Ace did not comprehend what it was Law wanted him to see, so desperately. That waxed torso? He couldn’t recall one single instance where he had seen Law bearing chest hair, thick or thin. The tattoo? Hardly a novelty. The same could be said about any other of Law’s ink, unless he’d gotten a new design somewhere the sun did not shine. Could it be a small wound? A pimple? Not quite something for one to boast about, was it?
“And what exactly am I supposed to be checking out?“ Two pectorals, two nipples, two halves of the same heart design. Yes. All was in order. Nothing new to see here, pimple or ink or even a metal ring. Ace would not be surprised if one day Law came home with his nipples pierced.
He tried harder, eyes narrowed and focus increased to full capacity. In a way, yes, he was admiring Law’s torso… What? Didn’t hurt a bit. Plus, how was he supposed to find out what this new acquisition was if he closed or averted his eyes?
“Oh!” A very hopeful ‘oh’, this one. “I get it. You’ve been going to the gym! We should go together. What do you say, Roo? How about we have a little weightlifting face-off? First one to pant like a dog buys the other lunch”
If Law was truly serious about maintaining his athletic built and decided to a patron to the local gym, then Ace would gladly sign up for membership. It would be fun, to shake things up with equipment they did not have at home and add new exercises to Ace’s humble routine of which a jog around the block and the pull-up bar in his bedroom’s threshold were the foundation. It would be fun, too!
As for the challenge, Ace trusted his own strength and stamina and hence saw himself as a contender. If he won, they would go out for lunch. If he lost, they would go out for lunch. With his bad habit of dining-and-dashing, it was not like he’d ever truly lose anyway.
[ What was your first impression of Ace when he appeared in the manga? At what point/when did you realise you liked him as a character? How has your impression of Ace changed over time? ]
I watched several arcs of the anime before starting the manga - in fact, when I figured I would never stay updated otherwise - so when Ace appeared in the manga, I already knew quite a lot about him. This is sort of cheating, isn’t it?, but alas I cannot recall what I made of Ace during his anime debut. I probably thought what I was supposed to - that he was a mysterious character and that if he was after Luffy then something big was bound to happen. Next I saw him in Alabasta he entered the threshold of my heart and since then only stepped deeper inside.
[crack(?)] Law says to Ace, “Come sit, I have something I need to tell you.” Once Ace is comfortable, Law starts to read: “Do you carrot all for me? // My heart beets for you. // You are a peach. // Peas be mine. // If we cantaloupe, // Lettuce marry. // Weed make a swell pear.”
Every now and then, Law’s bored mind would tell his equally idle tongue to busy itself with spouting what Ace could only classify as gibberish. Expensive words he did not comprehend out of them being medical jargon or big words with many syllables. Shit, even Law’s surname was hard to pronounce, which was why Ace had conveniently shortened his more commonly known name as ‘Traffaroo’. Law’s speech tended to proliferate with words Ace had little patience to decipher.
Ace watched Law deliver his fruity monologue with a gaping mouth and an overall express of a deer entranced by a vehicle’s headlights. What the hell was he talking about? And who still said ‘swell’ in this day and age?! Slowly, as he repeated Law’s mumbo-jumbo as best as he could in his head, Ace understood a couple of words such as “peach” and “cantaloupe” - as for “weed”, Ace didn’t find its use odd at all, even in so odd a context.
“That’s some bad poetry there… Do people actually read that stuff?” If only Law let Ace read from that piece of paper currently locked under his thumbs, Ace might understand the message and give Law some credit for trying to be a sweeter prick than he usually was. “You sound hungry. Are you hungry?”
He beamed at Law in the hopes his morbid friend would say yes and they could have lunch. But, quickly deciding he couldn’t risk Law answering ‘no’ and postponing a meal, removed the paper from Law’s hands, folded it, pocketed it, and with an arm around Law’s houlders pulled him to the front door. His mind was set on pizza, like always.
“It’s Valentine’s Day, you know?” Ace asked, a finger pointing at a woman using a pretty bouquet as a whip, snapping it against her questionable lover’s back. “Looks like it’s just me and you, Traffaroo”
♠ happy anniversary (30.01) to @pilawforhire! congrats on your first year. it’s been a privilege being your writing partner and friend and i am eternally grateful for it. i hope you’ll allow me to journey with you for a while longer…
If this was a practical joke, it was a poorly concocted one. Regrettably, Ace had to conclude that Law was losing his touch. There was no chance a sweet freebie would disturb Ace - not now, not ever - unless said treat - in this case, the lollipop - had more to it than the eye could see. Poison?
Nostrils close to their target, Ace took a large whiff of the lollipop and found no scent other than the one that ought to be there, sugary and industrial. He had a talent for detecting poison in food and he could not say whether that was a natural ability he’d been born with or a defence his body had learnt by experience at the Gray Terminal. Innate or acquired, this was, without a doubt, a valuable asset in survival.
Passing the examination with distinction, the lollipop was freed of Ace’s palm, leaving behind a colourful but translucid, lollipop-shaped sticky stain. He shoved the sweet in his mouth and eyed Law with an expression half-daring, half-bored, the sum translating as ‘Is that the best you got?’
One icky hand was a small price to pay for complimentary hard candy. Law was right about one thing, though, if his intention was that of annoying Ace rather than spoil him - small price though it was, a gluey hand was an annoying thing. And there were no public water fountains or faucets around!
There was only one way out of this mess.
With a bold move playing in slow motion, Ace brushed his palm hard against Law’s shirt, not quite managing to get rid of the lolly goo, but succeeding in sharing some of it with Law in retribution. Mission accomplished. Final balance: one happy grown boy and an annoyed grumpy old man.
Old Law and his ideas. He was always so inventive when it came to destruction, regardless of its object being a thing or a person - in particular, he was phenomenal with wrecking a person’s self-esteem.
Even if Ace couldn’t blame Law for his own deficiency in affection, he could still detect the potential for ruin in his comments and resent it whenever they found themselves in the middle of a sticky or embarrassing situation and Law was solely to blame… Even if that was not true - why should the prophet be given all the blame and censorship while his follower got off scot-free?
Perhaps to another, this suggestion would have sounded terribly indecorous. Most people shared and showed an inclination for keeping the realm of the dead apart from that of the living, only grasping it when religious, first, then secular rules told them was a must. Even if it this hypothetical coffin of Law’s was a brand-new one which had never received an occupant, it was still part of the funerary paraphernalia the living preferred to avoid.
Ace, however, did not share this common aversion. He also knew better than to lose either temper or wits with Law’s macabre romance and tar coated imagination. Despite unwilling to oblige, he could always use his own sense of whimsy to deliver a reply just the level Law deserved.
Ace scratched the nape of his neck and, in the most casual tone possible, as though they were discussing what to grab from the supermarket - No bread! - commented “I don’t know, Roo… Seems a bit cramped. Are you sure your ego will fit inside?”
"If you went on a hiking trip, and a bear ate your shorts, and a monkey stole your food, and a bird stole your shoes, what would you do? You only have your nipples and your boxers as protection against the wilderness. Would you call my name? For help? For salvation?"
The first question that popped to mind - the most pertinent one - could only be Are you on drugs? A person would have to be high as a kite in order to come up with such a cockamamie scenario of thieving bears, monkeys and birds plotting together against the human animal.
With Law, though, the question could be easily skipped and a couple of seconds saved. On one hand, his being on drugs was a given, whether these were purely recreational or medical ones taken for the same reason - that Ace could not speak about, as he did not know to what point his mate would act professional in regards to himself. He could only speak of the fact itself but not about its specifics.
On the other, for a man whose wardrobe consisted of two or three colours, and even if one of those was a vibrant one, Law possessed a surprisingly vivid and colourful imagination of his own, without any need for psychotropics. If this was a means of coping with the hardships of a former reality or a natural talent Law suppressed instead of having it as standard to his character, Ace couldn’t tell. A little bit of option A and a dash of option B, he reckoned. Everyone’s mad, everyone’s in pain and everyone’s surviving.
Before an answer could be given, the questioner added more details to the setting, again in a way to make fun of Ace’s nipples. It was a fixation of Law’s, even if for naught but poor quality comedy material.
Ace huffed, didn’t puff, and messed his dark hair before eyeing Law with a tired expression not completely devoid of mirth. Tiring though he was, there was something comfortable in having privileged access to his tomfoolery. Could it be a gift just for Ace or had he bestowed the gift of laughter upon Law?
“Right” He supported his elbow against the table surface and grabbed the plastic handle of the spoon inside his coffee mug to stir the beverage in what were meant to be posh circles, instead doing a mockery of it. The gesture was meant to convey both how tired he was and how amused he was at the idea of animals ganging up on a particular individual - enough to consider it.
“First, I want to know” he asked, “why the hell did I even come to a place under the control of an animal mafia? And where the hell are you in this scenario if you’re close enough but not with me?”
It was only a fictional scenario, a figment, and yet the idea of Law lazying it up, dragging his necro-butt around while Ace suffered at the paws and claws of critters gone criminal until he screamed for help was starting to get to Ace. He pouted. While the idea of furry bandits was amusing enough to entertain, the image of His Smugness taking fun in his misfortune was not.
“I don’t need your help…
Didn’t know you could speak to animals but this has to be your orchestration!” With an unplanned, foolish flourish, Ace wielded the spoon as if it were a sword and pointed it at Law. En garde, in an accusatory way, splashing drops of coffee into the air and onto the table.
If Law had schemed the affair, then it was his moral duty to clean up the mess. Now, Law may be rotten in this or that question or aspect, but he wouldn’t let Ace succumb, and it wasn’t like Ace was ever unarmed, either. He’d never be as long as he had hands to throw a punch, feet to kick with and fire to start an inferno.
♠ devil’s playground, a study of ace’s hands prompted and featuring a cameo by @pilawforhire
Any other day, in any other instance, inked fingers demanded more attention that plain ones. More interesting to foreign eyes they were deemed.
Even to familiar ones they were still an object of interest, and Ace couldn’t stop himself from taking a peek at Law’s hands as he read from across the room, some book titled something long and with the suffix -ology somewhere in there. Though Ace’s good eyesight allowed him to discern the letters on the cover enough to read them if he wished so, it was on Law’s also letter-bearing digits that he centred his eyes. To watch him flip a page or secure the paperback by changing his hand’s positioning so as not to damage it was far more interesting than to guess what it was he read about with such concentration and collected enthusiasm.
Law’s hands… They were not Ace’s pick. They were what they were, the useful appendages humans had been blessed with by whatever Creator. Still they were worthy of his unconscious fascination every now and then - they’d draw his gaze to them and there it would linger.
But that was any other day. Today, the plain, old boring fingers were worthy of protagonism, which they had earned by their own modest merit.
Leaving Law to his readings, Ace looked down upon his own hands, currently partially obscured by the playing cards interspersed between his fingers. He had been trying to up his skills by playing Napoleon at St. Helena while his mate offered no more than his presence in the living room but, having gotten bored with the complexity and loneliness of the game, had ditched it for some good old house of cards fun.
It would have sounded depressing were it not for the fact Ace was not so bad with it. His hands lacked the precision Law’s hands had been graced with and gotten over the years, and it was true his temper rendered it impossible for him to be best friends with Lady Patience… But, because there was something childish in building a house of cards, and even simplistic in using them for their physical aspect thus stripping them off their playing value, a man like him could enjoy himself.
Ace started placing the cards on the table one by one but he had to stop at finding a particular one amongst his pile. The Ace of Spades. It was said that those bearing the name of ‘D.’ were superstitious fellows - he and Law had never truly sat down to talk about it; they might discuss fate and a cursed existence but never prophecies and the stuff of legend. Could this argument be naught but belief in itself?
Still, Ace knew enough to say this was what they called the ‘death card’. He’d heard it several times in his life thanks to his sharing of the card’s name. It was always the Ace of Spades. Never the Ace of Hearts, Diamonds or Clubs. It was Death that immediately popped to people’s minds when they made a connection between this Ace of flesh and bone and that of the cards. Rational an assumption - everybody dies - but charged with a sense of imminence that seemed to bid adieu to any joys he could yet live.
Were Ace inclined to such thoughts, he’d find it amusing how Law would bear ‘death’ in his hands while he bore his in his name. Predestination versus choice. For now, he discarded the bit of cardboard and paid attention to his bare hands.
(needless to say this is crackish af) Ace is singing and this time... it ain't pretty. "Make my wish come truuuue! All I want for Christmas is ROOOOO!"
It was habitual of Ace to sing and croon all kinds of tunes: Disney, Britney, Backstreet Boys, and etc. Law did not mind. Undoubtedly, Ace had a sensational voice, even if Law sometimes secretly plugged his ears for better concentration due to the lyrics of certain songs being completely distracting. This time, because it was Christmas, Law was a keen solo member in the audience. Expecting Christmas carols, Law got another pun of his name slipped into the song, eliciting a frown over an unimpressed stare—that lasted only a brief second as emotions swelled within Law. He broke out a candid half-smile and then he brushed his fingers through his hair.
Law had an arch gleam in his eye. “Well,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “you got me.” Law sauntered over to Ace and paused by the couch. He bent his knee and lifted his foot onto the seat, naughtily opening his crotch at an obtuse angle toward Ace’s eyes. Alas, his jeans concealed his thighs, hindering his attempt at seduction. Thankfully, it was an easy fix. Law unbuttoned his jeans and fumbled and struggled to yank off his pants. The cuffs caught around his ankles and he spent a moment hopping on one leg and stumbling and staggering before he sat down and properly removed his jeans. Law tossed the jeans over his shoulder and, standing tall in only his sweater and boxers, proudly flaunting himself and his hairless thighs in all their naked glory, Law returned his attention to Ace. Law gave a jerk of his chin at Ace to beckon. Toucan play the pun game.
“Take a gander…” Law purred, making flirty eyes at Ace. A lascivious smile stretched across his lips, once again, Law raised his leg and replaced his foot on the couch, affecting absolute self-confidence as he modeled his heart print boxers provocatively, giving Ace a sneak beak of his sexiness.
“So how d’you want me?” Law used his deepest, most sensual voice. He grazed his fingertips over his inner thigh as he said, “D’you want…some Roost Turkey?” Unfortunately, it had sounded heaps smarter in his head. Soon as the words left his mouth, Law grimaced slightly at his moronic comment. But—good grief, God in heaven—Ace could be kind of dim with regards to flirting, so Law hoped Ace just thought he had lost it, his mind gone down the toilet as a result of the drugs.
“Oh, cockadoodleroo, fuckadoodleroo.” Law cleared his throat, rooking a little sheepish. Regardless, he kept his foot planted firmly on the couch at a right angle. For some reason, he had much more to say. “Get it?” Law asked. “Roo’s Turkey? Roost turkey? Rooster-turkey?” Because Law thought Ace might not get it and thus needed to explain because he was determined to beat Ace at the pun game.
Law finally dragged his foot off the seat and flopped down onto the couch. He sprawled uncouthly on the couch, all too roosey-goosey, with his gaze fixed on Ace. “Well…? I’ll grant your wish now,” Law said. “It’s all you want for Christmas, isn’t it? Some rovey-dovey roomance? Why don’t you come on down and warm my roosty turkey? It’s feeling kinda cold. Don’t be so roothless now. Perhaps I’ll even let you rule the roost, since it’s Christmas.”
Seconds later, Law had a rooful expression etched on his face. “I really egret those… The mood isn’t rooned, is it…? Let’s flock. Come fowl my cock.”
The room was still mostly dark when Law crept in and climbed onto the bed to lie over Ace. He kissed Ace’s mouth until Ace would wake. What time was it? What’s up? “Wake up,” Law whispered. The bedside clock would display 4:48AM, the numbers glowing faintly. Law handed Ace a parcel. Inside, Ace would later find (if he decided to open it) a pair of pizza print boxers and a set of pizza print pajamas. Law eased himself out of bed and tugged at Ace’s hand. “Let’s go somewhere,” Law said. [1/2]
[2/2] “I don’t know where, but we can decide later. I’ve got your sandwiches prepared-with bacon, and some energy bars.” Law ruffled Ace’s hair (for the fun of it). A brief moment of hesitation later, Law added, “…All right, fine, we can also stay in if you want, but you’re keeping me company. So kiss your beauty sleep goodbye. We’re taking a bath.” He paused halfway to the door and said, with a slight smile, “Merry Christmas, Ace.”
Ace wished to kill Law. And not for the first time. Notwithstanding the sweetness of his poison lips, the hour was unbecoming for kisses, and as soon as Ace saw the LED numbers flashing in a faint red, there was nothing he wanted more than to push Law away and, with some luck, send him flying off the bed and right onto the floor, to fall face flat against the wooden boards.
Others could argue this nighttime surprise was a romantic gesture, but not one who had just managed to sleep after fifteen minutes of annoying wakefulness, a decent sleep of mere two hours sandwiched between this and another moment of conscience. It was a fucking living hell not being able to sleep the night away. Even the prospect of being a noctivagus creature and going against the standard of human sleep cycles looked tempting to Ace, whose days were a succession of moments of conscience painted in different hues. It was cruel to wake him up when he happened to be in that time frame where his rest was a tad more decent than the rest of the day would have it.
But Ace did not bestow wings upon the anthropomorphic raccoon to send him flying, partly because he was too tired, partly because the parcel now sitting over his bare chest intrigued him. At the prospect of a gift, his eyelids lost that heavy quality weighing on the orbs and Ace’s feet pushed the mattress while his back looked for support in headboard as to make himself comfortable.
The gift was… kinda awful. By the standards of any person with the very minimum amount of taste, that is. Of course a man who found it appealing to complement a naked torso with a beaded necklace - as important as said item was, and important it was! - found the pizza-patterned apparel the most amusing thing since he’d gotten his cowboy hat. He wanted to try the pyjamas right away but Law had other plans.
“Go?! Where to? Maybe they didn’t teach you this at Vampire School, Roo, but us humans don’t ‘go somewhere’ at 4:57AM” For that was the time the red numbers said it was now.
Still, Ace got up and got in his new sleepwear bottoms - which he would later dub the ‘pizza pants’ - while he chewed on Law’s words. The destination may be lacking but it was clear Law had planned a nocturnal outing, if he’d already prepared a lunch (or breakfast?) box for them to take. Why, he’d even made sandwiches! He’d touched bread…! Well, if that did not spell the four-letter word…
Maybe because his first suggestion was turned down, Law decided to change his plan with too light a mood, unless the ruffling of Ace’s hair was a distraction, something meant for Ace to believe he was not upset all his suffering in a sandwich purgatory had been for naught.
“I’m not taking a bath. Took one this morning, remember?“ he asked while buttoning up the complementary top, only noticing Law was leaving when his ‘Merry Christmas’ wish sounded like a farewell. “WAIT, ROO! I got you a present too”
Almost tripping on his own feet, Ace grabbed a soft package wrapped in a children’s pattern of funny-looking fish from under the bed and offered it to Law. The smile he flashed demanded the present to receive his immediate and utter attention.
Unwrapping it, Law would find a big bear onesie inside. For men, of course, meaning it came with a very thoughtful zipper to accommodate to those ‘bear bare necessities’. The white colour indicated the animal in question was of the Arctic kind… Think of a slim Bepo the mink!
“What are you waiting for? Try it on! Let’s get those lunches and go somewhere. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Ace chuckled. Yes, that was his plan - to take the packed lunches and their motorbikes and go for a ride before the sun rose up and, with it, those humans who did not suffer from the sleeping disruptions the pair of them did. It was cold but Law’s brand-new fleece onesie should keep him warm and Ace’s body temperature was higher than most people’s anyway.
The shutters were closed. As far as they could tell, it was not raining nor snowing outside. So why the fuck not go on a crazy Christmas ride while the neighbourhood kids pretended to sleep some more before skipping downstairs to raid the presents under the holiday tree?
There was a second gift for Law but that one could wait until their return. Knowing of the man’s unnatural love for fluffy hats, Ace had searched high and low for the most ridiculous-looking hat he could find. Thinking all choices far too simple for his taste, Ace remembered of Law’s second unnatural love, this one for hoodies.
Law would also receive a black hoodie complete with bunny ears for Christmas this year. Though he was bound to be on Santa’s ‘naughty list’, there was no way for him not to be on Ace’s ‘nice’ one.
☼ : What kind of outfit they think your muse should wear
It was unclear whether Law was asking for fashion advice or coming up with a random conversational topic with the purpose of killing his boredom. If the question was legitimate, then he must be very desperate to seek advice from a man who lived most of his days baring freckly skin under the sunlight.
Ace did not care much for questions of fashion. In fact, he could not care any less what people wore, his reactions not going beyond the knitting of his eyebrows or the opening of his lips in circular shape whenever the ensemble in question was of a peculiar or extravagant nature. - Law’s taste in apparel quite fitted this expression, for Ace did not know of anyone who loved furry, fuzzy, fluffy clothes as much as grumpy old ‘Roo’ did.
First he blinked at the question. Then, he blinked again and after doing so twice, Ace answered Law with his own query.
“Why? I thought you liked the clothes you own. I mean, why would you wear them if you didn’t?” The latter part of this intervention was peppered with giggles because, apart from all the teasing component of this reply, Ace knew he was of no help when clothing was the matter du jour and, were it a question of life and death, depending on him, any asker’s scales would tilt to death’s side.
Real talk, though. “You should wear what you already wear. I can’t think of anything else that would suit you”
Those pelts and voluminous tops Law liked to much, normally branded with his Jolly Roger to boot, were such a big part of him Ace had trouble imagining Law wearing, say… blue shorts, an orange cowboy hat and a bare torso! Fuzzy hats and frilly collars were just part of the visuals that made Law ‘Roo’.
♚ : What my muse thinks your muse is good at
As for what Law was good at… The question was a tricky one, wasn’t it? Law was good at a handful of things and any of them would have provided Ace with a good answer were the things not so good themselves: he was good with profanity, great with sarcasm, phenomenal at disfiguring bread and send it flying to its death (a non-good deed on the account of it being wasteful), Law was also good at getting Ace frustrated, angry, afire and even embarrassed.
But none of that did Ace voice because he was not so bad at this thing of being humanly decent and did not wish to upset Law for no good reason. Law was a humanly decent fellow as well - it should not be hard to come up with something pleasant to his ears.
“You’re good at all that medical stuff” Sure, he had to be, but might as well say it. “You’re not so bad at fishing either”
It was one of Ace and Law’s big pastimes, as well as other outdoor activities. Having spent his childhood in environments of the kind, Ace could still release boyish chuckles at what could be regarded as playtime and make light of the more dangerous aspects of forests, woods and jungles. As for Law… Ace suspected it was the peaceful, lonely existence one could lead when in a bucolic landscape he liked - only he did not have to be truly lonely for it.
“Hey, that ain’t a bad idea! When’s your next free weekend? We should go camping”
