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[Nami comes home without fanfare, released into the tunnels. She comes up straight into the fog and the sound of bats screeching and flapping somewhere and for a moment just stands there uncomprehending.
Oh. Right.
Well, whatever.
First she goes home. Show Luffy she's alive, do whatever he needs. Tell him why she's back early. Tell him why Sanji and Vivi are not. She leaves again when she can, and gets halfway to Good Spirits on automatic before she remembers that she's still on a leave of absence for sailing around with Law anyway; she doesn't need to tell them she won't be coming in for a while. They already know.
So she turns and heads out into the forest instead. It doesn't matter if the area is thick with fog. Her feet already know the way, and it's not like she's bothering to pay attention to much else. None of it's real, anyway.
When she gets to the cottage, she digs out the bottles of sake and blue ale from her icebox and drinks herself into oblivion. And somewhere in that process, she destroys the bedroom. And goes to sleep with her face blotched with tears and her fingers clutching a letter written in March as if her life depended on it.
And on the morning of the 30th, she gets up and takes a basket out of the shed and begins the harvest, one basket at a time.]
Oh. Right.
Well, whatever.
First she goes home. Show Luffy she's alive, do whatever he needs. Tell him why she's back early. Tell him why Sanji and Vivi are not. She leaves again when she can, and gets halfway to Good Spirits on automatic before she remembers that she's still on a leave of absence for sailing around with Law anyway; she doesn't need to tell them she won't be coming in for a while. They already know.
So she turns and heads out into the forest instead. It doesn't matter if the area is thick with fog. Her feet already know the way, and it's not like she's bothering to pay attention to much else. None of it's real, anyway.
When she gets to the cottage, she digs out the bottles of sake and blue ale from her icebox and drinks herself into oblivion. And somewhere in that process, she destroys the bedroom. And goes to sleep with her face blotched with tears and her fingers clutching a letter written in March as if her life depended on it.
And on the morning of the 30th, she gets up and takes a basket out of the shed and begins the harvest, one basket at a time.]