Tyrion knew, as he gazed up at the dark skinned Martell man that this was perhaps his only chance to spirit Sansa out of King's Landing and away from his father's greedy fingers. Tywin Lannister would have married the girl himself if he felt he could have gotten away with it, and so Tyrion knew his own marriage was no protection to Ned Stark's daughter whatsoever. "Invite her, demand her, steal her--whatever you choose, Prince Oberyn, choose it soon. Else my lady wife shall break into more pieces than the stars."

The light overhead isn't from Minion island's overcast sky but instead a steel plated ceiling shining down fluorescence, glass and plastic bottles rattling on shelves against the walls. Everywhere there's monitors and familiar machinery and the distinct tang of antiseptic, sharp beyond the memory sense of blood and snow. For half a second Law looks at it all very blankly and thinks, What The Hell. Is he dreaming. Is he hallucinating. Is he just plain dead. His sight-line completes the rotation of this impossibility to fall upon speckled jeans and a long sweeping coat. And the man standing in front of Law has the blankest expression Law's ever seen. And the man standing in front of Law has Law's father's face. Underneath Law's blood-slicked fingers, Cora-san's pulse shudders. (This is a story where the past and the present collide. Wherein thirteen year old Trafalgar Law and twenty-six year old Rocinante tumble sideways through time-space via the blue desperation of a newly eaten devil fruit, from Minion island to a future distant. Right, unwittingly, onto the submarine deck of a another Law shortly after Doflamingo’s fall.)

Sanji feels eyes on him before he even hears the footsteps, and he sighs, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the rail. He could try to run, he knows, could jump over the rail and make his escape before whoever it is is upon him, but really what would be the point? It's not like he has anywhere to escape to. A glance over his shoulder reveals one of Big Mom's Sweet Commanders, the big one with the tattoos and the scarf, and for the second time since arriving on Tottoland Sanji finds himself meeting golden eyes. The man's expression is blank, the greater part of his face hidden beneath the bulk of his scarf, but one glance at him is enough to tell this isn't going to be a friendly encounter. "Don't worry." Sanji says, leaning against the rail and bringing his cigarette to his lips, breathing deep. He blows out a cloud of smoke, not meeting the man's eyes as he looks over the lower palace, counting the lights still on in the town below. "I'm not trying to escape."