[ You might not know it by looking at him, but Law's not exactly a fashion-forward kind of guy. He's dressed for mobility and flexibility over all, the color scheme somewhat incidental, and the few direct, personal choices he has made are all, uh. Wolf-themed. (He has a brand and he owns it, fight him any day of the week about it.) It's curiosity that brings him over to the festivities in the first place, but he'd have done a hard left at all the flowy, fancy, fashion-y things right off if only he hadn't been captured by an eager stall owner looking to foist their wares off onto him. Does he just have "easy mark" written across his forehead, or something? Not the "can't say no" kind of easy, but the "will say yes to anything once" kind.

Well, it may not be written anywhere visible, but wherever it is written, it's clearly to blame for how he ends up the proud owner of a fancy new scarf. Which, y'know, is great and all, except a scarf has no business anywhere in his ensemble, and for another thing: ]

I really don't think pink's my color. You sure it's gotta be this one?

[ Oh, yes, absolutely this one. It's a very strategic move, sticking him with one he almost certainly won't want to keep for himself, playing up how very high-quality it is, how special, how nice. Law doesn't know the first thing about whether that's true or not (he thinks the giant wolf head he wears on his shoulder that he paid 10 whole gald for is "nice"), but one thing he isn't is wasteful. He's not about to toss something that could have its uses.

Namely, if it's so nice, maybe he can trade it for something better. So he stakes out the stall, watching to see if anyone else is eying those scarves, and then makes his best attempt at confidently walking up, modeling the latest and greatest in pastel pink florals around his neck, to get that shopper's attention. ]

Hey, if you want one'a those, I'll trade you mine for something. Pretty fancy, right? I'll cut you a better deal than they will.

[ Okay, so scarves are definitively Not It. And jewelry? Also ordinarily would be Not It, as far as he's concerned. Dropping money or even trading something useful for baubles is just about the dumbest thing Law can think of, coming from a world where there's not enough of anything to go around. He's on his way past all those booths at a hasty pace, only to stop completely short so suddenly you can almost hear the comical brakes-screeching sound.

There was only one thing that could possibly get him to stop. You know what it is.

It's a wolf. Of course.

Immediately, the salesperson smells a buyer. How much? Law asks, trying to be shrewd about it and failing to account for the fact that his interest is not only plain as day, but also really easy to infer, considering. Y'know. The pauldron. The salesperson highballs. Law instantly balks. Oh, okay. Thanks anyway. But then they launch into an explanation of the charm's protective properties, something (fictionally) bolstered by the symbolic properties of the noble wolf. It's a great accessory, to be sure, and it's magical qualities ensure that whoever wears it will always feel the safety of their pack surrounding them.

Law, a pack animal through and through, needs no further convincing. Which is great, except he still can't quite manage a pricetag like the one the salesperson is trying to fleece him for. So here he is, taking up space at the stall, longingly admiring this completely average wolf charm. ]

Man... I shoulda traded that scarf for this.

[ Dig in the dirt to get on the good side of the people? Absolutely. That's not even such a far cry from working on a farm, is it, really? ...Well okay, yeah, a little, but look. Farm work isn't just about messing about with the animals all the time. There's a lot of dirt involved. And mud. And manure.

So yeah, flower soil is a step up!

What starts off as "sure, I can help for a minute" winds up being nearly half a day of digging, planting, watering, and getting a full crash-course on garden work. He ends his accidental shift absolutely covered in dirt, streaked across his face like war paint and so caked under his nails it'll be a miracle if he ever gets them clean. For his trouble, he gets a cheerful-looking bunch of larkspur, a fitting flower for someone naturally inclined to levity and lightheartedness. Which is great, except like almost everything else today, it's a little bit lost on a dust devil like him. He's going to need some help. ]

Hey, uh, what'm I supposed to do with these? I don't know the first thing about keeping flowers alive or anything.