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The Other Path [RWBY SI] [AHOIAC AU]
- Thread starter shadenight123
- Start date
Chapter One
- Location
- https://discord.gg/z9tBvbh
Chapter One
Only fools would run under the midday sun of Vacuo. Huntsmen were fools, and I sought to become like them. The red faces around me told me that I wasn't the only one attempting to have its lungs die on him, but the sandy dunes we climbed and descended were the most natural of gyms we could ever hope for. There was some place we were headed for, and as our instructor kept trudging along without a care in the world for the heat, I was starting to think that perhaps the man's semblance had something to do with photosynthesis or whatever.
Rassvet had to be a natural Australian reborn into the lands of Vacuo to teach the Vacuan people how to survive. If not, and if he was just a run of the mill huntsman of Vacuo, then I was going to become the most hardcore survivalist in the history of the world of Remnant. Well, me and everyone else in his introductory class to surviving the wilderness and weathers of Vacuo.
"Now gather around and catch a quick break. No drinking," the man snapped as a few had already gone for their flasks of water. "You drink now, you'll regret it later. And you'll regret it a lot."
Stewing in our own sweat, my skin was already an angry shade of tanned. It was getting boiled like hard leather too. I reckoned the Grimm would just put me on a spit and give me a single turn before cooking me, and the image, by itself, was quite funny.
"You must never let your thirst dictate your actions. Learn to control it," Rassvet pointed out. "And now I want you witness the majesty of another of Vacuo's most beautiful Grimm creatures," and as he said that, he pointed in the direction of a dune of sand like all the others near it.
It literally had nothing to differentiate it from those around it.
We all stared at the hill as if expecting something to pop out of it.
Rassvet calmly walked forward with his cricket-mace-crossbow in hand, and as he came close to the base of the hill, he poked the sand dune with a hearty swing. The next second the dune of sand collapsed, and a bone-white shell of conical shape emerged from the sands with beady, crimson eyes at the bottom of it, and a pair of clacking pincers.
"This is a Hermit Grimm," Rassvet mentioned amiably, hopping on the Grimm's carapace as the creature began to fumble about on a multitude of smaller, black legs. "It lets sandstorms cover it and then waits patiently for its prey. It is an interesting Grimm, because it doesn't attack huntsmen or large groups. It knows it's too slow for it."
I just stared at the thing.
Many others did the same thing. "However, a lot of lonely travelers get done in by it. So caution is advised if you're traveling the desert alone," with a sharp swing, there was a resounding gong from the shell that Rassvet had just hit. "It's outer shell is incredibly sturdy. If you want to strike it, you must either aim at its pincers' joints, or at its lower, softer body."
We all gave nods.
"One last thing," Rassvet said, slamming his cricket-mace straight on the spot where he had his feet, letting one of his bolts with blue dust within depart and create a small floor of ice on the Grimm's shell. The ice spread, and Rassvet broke it with his feet, landing right in front of the creature. "The Hermit's shell is naturally sticky. If you get stuck, you'd better have a friend nearby to pry you free, or something to wash or freeze the sticking agent off." Then he slammed the cricket-mace into the creature's face and maw before it could even blink, and twisted the blow to kill the Grimm in question.
"That was cool and horrifying at the same time," the teen by my side muttered.
"There's got to be a way to find out what dunes are safe and what aren't," I muttered back.
"I know what you are all thinking," Rassvet spoke as he returned to the top of the sand dune, "How did this glorious exemplar of Grimm be found out? The answer is simple, of course," he glanced at the class. "Masochistic-Wren?"
"No idea," I answered honestly.
"Too much extra training got your brain and turned it into mush then?" Rassvet remarked. "Anyone else wants to try and show off they have a brain?"
"The sand wasn't falling," another voice piped up. It was Zhelty's. The straw-haired girl that could easily rip things in half grinned brightly as the instructor nodded in reply.
"Sometimes yes," he said. "When enough sand gathers though, it won't make a difference. It's either that, or look for the uneven distribution at the base of a sand dune. Hermits actually attempt to eat wildlife when it passes them by. So their mouths are normally less covered by sand, and form natural whirlpools you can, sometime, catch."
He then shrugged, "If all else fails, just tap the dunes really hard on your way. A well placed kick is usually enough to reveal a Hermit, and once revealed they'll just move away. Don't bother with them unless it's your mission to."
"But they're Grimm," someone in the group pointed out.
"Then you can waste time and resources killing them," Rassvet replied. "Remember. You're here to survive. You're not here to save pretty princesses and damsels in distress. Hell, if a pretty princess gets dragged in the middle of the desert, either she's got what it takes to survive, or she's just an extra weight. And what is one of the rules of the desert, kids?"
"Bring plenty of water?"
"Come on, you can do better than that Jasil," Rassvet retorted. "It's one extra lap."
"Oh, bugger off," Jasil grumbled under his breath.
"Travel light," Gorm said. The owl-faunus received a nod of agreement from the instructor.
"Once in Shade, you'll get assigned to teammates. Treat them well, they'll have your back out here. But that means you also have to respect them, just as much as they'll respect you. Taking on extra work means disrespecting them, because of course they're going to help you out," Rassvet spat to the side, "If you want to be a Grimm exterminator, do it on your own time. There's no lack of Grimm around the desert. Just pick a direction and go hunting. But when it comes to your future team, and to your missions, remember it's a job. First do the job, then do the extra on the side."
"What if there's someone that needs a hand, like a child or something?" someone asked.
"First off, we ain't dealing in hypothetical. There's no way a child would be alone in the middle of the desert," Rassvet grumbled back. "And if he's managed to get that far on his own, chances are he doesn't really need your help anyway. That being said, even the greatest slip. Give a hand, receive a hand. But don't bother going on the lookout for them; you'll be doing no one a favor if you return tired, and without having made a profit to survive until the next mission. Are we clear on this lesson on Desert Survival One-Oh-One or do I need to pound it into your skulls some more?"
"Clear," everyone said at the same time.
"Good, then what are you gawking at me for? You've rested enough. Now run the way back. And again, no drinking! Command the thirst, don't let the thirst command you!" and with that being said, we ended up scrambling to our feet and running our way back. Under the still hot sun of the early afternoon. Because of course, why wouldn't we enjoy a bit of an extra sunburn on the side?
The sad thing was that my day wouldn't be over after this.
I had a job lined up. A job only the likes of a true Vacuan could ever possibly think would be nice to do.
Scrap delving.
How the mighty had fallen...
...being a glorified garbage diver wasn't how I thought I'd spend my early teen years.
Only fools would run under the midday sun of Vacuo. Huntsmen were fools, and I sought to become like them. The red faces around me told me that I wasn't the only one attempting to have its lungs die on him, but the sandy dunes we climbed and descended were the most natural of gyms we could ever hope for. There was some place we were headed for, and as our instructor kept trudging along without a care in the world for the heat, I was starting to think that perhaps the man's semblance had something to do with photosynthesis or whatever.
Rassvet had to be a natural Australian reborn into the lands of Vacuo to teach the Vacuan people how to survive. If not, and if he was just a run of the mill huntsman of Vacuo, then I was going to become the most hardcore survivalist in the history of the world of Remnant. Well, me and everyone else in his introductory class to surviving the wilderness and weathers of Vacuo.
"Now gather around and catch a quick break. No drinking," the man snapped as a few had already gone for their flasks of water. "You drink now, you'll regret it later. And you'll regret it a lot."
Stewing in our own sweat, my skin was already an angry shade of tanned. It was getting boiled like hard leather too. I reckoned the Grimm would just put me on a spit and give me a single turn before cooking me, and the image, by itself, was quite funny.
"You must never let your thirst dictate your actions. Learn to control it," Rassvet pointed out. "And now I want you witness the majesty of another of Vacuo's most beautiful Grimm creatures," and as he said that, he pointed in the direction of a dune of sand like all the others near it.
It literally had nothing to differentiate it from those around it.
We all stared at the hill as if expecting something to pop out of it.
Rassvet calmly walked forward with his cricket-mace-crossbow in hand, and as he came close to the base of the hill, he poked the sand dune with a hearty swing. The next second the dune of sand collapsed, and a bone-white shell of conical shape emerged from the sands with beady, crimson eyes at the bottom of it, and a pair of clacking pincers.
"This is a Hermit Grimm," Rassvet mentioned amiably, hopping on the Grimm's carapace as the creature began to fumble about on a multitude of smaller, black legs. "It lets sandstorms cover it and then waits patiently for its prey. It is an interesting Grimm, because it doesn't attack huntsmen or large groups. It knows it's too slow for it."
I just stared at the thing.
Many others did the same thing. "However, a lot of lonely travelers get done in by it. So caution is advised if you're traveling the desert alone," with a sharp swing, there was a resounding gong from the shell that Rassvet had just hit. "It's outer shell is incredibly sturdy. If you want to strike it, you must either aim at its pincers' joints, or at its lower, softer body."
We all gave nods.
"One last thing," Rassvet said, slamming his cricket-mace straight on the spot where he had his feet, letting one of his bolts with blue dust within depart and create a small floor of ice on the Grimm's shell. The ice spread, and Rassvet broke it with his feet, landing right in front of the creature. "The Hermit's shell is naturally sticky. If you get stuck, you'd better have a friend nearby to pry you free, or something to wash or freeze the sticking agent off." Then he slammed the cricket-mace into the creature's face and maw before it could even blink, and twisted the blow to kill the Grimm in question.
"That was cool and horrifying at the same time," the teen by my side muttered.
"There's got to be a way to find out what dunes are safe and what aren't," I muttered back.
"I know what you are all thinking," Rassvet spoke as he returned to the top of the sand dune, "How did this glorious exemplar of Grimm be found out? The answer is simple, of course," he glanced at the class. "Masochistic-Wren?"
"No idea," I answered honestly.
"Too much extra training got your brain and turned it into mush then?" Rassvet remarked. "Anyone else wants to try and show off they have a brain?"
"The sand wasn't falling," another voice piped up. It was Zhelty's. The straw-haired girl that could easily rip things in half grinned brightly as the instructor nodded in reply.
"Sometimes yes," he said. "When enough sand gathers though, it won't make a difference. It's either that, or look for the uneven distribution at the base of a sand dune. Hermits actually attempt to eat wildlife when it passes them by. So their mouths are normally less covered by sand, and form natural whirlpools you can, sometime, catch."
He then shrugged, "If all else fails, just tap the dunes really hard on your way. A well placed kick is usually enough to reveal a Hermit, and once revealed they'll just move away. Don't bother with them unless it's your mission to."
"But they're Grimm," someone in the group pointed out.
"Then you can waste time and resources killing them," Rassvet replied. "Remember. You're here to survive. You're not here to save pretty princesses and damsels in distress. Hell, if a pretty princess gets dragged in the middle of the desert, either she's got what it takes to survive, or she's just an extra weight. And what is one of the rules of the desert, kids?"
"Bring plenty of water?"
"Come on, you can do better than that Jasil," Rassvet retorted. "It's one extra lap."
"Oh, bugger off," Jasil grumbled under his breath.
"Travel light," Gorm said. The owl-faunus received a nod of agreement from the instructor.
"Once in Shade, you'll get assigned to teammates. Treat them well, they'll have your back out here. But that means you also have to respect them, just as much as they'll respect you. Taking on extra work means disrespecting them, because of course they're going to help you out," Rassvet spat to the side, "If you want to be a Grimm exterminator, do it on your own time. There's no lack of Grimm around the desert. Just pick a direction and go hunting. But when it comes to your future team, and to your missions, remember it's a job. First do the job, then do the extra on the side."
"What if there's someone that needs a hand, like a child or something?" someone asked.
"First off, we ain't dealing in hypothetical. There's no way a child would be alone in the middle of the desert," Rassvet grumbled back. "And if he's managed to get that far on his own, chances are he doesn't really need your help anyway. That being said, even the greatest slip. Give a hand, receive a hand. But don't bother going on the lookout for them; you'll be doing no one a favor if you return tired, and without having made a profit to survive until the next mission. Are we clear on this lesson on Desert Survival One-Oh-One or do I need to pound it into your skulls some more?"
"Clear," everyone said at the same time.
"Good, then what are you gawking at me for? You've rested enough. Now run the way back. And again, no drinking! Command the thirst, don't let the thirst command you!" and with that being said, we ended up scrambling to our feet and running our way back. Under the still hot sun of the early afternoon. Because of course, why wouldn't we enjoy a bit of an extra sunburn on the side?
The sad thing was that my day wouldn't be over after this.
I had a job lined up. A job only the likes of a true Vacuan could ever possibly think would be nice to do.
Scrap delving.
How the mighty had fallen...
...being a glorified garbage diver wasn't how I thought I'd spend my early teen years.
- Location
- France
I didn't even finished A Heart of Ice and Coffee yet, and already a new fic.
Hollow Mask
Horrid Failure
- Location
- South of Dignity, North of Embarassment
I'm glad I'm not the only one. I'm rereading the first one in the series.
CrunchySharpie
Professional Harem Consultant
- Location
- Sharpie Factory
You know... You're supposed to stay hydrated in a desert. Saying "control your thirst, don't let the thirst control you" isn't how you do that. He should be teaching them to drink their water in swallows every 15-30 minutes if moving during hot periods which isn't advised to begin with. The hottest parts in the day is when you rest, generally with shelter if possible. (Pack a large tarp and some poles for this) This prevents over exhaustion and possible snow blindness which can occur in deserts as well. You can use specific masks or goggles to mitigate that but marching across a desert without regular hydration is a horrible idea, if he's trying to build up their endurance to use less water then he needs to do that gradually, because otherwise you're going to get heat stroke and die. Not because "they weren't stong enough to survive", but bease their teacher was a moron.
The only reason you should ration your water in a desert is if you don't have enough, otherwise you'll need around 64 ounces of water a day (roughly 2 liters) what he should be doing is making sure they can carry around several gallons of water on their person wherever they go, which they should be starting in the morning or the evening and carrying around some jars of sand to get them used to the weight.
Obviously aura and semblances make things a bit easier but aura doesn't help quench thirst as far as I know, unless there's specially designed techiques to do so. Now something that might be really Important for a vacuo huntsman? Ice dust. Because with a bit of aura you can provide yourself with enough ice to fill your water bottles to replace used water and ice dust might actually be a more efficient method of carrying water.
There might also be a method of filtering your pee with dust or aura to take in lost water. Or in other words. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. Better drink your own piss. (Bear Grylls approved)
The only reason you should ration your water in a desert is if you don't have enough, otherwise you'll need around 64 ounces of water a day (roughly 2 liters) what he should be doing is making sure they can carry around several gallons of water on their person wherever they go, which they should be starting in the morning or the evening and carrying around some jars of sand to get them used to the weight.
Obviously aura and semblances make things a bit easier but aura doesn't help quench thirst as far as I know, unless there's specially designed techiques to do so. Now something that might be really Important for a vacuo huntsman? Ice dust. Because with a bit of aura you can provide yourself with enough ice to fill your water bottles to replace used water and ice dust might actually be a more efficient method of carrying water.
There might also be a method of filtering your pee with dust or aura to take in lost water. Or in other words. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. Better drink your own piss. (Bear Grylls approved)
Last edited:
Silver W. King
King of Adventures
- Location
- The Nasuverse
Her defenses actually stopped her team from fighting, and she kept defending him even after Blake lost her faith in him.
theauthor
Birdie
- Location
- Soerabaja
You just have to put some meme in there aren't you?
Well it fit though.
Chapter Two
- Location
- https://discord.gg/z9tBvbh
Chapter Two
There were a lot of places around Vacuo that had long since been abandoned. Whether it was due to a lack of resources, or because the people had upped and left to form a new smaller camp elsewhere, they sometimes left stuff behind. This repeated itself throughout most of the history of Vacuo of the last eighty years, and eighty years of nomads taking stuff and leaving it behind when broken made the desert a treasure trove of broken scraps.
One could find anything when the winds were kind and moved a dune to the right or the left, revealing broken and discarded weapons, dried pieces of paper, torn clothes that could use some stitches and often, Grimm.
Well, it wasn't like Vacuo stopped being a dangerous place just because one had a job to do. The bigger targets however were old refineries. Places that had once seen use, and then after the Great War had been abandoned in a hurry. Places that had been overrun by Grimm, but then the Grimm had moved on, leaving them uninhabited.
It was Gorm who suggested me that kind of job. He was looking for a pair of extra arms, and I was good enough while having a decent head on my shoulders to know when to call it quits.
It was important in the scrap-delving job to know when to call it quits, because even if you got the biggest haul, you still needed to bring it back.
No trucks or tools. Just two young teenagers headed for the dumping yards, trailing past toxic pools and then aiding one another in dragging large pieces of uneven metal to scrap buyers.
Two people could carry more than one people ever could, and two would-be huntsmen had the strength advantage to bring over long distance veritable weights of wrought iron and broken steel. We made Lien. Not much, definitely not as much as the scrap seller would make by melting the iron and then reselling it in pristine conditions, but it was good money. Doing it a few times a week was enough to pay for the room's rent. Doing it nearly everyday was enough to live in Vacuo just like any other student would.
Of course, scrap was a finite resource. When one place finished, one had to find another. There was competition. There were sometimes where we just had no luck, because others had come first and were pretty aggressive about defending their piles. Some were training to be huntsmen, and were older. Others were younger, but had the evil gleam in their eyes of street rats.
I reckon we did pretty well as a team. Not too much, nor too little. It was strange eking a living when I actually could access a personal bank account, but one thing that remained firmly fixed in my mind was the need to diversify my investments. Money should always be in three different places. One on your own person, one hidden in someplace you can reach, and one in the bank. So that if something goes wrong, you can easily access it elsewhere.
It was also good muscle training.
I had a purpose I wished to achieve. I needed the strength to do it. I needed the endurance. I needed the speed. The technique, I'd hopefully learn.
We were carrying back a long tube of iron that had once been a plumbing pipe, filled it with nails and small iron stuff, and had random wires hanging atop it when Gorm's head turned to look at me. His Owl-faunus heritage made him capable of turning his head one hundred and eighty degrees, and it was an unnervingly creepy thing to see.
"With this, we should have enough for the next course fee," he said. "What are you going to take?"
"Weapon building," I said. "You?"
"Martial arts," he replied. "A weapon costs too much to buy, keep and maintain anyway. Maybe later, when we can get better jobs. Right now, I just want to know how to defend myself."
I turned thoughtful at that. "I didn't think about that. Guess I'll follow you."
"See, that's why I say we're two birds of one feather," Gorm said with a deep rumbling chuckle. "Pity you're not a bird faunus."
"Not everyone's perfect," I dryly quipped back. "I do have a bird-brain, though."
"Oi, you trying to be funny or trying to be racist?" Gorm grumbled, a hint of a snicker on his lips.
"No idea, but look ahead, will ya?" I retorted. "If we drop this, you're the one who's getting it all back."
His head swiveled back to look ahead. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Guess I'll make you eat the ground during training then."
"Sorry, can you repeat that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of how much kicking your ass is going to receive when we get to it," I replied nonchalantly.
We both laughed at our own quips. That day we got paid a bit more. I knew it, of course. Copper always went for more than iron. Copper wiring, especially. There was a reason people kept stealing it; it was used in a lot of things, and sold for a good amount of Lien.
Time was the only thing that mattered. The more time I spent training, practicing and taking courses, the easier it would be to face the Grimm, and then the enemies ahead of me. I had to become the very best, like no one ever was.
Yet the mountain looked insuperable.
"You need to pay attention to what's in front of you," the instructor barked. I couldn't help but agree, and I also couldn't help but feel frustration about it.
Whether I liked it or not, there was an inevitable problem that I needed to fix, and that I couldn't fix.
I needed glasses. My right eye was perfect, but my left one-my left one had always been problematic. It was time, I reckoned, for it to get progressively worse. Buying a new pair in the middle of Vacuo was out of the question. The last pair had broken due to training, and I didn't doubt that any new pair would suffer the same fate. I needed something sturdier, and I had no idea where to go for them.
"You look like you ate a sour lemon," Gorm remarked after another round of beating me into the dirt. Once he understood that anything coming from the left would be less gracefully blocked than the right, he took the advantage for what it was. "Something the matter?"
"My sight by my left eye-it's getting bad," I answered with a dreadful sigh. "I'm seeing a blur where you are, and that's on a good day."
"Get some goggles then," Gorm said with a shrug. "You can starve for a day or two."
I looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "Goggles...for eyesight?"
"Yeah," Gorm acquiesced. "Though maybe you'll need a monocle or something," he snickered at that. "But if you get a fancy cane to go with it, I'm making you swallow it."
"The monocle or the cane?"
"Yes," Gorm said.
"Yes what?" I sighed, extending a hand to get him to help me back up. He did so, the tender summer child, and I slammed my left fist into his guts.
He went down with a pained wheeze. "What. My head's still ringing. Sorry, didn't see your stomach there."
"When-When I get back up," Gorm muttered, "I'm giving you another serving of sand."
"I'm scared. So scared I may shit glass," I mused with a dry chuckle.
He got back up. He mercilessly tore at me, and I did my best to counter him. We had been shown some simple moves, but for the most part were left to fight one another until we got tired of getting bruised, and then we'd catch some breath, exchange partners, and repeat the process.
After Gorm, it was Zhelty's turn.
I whimpered.
She, differently from Gorm, hurt a lot more.
There were a lot of places around Vacuo that had long since been abandoned. Whether it was due to a lack of resources, or because the people had upped and left to form a new smaller camp elsewhere, they sometimes left stuff behind. This repeated itself throughout most of the history of Vacuo of the last eighty years, and eighty years of nomads taking stuff and leaving it behind when broken made the desert a treasure trove of broken scraps.
One could find anything when the winds were kind and moved a dune to the right or the left, revealing broken and discarded weapons, dried pieces of paper, torn clothes that could use some stitches and often, Grimm.
Well, it wasn't like Vacuo stopped being a dangerous place just because one had a job to do. The bigger targets however were old refineries. Places that had once seen use, and then after the Great War had been abandoned in a hurry. Places that had been overrun by Grimm, but then the Grimm had moved on, leaving them uninhabited.
It was Gorm who suggested me that kind of job. He was looking for a pair of extra arms, and I was good enough while having a decent head on my shoulders to know when to call it quits.
It was important in the scrap-delving job to know when to call it quits, because even if you got the biggest haul, you still needed to bring it back.
No trucks or tools. Just two young teenagers headed for the dumping yards, trailing past toxic pools and then aiding one another in dragging large pieces of uneven metal to scrap buyers.
Two people could carry more than one people ever could, and two would-be huntsmen had the strength advantage to bring over long distance veritable weights of wrought iron and broken steel. We made Lien. Not much, definitely not as much as the scrap seller would make by melting the iron and then reselling it in pristine conditions, but it was good money. Doing it a few times a week was enough to pay for the room's rent. Doing it nearly everyday was enough to live in Vacuo just like any other student would.
Of course, scrap was a finite resource. When one place finished, one had to find another. There was competition. There were sometimes where we just had no luck, because others had come first and were pretty aggressive about defending their piles. Some were training to be huntsmen, and were older. Others were younger, but had the evil gleam in their eyes of street rats.
I reckon we did pretty well as a team. Not too much, nor too little. It was strange eking a living when I actually could access a personal bank account, but one thing that remained firmly fixed in my mind was the need to diversify my investments. Money should always be in three different places. One on your own person, one hidden in someplace you can reach, and one in the bank. So that if something goes wrong, you can easily access it elsewhere.
It was also good muscle training.
I had a purpose I wished to achieve. I needed the strength to do it. I needed the endurance. I needed the speed. The technique, I'd hopefully learn.
We were carrying back a long tube of iron that had once been a plumbing pipe, filled it with nails and small iron stuff, and had random wires hanging atop it when Gorm's head turned to look at me. His Owl-faunus heritage made him capable of turning his head one hundred and eighty degrees, and it was an unnervingly creepy thing to see.
"With this, we should have enough for the next course fee," he said. "What are you going to take?"
"Weapon building," I said. "You?"
"Martial arts," he replied. "A weapon costs too much to buy, keep and maintain anyway. Maybe later, when we can get better jobs. Right now, I just want to know how to defend myself."
I turned thoughtful at that. "I didn't think about that. Guess I'll follow you."
"See, that's why I say we're two birds of one feather," Gorm said with a deep rumbling chuckle. "Pity you're not a bird faunus."
"Not everyone's perfect," I dryly quipped back. "I do have a bird-brain, though."
"Oi, you trying to be funny or trying to be racist?" Gorm grumbled, a hint of a snicker on his lips.
"No idea, but look ahead, will ya?" I retorted. "If we drop this, you're the one who's getting it all back."
His head swiveled back to look ahead. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Guess I'll make you eat the ground during training then."
"Sorry, can you repeat that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of how much kicking your ass is going to receive when we get to it," I replied nonchalantly.
We both laughed at our own quips. That day we got paid a bit more. I knew it, of course. Copper always went for more than iron. Copper wiring, especially. There was a reason people kept stealing it; it was used in a lot of things, and sold for a good amount of Lien.
Time was the only thing that mattered. The more time I spent training, practicing and taking courses, the easier it would be to face the Grimm, and then the enemies ahead of me. I had to become the very best, like no one ever was.
Yet the mountain looked insuperable.
"You need to pay attention to what's in front of you," the instructor barked. I couldn't help but agree, and I also couldn't help but feel frustration about it.
Whether I liked it or not, there was an inevitable problem that I needed to fix, and that I couldn't fix.
I needed glasses. My right eye was perfect, but my left one-my left one had always been problematic. It was time, I reckoned, for it to get progressively worse. Buying a new pair in the middle of Vacuo was out of the question. The last pair had broken due to training, and I didn't doubt that any new pair would suffer the same fate. I needed something sturdier, and I had no idea where to go for them.
"You look like you ate a sour lemon," Gorm remarked after another round of beating me into the dirt. Once he understood that anything coming from the left would be less gracefully blocked than the right, he took the advantage for what it was. "Something the matter?"
"My sight by my left eye-it's getting bad," I answered with a dreadful sigh. "I'm seeing a blur where you are, and that's on a good day."
"Get some goggles then," Gorm said with a shrug. "You can starve for a day or two."
I looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "Goggles...for eyesight?"
"Yeah," Gorm acquiesced. "Though maybe you'll need a monocle or something," he snickered at that. "But if you get a fancy cane to go with it, I'm making you swallow it."
"The monocle or the cane?"
"Yes," Gorm said.
"Yes what?" I sighed, extending a hand to get him to help me back up. He did so, the tender summer child, and I slammed my left fist into his guts.
He went down with a pained wheeze. "What. My head's still ringing. Sorry, didn't see your stomach there."
"When-When I get back up," Gorm muttered, "I'm giving you another serving of sand."
"I'm scared. So scared I may shit glass," I mused with a dry chuckle.
He got back up. He mercilessly tore at me, and I did my best to counter him. We had been shown some simple moves, but for the most part were left to fight one another until we got tired of getting bruised, and then we'd catch some breath, exchange partners, and repeat the process.
After Gorm, it was Zhelty's turn.
I whimpered.
She, differently from Gorm, hurt a lot more.
Xyshuryn
Not A Morning Person
- Location
- On the Shade Train
Getting your ass kicked by a girl sucks for many reasons. Them being a girl, surprisingly, is not really one of them.
Girls are mean. They fight dirty. They have a naturally higher pain threshold.
Oh, and while a good swift kick between the legs will hurt them too... Well, us gents tend to have dangly bits that are easier to hit.
You have my sympathies, Wren.
Girls are mean. They fight dirty. They have a naturally higher pain threshold.
Oh, and while a good swift kick between the legs will hurt them too... Well, us gents tend to have dangly bits that are easier to hit.
You have my sympathies, Wren.
- Location
- Left Canada
I like how you say its not because of their gender, and then you say its because of their sexual organs.
- Location
- A Tropical Island in the Pacific
This version of Wren has a southern accent in my head...
Chapter Three
- Location
- https://discord.gg/z9tBvbh
Chapter Three
Professor Valtò taught Martial Arts. His martial arts consisted of letting the students get used to the idea of beating one another. It was a nice class, unless you got Zhelty as a sparring partner. The moment you did, you had to learn how to dodge.
She was a nice girl, I reckoned. She was freckled, had straw hair, and a petite frame. She also punched concrete blocks into dust grains, and I couldn't believe that wasn't a semblance of some sorts. If so, she was extremely lucky to have unlocked her aura, or extremely unlucky depending on how she had unlocked it. Still, it didn't change the fact I had to duck, dodge and most importantly...not roll.
First thing professor Valtò explained was that rolling was a no-go. Anything in which you give your back to the enemy or put your feet off the ground is a no-go unless you've got a mean to change your footing and direction in mid-air, in which case, go for it.
Yeah, huntsmen tactics pretty much went with 'Do this, unless you've got some reason that makes this other thing better, then definitely do that'.
The end result was that I was running in circles while Zhelty attempted to pursue me, but due to her shorter frame, actually came up short from catching me.
Ha. Came up short. Because she was short.
I was truly a natural-born comedian.
"Stop running!" Zhelty hissed. "Fight me like a man!"
"I'd rather fight you like a chicken," I replied, realizing there was a wall coming up. I rushed for it, placed one foot on its surface, the second soon coming up. Physics cried, and I silently apologized as I did a wall-walk, reaching for the top before doing a back-flip and proceeding to slam one of my feet straight against Zhelty's chest. The blow connected. I could feel it. The girl, of course, didn't recoil.
We were talking of another prospective future huntsman, so regardless of how hard I had kicked her, she would have taken the blow anyway.
I ended up with my back on the ground though, having lost my precarious balance by executing that beautiful kick of mine. "Zhelty, no," I said.
"Zhelty yes," Zhelty answered most nonchalantly, her knuckles cracking before rushing for my body. Her knee landed against my stomach, and I saw stars before her knuckles saw the side of my face. Or at least, they would have had the professor not stopped her from the blow.
He didn't push her off me, though. "Now, students, gather round. This is quite the practical situation at hand, how do you fight off someone kneeing your guts?"
I wanted an answer to that quite quickly too.
"First, you must nullify the weight of your opponent on you," and as he said that, he gestured at me. "Please, try."
I stared at him in disbelief. Seriously?
I moved both of my hands to grab hold of Zhelty's leg and pulled. "Now punch him because he forgot to protect his head."
I survived the swing because I moved back against the ground, doing my best flat-worm impression as the fist sailed upwards. The moment it did, I moved up and grabbed hold of her back. I hissed as I felt the pressure increase, but at this point, I just pulled her down to the side.
"And that's how you do it," professor Valtò remarked.
"When you let me go, I'll pulverize your face," Zhelty said calmly from where I was holding her down, though I could still feel her knee against my guts, and I could still feel her tense as her arm pressed against the ground began to wriggle in search of room to move.
"Now, ground-fighting is something of an art, for the less experienced, expect this to happen in all fights in which both people are drunk, or you are in a bar and someone really clingy refuses to let go. If you are in such a situation, then remember that quick punches to the face when possible, or to any spot where there are few bones, is amenable. For example from that position there are floating ribs that can be broken-if the proper strength is applied," Professor Valtò remarked.
"I don't break your ribs, you don't pulverize my face?" I muttered, realizing that my grip on her was starting to falter. I hoped she wouldn't notice yet. I really liked my face.
"You can't break my ribs even if you tried, stupid chicken," Zhelty growled. With a push from her free arm, she actually broke free from my hold and used her knee in my guts as some kind of lever to push herself back on her feet. I took that as the cue to just roll on the ground and back on my own two feet away from her.
"Can I change my sparring partner yet?" I asked, my eyes still on Zhelty, who charged in with her fist ready to pound against me.
I watched it come, saw it sail for me, and then I moved to the side with all of the grace of a toreador attempting to avoid a bull. Or at least, in my mind's eye that was what I was doing. Truth be told I was probably just making incredibly silly jumps to the sides, but I could do them all day long. Fear of pain was the most powerful motivator known to man. Fear of Zhelty would be enough to send me to the moon with a single jump if properly bridled.
Her next swing came soon after the first. I stepped back. I kept stepping back. Her swings were short.
Did I already mention it was because she was short to begin with?
"Oi, Lilliput, stay put," I said.
"Did you just call me short, you bastard!?" Zhelty roared.
I had a vision.
In one single, fell swoop I had a vision. I knew. I knew beyond doubt. I saw and I knew and I understood.
Death was coming.
Her leg swung in an upward arc, actually managing to graze my clothes. I could feel a sharp burn when the tip of her boot had managed to scrape my flesh.
My hands moved to grab hold of her lifted leg, and then, quite amiably, I twisted the leg to one side. She spun on herself to avoid losing her balance, and seemed keen on flexing her leg to get closer, so I made her wish come a reality and ended up drawing nearer myself, delivering the mother of all kicks to her other leg and pushing her down on the ground, her leg still firmly in my hands as I landed with a satisfying thud atop her back.
Then, I pulled the leg to me.
"Let go of me you frigging shoe-loving pervert!" Zhelty growled.
"I value my life very much," I retorted, holding on for dear life.
"You'll value it even more once I'm done breaking all your bones," Zhelty hissed.
"Very well, you can change partners once more," the Professor remarked, "Power means little without technique, and technique means little without power," and as he pointed that out for Zhelty's benefit, I let go of the girl's leg and then rushed off to find another partner before she could decide whether to pulverize me or not.
When my next opponent turned out to be a reasonable young teen just like me, who cared about practicing and not punching one another's face in, I was happy.
My tears of joy at having avoided her were short-lived, however.
Gorm, what do you mean Zhelty is coming scrap scavenging along with us now!?
Professor Valtò taught Martial Arts. His martial arts consisted of letting the students get used to the idea of beating one another. It was a nice class, unless you got Zhelty as a sparring partner. The moment you did, you had to learn how to dodge.
She was a nice girl, I reckoned. She was freckled, had straw hair, and a petite frame. She also punched concrete blocks into dust grains, and I couldn't believe that wasn't a semblance of some sorts. If so, she was extremely lucky to have unlocked her aura, or extremely unlucky depending on how she had unlocked it. Still, it didn't change the fact I had to duck, dodge and most importantly...not roll.
First thing professor Valtò explained was that rolling was a no-go. Anything in which you give your back to the enemy or put your feet off the ground is a no-go unless you've got a mean to change your footing and direction in mid-air, in which case, go for it.
Yeah, huntsmen tactics pretty much went with 'Do this, unless you've got some reason that makes this other thing better, then definitely do that'.
The end result was that I was running in circles while Zhelty attempted to pursue me, but due to her shorter frame, actually came up short from catching me.
Ha. Came up short. Because she was short.
I was truly a natural-born comedian.
"Stop running!" Zhelty hissed. "Fight me like a man!"
"I'd rather fight you like a chicken," I replied, realizing there was a wall coming up. I rushed for it, placed one foot on its surface, the second soon coming up. Physics cried, and I silently apologized as I did a wall-walk, reaching for the top before doing a back-flip and proceeding to slam one of my feet straight against Zhelty's chest. The blow connected. I could feel it. The girl, of course, didn't recoil.
We were talking of another prospective future huntsman, so regardless of how hard I had kicked her, she would have taken the blow anyway.
I ended up with my back on the ground though, having lost my precarious balance by executing that beautiful kick of mine. "Zhelty, no," I said.
"Zhelty yes," Zhelty answered most nonchalantly, her knuckles cracking before rushing for my body. Her knee landed against my stomach, and I saw stars before her knuckles saw the side of my face. Or at least, they would have had the professor not stopped her from the blow.
He didn't push her off me, though. "Now, students, gather round. This is quite the practical situation at hand, how do you fight off someone kneeing your guts?"
I wanted an answer to that quite quickly too.
"First, you must nullify the weight of your opponent on you," and as he said that, he gestured at me. "Please, try."
I stared at him in disbelief. Seriously?
I moved both of my hands to grab hold of Zhelty's leg and pulled. "Now punch him because he forgot to protect his head."
I survived the swing because I moved back against the ground, doing my best flat-worm impression as the fist sailed upwards. The moment it did, I moved up and grabbed hold of her back. I hissed as I felt the pressure increase, but at this point, I just pulled her down to the side.
"And that's how you do it," professor Valtò remarked.
"When you let me go, I'll pulverize your face," Zhelty said calmly from where I was holding her down, though I could still feel her knee against my guts, and I could still feel her tense as her arm pressed against the ground began to wriggle in search of room to move.
"Now, ground-fighting is something of an art, for the less experienced, expect this to happen in all fights in which both people are drunk, or you are in a bar and someone really clingy refuses to let go. If you are in such a situation, then remember that quick punches to the face when possible, or to any spot where there are few bones, is amenable. For example from that position there are floating ribs that can be broken-if the proper strength is applied," Professor Valtò remarked.
"I don't break your ribs, you don't pulverize my face?" I muttered, realizing that my grip on her was starting to falter. I hoped she wouldn't notice yet. I really liked my face.
"You can't break my ribs even if you tried, stupid chicken," Zhelty growled. With a push from her free arm, she actually broke free from my hold and used her knee in my guts as some kind of lever to push herself back on her feet. I took that as the cue to just roll on the ground and back on my own two feet away from her.
"Can I change my sparring partner yet?" I asked, my eyes still on Zhelty, who charged in with her fist ready to pound against me.
I watched it come, saw it sail for me, and then I moved to the side with all of the grace of a toreador attempting to avoid a bull. Or at least, in my mind's eye that was what I was doing. Truth be told I was probably just making incredibly silly jumps to the sides, but I could do them all day long. Fear of pain was the most powerful motivator known to man. Fear of Zhelty would be enough to send me to the moon with a single jump if properly bridled.
Her next swing came soon after the first. I stepped back. I kept stepping back. Her swings were short.
Did I already mention it was because she was short to begin with?
"Oi, Lilliput, stay put," I said.
"Did you just call me short, you bastard!?" Zhelty roared.
I had a vision.
In one single, fell swoop I had a vision. I knew. I knew beyond doubt. I saw and I knew and I understood.
Death was coming.
Her leg swung in an upward arc, actually managing to graze my clothes. I could feel a sharp burn when the tip of her boot had managed to scrape my flesh.
My hands moved to grab hold of her lifted leg, and then, quite amiably, I twisted the leg to one side. She spun on herself to avoid losing her balance, and seemed keen on flexing her leg to get closer, so I made her wish come a reality and ended up drawing nearer myself, delivering the mother of all kicks to her other leg and pushing her down on the ground, her leg still firmly in my hands as I landed with a satisfying thud atop her back.
Then, I pulled the leg to me.
"Let go of me you frigging shoe-loving pervert!" Zhelty growled.
"I value my life very much," I retorted, holding on for dear life.
"You'll value it even more once I'm done breaking all your bones," Zhelty hissed.
"Very well, you can change partners once more," the Professor remarked, "Power means little without technique, and technique means little without power," and as he pointed that out for Zhelty's benefit, I let go of the girl's leg and then rushed off to find another partner before she could decide whether to pulverize me or not.
When my next opponent turned out to be a reasonable young teen just like me, who cared about practicing and not punching one another's face in, I was happy.
My tears of joy at having avoided her were short-lived, however.
Gorm, what do you mean Zhelty is coming scrap scavenging along with us now!?
- Location
- England
Oooh, time to coin a new word. 'Monoggle'. A goggle that only covers one eye.
Also, with all the junk Shade is working with and his new monoggle, he should totally go for the Steampunk look.
[EDIT]
Last edited:
- Location
- England
It is Vacuo. As for the aura not fixing it, I think the problem with things like eyesight is that they don't count as 'injuries'. It's often where the way they are growing isn't quite right. So, depending on how it works, aura wouldn't know it needs fixing.
Yep, as I edited my post to say, I have been beaten to the word and the object by real life.
Xyshuryn
Not A Morning Person
- Location
- On the Shade Train
I must admit something. I'm wanting to ship Zhelty x Wren x Salem. Cuz I don't think Wren would wear the philosophical, or metaphorical, pants in that menage a trois.
Come to think of it, I'm not entirely sure he'd always "be the man" either.
But by the Brothers... Zhelty reminds me of my cousin in this chapter. I too have had to bargain with the she-devil to spare me.
Come to think of it, I'm not entirely sure he'd always "be the man" either.
But by the Brothers... Zhelty reminds me of my cousin in this chapter. I too have had to bargain with the she-devil to spare me.
Chapter Four
- Location
- https://discord.gg/z9tBvbh
Chapter Four
I understood Gorm's logic. I didn't like it, but I understood it.
"So you're serious about this," I said as I glanced once more towards Zhelty.
"It's easy money," Gorm answered with a faint shrug of his shoulders. "After that thing with the copper wires, I realized we can get a lot more from abandoned buildings if we just break the walls down."
He had pickaxes on his back. He had come prepared. "And why is Zhelty coming along?" I asked nonchalantly.
"Because I want some quick money too," Zhelty said, "Or are you saying that a shortie can't do this, uh?"
"Never said that," I said hastily. "Never would mean it either," I continued.
We weren't headed for our usual dumping dive spots. We were headed for somewhere else. Gorm handed both me and Zhelty a pickaxe as soon as we cleared the most trafficked streets, and then we came to a halt in front of what looked like an old and dilapidated building. "This place's been around a lot. Nobody's living in it, and the people that sleep in it won't care if the walls have a few more holes in them," Gorm said.
"I can't help but think that you're always bringing me to the nicest places in Vacuo," I grumbled under my breath. "What next, a toxic swamp?"
Gorm turned its head one hundred and eighty degrees. "I was thinking the sewers to steal the service lights in there, but hey, this works better."
"Are you boys going to stay out there or start breaking walls?" Zhelty grumbled, stepping inside. We both followed her, though it was clear by the stench within that some people did indeed use the place, though not just as a sleeping spot either.
"We're training to be huntsmen, and Zhelty can punch people real hard," Gorm muttered under his breath as I moved by his side. "It should be fine."
I rolled my eyes, neared a wall where an electric switch, or the remains of one were located, and slammed the pickaxe into the wall. We swung like madmen, and, as was obvious, we ended up spending most of the afternoon just breaking down the concrete chunks. I had a bad feeling about the sturdier walls, though, and didn't count my chances in stepping into some rooms alone, but all three of us worked for most of the evening, and stepped outside with bundles of tightly rolled wires.
It was then that the mystery finally clicked to a close, as we stepped into the scrap shop that had seen our patronage since the very beginning.
"Old man, I'm home!" Zhelty said, dropping her bundle on the counter.
"Ah," I said most wisely. "Now everything makes perfect sense."
"You saying I'm short because I don't eat enough milk or something?" Zhelty turned like a fury in my direction. I raised an eyebrow at that non-sequitur.
"No, I was wondering where your strength came from," I glanced at the shop's entrance, filled with all manners of broken metal pieces, some big and some small. "Guess you've been lifting a lot, uh."
"And because of that I stayed small, it's what you're trying to say, yes?" she lifted a fist in my direction.
"Seriously, no. I said Lilliput once, are you going to let that go anytime soon?" I retorted in disbelief, even as the old man she had mentioned stepped into view from the shop's back. The hands drenched in motor oil, he had straw hair just like his daughter, which truly should have clued me in earlier, but a more vibrant smile on his face.
"Another good haul?" he asked, "Which is which?"
"Split it evenly, pops," Zhelty grumbled, both arms behind her head. "And try to be nice. Wren's a shit-head but Gorm's all right."
"Then let me weight the wires and go from there," her old man retorted, grabbing hold of all three bundles and just throwing them atop a weighting machine. "Now, discounting the rubber banding-"
"We both know the rubber banding gets melted together and sold apart," I spoke up, "Come on, try something better."
"I can see why my daughter calls you a shit-head," the old man muttered. "She always did hate smart-asses."
"What is it with people insulting me? Is it a national Vacuan sport?" I grumbled back. "Oi, Gorm, hoot a bit."
"The hell!?" Gorm exclaimed, "Why are you taking it out on me!?"
I shrugged, helplessly. Zhelty's father didn't shortchange us, though, and we all stepped outside with a small amount of Lien safely tucked away in our pockets. Mine was inside the pocket I had personally sewn on the inside of my shirt. There was no way I would let street pick-pockets get their hands on my hard-earned Liens. They'd have to find them on my person, after stabbing me repeatedly.
"Want to go for something to drink?" Zhelty asked. It was going to be either a soft drink or cold water.
"I can't," I said, "Got to put the money aside for the sight-goggles."
"Are you saying a shorty can't offer a drink?" Zhelty growled.
"You're offering?" Gorm said, surprised. "What died and made this a miraculous day?"
"Shush it, I was looking for something to earn some Lien anyway, and going with you two is better than going alone," she stressed out. "So? Still going to say no? Are you racist towards small chipmunk-people too?"
"You're not a chipmunk-person," I answered. "Nobody said you're the size of a small chipmunk. I didn't say it. Gorm didn't say it. Who the hell would even say it!?"
Zhelty stared. She waited for my reply. "Fine," I said in the end. "But I can't stick for long. I've got to get an hour of weight-lifting in before the prep-school closes for the night."
"Didn't you do that already this morning?" Gorm mused.
"Yes, which is why I'm doing it again later," I pointed out. "One day, when we're all kick-ass huntsmen and I boldly drag your unconscious ass away from a powerful Grimm, you will thank my future biceps."
"Hoot-Hoot," Gorm hooted, quite amiably showing me the middle-finger.
Zhelty snickered. I playfully shoved him, and he shoved me back. Then we followed Zhelty to her favorite watering hole.
I ordered cold water. Gorm got a cold tea.
Zhelty went with milk, and cracked her knuckles at someone's snicker.
It definitely wasn't me, though.
I swear, Zhelty, it wasn't me!
I understood Gorm's logic. I didn't like it, but I understood it.
"So you're serious about this," I said as I glanced once more towards Zhelty.
"It's easy money," Gorm answered with a faint shrug of his shoulders. "After that thing with the copper wires, I realized we can get a lot more from abandoned buildings if we just break the walls down."
He had pickaxes on his back. He had come prepared. "And why is Zhelty coming along?" I asked nonchalantly.
"Because I want some quick money too," Zhelty said, "Or are you saying that a shortie can't do this, uh?"
"Never said that," I said hastily. "Never would mean it either," I continued.
We weren't headed for our usual dumping dive spots. We were headed for somewhere else. Gorm handed both me and Zhelty a pickaxe as soon as we cleared the most trafficked streets, and then we came to a halt in front of what looked like an old and dilapidated building. "This place's been around a lot. Nobody's living in it, and the people that sleep in it won't care if the walls have a few more holes in them," Gorm said.
"I can't help but think that you're always bringing me to the nicest places in Vacuo," I grumbled under my breath. "What next, a toxic swamp?"
Gorm turned its head one hundred and eighty degrees. "I was thinking the sewers to steal the service lights in there, but hey, this works better."
"Are you boys going to stay out there or start breaking walls?" Zhelty grumbled, stepping inside. We both followed her, though it was clear by the stench within that some people did indeed use the place, though not just as a sleeping spot either.
"We're training to be huntsmen, and Zhelty can punch people real hard," Gorm muttered under his breath as I moved by his side. "It should be fine."
I rolled my eyes, neared a wall where an electric switch, or the remains of one were located, and slammed the pickaxe into the wall. We swung like madmen, and, as was obvious, we ended up spending most of the afternoon just breaking down the concrete chunks. I had a bad feeling about the sturdier walls, though, and didn't count my chances in stepping into some rooms alone, but all three of us worked for most of the evening, and stepped outside with bundles of tightly rolled wires.
It was then that the mystery finally clicked to a close, as we stepped into the scrap shop that had seen our patronage since the very beginning.
"Old man, I'm home!" Zhelty said, dropping her bundle on the counter.
"Ah," I said most wisely. "Now everything makes perfect sense."
"You saying I'm short because I don't eat enough milk or something?" Zhelty turned like a fury in my direction. I raised an eyebrow at that non-sequitur.
"No, I was wondering where your strength came from," I glanced at the shop's entrance, filled with all manners of broken metal pieces, some big and some small. "Guess you've been lifting a lot, uh."
"And because of that I stayed small, it's what you're trying to say, yes?" she lifted a fist in my direction.
"Seriously, no. I said Lilliput once, are you going to let that go anytime soon?" I retorted in disbelief, even as the old man she had mentioned stepped into view from the shop's back. The hands drenched in motor oil, he had straw hair just like his daughter, which truly should have clued me in earlier, but a more vibrant smile on his face.
"Another good haul?" he asked, "Which is which?"
"Split it evenly, pops," Zhelty grumbled, both arms behind her head. "And try to be nice. Wren's a shit-head but Gorm's all right."
"Then let me weight the wires and go from there," her old man retorted, grabbing hold of all three bundles and just throwing them atop a weighting machine. "Now, discounting the rubber banding-"
"We both know the rubber banding gets melted together and sold apart," I spoke up, "Come on, try something better."
"I can see why my daughter calls you a shit-head," the old man muttered. "She always did hate smart-asses."
"What is it with people insulting me? Is it a national Vacuan sport?" I grumbled back. "Oi, Gorm, hoot a bit."
"The hell!?" Gorm exclaimed, "Why are you taking it out on me!?"
I shrugged, helplessly. Zhelty's father didn't shortchange us, though, and we all stepped outside with a small amount of Lien safely tucked away in our pockets. Mine was inside the pocket I had personally sewn on the inside of my shirt. There was no way I would let street pick-pockets get their hands on my hard-earned Liens. They'd have to find them on my person, after stabbing me repeatedly.
"Want to go for something to drink?" Zhelty asked. It was going to be either a soft drink or cold water.
"I can't," I said, "Got to put the money aside for the sight-goggles."
"Are you saying a shorty can't offer a drink?" Zhelty growled.
"You're offering?" Gorm said, surprised. "What died and made this a miraculous day?"
"Shush it, I was looking for something to earn some Lien anyway, and going with you two is better than going alone," she stressed out. "So? Still going to say no? Are you racist towards small chipmunk-people too?"
"You're not a chipmunk-person," I answered. "Nobody said you're the size of a small chipmunk. I didn't say it. Gorm didn't say it. Who the hell would even say it!?"
Zhelty stared. She waited for my reply. "Fine," I said in the end. "But I can't stick for long. I've got to get an hour of weight-lifting in before the prep-school closes for the night."
"Didn't you do that already this morning?" Gorm mused.
"Yes, which is why I'm doing it again later," I pointed out. "One day, when we're all kick-ass huntsmen and I boldly drag your unconscious ass away from a powerful Grimm, you will thank my future biceps."
"Hoot-Hoot," Gorm hooted, quite amiably showing me the middle-finger.
Zhelty snickered. I playfully shoved him, and he shoved me back. Then we followed Zhelty to her favorite watering hole.
I ordered cold water. Gorm got a cold tea.
Zhelty went with milk, and cracked her knuckles at someone's snicker.
It definitely wasn't me, though.
I swear, Zhelty, it wasn't me!
- Location
- Florida
Reads chapter 2.
Goes and eats breakfast.
Gets back and reads chapter 3.
Goes to take a shower.
Gets back and reads chapter 4.
Shade, I knew you wrote fast, but this is just beyond the pale! Shade's wild ride is going too fast!
Goes and eats breakfast.
Gets back and reads chapter 3.
Goes to take a shower.
Gets back and reads chapter 4.
Shade, I knew you wrote fast, but this is just beyond the pale! Shade's wild ride is going too fast!
- Location
- Elsewhere
God, the tsunedere is so strong.
- Location
- Earth
huh, so Zhelty is genderbend Edward? I hope she has a metalbending or similar semblance (maybe not, too close to Pyrrha).