Beacon, Cycle 1: Mulberry()
Prok
Go play Star Fetchers
- Location
- Scotland
In short, no- you don't understand the exact limitations of upgrading the Transistor with computer parts, but, ignoring the ethical ramifications of feeding parts of your baby AI to your bigger AI, it very much needs to be a silicon/gold/plastic affair, in some manner.
However, in an act of raw serendipity, I'm actually going to be introducing the solution to this exact problem now that you're at Beacon right now-
It takes you quite a while to get your question just right, but the librarian- you still don't know her name, you realise- seems perfectly happy to just sit there, head resting on laced hands, waiting for you to figure it out.
"... What... causes the soul to exist in some things, but not others? What's the actual delineation between humans, and things like plants, or Grimm, or one of your book sorting robots?"
You watch her eye flick to the Transistor for a moment, as she considers your question, and the little act puts you on edge, for some reason.
"You've been told the story of the Two Brothers, yes?" she answers casually.
You nod hesitantly, not entirely sure where she's going with this.
"If you believe it, it took the combined efforts of two gods to create the human experience- a mix of opposing traits balanced just so, creating something far beyond what they could have managed themselves- a being capable of experiencing the world in all its glory, all the wonderful chaos of the natural world, then all the random chaos of civilisation- the human experience is, divine, not something truly able to be rendered down to mere words-"
She gestures to the room around her, to the entire building, to its grandiose existence, a repository for millennia of knowledge.
"-not even as many as these!"
Her head comes back to rest on a hand, as she looks at you again.
You... have to admit, that you do sort of see where she's coming from.
It took two gods to create the human experience- why on earth would you, a human, and the Transistor, an AI that has zero metaphysical weight as a being, as far as you know, maybe, possibly, you've never actually thought about it before- be able to do it?
"However... I think the best answer to your question, is another story entirely. An old Faunus tale..."
You pick your head up at that, curiosity coming to the forefront. The sight makes her smile, and she begins to weave her tale.
|||
Once, long ago in a city lost to time and tide, there was a Faunus priest who feared for his people- the humans had never been kind to them, but their ire had only continued to reach new heights, until Faunus were being chased from the slums they had been forced into, their homes burning behind them.
So he prayed for 13 days and 13 nights, and the God of Animals showed him the way- he found all the clay he could and sculpted a statue, half over the size of a man, and half again as broad. Then, he carved the words for heart, for people, and for protection, into a tablet along with its name- Golem- and hung it around the statue's neck. By the time the moon rose above the city, and the mobs of Man had started to stalk the alleys and lanes, Golem had begun to move, and move it did- rushing into the streets to protect the homes of the Faunus.
Terrified by the sight of such a protector, the humans scattered, running home and refusing to come near the Faunus homes. The priest, finding his creation so effective, left Golem animated, allowing it to work amongst the farmers and the grinders, and play with the braver children. The humans came back, this time armed for war; and Golem scared them off once more, bending swords in its mighty fists, ripping armour from soldiers and crumpling it between its fingers, and letting loose with a mighty roar that sent them running home to their own wives and children.
Then, one day, on a white winter morn, Golem retreated to the loft of the church in which it lived, and the priest, fearing his creation may have gone mad, went to go look. He found it huddled in the corner, its plaque still hanging from its neck. The words for protection and heart had been altered, though he knew not how or why- they had become the words for seek, and truth.
Golem looked to the priest, muddy tears streaming from its eyes, and asked him a simple question.
"Reverend- am I alive? I was not made as children are, and I cannot make children of my own. I move, but do not eat, I work, but do not sleep, I speak but do not breathe. Am I counted amongst the living? When the last drop of magic leaves me, will I see heaven with you?"
The priest was taken aback. He didn't even know Golem could speak, let alone think on such a subject. With a sigh and a sad smile, he approached Golem and took one of its massive hands in his own.
"Golem," he said, "I cannot answer these questions for you. You may not have come into this world by a mother, and you may not leave it for a long while yet- but you think, and you feel, and you protect those who cannot protect themselves- I cannot say whether you have a soul, but you are still a good person, and my child."
|||
You stare at the librarian for a moment, as she finishes her story.
"... Well, that's an abridged version of the first chapter, anyway. We'd be here for hours, were I to tell you the whole story from memory."
Without looking, she raises a hand to the book pile, and with the practice of years, slams a book out of the pile with the knife-edge of her palm fast enough to launch it onto the table with a surprisingly muffled thump, the rest of the pile merely falling into place with no sign of instability for the sudden disturbance.
A glance down at the book shows you that it's a copy of The Golem, by Father Ivo Jonasson.
{Hm. Looks like it's a copy of the original story, and some analysis of the variations that followed.}
Variations?
Stuff like Golem going mad and killing humans, Golem going mad and killing the priest, the priest going mad with the revelation that he's broken the natural order and killing Golem- fun stuff. Probably rewritten by racists to twist a Faunus tale into a horror story, but, fun.
"I'd suggest reading this- the story grapples with, if not the same question, then at least questions in the same vein. And," she pulls On The Souls Of Grimm off the top of the pile, "since you seem to be of two minds on the subject as a whole, I would suggest this as well."
She opens the books, pulls a rubber stamp from, somewhere on her person, and stamps them for a month from now.
"Do take good care of these books, young man- they're my life," she tells you. "And, for what it's worth, I do hope you find the answers you are looking for- both of you."
You take them from her, thanking her as you stand, turn around-
-wait there are like eight separate problems to take up with that one sentence-
Turning around, you're, a little surprised she didn't just disappear the moment you stopped looking at her, but she's still there, watching you go.
"H-how did you…?"
She just flashes you a sweet smile.
"You're as subtle as a hammer to the face, dear."
???: 1/10
Items acquired:
The Golem, by Father Ivo Jonasson-
A story about a distinctly artificial being setting out to find out the difference between merely thinking and being. Very relevant, you suppose. Contains other versions of the story, as well as some analysis of them. Less relevant, but, interesting.
On The Souls Of Grimm, by Piranesi-
A thesis that seems to ramble on in many different, often much more interesting directions, but when the author can bring himself to focus on the subject at hand, he argues that, through his experiments, he has objectively proven the nature of Grimm as a creature that can experience qualia- they understand the qualities of objects, in a sense that goes beyond pure animalistic cost/benefit analysis. You're, er… not, actually sure why she gave you this one.
You suppose you'll have to read and find out.
|||
Wednesday
The next day, you make your way down to your first class at Beacon- Weapon Crafting and Upkeep.
It's also your first day in your new Beacon uniform- which, after the sensations of a newly tailored suit- well, one of your father's old suits combined with some of your formal stuff and an actually expensive tie, then altered to within an inch of its life by a horrifying tag-team of the Transistor, the Process, and your mother- just, doesn't feel that great.
Everyone else in your class is wearing the same, though some have taken the opportunity to customise- Ruby is wearing her red hood, tied around her neck over her jacket, Lumen's wearing his usual grey-blue cardigan, and Ada is wearing trousers instead of a skirt, alongside her poncho.
You'll admit, you anguished a little over the fact that you couldn't really customise, since any kind of mixing or matching would just make the whole thing clash, or otherwise be so subtle that nobody would notice.
A nervous flutter works its way through your chest, all thoughts of philosophy and consciousness and the fact that your sword may be due a soul are swept to the side with absolutely zero care, because this is your first day at your dream school and you don't even know how the teacher's going to react to your weapon you don't do the whole maintenance and upgrade thing-
{Jaune, you're carrying an entirely different weapon in your hand right now.}
You glance down at the formshift gauntlet in your hand, compacted into a cylinder roughly the size of a small truncheon, though too light to be used as such.
…
"Just realised you have another weapon?" Lumen asks.
"Mhm."
"Thought so."
"Oh, leave him be," Creme says, "took me months to remember to take Humboldt Oak with me when I left the house."
"... Humboldt Oak?" Ada asks.
Creme huffs, pulling her weapon from the loop in her belt, the handle springing out into her hand, before flipping it with practised ease and catching it just below the weapon's head, letting the three of you observe it in greater detail.
"The type of axe head I used is called a Humboldt," she explains, tracing a finger along the axe's edge, highlighting its outline. "And the handle's made from some good oak my dad took down a couple of years back, so, I called it Humboldt Oak. I mean, it's a better name than Atlesian-Pattern Blacksmith's Hammer."
You all concede that point and move downstairs, following the rest of your classmates.
As you learned in, one presentation or another, all of the volatile classes, Dust Alchemy, Weapon Crafting and Upkeep, are taught on the basement level of the school, to keep any accidents that may happen somewhere that's muffled by several layers of bedrock, and away from any structurally important parts of the building.
Once you reach the bottom floor, the aesthetic of the halls above gives way to raw, almost brutalist functionality. Gone are the swooping ceilings, red carpets, and archways twice the size of a man, replaced with concrete floors, bare brick walls, and a small, squat feeling that doesn't quite border on claustrophobic.
In all, you find the whole place significantly less intimidating, since it reminds you so much of the backrooms of just about every business you've ever worked with. You half-expect Ozpin to come and lead you down to a small, cramped office with a laptop three OSes out of date that contains all of their financial data in plaintext.
{Oh, uh… hm. Hey, uh, Jaune, are you doing anything after this class?}
Nope, just lunch, why?
We found a power cable running along the walls- pulling about 170 kilovolts.
It takes a quick Roya or two to understand the significance of that, and you just barely keep your eyebrows in check once you understand why that's important.
{Yyyyeah. Well, we know it's there now, so we can follow it later, I guess.}
"B11, B12, B13… ah! We're here!" Creme says, walking into the class, following most of RWBY and PRLN, and derailing your train of thought in the process.
You follow her and find yourself in a room mostly like the old workshops at Signal, just, more- more space, more machinery, more materials in large plastic buckets, marked by metal or wood type, purity, density, every other kind of -ity you could think of, large drafting tables to make plans upon, a real-ass forge and cooling station in one corner- just about anything you could need to create or manufacture a weapon, all in one room.
At the far end of the room, you see a person in a full suit of armour at a desk, so covered in metal that you couldn't even begin to guess their gender, filling out the last of a pile of forms.
"Pick your tables, any table you like," they say, voice easily projecting from across the large room and marking him out as male.
You note a rather peculiar hollowness to his voice- like he's speaking with a cooking pot on his head, rather than a helmet.
… Blue, could-
{Nope.}
Huh?
{I'm not spoiling this one for you. You can find out with everyone else.}
… Well, now you're just curious.
You and your teammates settle around a table near the bandsaws, and you see some of that same curiosity in their faces too- Creme glances to you, forcing you to give a helpless shrug, while Lumen's irises open as he stares at the man in the suit of armour.
"What is it, boy? What horrors do those eyes see that we mere mortals cannot?" Ada asks him after a moment.
Lumen frowns, thinking something over in his head.
"One, quiet you, two, probably nothing. Armour keeps heat in, doesn't it?" He asks, turning to you.
"Sure- keeps you from sweating, too. I had to bring spare shirts to Signal for after sparring practice. But if you're asking whether armour would keep you from showing up in infrared, I couldn't tell you."
He nods at that, apparently satisfied with your ans- and you've just spotted Rashmi out of the corner of your eye, barely holding back laughter, and everyone at his table seems to be as confused as you, ranging from genuine confusion to outright suspicion, to still being mostly invisible.
What is Rashmi's deal, anyway?
{No idea- maybe he just thought of something funny?}
Uh-huh.
{No, seriously, I have no idea, privacy settings be damned- I just cannot get a read on him. Half the time, he's more on the ball than the rest of you combined, the other half he could be on the moon for all he's paying attention to the world around him.}
… Eh, you've had days like that, you won't judge.
As the rest of the class settles in, the armoured man stands up and begins to wander the room, checking machinery, metal supplies, and just generally taking stock of his classroom.
"Weapons on the table, please," he says midway through checking the charcoal supplies in the forge. "Feel free to start any maintenance you might've not had the time to get around to after Initiation."
You place Zero Hour on the table, leaving it compacted for the moment, followed by the clatter of just about every other weapon, some beginning to unfold, clean, and dismantle them, checking for any damage or errant pieces of crap that might have gotten caught in the mechanisms. The few unarmed fighters, like Haru and Kapila, seem to be at a loss on what to do with themselves.
{Come to think of it, I don't know how this class deals with people who fight unarmed. Presumably, they have to make something, otherwise… why bother with it at all?}
There are very few unarmed combatants who can't benefit from the addition of a pair of brass knuckles.
The armoured man, who still hasn't introduced himself yet, mind, begins to walk around the hall, inspecting weapons visually as he goes- as he does, a pair of gauntlets pull themselves off a set of armour in the corner, and begin to float over to his desk, picking up a pen and notepad, falling into step behind him as he picks up a few of the more interesting weapons on display, once the owner puts them down.
As he unfolds or unfurls them, he performs a few basic tests for weighting, chambering issues, the gauntlets behind him taking notes vigorously as he puts each weapon through its paces with all the grace of someone who has at least passing familiarity with them.
Occasionally, he asks questions of their owners, not necessarily about the weapon itself.
"How much do you weigh, if you don't mind my asking?" he asks Ruby, checking the balance of Crescent Rose on a single finger.
"U-um, f-forty-five kilos, sir," she replies, nerves giving her voice a little bit of a waver.
The gauntlets flip a page.
"Hm. Height?"
"F-five two?"
"What's this chambered for?"
"Barrett .50 calibre, sir- c-custom-loaded."
The gauntlets stop. You can almost see the gears turning in his head as he realises exactly what those three facts mean in tandem.
"... Very good," he says, folding Crescent Rose up once more and, quite gingerly, placing it on the table again, before moving around to Yang.
Picking up, erm, you don't know her weapon's name, actually, he observes it carefully, turning it this way and that, until he spots the gun barrel, and, really quite inexplicably looks down it-
You watch as a flicker of anxiety enters Yang's face, eyes widening and brow tightening in the way someone does when they realise they don't know if they did something very very important.
… She didn't.
{She did not.}
Oh your fucking god-
"U-um, you might wanna be careful, it's on a pressure trigger and you're looking down the barrel-"
Click.
The sound is deafening as Yang's weapon goes off in your teacher's face, blowing the helmet across the room as the shell explodes on impact.
Before you can even process what just happened, you feel the Transistor gently press into your shoulder, and the molasses sensation of Turn() being spun up.
From here, stuck in this single instant, you can see the look of shock on Yang's face, the pallid shade of grey it's turned, and the slight waver in her stance as her body gets ready to shut up shop for the day.
Looking around the table, you can see the entirety of Team RWBY isn't looking much greater- Ruby's eyes have already rolled into the back of her head, her entire body beginning the slow tilt backwards of someone already in the process of fainting, Weiss still has her hands clamped over her ears, and Blake's bow is doing some very interesting things, probably trying to flatten her ears against her head as she scans the situation, eyes wide but still readier to act than the rest of her team.
Then you, you know, realise that your teacher just blew his fucking head off with a friend's weapon-
{Jaune, focus, focus. I promise you that he did that on purpose, and you'll see why soon enough, but that's a concrete floor and neither of them has Aura up. Pick one, yell at Blake to take the other.}
… Okay, okay, Yang, you'll take Yang.
{Okay. You good?}
You're good.
... You think.
{Alright. Take a moment, plan your route, then do it.}
Turn() ends, unused, and you rush forward, dodging past people and tables to catch Yang.
Kinetics Check, 1 Success Needed: 2d10 = 8, 2. Success!
"Blake, catch Ruby!" you yell as you rush past Team SSSC's table, mildly thankful for Saff having the wherewithal to shift around the corner to clear a path for you, just in time to grab Yang by the shoulders and lean her against your body for a moment, then gently lower her onto the floor.
In the time it took that to happen, Blake simply turned the corner and did much the same with Ruby.
"Oh dear," a surprisingly hollow voice says. You turn, and see…
Um.
Well, your teacher is still standing, for one. However, he, still very much does not have a head- or, anything at all, for that matter. As you stand up, bringing yourself high enough to see into the chestplate of the armour, you realise that it is entirely hollow. A billow of dark smoke begins to appear from the neck hole, almost like a thick cloud of coal dust, and it eventually resolves into a vaguely human face, were it not for the single glowing shard of something, too deep within the smoke to make out.
"... Well, I'll be honest, that's somewhat taken the wind out of my sails. Always does, when they faint," he says, walking over to pick up his… head? Helmet? "Allow me to introduce myself- my name is Professor Harold Mulberry, I am your Weapon Upkeep and Maintenance teacher for the next few years, and, as you may have guessed- I'm a very effective teacher on why you always make sure your weapons are unloaded in my class."
He punctuates this by putting the helmet back on, dissipating the smoke-face into a few bare curls creeping down his chest.
At your feet, Yang begins to stir, and you drop to your knees to check on her.
"You okay?"
She groans something incoherent before her eyes snap open and she sits bolt upright with a yell, just barely avoiding headbutting you in the process.
"I- bu- th-the teacher, is he- oh God he's-"
"Yang, Yang. He's fine."
She stares at you for a moment, blinking uncomprehendingly.
"... Huh?"
"He's… look, it's best if you just see for yourself. Can you get up without help?"
She nods slowly, pulling herself up with the table, and after a moment of mental preparation, she looks over at where Professor Mulberry should be dead.
When she sees him there, upright, not looking a bit worse for wear, and giving her a cheery wave, you honestly worry she might faint again. After a few deep breaths, she finally musters the courage to ask him a question.
"... How?"
In answer, he pulls his helmet off, and finally, fear is replaced with confusion in earnest.
"Long story short," he says, placing it back on, "I was never in any danger. Now, are you alright? Do you want to go and get some water?"
She thinks about it for a moment, then nods, before glancing around, frowning in confusion. Once Mulberry's satisfied with her answer, he turns to the rest of the class.
"Wait, where's Ruby?"
"Down here," Blake says, "she's fine, I caught her before she could hit the floor."
You hear a similar groan from just around the corner, followed by a panicked squeak, and pretty much the same hushed conversation you just had.
Blake gently explains Mulberry's, er, general state of being to Ruby, but unlike her sister, she doesn't seem confused at all.
It's only when the teakettle impression starts that you realise that she's actually really very excited about all of this-
With a surprising speed for someone who was literally insensate two seconds ago, Ruby is in Mulberry's, er, helmet, just barely holding back a squeal of joy.
"You're Commandant Blacksteel!"
Uh…
{Great War, er, war hero, noted for, well, being an animated suit of armour that just, kept on fighting without stopping for anything short of concentrated artillery bombardment. Accounts said he possessed other things as well, but the black suit of armour is the image that stuck.}
"O-oh!" Mulberry starts, put on the back foot for the sudden change in demeanour. "I, didn't think anyone knew me by that name anymore."
While that conversation goes on, you make sure Yang's good to go and grab some water by herself, then shuffle back to your table, gaining a couple of congratulatory pats on the back from some of your fellow Signal graduates for the performance.
"Good job, Jaune," Lumen congratulates you as you settle back in. "That could have gone really badly without you."
"Who the hell shoots themselves in the face for a first-day prank!?" Creme says, having disassembled, er, her weapon, in the time it took all that to happen, and now reassembling it quite fervently.
Humboldt Oak.
You only learned its name like 10 minutes ago shush.
"Yeah, that was a little fucked up," Ada says, her machete set on the table, zero bells or whistles to it- just a length of sharpened metal.
Lumen looks like he wants to say something, but, apparently reading the table, keeps his mouth shut, instead using orange Luxin to oil his sword before sharpening it a little.
Mulberry finally makes his way over to your table, apparently having finally pried Ruby off of his leg, and observes the weaponry on display. He picks up Zero Hour and finds the button to unfold it into a full arm of steel armour. After a moment of thought, his left arm floats off, and he places your weapon over the hole.
After a moment, there's a slight sound almost like a spot welder going off, and Zero Hour suddenly shifted into place, moving with all the dexterity it would have if you were wearing it.
It's… honestly a little unnerving, to look at.
"Hm… how do I…?" he asks, gesturing to Zero Hour with a finger.
"Splay your hand, then clench it into a fist."
He does so and jumps back a bit when the shield snaps into existence. After a few experimental movements, watching the shield rotate on a single axis until he clenches his fist again, locking the mechanism in place. Once he's satisfied, he puts the shield away, and pulls it off, placing it down on the table gingerly as his old arm shifts back into place, before pointing a finger at you.
"You," he says, "have a steel rod for a spine if you're comfortable using this."
"Killed an Ursa with it in the Initiation," Lumen says, checking the edge on his sword. "Just about punched its throat in."
Mulberry barked out a laugh at that, before turning to the Transistor.
"And… this?"
Haha oh god it's your fourth-worst nightmare come to life-
With a gesture, you raise the Transistor into the air, floating the handle up to Mulberry's eye line. He just stares impassively, taking in the sight without so much as a hint of surprise.
"It's, erm… a little beyond the purview of your class, I think. Unless you have a few hundred thousand Lien's worth of old computing components lying around."
He turns back to you, his face, unreadable, for obvious reasons.
"... See me after class," he tells you, and you feel your stomach sink at his tone. Not reprimanding, no, more... interested.
Apparently satisfied with his passing inspection of the class's weapons, he moves back to his desk, the gauntlets and notepad floating around the room, tearing pages out and placing them next to weapons- even you get one.
Formshift Gauntlet- uses a spring-loaded system to unfold a simple kite-shield design- edges have been sharpened for use as a rudimentary supplement in unarmed combat. Hallmarks of an Ijsbrand piece, but somehow cheaper- cobbled together from other pieces, maybe?
Maintenance notes:
- Sharpen edges, bone plate buggers them like nothing else- possibly replace with better quality steel, some smiths skimp on the heat-treating for the actual blade of a weapon.
- Check for smog damage, mild oxidising agent, especially annoying/dangerous with formshift weaponry.
- FOR THE LOVE OF WHATEVER GODS YOU BELIEVE IN CHECK THE SAFETY MESH BETWEEN YOU AND THE GEARING MECHANISMS.
"Right! I'm passing out a few notes to those whose weapons I just examined, don't fret, I will be examining the rest as the class goes on. It's just some guidance on how to make sure your weapon is safe to use at a moment's notice. Now- the goal of this first semester is not only to test your skills at maintaining and keeping your weapon combat ready, but to test your ability to upgrade it, and most importantly, to think outside the box in terms of your combat abilities, and the things that will compliment them most. Are there any questions?"
A hand raises, Ruby's actually. Mulberry points to her.
"U-um, yes, will we be paying for materials ourselves?"
"To be quite frank, Miss Rose, if you were to make a weapon that actually took any sizeable chunk out of this course's budget, you could probably mug Ozpin for the rest of it," Mulberry says, deadpan.
A light chuckle comes up from the crowd, before settling down when Mulberry doesn't laugh with them. When it's completely quiet, he stays like that for a moment, and it slowly begins to sink in that he…
May, actually be serious.
"Beacon's budget, as a whole, is downright undentable by anything short of catastrophic damage to the school itself, and this department's budget alone rivals the GDP of some minor cities. So, no, you will not be paying for any materials here. We also have standing contracts with various electronics manufacturers and machining companies, so parts made to order can be acquired with little fuss- so long as you do some measure of the custom parts yourself for course evidence, you can order most of the others, free of charge, delivered within a few days."
You don't think Ruby could look happier if the Candle Man came down her chimney and handed her Crescent Rose from four years in the future after she'd finished her tenure at Beacon. Thankfully, she keeps her squeal of joy to a mostly-inaudible wheeze, sparing your eardrums.
"Any other questions?"
Ruby's hand shoots up again.
"Miss Rose."
"Did I die and go to Heaven when I fainted?"
"Any heaven that allows the existence of SDC-brand plastic-composite armour plating is a heaven I'll have no truck with, thank you very much."
|||
The class ends a good three hours later, the vast majority of which you spent maintaining Zero Hour with, perhaps less urgency than you'd usually have cleaning a weapon.
Part of it was familiarising yourself with the new environment, figuring out where everything was kept and in what order, and familiarising yourself with Zero Hour itself- a task helped by the Transistor's blow-out diagrams of its various parts, teaching you the awfully finicky way in which one normally dismantles a Formshift weapon.
True to Mulberry's suggestions, you found that the edges of your shield were in fact rather dull- dull enough you could drag an unprotected thumb perpendicular to the edge and not cut yourself- and they took about an hour to sharpen with traditional methods, by which point you had something mostly passable.
So, to-do list: replace the blades with something that can actually hold a damn edge.
Besides that, the rest of it was in fairly good nick- a couple of borderline microscopic spots of rust on a few minor gears, but nothing a vinegar bath didn't take care of. The protective mesh on the inside was spotless, thank whatever number of gods you care to name, so you don't need to worry about being skinned alive in the heat of battle.
Well, being skinned alive by anything other than Grimm.
You hang around in the class a moment after everyone else leaves, mainly trying to fumble through untying the knot in your apron, but also because Mulberry did say he wanted to talk to you.
By the time you've finally undone yourself, your teacher's settled into his desk, and gestures at you to sit across from him. You do so, feeling just a little flutter of anxiety at the sudden, personal attention on the first day.
"So," Professor Mulberry says, "you're the boy with the big blue sword."
"Y-yes, sir," you say, head down, not meeting his eye- er, occularium.
"Oh, don't act so worried, you're not in trouble- quite the opposite, in fact."
That's about when you look up, more than a little confused.
"Firstly, I'd like to congratulate you on your quick thinking earlier- had you not acted so rapidly, I do fear Miss Xiao Long would have suffered a rather nasty head injury."
You feel your chest swell with pride a little, almost enough to make you consider calling him out on, you know, being the one to make her faint, but by the time the thought occurs, he's moved on.
"Mr Arc, let me ask you a question, no cheating now- how much do you think is spent on the average Huntsman weapon, over the course of their career?"
… Blue?
{No cheating.}
Damn you.
"Um… maybe 300,000 Lien?"
He gives an amused snort.
"4.2 million Lien, is the current guesstimate, at least for Vale."
Your heart drops into your boots at the number, and you suddenly feel an incredible surge of gratitude to the Transistor and its ability to turn time and effort alone into new ways to kill things you don't like.
"That's, uh... wow."
"Mhm. Beacon graduates, on average, spend their first 3 million here. Custom parts aren't cheap, nor are materials with the inherent tensile strength and Aura absorption necessary to make the mechanical monstrosities that Huntresses like Miss Rose seem to favour- especially when you factor in the simple truth that those parts generally aren't recycled- either they're mangled into uselessness and would need to be melted down and turned into raw material to make new pieces from, or they go into the ground with their former owner. As such, we prefer to make sure our Huntsmen and Huntresses leave school with as little financial burden as possible."
You understood all this, of course, but having the raw numbers thrown at you does… put the rest of it into perspective.
"Um… this is all, very interesting, but… I'm not, entirely sure what you're getting at," you admit.
"How does the Transistor absorb the materials you use to upgrade it?"
You blink, the pieces of something coming together, but not quite close enough to create a full picture.
"Booting into a specialised safe mode, followed by molecular disassembly of the pieces in question."
"How quick is it?"
"... Maybe… ten, fifteen minutes? It depends how much stuff I put in it, really- the longest it's ever taken was about an hour."
Mulberry leans forward, leaning his helmet on his gauntlets' interlaced fingers.
"Mhm. In short, as you said- very much not within the purview of this course, and thus not something I can grade you on. On the other hand, you also have your gauntlet- that, I can grade you on. So, here's my offer. You work on your gauntlet in class, and keep up passing grades, I'll set aside some of the budget for an, ah, shopping list- enough for, say, one or two upgrades of the Transistor. Motivation to keep at upgrading your backup, and allowing you some access to the department budget for the big one."
… You… have to admit, it's tempting.
Translation: you are salivating so much right now that if you try to speak, you're going to flood the classroom.
You lean in, gulp down the Elden, and start to tell him what you think of that.
Karma Up! 3 -> 4.
Class Quest Acquired: The Charity Of Strange Talking Suits Of Armour
Mulberry isn't shy about his bribery- so long as you keep passing his class, and upgrading Zero Hour, he'll be more than happy to take a shopping list off you and help you acquire upgrades for the Transistor- who knows, do well enough, and he might be amenable to helping you find some more… niche items.
Requirement: Continue to achieve at least one long-term project goal regarding non-Transistor weapons per Semester- this will usually constitute up/sidegrading Zero Hour, but other opportunities may present themselves.
Reward: 2-3 minor upgrades for the Transistor, or 1 major upgrade, payment rendered upon completion and passing of each long-term project.
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You leave the workshop feeling much lighter, a problem you hadn't even thought about suddenly solved with barely any input needed. It was the kind of break you really needed, honestly- just, something pleasant, with no strings attached. Well, okay, one string, but a string you were actually interested in following anyway.
Despite a lack of experience with the art as a whole, you actually found the act of weapon maintenance… calming, in a way. There's something about the ritual, the meticulous nature of it, that just left your hands with something to do while your mind wandered for the most part.
On review, first class at Beacon- pretty darn good!
{So, you've got an hour free- wanna follow that cable?}
The what?
The high-voltage cable we found earlier. Running through the ceiling, no offshoot cables, not that anything around here should be drawing that much power.
"And you're sure it's not just, like, a cable for the CCTS or something?"
{Well, no- that's why we wanna go check. C'mon, 10 minutes of wandering, this literally cannot go wrong.}
Your stomach grumbles, deciding it deserves a say in this too and making a convincing argument in the process.
"Well…"
Well? You can't just sit here deciding on it for the whole lunch period. Well, yes, you can, but you shouldn't.
[] Follow The Lightning- You'll admit- you're not wholly free of Blue and Bracket's prime vice yourself. Besides, it's just following a cable- it shouldn't take that long, anyway. Even so, you probably won't have enough time to get anything substantial from the food hall, let alone relax with people.
[] Reject Curiosity, Embrace Gluttony- you'd been sweating bullets in that shop class after Naia fired up the forge to start making new studs for his club- if nothing else, you could really do with a drink. But really, you just wanna settle down, get some food, and talk to your friends, and maybe the friends you haven't met yet. Besides, the cable isn't going anywhere… it's, a cable. They're hardly the most ambulatory of creatures.
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