Russet's theme is : Syntact - Shallow (all musical rights go to Syntact.)
"Vale is the most freezing place in Remnant... I swear it is... Mother I'm fine... Teaching ? No, I'll never go back to that... I told you I'm fine... I have a job... Yes, it is a real job... Police... Okay... P.I... Private Investigator, Mother... Yes it is ! ...I still am a Hunter as well !" The slacking young man received an incoming call on his desktop scroll simulteanously. It rang way too loud for a late morning waker's ears.
"Got a new contract... Yes I do need to take this... Because otherwise I get nothing to live on ! ... Yes...yes...I love you too, Mother... Tell Da I'm fine... Ha ! I don't doubt it... Love you." The young man hung up and tossed his scroll on the other side of the leather couch. The desktop cell was still screaming maddeningly. "Coming !" he replied annoyed. He slugged shirtless to his office chair, dropped down and picked up the phone. Sleepily he answered to the elderly voice on the other side:
"Russet Truemann, Private Investigator... How may I help you ? Mme Herring, good to hear you well... I'd be glad to come and pop in sometime... Yes... Of course... So tell what is wrong ?" Truemann yawned furiously while the old lady explained in an ever so detailled fashion. Russet interrupted her before she could begin deviating on her late husband: "Mme, I'm sorry but I don't recover lost kittens... Have you tried the firemen... I see... Mhm... I see... Once again it - ... How much ?... I see... And where is this kitten of yours ? Yes Mam', I be there shortly." The old woman hung up, and the detective dropped his phone arm tiredly. That woman must really love her cat. Regardless, Russet Truemann got up and trod bare foot to his quarters, more precisely to his bathroom. Old flats like these were pretty clogged up, the bathroom happened to be near the kitchen, if not inside. A simple shower, moldy toilets and a sink adorned it. He stared into the mirror, at his watch, then at the mirror again. He was a man of large girth, with a dark tanned skin. Short slick ebony hair carved his face into a raw, honest face. His light grey eyes added more severity to his look than necessary. Also he hadn't shaved in days.
After attending to his daily obligations he stared back at himself, made funny faces, took poses and examined his visage via different angles. "Russet Truemann... no more charming : Russet Truemann, Private Investigator... maybe a bit more serious... Truemann. Private Investigator... too stiff, maybe... 'sup P.I 'ere to help..." He laughed at himself and nodded disapprovingly. Stop being a child.
Russet stepped out of his bathroom and realised how much his flat stank. Holding his breath he jogged to the window, pulled the curtains and swung it open. The noise of the city whispered into his appartement. The sun beamed inside his messy bedroom and a gust of fresh wind blew his papers away. He didn't care much. Maybe that's why his flat was such a wreck ?
Russet turned to his draws and donned his usual clothings. A loose white shirt accompanied by camouflage motified - russet, burgandy & turkey red coloured - trousers. No belts, they made him feel uncompfy. He slipped some socks on, not caring if they matched, and tied up his ranger boots. Reaching for his wardrobe, he picked up a long worn trenchcoat. Pleased, he shook to see the dust-infused motifs brighten with a orangy glow. Earth Dust: cheap and efficient.
He whirled on his feet and slid into the coat's sleeves. Its tail whooshed like a cape and the motifs lightened up once more. It fit perfectly, as usual. In its pocket he drew a burgandy scarf and wrapped it aroung his neck. It may be summer, but it's freezing outside.
Once fully dressed he grabbed a briefcase that lay by his bed, next to a copy of Tuckson's "An academic discovery of the Outskirts - Vale Tome 2". The case was long and rectangular, made out of metal and undyed leather. It had been a long time since his Cromwell hadn't come out of the box. Maybe was it time he exercised a bit ? Any way, Russet strapped his case on his back and headed out, picking up his scroll on the way.
Before closing the door of his flat, he examined the office. It may have been messy, stuffy and closed in, with piles of books and documents scattered here and there; cheap paintings tilted, others leaned against the wall; but it was his, his own, and that felt... it felt refreshing. He closed the door, locked it and rubbed the metal plaque announcing his profession. Russet smiled. It's a crappy job, with a crappy pay, but I still like it...
The small tortoised kitten meowed from the top of its crooked branch. Mme Herring fidgeted impatiently as Russet struggled up the trunk reaching out for the cat. The small ball of grey fur rose against the stranger making his way to his hiding place. The kitten hissed and clawed at Truemann's hand, catching him off guard. His foot slipped off the trun's bark and Russet hit the ground head first.
"Mittens !" cried Mme Herring abruptly. Russet wiped his face and arms, cussing at the tree. Just call the firemen, he thought. The old woman anxiously whimpered at him for his cat, and it made him fell like letting her down. Frickin' cat ! But at least it's worth the pay... Lets just make this simple.
Russet mustered his Aura. A faint tint of brown surrounded his being. His sleeves gloomed with arabesques. Russet pictured himself on the same branch as the nuisance. A loud hiss sounded from the tree and a grey mass shot to the ground. Truemann rushed under the hysterical kitten and intercepted it, but the furball stuck to his face lacerating him until he looked more like a zebra than a human being.
Old Lady Herring jiggled with joy at the sight of her little hellion. Russet handed it over to his customer, panting and relieved the pain stopped yet somewhat jealous to see the kitten pur once in the arms of Mme Herring. The lady generously open her pink purse and delivered 500 Vale credits, and proceeded to walk gently away, petting her animal and speaking weirdly. A thank you would have sufficed...
Russet skimmed through the cards and shoved them in his inner pocket, content and wondering what he might do next. Usually he would have went back to his office, but the weather was pleasing and devoïd of clouds. Guess I could stroll about the city...
Signal had plenty to see, bars, museums, clubs and people: a lot of people. Being next to Beacon Academy, Hunters in training and teachers consisted most of the population. Though you rarely saw first years as they had their own dorms. He passed a plaza where someone was displaying the 'newly-enhanced' Paladin and Atlasian troopers. The group of spectators clapped at the show they put on... Russet diverted his gaze to stare at a gigantic banner of the 74th Vytal Festival Tournament. Oh yeah, it is coming up... Hope I'll be able to buy a ticket.
A simple turn led him downtown to some less crowded district. Walking tranquil through Signal may have been the most productive thing he had done that morning. He stepped under scaffolds and ladders, dodged the many workers than had been reconstructing the plaza after the Grim outbreak last Sunday. Rumors had a bunch of kid-Hunters aborted their advance. Shame, he was working on some tailing contract.
Damnit, even children had greater aventures than he did ! They fought, learnt, had fun, played pranks... But then maybe becoming an adult was all about that: being bored half of the time... and recovering kittens from high-up branches. He took a left and then another to find one of his favorite meeting places: Crumbled Cove. Wonder if Doremy'll be there... not that I have views on her or anything... she's a nice kid. And she gives away frees.
The neon-lighted bar sign shone in the dimly lit alleyway, attracting some moths to it. Muffled EDM beated out of the shut doors. A meeting place for old Hunters, cops and robbers alike. As Truemann was about to enter, a panicked scream sounded in the alley. Russet hurried to its source only to discover a downed woman menaced by some armed freak. She squealed as he pointed a simplistic gun at her. Mugging gone wrong... The freak hadn't noticed Russet's presence yet. Time to draw...
The top of his case slid open disabling the airlock that kept the weapon inside. The mechanisms activated once more to project Cromwell's bronze pommel, reading it for use. Russet grabbed the handle and drew his sword. It was Composite Dualbladed Railgun, First Class. Since it was a mouthfull, Russet called it 'Cromwell'. It was designed to be a double-edged shortsword composed of two separate blades, each of which were detachable from each other to be wielded as separate daggers. The Major Blade, or M1, had a cutter-based style and could be separated mechanicly to be used as ammuniton pallets for the integrated Lightning Dust based Railgun; the minor blade, M2, was a vibratory bayonet styled blade mostly used when wielded under shortsword form.
"You there ! Freeze !" Russet cried to the armed freak. A shimmer of hope shone in the young girl's eyes as he turned towards him. The freak made her stay by pointing it more aggressively. Russet emphasized on the word "Freeze" once more, definitely attracting the mugger's attention.
"You've been caught let's not make a fuss outta this. SPD, hands in the air !" Russet lied, pointing Cromwell at the overconfident criminal. The man smiled and put his palms up. He seemed in no way deranged by the sword in front of him. "Drop the gun." proceeded Russet. The weapon hit the ground with a clank.
"Miss, there's a bar not far from 'ere. Go inside, say Truemann sent you, go there. I'll take care o' this bloke." Russet followed. The young and now muddied lady sprung up and exited the alley even faster... Now that they were alone, Truemann began to tense up. He squinted his eyes at the view of the mugger. Who was still grinning happily.
"You are making a terrible mistake." he said wiggling his fingers. "I'm a Hunter, you've got no chance." Two small marble sized balls fell from his sleeves and exploded on contact with the ground, releasing a dense smoke screen. Hurried steps sounded from the other side. Russet burst through the cloud and targeted the runaway. The motifs on his trenchcoat lit up and he picture himself appearing in front of the young Hunter. The freak stopped cold. "How did you." Without second thought, the bloke drew a short dagger and slashed in front of him. To Russet's eyes it looked like attacking the air. He then pictured himself behind the runaway saying : "You missed." The Hunter round-house kicked the nothingness behind him. Maybe I should wind up a bit, I feel rusty.
Truemann imagined a brick flying towards the Hunter. The latter dodged the invisible dashing object. Then then P.I pictured himself leaning against the wall of the alleyway. The Hunter threw his dagger at the image but it had diseappeared leaving only a blade in the brick wall. The freak finally noticed Russet's presence and charged towards him. Drawing two extra daggers from... God knows where: the young Hunter sliced upwards. Russet dodged the simple blow, and the next. He parried an incoming strike from the right with Cromwell's M1 and grabbed the student's left wrist. "I've got you now." Russet affrimed calmly before kneeing the freak's ribs. Staggered, the student held his side. The P.I picked up and retrieved the daggers, and tossed them away.
The Hunter suddenly threw the remaining dagger. Russet deviated the flashing object with his own weapon, only to be projected by the explosion provoked as the dagger blew up behind him. Luckily his coat and Aura protected him against the dizzying effect of the impact. The freak had taken this as an opening to strike Russet while he was down. The P.I smashed Cromwell's 'detach' button and smashed away the kid's spare weapon. "What the, you... you're a..." cried the surprised student. Russet reassembled his weapon and towered the young Hunter. " 'You are making a terrible mistake... I'm a Hunter, you've got no chance ?' ; well guess what: so am I !" The kid's stomach caved in with the blow admistrated and he crumbled unconcious to the ground. The P.I sheathed his weapon, which slid slickly into the briefcase. The air lock hissed and locked.
Patting his knees, and brushing off the dirt of his trousers he sighed. The P.I picked up the kid's knocked out body and swung him over his shoulder. "I wonder what'll say Doremy once I show up with this 'un ? It ain't even noon yet..." That said Russet Truemann, Private Investigator and Hunter, paced off towards the Crumbled Cove, eager to have lunch and maybe make some extra coin.