Duster leaned back in a stretch, catching a glimpse of the midday sky at the edge of the umbrella that shaded him. A short, warm breeze washed over him, threatening to knock off the long-brimmed hat that rested atop his head and reveal his secret, prompting a slight adjustment of its brim. Painted clouds slowly drifted by, obscuring the sun and cooling the colors of the street. His eyelids fluttered, fighting against the sudden urge to rest, the world feeling so oddly comfortable in that moment. He let his gaze wander street-side, catching the shape of a pair of orange-hooded teenagers looking at their phones, tensing at the sight of them. Fox tails hung between each of their legs. Thankfully the sound of his older sister returning with their food brought calm back into focus and he accepted his meal.
The knife on her side of the table snapped to her left hand magnetically the moment she sat down, plunging into her meal, a fine steak, not a second later. The shank of meat refused to bleed at every cut, despite her pleas, cooked a little less rare than she'd requested. The disappointed look on the scraggly blonde's face didn't deter her from enjoying the meal, however. Lest it be poisonous, she'd say, it was her duty to always consume it whole. Duster himself had a turkey sandwich and a root beer – nothing nearly as fancy as his sister's steak, but wholesome nonetheless.
It wasn't often that they had the chance to relax and enjoy life in the city, but he always made sure to spend at least one lunch a month at that small restaurant their parents used to bring them to in the middle of Vale, taking a seat at the same table outside, closed in by the same fancy black fences. If there was any one family tradition that he liked to uphold outside of hunting, it was the appreciation of food. There was no food better than good food, he believed, except for maybe great food or amazing food, but he tended to group those all under the "good" category, because as long as it didn't taste like a fart-cicle it was fine by him.
"Something on your mind?" His sister cut in, taking a break from the meticulous work she'd committed to on her steak, the winged sword tattooed on her left shoulder carved into the meal.
"Jus' thinkin' about food while I eat food," he responded, chasing down his food with a swig of root beer. "Y' know, th' usual thing that I do when I do th' do."
"The doo-be-doo?" She chuckled, resting her chin on the back of her knife hand. Her bushy, grey tail swung back and forth to the rhythm of some imaginary tune.
"Naw, this is a different do. Th' doo-be-doo is more of a musical do than th' do y' do when y' do th' eatin' of th' food."
"Ah. Hard to tell sometimes."
"I know," Duster nodded, shredding a large piece of his sandwich between his uncanny number of canines, and other teeth alike. "You've got t' have a black belt in th' ways of th' do t' be able t' recognize all th' kinds of do properly."
"Wait," his sister paused, setting her cutlery on either side of her half-eaten meal, "is this a hair thing? 'Cause I've always wondered why you've kept your hair long – for real, I mean."
"See, Amber? This is exactly what I mean." He waved his arms about as he spoke as if serious about their conversation. "No, it's not a hair thing, it's jus' a thing. As for th' hair, I jus' like it this long, okay?"
"Wait, are we no longer joking," she squinted, "because I'm confuzled now."
"I'll let you be th' judge," he smiled.
"In the name of never having to think about this again, I'm gonna turn back to eating my steak, okay?" She picked up her utensils again with a red spark and did exactly what she said she was going to do.
Duster turned back to his own meal, picking his turkey sandwich up and taking a large bite out of it. He wasn't quite sure what it was about sandwiches that he liked so much, but he seemed to always get one every time they met up at that restaurant. Maybe its chefs had discovered the perfect ratio of bread to meat to condiments, or at least one close enough to perfect. Or maybe he just really liked turkey. Or maybe he just really liked sourdough. Or maybe they were the perfect compliment for a root beer. Or vice-versa. Or-
"Hey, I should probably ask this…" Amber cut in, disrupting his thoughts about food again. "How was the hunt?"
"Uneventful, actually," he frowned, setting his half-eaten sandwich down as he recalled the last couple days outside the city. "Turns out it was initiation day up at Beacon, so their new students had th' attention of most of th' Grimm in th' emerald forest."
"Really? That explains why you got back so early. Usually you're gone a week on these things."
"Well, I wouldn't say it was an easy time. There was a pack of Ursa and some stray Beowolves that'd been running from a forest fire that someone had started. Bray got a nasty burn from it as we put it out, but Cyril patched 'em up real quick. He'll be good for next month. Oh, and we had t' escape some ruins that a Nevermore had crashed through."
"What?" His sister's eyes went wide. "How'd you piss one of those off?"
"Weren't us. Like I said, Beacon started a couple days ago. Our collective jaws dropped as we watched a girl in red with a scythe drag it up th' side of a cliff n' decapitate it."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, luckily we didn't have t' dodge its corpse as it fell to the ground. There was that Death Stalker corpse, though…"
"That's what you call uneventful," she laughed, shaking her head.
"Well, we'd pro'bly would've dealt with more were it not for th' recall, but I suppose that ain't th' right word for it."
"No kidding, brother."
Any further conversation was cut short when a guy suddenly crashed through the window of the café up the street.
Duster leaned out of his seat to get a better view past his sister, who had turned to see what the commotion was about, and saw a pair of men join the first in the rather unusual act of being thrown out a window. A woman with violet hair in a violet jacket followed them out, cracking her knuckles in anger. There was a lot of shouting going on between the two parties – actually, only the men seemed to be shouting. The woman kept her silence, slowly pacing the street in a circle. A crowd slowly formed at the edges, leaving ample room as to not be caught in the scuffle. "Now I'm just plain confused," Amber muttered, befuzzled by just about everything, from the conversation with her brother, to the sadly overcooked state of her steak. It was still a decent enough steak, though, therefore, the possibly imagined by a four-year old gods of steak demanded that it be eaten, which she did.
Duster didn't say a word, instead focusing on the fight that broke out between bites of lunch.
It was one of the men who threw the first punch, which promptly resulted in him being thrown to the floor with a simple grab and trip. Neither of the other two were any more successful in their endeavors to assault the woman, ending up either on their backs after a single move, or face first into the pavement underfoot. They were persistent, though, getting up time and time again. Duster was particularly enthralled in the style of the woman, taking notice of how well she managed to read her surroundings. She always took the best action, able to read the flow of battle as if she had raised it herself. She also never attacked first, instead always countering the strikes of the three men. It was painfully obvious how untrained and outmatched they were compared to her. She was toying with them.
That in mind, Duster thought it would be a good idea to get her attention.
The younger sibling brushed aside part of his coat and pulled out a pistol holstered at his side, flipping it around so the barrel faced away and to the ground. Amber took notice when he flicked open the 8-shooter's chamber, only to find it empty. "Are you seriously about to do what I think you're about to do," she asked, still as bewildered as before. He picked a bullet off his belt that had a grey line around its rear and loaded it into his gun, its chamber closing again with a second flick.
"Why not," he asked back, cocking back the weapon's hammer as if it was necessary for it to fire and aiming down its sights. He waved for his sister to move out of the line of fire, the barrel of the gun moving ever so slightly as his target recovered from being thrown to the ground for the fourth time.
"By the food we came here to eat, brother, at least let me move our food out of the way so you don't get Dust all over it." He nodded in agreement, waited for her to move their food to another table, and took the shot.
The woman turned to face him the moment the crack from the gun exploded into the air. The round hit Duster's target square in the chest, toppling him to the ground a good ten feet up the street. The crowd that had gathered ran for the hills, with a few exceptions, who were either too scared to move or too entrenched in the commotion that they were figuratively dying to find out what happened next, even if it meant them literally dying. The two men still standing quickly gathered up their wounded compatriot and joined the rest in screaming and fleeing. It was only a concussive round, though. He'd be fine. Probably.
The younger sibling brought the barrel of his gun close to his lips and blew away the smoke that wisped from it like an old action star before emptying the spent round into his pocket and holstering the weapon. The woman casually walked down the street to meet him as he took a hearty swig of his root beer, leaving his sister still completely and utterly befuddled. The closer the woman got, the clearer he could see her. He paid particular attention to the blue streaks in her violet hair.
When she was close enough, Duster put on his humblest smile to welcome her. In return, she decked him in the face.
"Asshole," they heard her mutter before turning the corner, leaving Duster to hold his head in agony.
"Ow," he finally declared after a moment's rest, pulling away his palm to find a smattering of blood on his fingers. She'd managed to split his lip. "She hits hard."
Amber couldn't stop herself from laughing as she caved over in her chair. "What did you expect, brother? I mean, really? She'd tossed those guys about like playthings!"
"It's not that," he said as he wiped his hands on a napkin. "I'm surprised she'd managed t' hit me at all. I've had my semblance up since we got here."
"Really?" His sister cocked an eyebrow, surprised that she hadn't noticed the discoloration in his eyes. "Now that's impressi- wait. Since we got here? Why?" Duster looked over to the alleyway across the street and pointed out the pair of hooded figures, the fur on their tails bristling, and their eyes full of ire.
"Because we're being watched."
Without another word they paid their bill and left the restaurant, heading their separate ways.
The stars of the late-night sky remained hidden for the third time that week. It wasn't because it was cloudy or anything – no, the sky was surprisingly clear for fall. The city of Vale had recently decided to replace the lights in the harbor district with new ones, lighting up the streets and making it easier to travel. Unfortunately, that had a side effect of obscuring the sights of Duster's favorite resting spot atop the shipping containers. He'd begun considering looking for another place to think at night, but the familiar salt-ridden air kept luring him there, much to his annoyance. He threw an arm over his yellow eyes with a sigh and tried not to think about it. Instead he thought about what'd it be like to dive out of an airship and into a maelstrom while morphing into a shark and devouring a boat in half. Because why not.
Were it still day time, workers would be seen populating the docks like bees, picking metaphorical pollen-containers off of ships and spreading them among the equally as metaphorical flower-warehouses, and vice-versa. However, it was quite the opposite of day, and as such the docks were as dead as the literal queen of the beehive Duster had once smashed as a child. Cruel, that act was in hindsight. Oh well. Every now and then a couple of workers who'd been working overtime for the fifth night that week just to feed their faunus family and pay rent on time might be seen taking a smoke break, or the night shift of security might wave their flashlights around to look for imaginary burglars. Otherwise all there was to be heard was silence.
If you stood close enough to the waterline you might've been able to hear the splashing of waves against the concrete shore and the creaking of the boats that rocked atop them. But if you were far enough away, and laid in the right spot like he were, all sound would fade out entirely. Given enough time and focus, you'd eventually start hearing the buzz of the light posts nearby. You'd probably be irritated by such noise if you'd never lived by the seaside, but Duster did not mind them. Usually he'd be too distracted by the crazy thoughts of his own to notice it, like swimming the whole sea from end to end, or seeing what would happen if he jumped out of an airship and into a whirlpool. Due to the lights getting replaced, however, the subtle buzz had died out in favor of the sound of his heartbeat, and of the nerves firing inside his head. Those he did mind.
Slowly a foul, unfamiliar odor filled his nostrils. He didn't notice it at first, thinking it just to be the smell of fish, but snapped to as it turned rancid. He rose up, uncovering his eyes, reaching for his hat, and looked at the ground around him. A thick mist had settled in at the bottom of the crate stack he'd been resting on. Strange, he thought. It wasn't nearly cold enough for there to be mist coming in from sea. There wasn't a cloud to be seen in the sky either and it was all strangely at knee level. He turned his gaze over to the road that ran between the numerous warehouses at the dock and saw a pair of figures fighting. He couldn't tell anything about the one on the left other than it was holding twin scythes attached to a chain. The one on the right however he recognized as the violet-haired woman from lunch. She deflected the attacks of the chain-scythe user with a glaive of a sort but looked to be losing the fight. Duster sprung to his feet, his long coat fluttering behind him, and put on his hat. He decided it would probably be a good idea to get a closer look this time around.
He hopped from one container to the next, keeping his distance as to not be spotted, but also staying above the strange mist that enveloped the two brawlers. The closer he got, the less room he had to maneuver, so he leapt up to a lamppost and used it as a springboard to climb up a fire escape leading to the roof of one of the warehouses. Moving to the edge nearest the commotion, he fell into active use of his semblance. Slowly the color of the world drained to a dull trio of black, grey, and white, leaving only people of interest highlighted. This way he could read the auras of those around him and decipher their intent. The violet haired woman shone blue, a color she shared with someone else he knew, a fact that caused him to hum with intrigue. Her aura itself, however, was wavering, acting almost like a dying fire. She was angry and weak from the fight. The other combatant, also a woman, he'd discovered upon closer inspection, was as black as the ground beneath her feet. Colorless: unreadable. An icy, unnerving chill ran down Duster's spine. That never meant something good.
It was also all the information he needed before acting.
He shook his head as the natural color of the world filled his eyes once more and pulled a small, red dust crystal from the inside of his coat. He looked it over in his dominant hand, confident that it would suffice as a method of interrupting the fight. As he aimed for the right spot to throw he hoped that the violet haired woman wouldn't be too angry to see him interrupting her battles again. The thought of her punching him again made him gulp. Even as weak as she seemed to have become, she'd surely still break his nose this time around. Still, he wasn't about to walk away from someone interesting. That just wouldn't do.
He threw the burn crystal into the air and drew the revolver in his left holster in the same go. Seconds later he fired. A plume of red and orange exploded above the two women, causing them to drop to their stomachs in surprise. The mist that lapped at their ankles dissipated, forming a neat circle several meters in diameter around them, clearing a space to stand. Without further ado, Duster took a running jump worthy of a huntsman in training and joined the pair below.
As the pair staggered back to their feet, Duster drew his other revolver and raised them, pointing one at each of them. "Mind if I cut in on this dance?" He asked slyly, his eyes darting back and forth, reading their movements. The violet haired woman, whose blue streaks remained prominent as ever, leaned on her weapon with ragged breaths, a mixed look of weariness and shock in her eyes. The other maintained an eerie silence befitting her blank aura. Worriedly he noticed that she was wearing a gas mask. He glanced down quickly at the mist around them, which had started to roll back in, and slowed his breathing. The scythe wielding assailant slowly stepped away, reaching for a pouch on her vest. "Oy," he shouted, pulling back the hammer on the gun pointed at her and placing his finger on its trigger. "Y' didn't answer my question."
A green pill-like object dropped out the bottom of the pouch and exploded into smoke upon hitting the ground. Duster and the violet haired woman raised an arm to their face to avoid inhaling it, assuming that it too was poisonous. When it cleared he saw that the aura-less woman was gone and the mist was receding. At least that meant there was less to worry about.
He sighed and holstered his weapons. "Sorry 'bout that," he spoke to the remaining fighter, "I acted without context last time and couldn't take the chance that you'd be without fault this time." He turned to her. "Though I'm glad I stepped in. Y' don't look-"
Duster was interrupted when the violet-haired woman put a hand on his chest and kicked the back of his legs, sweeping him off his feet and to the ground. It wasn't even a second later before she had a foot on his collar and pointed the blunt end of her glaive at his head. "Ow," he grunted for the second time that day. After all that fighting she'd still had the energy to wind him – just as he'd expected.
When the world finally stopped spinning, Duster opened his eyes a looked up at the woman standing on him. She'd stopped breathing so heavily, but was sweating and bleeding. Cuts both superficial and severe littered her arms, legs and waist, tearing skin and clothing alike. And yet still she stood. He admired that level of determination.
"Y' really like beating th' shit out of people, don't cha," he smiled. She responded by turning the pointy end of her weapon to his neck, its tip barely missing his chin. "Sorry, I ain't always the most tact of people, am I?" She merely glared at him. Were it not for the foot on his chest and the blade at his throat Duster might've gotten the idea that this situation was falling outside his comfort zone. Instead he kept his calm and studied the woman's face. Beads of sweat dripped heavily down her face and arms without end. She breathed heavily, her blue eyes wavering. She was running out of time and they both knew it.
Duster glanced right and saw his hat laying several feet away and hoped that she was too out of it to notice what it hid. If he could convince her to let him go, there was a place no to far from where they were where he could patch her up. Perhaps then he could get some answers about what just happened and what that fight from earlier was all about.
"Are… you okay?" He began, pronouncing his words slowly. She responded by falling over.
Duster groaned and scrambled to his feet. He put a finger to her neck and an ear to her lips. Still she lived, her heartbeat slow and breathing shallow, but how long would that last? He pulled her over his shoulders without another thought, grabbed his hat and the glaive and charted a course out of the docks.
Sapphire awoke in a confusing daze. Slowly she opened her eyes, her vision clouded by a brown haze. She felt hung-over – she wanted to grab at her head, but her muscles were responding too sluggishly to act. She could see herself moving at the edge of her gaze, but couldn't feel anything she touched. Just how badly had she been injured in her fight with the bitch that killed her brother?
She rolled her head to one side as her vision cleared and found that she was lying near a wall. Instead of staring at wood for the rest of eternity, she chose to roll over again and saw a man in a black vest and red dress shirt sitting at a work bench facing away from her. He was cleaning out a pair of revolvers that had been recently used, making sure they functioned at peak capacity. One he loaded with single colored rounds, the other he loaded with multiple colors. She wondered what each one meant and if any of them were about to be put through her head.
From what she could tell, they were in some sort of shack. The ceiling was low, the lights dim and auburn. The closest door to her was almost within reach, a coat hanger standing even closer. There was another light coming from a room just out of view, so she couldn't tell where it led to. Were they in some sort of safe house? Or was it a one of those places where people tended to disappear?
As feeling returned to her being she attempted to get up. She thought it would be difficult, having felt so numb, but instead rose to a sitting position with ease. She did, however, immediately feel like throwing up.
"Ah," the man said, setting down his weapons and turning in his seat toward her. "You live. Good." Somehow he didn't sound surprised. He pointed to the one other room she could see. "I imagine y' need t' throw up by now. Toilet's over there, with a change of clothes that should fit cha." She hesitated for a moment, unsure of his motives. Why would he have clothes that fit her? The urge to vomit was a little more than overwhelming, however, and she quickly accepted his offer to puke, slamming the door behind her. "Good guess, brain," she barely heard him mutter between heaves.
Once that business was concluded, she changed into the clothes he had provided for her: a simple blue t-shirt, jeans, and a belt with a sheriff's star for a buckle. They did indeed fit – actually, they were a bit looser than she was used to. Sapphire looked over her injuries as she changed. Her skin was as pale as it ever was, but there were a surprising lack of bruises to be found. The lacerations on her back had already healed – she'd still had an aura that early into the fight. Her other wounds were still there, but were not as exposed as she'd thought. Cuts were cleaned and wrapped in gauze, deep stabs were sewn shut. In a couple weeks it would look like nothing had happened at all. She'd expected a messy patch job as best – this was surgical. The man was more thorough than she'd believed. Where'd he pick up such skills?
After exiting the restroom Sapphire staggered her way over to the bed she'd woken up on. Her side started hurting – whatever medicine he'd given her was starting to wear off. Seemingly anticipating this, the man handed her a glass of water and a pair of painkillers. She accepted and consumed them without a word. As she thought about everything that had happened over the last day she realized that the man who was helping her was the same man who had interrupted her fight at the docks, as well as the one at the café. Was he following her? She intended to find out.
"Who are you?" She began, fingers wrapped around the glass of water, now half-empty.
"Name's Duster," he lied, nodding politely. "You?"
"I don't feel like telling." She was determined to give as little information as possible.
"Right, I'll call ya V then."
"For Vendetta?" she scoffed.
"Well, Violet, actually, but I s'pose that'll work too." She shook her head. This wasn't going to do.
"It's Sapphire," she lied.
"Sapphire it is." He let out the equivalent of a smile. It wasn't a half-smile, or a smirk, or grin, or really any kind of smile at all, but somehow she could tell it was his way of smiling.
Sapphire looked up at the man who called himself Duster and suddenly realized just how large he was. Though that he sat on the workbench while speaking with her may have clouded her perception of his height, he was easily half a head taller than her, and that was without the hat he wore. And she was 6'1". Big was the most lenient word that came to mind. If his size, clothing, and weaponry were anything to judge by, she assumed he was some kind of duelist, or gunslinger, engaging in extravagant firefights for a living. Not exactly the ideal style for the ever changing field of battle.
She wondered how he'd managed to not go crazy, being so close to the ceiling of almost every building in Vale.
"So…"
"So." This was turning out to be more awkward than she'd have liked.
"Why'd you help me?"
Duster paused, his arms crossed. His eyes darted from corner to corner, lost in thought, eventually returning to meet hers.
"Why not?"
"Excuse me?" This was going to be difficult, wasn't it?
"After yesterday afternoon I'd figured y' were th' type of person who'd be interestin'. Lo n' behold, come th' night that followed, y' proved that t' be true. What kind of uninterestin' person would willin'ly fight someone who specialized in poisons without a gas mask?"
"Were you following me?"
"Were it that I could've, but I had other obligations t' attend to. I jus' happened t' be staring at th' empty void above near ya when y' caught my attention for th' second time."
"So you wanted to follow me?"
"Maybe," he shrugged. "As I said, I found ya interestin'. Y' threw someone out a window and then decked a bunch'a dudes in th' face th' first time I saw ya. Repeatedly, I might add. I wanted t' know why. However, as I implied, you weren't th' only interestin' thing t' catch my eye."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Hm, I suppose that sounds terrible in hindsight, don't it." He shook his head. "Sorry. T' suffice, there was somethin' else important I had t' take care of. I could get punched by you some other time."
"You wanted me to punch you?"
"No?"
"Then why say-"
"Because I ain't one to shy away from a dollop of daisy laced sarcasm, alright? Jeez, nitpick everythin' I say why don't cha?"
She wasn't exactly sure what that meant either, but decided not to push it any further.
"Look, th' first time around y' could've handled yerself jus' fine. I jus' wanted t' see what'd happen if I intervened. That was somethin' I shouldn't have done and I've already paid th' consequences for it." Duster brushed along where she'd punched him that afternoon. Any injury she'd caused had long since healed. "Th' second time, I saw someone set on dyin'. Yer aura was fadin' and hers was ice cold. Y' were fightin' a battle that you'd already lost. Damned if I ain't gonna help someone who needs it."
That was a completely unexpected turn of character. From how he'd been going on he seemed the joking type – someone who loved to hear the sound of his own voice. But that was… terse, to put it lightly.
"Besides, poison?" Duster chuckled, back in his other mood. "There ain't a cheaper way t' fight in my book. Wanted t' put a bullet in that opponent of yours jus' fer that."
"Right," Sapphire muttered, tilting her head slightly. This was turning out to be one of the oddest conversations she'd had in a long time. It reminded her of family.
"What was that all about, anyway? Ain't my place t' say, I know, but it all seemed rather desperate t' me."
"If it's not your place to say, then why say it?"
The look he gave her wasn't very friendly.
"It's complicated," she sighed.
"Ain't it always," he mused. "Alright, I won't pry."
"Thank you," she nodded.
Duster looked down at an imaginary watch on his right wrist, pulling back its sleeve to show more of his tan skin. "It's two dots past a hair," her brother might've joked were he still alive, with all those freckles of his.
"Okay," Duster said, hopping off the work bench. He turned around to grab his pistols and holstered them at his sides. "I'm guessin' yer feelin' well enough t' walk around?"
"Well, I haven't thrown up again, have I?"
"That was jus' th' antidote I gave ya," he explained. "Glad Amber was able t' walk me through which one t' give ya. I ain't as experienced with treatin' poisons as her."
"Good to know."
"At least th' morphine worked. Hell of a cure for pain, that one, but turns nasty when yer allergic to it – and no, don't ask."
"Wasn't going to." Yes she was. "Wait, who's Amber?"
"My sister," he said, taking a long coat from the coat hanger near the door, swinging it over his shoulders before popping his arms through its sleeves, "which leads me t' a suggestion I have fer ya – if y' don't mind hearin' it out."
She hesitated for a moment. So far it seemed like the man wasn't just about to up and murder her, given all he'd done to save her life. Perhaps she'd benefit by hearing what he had to say.
"Alright, shoot."
"I've got some people that I think y' might want t' meet – my sister and a friend of ours, specifically. I think we'd be able t' help you find this woman you were fightin' again, if you'd accept our help. We're holed up in a good spot, but I'd understand if you'd prefer that I take y' somewhere y' could make it back home safely."
"Holed up?"
"Yeah, uh, let's jus' say that you ain't the only one with enemies in this town. Th' place is safe n' secure, but, again, if y' don't want t', jus' say th' word."
She mulled over the idea. It had taken her months to find that bitch after their last encounter, so the idea of finding her again on her own wasn't too appealing. Having some help would probably speed things up, but what did he have to gain out of it?
"You've helped me twice already, why help again?"
"S'what I do."
That was a bottom line she could respect.
"Alright then," she said, rising to her feet. She noticed her purple jacket sitting at the edge of the bed and threw it on. It was torn and blood spattered, but she wasn't about to leave it behind. Her brother's scarf was still in its pockets. "I'll follow, for now."
"Alright," Duster smiled, this time for real. He tossed her glaive to her, which had been laying on the workbench too, pulled out a phone from one of his pockets and sent out a quick text, motioning to the door. She hit a button near the blade of her weapon, collapsing it so she could holster it on her back. "Then follow."
After paving their way through the back alleys of Vale for nearly an hour, Sapphire and Duster expectedly found themselves on the second floor of an apartment complex at the back end of an urban cull-de-sac. The green carpet hallways and bland pale walls almost made Sapphire believe that the building was once a cheap hotel among cheap hotels, but the well lit ceilings and redwood doors told her that such days were long since over. It didn't take long for Duster to get them into one of his home-away-from-homes, though the process itself seemed complicated. There were the standard locks, yes, but between opening the first and second he had to rotate a series of rings in the door's design that were hidden to the untrained eye. Only then would they be allowed entrance without setting off the alarms inside.
"Oy, fix your phone!" was the greeting they were issued after stepping inside. After locking the door, Duster quickly checked his phone for any missed messages and found one sent by Amber, the voice that came to say hello. Sapphire peeked over his shoulder to read it. "Back route unsafe; take underground," it declared. The previous two mentioned Sapphire's recovery and that they were on their way to meet her and someone named Nigel.
"Aw, hell," Duster fumed. "Even with my ears I can't hear th' sound of silence. Should've replaced th' damn thing long ago." He threw it into the trash can nearest to him before hanging up his coat. "Sorry, sis," he called back. "I'll go set th' fire."
"Fire?" Sapphire asked worriedly. "Is there something wrong?"
"Maybe, maybe not," Duster sighed, shaking his head. "Look, I got t' go downstairs n' take care of a few things. Head on down th' hall and into th' room 'round th' corner where my sister n' friend should be. I'll cook somethin' fer ya when I get back."
"Uh, okay?" None of what he said was reassuring, but she figured that it wasn't exactly the best time to prod for any more information. As calm as he seemed to be, she couldn't help but notice his fingers start acting twitchy.
Without saying another word, Duster walked past her and back out the door to take care of whatever it was he had to do. Sapphire shrugged and headed down the hall like he said to do and discovered two rooms. On the left was a modernized open kitchen that had been stripped down to its barest necessities. On the right was a living room, complete with an olden-day fireplace, chairs, coffee table and a sofa. Occupying the sofa was a scraggly blonde haired girl with green goggles over her eyes. In her hands was a prosthetic arm designed to look like the armor of an age old knight, its inner workings exposed and ripe for tinkering. Emblazoned on its shoulder was a sword that had sprouted wings like a Nevermore, much like the tattoo on the woman's own left shoulder. Sapphire wondered if that was her trademark to identify her work by.
The cool light of day shone in from the large windows opposite her, its curtains drawn to show the empty street below. In the far corner sat a large man with an over abundance of muscles reading a book of poetry. His flame colored Mohawk matched the lights coming from the fireplace next to him. She took note of the checkered pattern of the metal tiling along the walls of the converted apartment. They seemed oddly out of place in the empty atmosphere the place was giving off.
The woman holding the arm sighed and tossed it onto the coffee table before her and leaned back, propping up her feet along side it. "Hey," she said when Sapphire walked to greet her, pushing her goggles up to her forehead. Her eyes matched their emerald hue. "That was a pretty sick punch you hit my brother with."
"Thanks," Sapphire replied, momentarily reminiscing about the day before. "You're Amber, I take it?"
"Indeed I am," she lied with a smile, extending a hand to shake. Her bushy grey tail slowly wagged back and forth. He never mentioned anything about her being a Faunus. "Welcome; how do you do?"
"Been better, been worse," Sapphire shrugged, accepting her hand. "But not by much. I'm Sapphire."
"Yeah, his accent's hard to deal with, isn't it?" she joked. "Nice to meet you." Amber motioned for her to take a seat opposite her, which she graciously took. She had gotten used to long treks from her combat training, but all the weaving between alleys she and Duster had done to get there had left her a little drained. Or maybe she was just recovering from her wounds. "Want some water?"
"Sure, thanks." Her host got up from her seat to fetch refreshments for them both. Upon her return Sapphire inquired the identity of the man that was sitting in the corner all by his lonesome.
"That philosophical hunk of meat is Nigel," Amber smirked, turning to look at him. He lowered his book just enough to show her that he was pointing to his throat before waving his hand in a cutting motion across it. "He's the friend my brother mentioned. Don't worry if he seems unsociable – he's a great guy. He just doesn't talk much."
"Ah, I see." Sapphire nodded to the arm on the table. "What're you working on?"
"Oh, just a replacement part for my number one customer," she said, stretching out her shoulders. "Always helps to have one of those handy, excusing the pun." They both had themselves a short chuckle. "So, what brings you here? I hear from my brother that he found you in quite the pickle."
"Yeah, I may have overexerted myself in a fight with someone I've been looking to find for a long time. He told me that you could help me find her again."
"Did he now," Amber scowled to herself. "He does know that we have our own troubles, right?"
"He mentioned something about that, yes. I'm guessing it has something to do with that 'fire?'"
"That should be nothing to worry about, I hope. If it is, then I'll just have to deck him later." She patted her left bicep as a show of force. The sound that resulted was oddly hollow. "How long exactly have you been tracking this person?"
"Well, I've been hunting this woman for almost five years now. Our encounters are usually brief and scarcely occur – they've never been anything as daunting as last night."
"So you've fought before?"
"Yes, several times. I'd like to believe that I came close at least once, but she is an extremely skilled fighter. She specializes in close quarters fighting and poisons. I'd assumed she's someone with advanced huntsman training, or some private tutelage, but I can find no such person in the huntsman registry."
"Well, you know what they say about assumptions…"
Sapphire frowned, folding her arms.
"We all make them. Do you have anything specific to go on? A name, descriptions, habits, motives?"
"Not much," she shook her head, agitated. "I've never seen her face or heard her name, but she always wears a gas mask and pouch-laden armors. She's a chain scythe wielder, I know that much, and uses poison fogs to slowly whittle down the stamina of her opponents and trap them. I, uh, don't know much about her habits, although on the rare occasion that I manage to find a place she's lived in, it's always been empty, which leads me to believe that she never stays in one place for long and travels light. As for a motive… all I know is she doesn't stop until her mission is complete. Most of the times that I've found her out in the wild she's been in the middle of killing someone else. Even when I've managed to fight her off she's still managed to get them."
"A contract killer, then?"
"Could be; I'm surprised she backed off last night. I thought that was our final fight."
"Well," Amber paused for a moment to think the information over, scratching her chin. "I don't think I've ever come across someone like this before – someone from out of town, maybe?"
Sapphire shrugged. The Faunus turned her head to Nigel, who had started pacing near the windows. "What do you think, Nigel?" He turned to face her and patted his right shoulder before giving her a thumbs-up. He had put on a pair of black gloves since last Sapphire had looked at him. "Ah, duh" Amber muttered before facing their guest again. "Well, if he's in, then so am I."
"Thanks," Sapphire smiled, relieved. Maybe the days of her nightmare were finally coming to an end.
"But," Amber said, holding up a hand, "as we've mentioned, we do have our own problems at the moment. We'll help, but should they come to surface, they take priority, understand?"
"What kind of problems are you facing, exactly?"
"The bad kind."
"That's usually not a good thing, I hear," Sapphire joked.
"Yeah; usually."
Duster's return was marked by the sound of the front door opening again. Amber got up from her seat to greet her brother properly, which meant smacking his chest for being an idiot. He scratched his head sheepishly, taking the abuses by his sibling lightly. It was then that Sapphire realized that the wolf Faunus was almost as tall as her brother. She wondered just how tall their parents must have been for them to be so large. Nigel by comparison was shorter than all of them, barely, but a great deal wider from his muscle count. It was amazing that his dress shirt fit him perfectly. It was likely specially tailored just for him, probably.
"Everythin's set up," Duster confirmed for Amber. "How goes things up here?"
"We just finished agreeing to help. It was a unanimous decision."
"Good, 'cause I pro'bly would've ended up helpin' her anyway."
"Of course you would have. You're you. It's what you do."
"Yep." Duster folded his arms in defiance.
"Even when it's painfully obvious just how deep in rotten steak sauce we're in you still help people who need help."
"I know it ain't easy, sis, but I jus' gotta do what I gotta do."
"Aye, aye, Mr. Pickles." Amber saluted half-heartedly before turning away, muttering "you and your blasted doing of the do. What does that even mean, anyways?" Duster chuckled to himself, letting his arms fall back to his sides.
"What was that all about?" Sapphire asked when he walked by. Amber slid her goggles back over her eyes and went back to work on the arm before her.
"When y' deal with th' kind of people that we deal with," he frowned, "y' have t' take certain… precautions."
"What kind of precautions?"
"Th' fiery kind."
"Sounds… hot," she tried to joke.
"Well, it should be. Burn dust in that large of quantity is hard t' get fer cheap." Duster walked over to the kitchen and nicked a pan off of one of the hooks on the wall. "Now c'mon. I said I was gonna cook y' somethin' and I ain't about to lie about food now. Lemme whip up a few pancakes an' we can talk s'more."
Sapphire really wanted to point out the danger of storing burn dust in huge amounts, but something about the idea of eating was more important at the time.
Suddenly Nigel snapped at Duster, waving him over to the window.
"What is it?" he asked, pausing at the shelf that held the ingredients for his pancakes. Nigel didn't say anything, but kept waving him over. "Yer voice broke?" He nodded. Duster sighed and put down the pan in his hand. "What d'ya see?"
Nigel punched his shoulder again and a glitched noise came out of it. It was similar to the sound of static when you're on a call while passing under a tunnel. Garbled words followed the sound before a high-pitched whine cut them short. Sapphire had to cover her ears. Amber seemed to be unfazed. Duster walked up to the window to see what he saw and immediately grabbed for his guns.
"Trouble," Nigel finally said. His lips did not move when he spoke, the words emanating from his shoulder. His voice was deep and modulated. It was as if an AI had spoken instead.
Six White Fang members clad in full uniform opened fire on the building, sending a hellfire of bullets tearing through the large windows Nigel and Duster stood by. Nigel rolled to the side, taking cover behind at the edge of the window, backing up as bullets riddled the air before him. Amber rose to her feet before crumpling over the back of the sofa, taking a round in her left shoulder, grunting in surprise. Duster leapt backwards, crashing into Sapphire, who'd moved behind him to see what Nigel was talking about, and forced her to join his sister behind the sofa.
"Nigel!" Duster shouted over the noise above him. Sapphire wondered why he called to him first, rather than direct his attention to his sister, who was clutching her shoulder angrily.
"I'm fine!" he roared back. He kept his distance from the windows, making his way back to the fireplace, which had mysteriously gone out, as new holes appeared in the wall before him.
"The hell is going on?" Sapphire yelled to her host. On the list of things she'd expected to experience today, getting shot at by one of the most notorious gangs in Vale was nowhere to be found.
"Our problems," he growled, pulling a burn crystal out of his coat, "seem t' have caught up with us."
"Seriously? The White Fang? You didn't think that mentioning that they were the problem you were dealing with was a good idea?"
"Well, I'm sorry if I've been a little bit occupied, what with saving your life and all."
"Oy, cut it out!" Amber commanded over the gunfire. Duster looked past Sapphire and finally saw the wound she had taken.
"You okay, sis?" he asked, not worried in the slightest.
The Faunus grunted as she pulled the bullet out of her arm with her semblance, red sparks pinging off her fingertips. She discarded the spent round and inspected the circuitry inside. A lot of wires had been torn beyond repair. She tried to move the limb, barely able to get her fingers to twitch.
"Well, this arm is a bust," she fumed. "Good thing I was working on that replacement, eh?"
"Think y' can patch up th' wall?" her brother asked, showing her the Dust crystal in his hand.
"I wouldn't be the steak gods' chosen if I couldn't deal with a dead arm – again."
"Yeah, yeah, okay; on three." Duster readied the crystal, attempting to peek over the sofa without getting his hat shot off to get a good view of the attackers, who had been slowly moving up ever since they first opened fire. Amber reached out with her one working arm to the metal tiling on the wall. Red sparks danced along them as they began to float towards them.
"Three!" Duster shouted, tossing the crystal without counting up. As he'd hoped it caught a bullet just outside the windows, exploding and creating a screen of smoke to obscure their enemy's aim. Amber rose to her feet and pushed the metal tiling past her with her semblance, which flew at the windows at a blistering pace. They lined up side by side, forming a neat metal wall, preventing any more bullets from penetrating the room. After a few seconds of continued fire, the sound of brass clashing with metal ceased. Unintelligible shouting followed, along with the sound of hurried footsteps. The White Fang were moving to enter the building.
Duster pulled himself to his feet with the help of the sofa, which had been surprisingly not riddled with an uncountable number of bullet holes. The chair across from him, however, had surely seen better days. He let out an angry breath, patting some dust off his pants and holstered the one gun he'd still been holding. "Everyone good?" he asked. Nigel nodded, stepping away from the fireplace, a blue flame that had taken solace inside it dying out immediately.
"Well," Amber said, pulling a giant hex key out of the wall with her semblance, "I'm gonna need help replacing this arm, but otherwise I'm good."
"Right," he brother nodded, walking over to help her. He took the key from her and tore off the synthetic coating on her shoulder, giving her room to punch a switch under her armpit, disconnecting the wires that allowed her nerves to move the limb. A hexagon-shaped bolt was hidden underneath. It was the only thing left keeping her prosthetic arm attached.
"Someone mind explaining what just happened?" Sapphire asked, still a little bewildered at what just happened.
"You want the long version or the short version," Amber asked back, bracing herself as Duster inserted the key into her shoulder.
"I want the version that makes sense," she declared. She looked at the damage caused to the hideaway. The bullet holes made the barren atmosphere of the room unsettling. "Those guys out there really want you dead."
"Well- ah!" Amber began, exclaiming when her brother turned the key, detaching her arm from her body. Sapphire held back the urge to gasp from seeing her with only one arm. Suddenly she noticed that her hair had spiked up and turned a shade of crimson. She wondered what had caused that.
"Well," the Faunus began again as Duster fetched the arm she had been working on, taking on a more serious attitude, "seven years ago, there was an airship crash at the docks in Vale."
"I remember that," Sapphire said, recalling a news report that called it a national tragedy. She remembered seeing the flames from her mother's house outside the city.
"Do you remember the part where the White Fang claimed responsibility for it?"
"Yeah." The Faunus didn't have a lot of friends to begin with. The White Fang sure had a habit of making their situation worse.
"Well, Duster and I were on that flight."
"Oh." Duster slid Amber's replacement arm into place. She held it still while he flipped up its shoulder guard, positioning the hex key into the hole behind it.
"As you might be able to guess- ah!" Amber exclaimed again as her brother turned the key, latching the new limb into place. She punched the lever under her arm, commanding the prosthetic to interface with her nervous system, a process that wasn't exactly comfortable. She managed to grimace through it without screaming, at least.
"As I – ah! As I was saying, that's when I lost my arm – ah!" She patted her limb, flipping down her shoulder guard, the engraved sword taking the place of the tattoo on her previous arm. Sapphire chose not to comment on how out of place she looked with a metal arm that looked to have come from an older age where knights roamed the lands freely. "Suffice to say, we haven't exactly been able to lose hold of our anger since then. We've made it our duty to oppose the tyranny of the world, be it from your kind, or ours."
"Well, that's romanticizing it a bit," Duster cut in, handing his sister the oversized hex key, which she promptly used like a cane to help herself up, "but that's essentially what happened. They pissed us off, now we piss them off. It's a mutually destructive relationship."
"And the rest?" Sapphire asked as Duster helped her up. Nigel joined them, cracking his knuckles.
"Th' rest can wait." Duster pulled out one of his revolvers and pointed at the door. "We've been talkin' fer too long. Th' White Fang are probably gettin' close. We have t' move."
"Well, I wasn't about to suggest we stay…" Sapphire joked, pulling out her glaive. "But fair enough."
"To the tunnels, then?" Amber asked her brother.
"It's what I was thinkin'," he nodded. "We may still have t' fight past some of them, but if we can make it out back and into th' sewers, we should be able t' make it to Raoul's."
"Sounds sound enough," she agreed.
"I take it that's somewhere safer than here?" Sapphire asked.
"Yes," Nigel stated, his voice as monotone as it got.
"He's a friend," Duster said. "Well, godfather, really, but a friend nonetheless. Th' White Fang don't know 'em. We'll be fine."
"Well, I'll take what I can get, then." Sapphire rested her weapon on her shoulders, motioning to the door with her free hand.
"It's not like we were giving you a choice," Amber muttered quietly enough that she couldn't hear as they moved to the exit. Duster gave her a nasty look that told her to back off.
"Let's go," Duster said, and lead the four of them out into the hall.