Author's Forward: Hi there! It's been a while since I've actually posted here on , but I've recently become infatuated with RWBY. So, upon learning about MegaWalrus99's Submit Your Own Character contest, I decided to whip up my own candidate. He's accepted my creation into his domain, but I felt at least a little introduction to him would help a few people understand his character more clearly. So I wrote this in the span of an afternoon to provide that extra insight. I hope you enjoy it.
As a side note, if there is a point in MegaWalrus99's story ("Tomorrow Will Be Kinder") that needs a little more introspection from my character, I'll write a companion chapter to accompany it.
The Silver Flicker
"Are you sure I can't convince you to stick around?"
The question was perplexing to him. Not because it was unreasonable, it wasn't in the slightest. No, it was more his own internal reaction to the question. A shudder broke through his bones at the thought of being tied down on The Trodden any longer than was necessary. Too many bad memories he supposed. Even worse were the good memories, of which there were so many more.
"Nah, Cap'n, got my sights set on the shore," he replied, turning to the kindly old man with a morose grin. "School starts in a few weeks and I don't want to put all your training to waste. Besides, I hear Veil is beautiful this time of year." Keeping the tone of the conversation light was getting hard. He ached for the soft sands of Veil's beach, stark white like a fresh snow, if only to avoid forcing what should have been his normally happy-go-lucky demeanor. The captain laughed and gave him a rough pat on the back, the thick, calloused hands stinging along his tensed shoulder blades.
"Well of course, but the extra hand would be nice. Fending off Grimm is so much easier with a skilled crew and you're shaping up to be one helluva Huntsman," the captain remarked.
He just bit his lip in response before turning to face the old man.
"I'm not a Huntsman yet, that's why I'm going to Beacon you nut," he said, sticking his tongue out at the old saltblood. With a careful glide he slid over to one of the tables of the hold.
Perched on top were two matching handguns, each a deep navy blue in color, the pigment being dyed directly into the metal. Near the front of the guns, under the barrels, were secondary grips, each a dull grey striped piece of rubber. The grip of each gun connected to two long blades that protruded at the bottom of the firearms.
The first on each was a long forward spike that had a gentle curve upwards, ending in a well sharpened tip. The second was shorter and pushed backwards towards whoever would hold the weapon. The weapon's magazines jutted out of the sides and curved down to the bottom of the main grips where they were locked in place by a simple clipping system. Each magazine would wrap over the wielder's wrist should they be held properly.
He picked them each up, inspecting the weapons and making sure once more that they were proper mirrors of each other. He flexed his muscles and guided the left blade through the air at an imaginary opponent. The weapon felt light and responsive in his hands. Checking once more to make sure his fifty round magazines were properly stored on his belt he attached each weapon to his hip.
"So you made your choice eh? I think those fit you quite well, though your craftsmanship while making them seems a little shoddy," the old man teased, flicking one of the weapons with his middle finger.
"Yeah, yeah, like you were any better when you were my age," he chuckled, taking the tease in good fun. The captain gave a low, deep chortle.
"Please, I didn't even get to build my first weapon till after I left Beacon. Until then I just had to use a rock tied to a stick," the shipmaster replied with a whimsical glaze in his eye. He gave the man a glare.
"Are you sure you didn't use marbles; it'd explain why you have so few of them now," he shot back, a genuine grin growing itself on his face. An amused puff of air left the large man's mouth.
"I still have quite a few, thank you very much. Watch how cheeky you get. I taught at Beacon when Glinda Goodwitch was still a regular teacher. She'd wash out your mouth with soap for saying something like that," the tone of the old man's voice fell to a pseudo-serious low. "God know what she'd do now that she's assistant dean."
The teen rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue once more, a small chuckle escaping his lips.
"Don't worry; I don't plan on pissing everybody at Beacon off… just about ninety percent of them," he replied, returning to packing a few more small effects. The moment went by in a comfortable silence between the two, though he was left with the impression the captain had much more to say. Finally zipping up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder he returned his attention to the old man. "Okay, what is it?"
The captain gave a sideways glance to make sure they were alone before approaching revealing a small rectangular box he had hidden behind his back.
"She told me to hold onto this since you had a habit of prying through her things looking for something to snack on…" the captain said, opening the lid.
Inside the dark mahogany was a velvet cushion, upon which rested too well polished and sharpened punching daggers. Both seemed quite old, yet meticulously maintained.
"She paid me for the set… she wanted to surprise you when you both finally shoved off to Beacon." The captain handed the box to the teen, a twitch in his frazzled brow. "I didn't feel right keeping the money after what happened though, so it's in there, under the pillow, along with the proper maintenance tools and some handwritten instructions."
The teen just gaped at the elegant blades.
"These are the ones…"
"The ones that I used before I became a ship captain, during my Huntsman days," the captain finished, pushing the lid closed in the teen's arms. "I've not needed them for some time, and though they're not your preferred weapons as is obvious," the man gave a wave to the two guns at the teen's hips. "They are still the weapons I trained you with, so I thought it would be a reminder of the good times on The Trodden. Consider it a gift… from both of us."
The teen just gave a soft smile and let a few tears drip out of his eyes. Not too many though, just enough to let the nauseous warmth fade out of his chest. Temperatures settling back in to a comfortable balmy throb, he cradled the box against his chest.
"I'll never let go of it," he spoke, a tight conviction in his voice, a determined smile stretching his lips. There was a jostle throughout the hold, the ship around them shifting to a stop. Voices yelled throughout the vessel declaring that they've made land. The teen smiled. "Looks like this is my stop," he remarked, putting the blades into his pack. He looked the captain in the eye and held out his hand. "It's been an honor captain."
The old man took the teens hand and brought the boy in close for a tight embrace. The teen relaxed into the hold, knowing he'd not see his friend for quite some time. It was then that he spoke once more, "I'll come back. I promise I'll join your crew and be your official Huntsman." The old man gave one reassuringly tight squeeze before letting go; letting his hands rest on the teen's shoulders. The heavy palms stuck to the white overcoat with sweat and sea grime.
"And The Trodden'll be here when you're ready to fill that role. Tell the professors at Beacon I said hello. Unless it's Port. Tell him he still owes me that Boarbatusk dinner," the large man said with a smirk. The teen replicated it.
"Will do. It's been a blast Captain," he said one last time, patting the old man on the shoulder as he approached the door. He was only stopped as the captain spoke one last time. The teen looked over his shoulder at the coot.
"You know Sven, Remedy was a fantastic girl. You two made a great team… you think you can get along without her?"
"Not like I really have much choice. Besides, she wouldn't want me to dwell and I'd really rather not either," Sven responded. He lifted one of his weapons with a symbolic gesture. "Neither of us saw the 'point' in moping," he chuckled. The captain gave the boy an amused smile and shook his head at the terrible pun. Sven just smiled and walked out of the cabin, climbing the holds to the top deck of the ship.
Before him, across the sapphire and turquoise waters was a city of bleached white stone and dark onyx brick. Every shade of sunset and midnight mingled and comingled among the city's many buildings, giving a beautiful, discolored look to the town.
Veil.
"Right, class starts in a few weeks…" Sven spoke to himself, hopping down from the deck onto the sunny sands. He closed his eyes and took in a whiff of the fresh sea-salt air. When his eyes opened the were filled with awe, giddiness and a slight point of apprehension. And then a somewhat sobering question came to his mind.
Where am I going to live till then?
It hit him like a ton of bricks that he'd forgotten to book lodging. And here he was lugging around almost every single item and effect he owned… without a place to put them.
"Well… shit."
Author's Note: So I hope that helps a little in looking into Sven's psyche. I wanted to keep it vague for several reasons, the least of which is easing the audience into the character. Not giving him a name right off the bat kinda forces you to pay more attention to what he does and says and then gives you a stronger connection. It might not work, it might turn people away, but it's an exploration in style that I enjoy playing with.
So, yes, if MW99 has a particularly interesting chapter I'll try to match it with the angle from Sven's POV. Provided I'm motivated enough actually write :P
So please, go and have a good morning, day, afternoon or night! Enjoy the time you have and the people you have around for as long as you can! You never know when you could lose someone precious to you! :)
