Chapter 10: Better the Devil You Know: Something About Old Dogs and New Tricks?
"So this is where you…work?" a befuddled and off put voice spoke out to the otherwise empty establishment that her acquaintances had been surprisingly eager to drag her along to. Staring around at the sensory overload of plush purple couches, lavish golden trim, bright pink hearts, and lit candles, the woman in question shifted around uncomfortably on one of the love seats with a flute of champagne in hand, spurred on by its two owners.
From appearances alone, the woman seemed slightly older than her fellow witches at somewhere around her early to mid thirties. This however, as with all witches, was a highly deceptive ruse as she was in actuality somewhere in the realm of over seven hundred years old. Despite having a hint more maturity in her features, she still maintained a youthful complexion of soft white skin and fair curves. Outfitted in a sleeveless dress in a gradient of cerulean blue to light green, the garment was composed of a hexagonal honeycomb pattern throughout its weaving, cut out in the middle along her shoulders and cleavage to allow the flesh beneath to peek through. Wavy viridian hair cascaded lightly down her nape while the twin bangs that fell in front of her cheeks curled into jade spirals.
Plopping down beside her in a separate seat with drink in hand, the first of the two who had dragged her to such a gawdy place laughed light-heartedly at her observation.
"Yep-yep!" a bright-eyed Taruho Firefly, stage name Arisa, replied giddily. "Isn't it great?! Tabatha and I started it from practically nothing and now ChupaCabra's is the top cabaret in Death City!"
"Really?" the woman replied in surprise, taking a sip of her drink. "Well I suppose that is something to be proud of. And it's just the two of you working here?"
"Well we started out with just us two, but we found Milo here to be our bartender. We also have another girl, Blair, but she has the day off," Tabatha Butterfly, stage name Risa, replied as she joined the conversation.
"I see," the green-haired witch replied with a tinge of intrigue, fidgeting with the hem of her dress as it rode up her thighs. "And you're both…comfortable? You know, with your line of work? And with being so close to Shibusen?"
Looking from their anxious guest to one another, the two women suppressed their giggling amusement at the question.
"We're entertainers, not 'ladies of the night'," Tabatha answered with a bubbly smile. "Our customers come in after a long day and want to unwind, so we help them relax. We get them a drink, listen to them rant about work or their wives or whatever, and just make them feel special for however long they're willing to pay for it. You can be rest assured that we don't sell 'those kinds' of services here."
"Although…," Taruho grinned slyly. "Every now and then we might have a little 'after work treat'. Like a nice piece of Academy man candy."
Nearly choking on her drink, the blue-clad witch was caught completely off guard by the bold statement as the two younger women burst into a fit of unabashed laughter.
"I hope you're not insinuating that you…have relations with Shibusen," she gasped as she tapped her fist against her chest repeatedly to clear her lungs, although it was at that precise moment that her memory was jogged back to the trials several months ago. The two ladies before her had been sentenced to death for not only their betrayal of the Coven for their ties to Arachnophobia, but also for their relations with Death Scythe.
"And what if we do?" Tabatha countered with a chuckle as she took a sip of wine she had poured for herself. "The Coven and Shibusen are allies now. There's nothing that says we can't."
"I understand that, but there's still a stigma attached to anything related to Shibusen. You know that."
"Then why did you ask us to bring you to Death City?" Taruho replied innocently, catching the witch off guard. "Didn't you want us to help you get to know everyone better?"
"Well…yes," the woman replied, now fiddling with her dress as she was put uncomfortably on the spot. "I know I said that I wanted to know more about what Shibusen is really like, but I suppose my idea didn't exactly involve meeting the regulars of a gentleman's club."
"Beggars can't be choosers," the Firefly Witch pointed out. "Besides, the guys that come here aren't all bad. Most of them are actually pretty nice when you get to know them. Really they're just lonely and need someone to talk to."
"Lonely and wealthy," the Butterfly Witch added with a laugh.
Taking a long, painful gulp, the newcomer to Lord Death's domain finished off the contents of her glass before pointing her finger towards the bottle, watching as it levitated to give her a second dose of its bubbly contents.
"You're both insufferable," she huffed in joking conceit.
From the front of the small establishment, the tinkling of the bell above the door alerted the three women and the bartender that their first customer of the day had arrived. Standing up excitedly out of habit, the two hostesses hurried over to greet their guest. Leaving the third member of their witches' social momentarily to her own devices, the woman took the opportunity to peek over the dividing wall that separated their booth from the others. Catching a glimpse of the cherry red mop of lengthy hair that partially obscured the man's face, she had to do a quick double take at the entirety of his attire to make sure she wasn't witnessing what she hoped was only an illusion brought about by bad champagne.
"Hi, Death Scythe-sama!" Tabatha and Taruho both sang happily in unison to their most loyal of customers.
Sure enough, the man that now approached the booth with her fellow witches wrapped around each arm was none other than the most powerful of the late shinigami's Death Scythes; the infamous Spirit Albarn. There was no mistaking it by his attire and that perverse grin on his face that it would have been any other Death Scythe.
"You're early today, Death Scythe-sama," Taruho observed endearingly as he led them towards their usual spot at the rear of the cabaret.
"What can I say, this place is like catnip to me," Spirit joked heartedly. "Speaking of which, is the pretty kitty in today?"
"No, Blair has the day off," Tabatha replied.
"That's alright. I still have you two lovelies to keep me entertained, right?" he grinned mischievously, pulling them closer to him.
"Oh, Death Scythe-sama, you're so bad!" Taruho squealed.
Rounding the corner with the witches in tow, the Death Scythe was stopped dead in his tracks by the enticing sight before him. Showing almost complete disregard for the two ladies clinging to his arms, he shrugged them off as he bounded over the table in front of him to land himself perfectly alongside the viridian-haired, cyan-eyed beauty.
"Why, hello there!" Spirit greeted deviously with a toothy grin as he pressed himself uncomfortably close to the stunned witch. "Nobody told me that ChupaCabra's had added a pretty new face. I can't say I've ever seen you around here before. The name's Spirit, but everyone just calls me Death Scythe. What can I call you, besides gorgeous?"
Rearing back in a mixture of slight repugnance and shocking disbelief at the boldness of his actions, the witch pressed herself uncomfortably against the loveseat to keep some sort of distance between her and the daring Weapon.
"My, your reputation certainly precedes you, Death Scythe," she replied with a forced chuckle. "You sure do know how to charm a lady, although I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't work here. I'm just here to see the city."
"I take it you must be from the Coven then?" Spirit deducted smoothly. "Well if you want I would be more than happy to give you the grand tour. Anything for a friend of the lovely Miss Tabatha and Miss Taruho's."
"Nuh-uh-uh, Death Scythe-sama," the Butterfly Witch scolded playfully with a wag of her finger. "You know the rules; no using real names. When we're on the clock its Risa and Arisa."
"You're still going on with that?" he questioned flatly. "We all know who you are, so why keep up the stage names?"
"We have our reasons," she replied cutely.
Rolling his eyes dismissively at her response, his attention had almost been deviated away from the unknown witch sitting less than a foot away from.
"So how about it? I can show you around if you would like," he proposed suavely. "We can even make it a night on the town? A little dinner then a tour around? Maybe end it with some nice drinks?"
"I appreciate the offer, but I believe that we were planning on having a girls' only sort of outing, weren't we?" she halfway lied with a slight cringe on her face.
Looking for any sort of assistance in her predicament, she glanced over Death Scythe's shoulder towards her fellow witches only to find Taruho giving her a knowing wink and a thumbs up.
"No, no, we'll be fine on our own! You two should go have some fun!" she answered. "Trust us, Death Scythe-sama knows some really good places around town."
Much to her own horrified astonishment that a fellow witch would blatantly commit such an act of betrayal, she could feel the proximity to the redhead close by an inch or two.
"C'mon, you know you want to," he pressed with a smirk, making a move to place his hand atop her thigh. "A night on the town if you'll tell me your name. Seems like a pretty fair trade to me."
Watching the persistent conversation between the two grow into a blatant fraternization attempt, Tabatha couldn't help but confide her worries in her fellow hostess.
"Should we let Death Scythe-sama patronize her like that?" she whispered covertly to Taruho. "I know he's a player, but we do have rules against this kind of thing."
The answer to her question came in the form of a nearly impossible to see movement where the older witch caught the Death Scythe's wandering hand just before making contact with her leg. With as much politeness as she could, she moved the perverse digits away from her with a knowing squeeze of the wrist.
"I think it's alright," Taruho giggled as she watched Spirit's cockiness deflate in an instant. "She looks like she has it under control."
Maintaining what little distance was available to her, the witch eyed the lewd man for several seconds as she thought about his proposition. Anything resembling a date was certainly not on her list of things to do while she visited Shibusen, especially with one of its most recognizable figures. However, she had come in hopes to see the city and her options at the moment were divided between staying with the cabaret hostesses, who were barely acquaintances at best, accepting the redhead's offer, or wandering around unescorted by herself. Even if she did stay with the two women, which seemed less like a viable option at the moment, it would probably end with a night at the bars and far more flirtatiousness for attention than she could stomach. And while she was confident that she could handle walking around by herself with the help of her Soul Protect spell, there was still the fact that she was a witch in the shinigami's domain despite the treaty. The worst case scenario played through her head that she would be exposed by some less than welcoming Meister or Weapon and be forced to use her magic in defense. Although this scenario was highly unlikely and she could pin the blame of the part of Shibusen, it would lead to a very unpleasant situation that she preferred to not be a part of. However, if she were to be escorted by someone actually from Shibusen itself, she would most likely be able to avoid any form of confrontation.
Twitching her brow in slight annoyance and discontent for the decision she was about the make, she turned her cyan orbs to meet his awaiting ones of slated blue.
"I'll consider it, Death Scythe, but I have my conditions," she replied with a tint of forewarning in her tone. "For starters, I'm a lady first and a witch second. You can call it 'a night on the town' or whatever you wish, but if you get grabby you may just find your hands magically replaced with pig's feet. Secondly, for my own safety you will not under any circumstances reveal that I'm a witch to anyone. Understood? I'm not ready for that unwanted attention just yet. And lastly, because of that I'll give you an alias that you can call me. If you can keep to my first two conditions then I may just tell you my real name."
Releasing her hold on his wrist, she allowed the flabbergasted Weapon a moment to tend to his wounded pride.
"Jeez, playing hardball aren't you?" he questioned, rubbing the area where her nails had dug slightly into him through his jacket. "Do you really not trust me enough to let me know your name? Just what kind of guy do you take me for?"
"Like I said before, you're reputation precedes you," she parried evenly. "Those are my terms. Take them or leave them."
From the seat beside them, the explicit giggling from their two onlookers only confirmed that the Weapon was digging his own grave by asking such questions.
"She has you there Death Scythe-sama," Taruho pointed out.
"Touché…," Spirit replied flatly, at a slight loss for words and now unsure if he was having her chase after him, or if the woman had just flipped the entire script without him realizing it.
It was hardly an answer of adoration that he was accustomed to by women of the past, but it still wasn't a definitive no either. He should have been in a state of elation at her agreement, because in all fairness he could easily keep to her conditions, but the manner in which she was already setting boundaries was throwing him off his game. Sure, he had been rejected just as many times as he had succeeded when it came to women dealing with his promiscuous advances, but it had been a long time since he had been put into a position where he had to put in anything resembling an effort.
Although as far as the Death Scythe was concerned, a woman that played hard to get was just begging to be swept off their feet by his contagious charm.
"Alright then, I'll accept your terms," he said smugly. "I've already got a few places in mind that a more sophisticated woman like yourself might enjoy."
Whether he placed emphasis on that particular word in order to butter her up or if he had something a little more devious in mind, she really couldn't tell. All she knew was that somehow in the span of the last five minutes she had gone from idle chit-chat and gossip to spending an evening with one of the most recognized, in both positive and negative ways, of Shibusen's authority figures. She deducted that the Madness wavelength must have momentarily returned, because what she was on the verge of doing was borderline insane. Even though they were technically on good terms now, if anyone in the Coven caught wind that she was going to spend a night with a Death Scythe she would never hear the end of it, even if their relationship was less than that of even strangers.
"In that case we have an agreement," the viridian-haired witch replied, showing no real enthusiasm by the prospect as she took a distracting sip of her champagne. "You can meet me here at sunset. Seeing as how you're so adamant about this, I hope you won't keep me waiting."
Finishing off her second flute of the bubbling spirit before the clock had even struck noon, she stood up from her seat and made her way for the door with a certain grace that indicated a wanting to leave without appearing to rush out.
"Risa, Arisa, it's been a pleasure, but I'll leave you to your work. Seeing as how our plans have changed, I have a few things I need to go take care of back at the Coven."
"Aww, leaving already?" Taruho pouted. "But you just got here."
"I'm sorry, I know I'm being a discourteous guest, but I don't want to feel like I'm overstaying my welcome," she replied with a smile. "I know your time is important when you're working, so I don't want to interrupt you and Death Scythe. Besides, I'll be back another time and we can talk about all we want then, alright?"
"Oh… okay then," the Firefly witch replied with some dejection. "I guess we'll see you later."
"Just hold on a minute," Spirit cut in. "You still haven't given me a name yet. At least give me something to go on."
Halting just before exiting the building, the woman glanced at the almost pitiful expression of want that shone in the Death Scythe's eyes. There was such a profound need to know that it was as though he would burst into tears if denied any further.
"You really are a tenacious one, aren't you?" she questioned, her lips curling into a wry smile. "Although I suppose we did have an agreement. In that case, you can call me Hex. And remember, don't keep me waiting."
Giving a friendly parting wave, the woman slipped her way out the door without any protest. Now free of their customer's momentary distraction, Risa and Arisa both turned their attention to their loyal regular, grinning ear to ear.
"Ooh, Death Scythe-sama has a date!" Taruho announced childishly, unable to suppress her excitement. "A date with a witch!"
"I'm not so sure I would call it a date, but it's definitely something," Tabatha interjected. "I'm still trying to figure out what just happened here."
"Who cares?! This calls for a drink, right, Death Scythe-sama?!"
Waving her finger in the air, she brought a fresh bottle of wine over to their booth, its cork unwrapping and popping on its own accord. Pouring out fresh glasses for the three of them, the two entertainers took to their duties as hostesses, curling up cozily on either side of the Weapon.
"Cheers!" the witches sang together.
However, the man didn't seem to notice as he sat there with glass in hand and a thousand mile stare on his face.
"Something wrong, Death Scythe-sama?" Tabatha inquired. "You don't seem too happy?"
Staring idly at the door of the cabaret, the sound of her voice brought him out of his momentary trance. Shaking his head dismissively, he returned his attention to the women beside him.
"Huh? Oh, I'm fine. Don't you worry about that," he reassured with a knowing squeeze around their shoulders. "I just had one of those moments where I thought I forgot something important."
"Like what?"
Standing up, he patted his pants and his jacket pockets to see if he had misplaced anything at home.
"Hmm…keys…check…wallet…check…watch…check…," he counted off as he searched himself. "I know I took a shower this morning. Did I leave the toaster on? No, that's not it."
"Guess it couldn't have been that important then," Tabatha observed. "Whatever it is, it'll come to you."
All of his everyday items seemed to be on his person at the moment, so why couldn't he shake the feeling that it was something he wasn't supposed to forget?
"Wait a second…" he paused in deep contemplation. Searching his brain for what it was that he was failing to recall, it took an exceptionally long time before the realization hit him like a sack of bricks.
"I was supposed to have a father-daughter date with Maka tonight!"
In the sweltering humidity of the midday heat wave, the tinkling of brass rings echoed heavily through the air as they caught the edge of hardened crimson steel, clanking audibly with the flash of metal upon metal. Swiping one another to the side, the opponents slid back several feet before pouncing headlong back towards each other.
"Mirika, watch your legs. He likes to aim low," Shuvo cautioned as the edge of the lengthy, aggressively shaped blood red glaive came slashing next to them.
"I've got it, no problem," Mirika answered, catching the pole Weapon against one of the khakkhara's prominent outer rings to deflect it. As if to demonstrate her point, she turned the face of the Weapon flat, allowing the tip of the glaive to slide through the middle of one of the circles upon its next thrust. Giving a twist of the wooden handle, she rotated Shuvo rapidly, prying the war blade from its owners grasp and flinging it out of reach. Now rendered completely vulnerable, her target never stood a chance as the dual-eyed Meister came charging in with Shuvo's dagger ready to impale. But rather than finish her opponent off with the Weapon, she moved the staff to her side as she freed her right hand. With a balled up fist, she closed in rapidly to ram her knuckles deep into its gut.
"Freeze," an even voice announced with just enough gusto to get his point across, causing the Meister to pull her punch mere inches from completion. Dropping her fist to her side, she stepped away from the cowering boy who was still braced for the arrival of the impact. From the ground behind them, the flash of ruby fluorescence shone bright as the glaive reverted back into its human form.
"What was that?!" her opponent in the ways of a young black-haired boy denounced with an accusing finger. "You were going to punch me?! This is just supposed to be practice!"
"All's fair in love and war," Mirika replied, resting the monk staff across the width of her shoulders. "Kishin aren't going to let up on you, so why should I?"
"What's your problem?!" the glaive, a young girl with light brown hair tied into buns fired back as she rushed to her Meister's side. "Mister Harvar told us to practice spar only!"
"And that's what I did. Not my fault that your Meister almost pissed himself in the process."
"I did not almost piss myself!"
"That's enough, all of you," Harvar declared firmly to his mentees. If you really want to spar then save it for after class, although I wouldn't expect it to be much of a fight. Frankly, you all have a long ways to go."
After a week of intensive observation and deliberating, Sid and his teaching assistants had come to a finalized draft of which Meister and Weapon pairs would be assigned to whom. Luckily for them, none of their students had taken the full three weeks allotted to them by Lord Death, making the selection process easier to narrow down. All in all, each of the four mentors was assigned seven pairings to their undertaking that best suited their assumed abilities. Being a pole-based Weapon himself, Harvar was now in charge of guiding his band of likely- specialized novices into something resembling capable teams.
"Mirika, you have aggression, that much is certain, but your method of fighting is sloppy," he critiqued evenly. "I'll give you credit for that disabling maneuver, but everything else was too loose. You're trying to use your Weapon in a way it's not intended for. And do you really think you're going to be able to take down a kishin with a punch? Unless you're somehow on the same level as Black Star, I seriously doubt it."
"Shuvo, you did a good job of noticing a pattern in your opponent's attacks. That's showing initiative as your Meister's second set of eyes, and any important information you can convey in a battle is critical. I know you don't have much of an attacking capability, and we'll work on that, but for the time being you're showing that you can grasp the fundamentals of being a Weapon in combat."
"Matteo, you can't cower away if you're ever disarmed like that. In fact, you should never allow yourself to be separated from your Weapon in the first place, but in the case that you are you use whatever means necessary to get her back. You probably won't like me saying this, but Mirika has a point that all's fair in a real fight. This may just be practice, but there's no referee when battling enemies and they won't play by the rules. Always be on the lookout for any dirty trick that a kishin will pull."
"And Ruby, you need to speak up. Just because you're a Weapon doesn't mean you're along for the ride. You need to be as active in a battle as your Meister. Be his second eyes and ears. Feed him information that he can use."
From off in the distance, the eight-note ding of the period bell indicated that their time for the class was finished. The shrill screech of Sid's whistle followed suit as the Weapons reverted back to their human forms and congregated around their mentor.
"Alright, that's it for the day," the pragmatist announced to his fourteen subordinates. "Take some time during the weekend and work on what I told you."
Released from G.W.A.A.R.'s instruction, Mirika and Shuvo joined the exiting throng of students to head back inside to get changed for gym with Nygus before they could enjoy their long awaited weekend. Walking side-by-side back into the temporary relief of the Academy's interior, the low gurgling rumble of the monk's stomach caught their attention.
"Hungry?" the Meister deducted easily.
"Unfortunately yes," the boy replied, clutching his gut with an exhaustive groan. "Most days I am alright, but today is not the case."
"Well then eat something, stupid," she chastised lightly. "I can get you something from the vending machines if you want."
"No, that would go against the Precepts," he explained for the umpteenth time. "I will just have to wait until tomorrow."
"Jeez, again with this? Rules or not, you know you're no good to me when you're hungry. I don't need you blacking out on me again."
"I know, but it cannot be helped. I mean no offense, but the donuts and fast food in the mornings are not exactly sufficient enough for me. I need something more sustainable."
"Well, I can wake up earlier and make you something," Mirika offered with a hint of reluctance. "It's a pain and my cooking ain't that great, but I can try it."
"No, do not trouble yourself. I just need to make it through gym and then I will rest until tomorrow."
"Whatever, just don't say I didn't offer," the Meister shrugged.
Parting their separate ways upon reentering the interior of the Academy, they each made their way towards their respective changing rooms to ready themselves for one more hour in the heat before they could officially call it a week.
Making his way towards his designated locker space, Shuvo reluctantly began undressing for the final period. While he didn't particularly mind all the exercises that Miss Nygus put them through on a daily basis, by the end of the day he was starting to become increasingly exhausted to the point where his stamina would suffer. He knew full well that the mummified nurse had cautioned him to watch his eating habits, but somewhere in it all he was still trying to draw the line where his duties as a Weapon and as a monk diverged. Something was quickly going to have to give if he was going to keep this up, although he didn't necessarily want either of the two aspects of his life to fall to the wayside.
Begrudgingly, he slipped into his track uniform and waited patiently for the next bell to ring as the boisterous clamor of boys went about talking about their plans for the weekend, video games, or their class work.
"Dude, Matteo, who do you think is hotter; Cassandra or Allyson?"
And of course the less than chivalrous teenage locker room perversions.
"Dude, they're like twelve," the black-haired boy from earlier replied, turning to face the half street, half professionally dressed boy with the deep purple hair.
"And you're thirteen, idiot. Your point?" the tri-ponytailed Meister countered.
"Whatever. I don't think either of them are that hot," he huffed. "Cassandra's too flat and Allyson's too bossy. Besides, there's only one woman I've got my eyes on."
"If you say Miss Tsubaki you're wasting your breath," the boy replied with a mocking timbre. "You and every other guy in class. And in case you forgot, remember who her Meister is."
"Shut up, Remmy! I can dream if I want to!"
This was another aspect of being immersed in a highly different culture that the monk was quickly trying to adapt to and avoid at all costs. From his experience, or lack thereof, girls were just a subject that was never brought up when one was raised in a monastery.
"Hey, 'Teo, you're living with Ruby, right?!" another boy called out jokingly. "You gotten to see any of that sweet rack yet?"
"You wanna die?!"
"No, but I wouldn't mind seeing her in a bikini!"
Figuring it was probably best to leave the situation be, Shuvo made his way past his classmates and out the door into the second bombardment of sweltering desert heat, not really feeling the desire to see how their squabbling would play out. He had better things to concern himself with than who was the most attractive of the opposite gender.
Sitting himself on a bench beside the track, he saw Miss Nygus devoid of her wrappings off in the middle of the field having a discussion with a lingering Mister Sid. What they were conversing about was his best guess, although it was probably about the progress of their students. It had taken a fair amount of getting used to, but the monk no longer found the zombie as alarmingly peculiar as he had upon his first impression. He was firm with his students, but always there to lend a hand when he saw someone struggling.
That particular thought brought him to another rather unpleasant topic. As much as he appreciated the help of the G.W.A.A.R. instructors, the fact still remained that he was a Weapon without much practicality. Mirika could only do so much with him offensively and was limited defensively to deflecting and disarming lighter attacks. When it came right down to it, he knew that in their partnership that he was the weaker link. It was a fact that bothered him, although he gave himself a bit of leeway to not be too harsh on himself. Everyone in the N.O.T. course still had a significant mountain to climb to reach their potential. What he really needed to do was get his Soul Gate under control, although he didn't necessarily know how to go about doing that at the moment. If he could alleviate that problem before it became too apparent, then he would feel as though he could contribute more to their partnership.
The interruption of his gurgling stomach, however, alerted him to a more immediate issue at hand.
"Yes, I know you are hungry and I will feed you when I can," he mumbled to his gut. "Please just have some patience."
"Who are you talking to, Shuvo?" a soft voice questioned curiously.
Looking up from his clenched stomach, he found the familiar orbs of pink watching him from behind their thin-rimmed glasses. Wondering how she had been able to sneak up on him without his Soul Perception going off, he really didn't know. Perhaps the emptiness was beginning to tamper with that as well.
"Oh, good afternoon, Yumi," he greeted politely, putting on a cheery face as he tried to disregard the somewhat revealing attire she was made to wear for the class. At the very least, he could take solace in the fact Mirika chose to wear knee length compression shorts in lieu of the standard bottoms. "I was just talking to myself. I know that must sound odd to you."
"Nuh-uh, lots of people do it," the Demon Musket replied, shaking her head. "Were you talking to your stomach?"
"I suppose I was," he chuckled lightly. "I did not get a good meal this morning, so I am feeling a little exhausted right now."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," the girl replied sincerely. "I hope you'll feel better tomorrow."
"Thank you, I hope so too. How is your training going so far with Mister Sid? Did you and Remmy get all of your paperwork filled out?"
"We're doing alright I guess," she answered with a meek smile. "Mister Sid is stern, but he's helping us work on the basics. Remmy tends to get easily…frustrated… at times, but we're still new to this. And yes, we did get our paperwork in, so as of this afternoon we're officially partners. I'm really hoping that we will be a good team."
"I know you will both do great," Shuvo supported. "Remmy is a capable Meister and you have a strong soul."
Blushing lightly at the honesty in his statement, the Arisaka was taken aback for a moment.
"I-I…thank you," she managed to force out.
From atop the roof of the gym building, the ringing of the bell was their indication to prepare for another dose of Miss Nygus's torture. Flooding out of the school doors, the mass of freshly changed Meisters and Weapons returned their way back onto the track.
Calling their attention with the piercing shriek of her whistle, the nurse turned fitness instructor stood before her class ready to dish out her orders.
"Alright, twenty laps warm up! Hop to it!" she barked. "You're doing suicide sprints today."
To be continued...