Face was, even despite the fact it wasn't full of screeching and crying people that Medic had 'cured', not enjoying his visit to the hospital.
Glynda had told him to get a check-up whilst she went to visit Professor Sauvignon in the Intensive Care Unit, so he had been led away by some rather chipper nurse to have his medical state inspected.
The first thing she did was lead him to a room for an upper-body X-Ray. As he stood there shirtless, the screen in front of a team of nurses displaying his internals, he gave them a flat stare as they gawped at his scan. For a minute or two, they conversed, before deciding to print out a few copies of the x-ray and hastily slap them into a folder.
Seconds later, the nurse who brought him there ushered him down the hall, barely giving him time to put his shirt on. The man he had been introduced to was shown the folder, and he adjusted his glasses repeatedly whilst trying to comprehend the x-rays.
During this time, Face had put his shirt back on and sat down in front of the doctor's desk, waiting for an explanation of what was going on, why this hospital hadn't tried to kill him yet, and why the doctor looked like he actually intended to heal him.
The elderly man cleared his throat as the nurses shuffled from the room, and looked at Face. "I don't intend to cause you alarm, sir," he began, taking out the x-rays and flicking them over towards the Sniper. "But you appear to have...shall we say, numerous foreign objects lodged in your body." Raising a brow, Face looked down at the sheet in front of him.
Sure enough, the black and white scans of his body displayed his skeleton – which had been rudely labelled "Cartoonishly Disproportionate?" by one of the nurses in red marker pen – and the organs and contents within. Connected to his heart was the usual Übercharger, as well as a few basic rifle rounds, shotgun pellets, broken knife blades, and arrowheads.
He pouted his lip slightly, and looked at the doctor in confusion. "I don't see them," he remarked flatly. The Doctor raised a brow.
"...they're...they're the white things."
"The only white things are the projectiles."
"Yes. Those aren't meant to be in your body."
"But they are."
"Exactly."
"So...how does this affect me?"
The man in the white coat was flabbergasted. "Mr...Face, you've got more bullets lodged in you than Roman Torchwick's escape car," he said, stunned. "That's not normal. Not even the most active Huntsman would be alive after this much punishment." Face just gave a flat shrug, stretching his leg out and reclining in the chair casually.
"Yeah, well, I'm an intermediate-tier Mercenary," he replied calmly. "And I'm still alive. So, is there a problem with the stuff inside?" At this point, the Doctor was nearly unable to come up with any words.
"...if they stay inside you, it's my professional opinion that you will die."
Face gave a condescending, yet slightly confused smirk.
"My team Medic gave me the professional opinion that if I kept those bullets in my body, they'd vaccinate me against bigger bullets, so one of you is lying." He leaned forward. "And no offense, Doc, but it looks to me like you still have a medical license."
Just as the doctor was about to ask why him having been to medical school made him less qualified, the door swung open, prompting both men to look at the figure in the doorway. "Oh, there you are, Professor," Glynda said flatly. "Considering how relaxed you look, it must be a clean bill of health."
The doctor opened his mouth to interject.
"Yeah, nothing unusual, apparently," Face grinned, standing up. "Apparently some foreign objects or something, but nothing major. We good to go?" Glynda nodded as Face calmly walked out of the room.
"Indeed. Professor Sauvignon is stable, but it doesn't look like he'll be teaching for a while," she replied solemnly, "It appears you'll have to make do with your temporary assistant."
Face nodded slowly. "Got no issues there," he mused, scratching his chin as they left the ward.
Behind them, almost all of the doctors and nurses were staring in absolute disbelief at the man as he left. In the small room where Face had been moments before, the Doctor was still bewildered by the x-ray.
A few moments later, he sighed, went over to his desk drawer to retrieve a pin, and moved to his office corkboard, attaching the absolutely stunning scan to his wall as a reminder that some people's survival should really just not be questioned.
Ten minutes later...
It was as Glynda stood at the depot, signing off on a truckload of school supplies, that Face became truly awed by Remnant's economy.
Stacked high to the ceiling were crates of guns, explosives, clothes, ammunition, and other such amenities. Not only that, but Glynda had told him that these weapon crates contained more than one item each. He stood next to her as she signed the long list of invoices, constantly looking around with his jaw hung open.
"Bloody hell..." he murmured, raising his hat brow. Admittedly, he should really have taken it off along with his sunglasses, considering he was indoors, but style came over practicality. Like that time one of the transfer guys to RED came along with a football helmet literally bolted to his skull. He was fairly certain that such an agonizing procedure just to wear a rather dull hat was one of the more questionable Mann Co. items, but then again, there was probably worse.
Glynda just raised a brow as she continued filling in the forms. By now, the man running the indoor supply depot had gone into the back room, either to get a drink or answer the phone, so it was really just Face and his superior in the darkened room. "You've been looking amazed for at least the past eight minutes, Professor," Glynda began, not taking her eyes off the 28th page she had to sign off on. "Surely you've been to a warehouse or supply depot before?"
Face tilted his head side to side slightly, not taking his amazed eyes away from the rows of things. "Well, yeah, but I spent most of the time in them-"
"Being killed?" Glynda finished for him. Face shot her a confused look.
"...well...yeah. How'd you know that?" The blonde just smiled.
"Well, from the time we've spent talking, I've gathered that most of the things you did or places you visited always entailed you being murdered or murdering someone," she explained, flipping over to the next page. "I just decided to hazard a guess." Face shrugged approvingly.
"Fair enough. Not like you were wrong, anyway. The only place there was never a fight was the ice cream parlour." He smiled slightly at the memory. "Nobody wanted to fight when there was really good ice cream to be had."
Glynda mentally noted that down as she filled out the last few pages of the contracts. Face liked ice cream? A rather unusual taste for a man who claimed to have eaten a whole meal of every animal on his home planet, up to and including a small Blue Whale and the sailor trapped in its' stomach.
"So," Face continued, prompting Glynda to adjust her head slightly to listen. "How're we meant to carry all of these crates with just us two?" Glynda ran her fingers through her braided hair briefly.
"Well, we're not," she explained, "I simply had to come here and fill out some forms. They'll deliver it to Beacon of their own accord." Face folded his arms and raised a brow.
"Right...so, why bring me, again?"
Glynda had to avoid choking on air.
"W-Well...I...thought it might be a good idea to let you see how we handle deliveries at Beacon," she coughed. "That, and Ozpin thought you might enjoy some down-time outside of campus for your performance as a supply teacher." There was a silence after that for a moment or two, filled only by Glynda's pen scratching. Eventually, it unnerved her too much, and she looked at the Sniper.
In the corner of her eye, she saw her reflection on a desk mirror.
Oh dear Oum, she was bright crimson and sweating lightly.
Face, however, looked rather amused, arms folded and drumming his fingers on his modest biceps that hid under a puffy motorcycle jacket. "Glynda, I spent fifteen years interrogating people of interest. I can spot a liar a mile away." His smirk grew. "You just wanted to hang out, didn't you?"
The older lady gave a rather bashful smile, scratching her cheek lightly. "Eheh...that's...basically the main reason, yes," she replied cautiously. "Apologies if you had other plans."
Again, as he usually did, Face just shrugged. "Well, it was either hanging out with you, or hanging out with Ding, which I've done all day," he said calmly as Glynda began filling out forms at double time. "Besides, there's only so many times you can hear a man audibly shitpost a MercNet meme before you consider a murder-suicide."
Glynda just coughed lightly. "O-Of course..." she muttered.
"Anyway," the Sniper continued, "I'm kind of hungry. Did you wanna get dinner whilst we were out?"
Glynda was getting increasingly angry with herself for getting increasingly flustered over his nonchalant suggestions that she had mentally prepared to ask him.
She slowly turned to look at him, looking almost pained as she smiled. "Why, c-certainly, Professor," she beamed. "Ice cream?" Face nodded eagerly, smiling.
"Yeah, I'd be down for that," he replied. "How'd you know I love ice cream?"
The man behind the counter returned at this point, to see Face returning to looking at all of the big metal boxes, and one of the most powerful Dust users in Remnant looking like an embarrassed schoolgirl, sheepishly handing over the clipboard. He took one sip from his mug of coffee, before deciding not to question it, accepting the clipboard. He briefly skimmed through the pages, then nodded.
"Alright, Miss Goodwytch, it all seems to be in order," he said calmly, tipping his baseball cap. "They'll be up on the south landing pad at Beacon for lunchtime tomorrow." Glynda gave an appreciative, yet slightly awkward nod.
"Much appreciated as always, um...Chuck," she said quickly, before grabbing Face's shoulder and pushing him out of the room. "I'll see you next time, as always." Her voice suddenly dropped to a low hiss as Face reached the exit and began pulling the handle. "Professor, it's a push door, j-just hurry up and go."
Face raised a hand over his shoulder as the dress-wearing lady behind him stayed a shade of burgundy. "See ya, Chuck!" Face called, waving.
Chuck offered a slow, hesitant wave as Glynda practically threw the Mercenary through the doors, swiftly following behind. He shook his head slowly, and sipped his coffee as the door swung shut, the tiny bell ringing out as the two teachers disappeared into the night. "And here I was, thinking she was always super serious..." Chuck mused, before turning to take the invoice clipboard into the back room.
Twenty minutes later...
A few minutes after she'd sat down, Face returned to sit opposite Glynda at the Vale High Street Parlour. Being a rather popular business, the ice cream store had recently become a 23/6 business, meaning it would close for cleaning for one hour at two in the morning, and close on Sundays. Considering it was a Friday, and only half past ten, Face and Glynda were perfectly in the clear to get their ice creams.
Whilst she usually avoided ice cream and other sweets – mostly because she knew they would always go straight to her thighs and she'd struggle to get her skirt and tights on for the next few days – Glynda was willing to make an exception once or twice a month. For that reason, she'd gone for a rather large fudge sundae: She always did like to make her 'cheat meal' worth it.
She watched as Face sat down in front of her with nothing, and raised a brow. "I thought you said you wanted ice cream?" she asked. Face shrugged.
"I ain't got money and I'm not letting you pay for it," he replied casually, leaning back in the metal chair and rubbing his light beard. "And when I said 'did you wanna get food', I was asking if you, specifically, were hungry." Glynda sighed and rubbed her forehead, placing the metal spoon she had inside the ice cream.
"Oh, Professor, now you've made me feel selfish," she groaned. "I'm sat here with a large ice cream in front of me, and you've got nothing." After a moment, she reached for her purse. "Here, I'll buy you one." Face was quick to extend a hand out to stop her.
"No, no, really Glynda, I insist," he said quickly. "I'd feel like a right twat if I made you pay for an ice cream." Glynda just laughed, turning slightly so he couldn't grab her hand. As people walked past, their reactions were a mix between "Don't those two hate each other?", "They're like an old married couple", and "Aren't they both meant to be super serious Huntsmen?"
"No, Professor, I insist, in consideration that I dragged you out here," she replied, smiling and dodging his attempts to stop her from reaching her purse. A smart man would have gone around the table; Face was simply leaning over it, avoiding touching his lady friend's ice cream with his likely diseased forearms.
"For God's sake, Glynda, it's fine!" he groaned, swiping at her arm again. "If you buy it, I'll just force feed it to you. It's your money." Glynda gave a victorious smirk as she withdrew ten Lien from her black purse, and swiftly planted it in Face's hand.
She hoped he would actually accept it. Partly because she felt like it was a nice gesture, and partly because she had concerns that he would force-feed her an ice cream in front of Vale's late night crowds.
Not only would that be embarassing, but her waistline would be screaming at her for weeks afterwards.
"Yes, it is my money, and I choose to give it to you," she said politely, using her own hands to clasp his fingers around the money. He still looked confused. "Think of it as...payment. For me dragging you along on this errand." Upon hearing the word 'payment', Face finally understood, and gave an understanding smile and nod.
"Well, your choice, Professor," he sighed, standing up and shrugging as he began to head inside the restaurant to buy his 'dinner'. "I'll be back in a few."
Glynda smiled, and began looking out over the street as she quietly began eating her ice cream. For a Friday night, Vale was only moderately busy; Couples walked up and down the pavements on dates, the street sweepers were just wrapping up for the day, and the cars were delightfully far and few between, giving a more open view that wasn't interrupted by noise pollution and rushing winds from idiot drivers going too fast.
Honestly, she rather missed going out on the town every weekend. Her youthful days were party-filled, for certain, but she'd always preferred to avoid heavy drinking at clubs, she didn't enjoy concerts, and almost certainly, she had an issue with going out for the expressed purpose of getting catatonic on gin and tonic.
But here? Sitting in one of her nice dresses, eating a nice fudge sundae on a warm Friday evening...she had to say that this was more her speed.
She was somewhat kicking herself for not bringing her riding crop, but then again she supposed it was just a bog standard supply run. Besides, she only liked the riding crop because she could use it to get students' attention in lessons. She could probably use her Dust abilities with anything of a similar size – heck, even a medium sized stick could do the job just as well - but...oh, never mind.
She paused on her current mouthful.
This was a good ice cream.
No wonder Professor Face said they were some kind of 'peacemaker' with the Mercenaries he worked alongside and against.
She finished her mouthful slowly, and processed that thought.
The detention system used to deal with squabbling students was due for an overhaul...maybe use ice cream?
She stroked her chin, looking up in thought.
If it worked for people that she understood to be the definition of deranged killers, then odds were that it might work for moody teenagers.
She looked back at the ice cream in front of her, and raised her brow appreciatively. People walking past looked at the allegedly 'powerful' Glynda Goodwytch as she seemed to contemplate a dairy product.
"Hormonal teenagers against vanilla and strawberry..." she mused, picking the spoon up again. "Worth a try."
It was at this moment when she became aware of a presence. Not just any random person nearby, mind you; For some reason, she felt...intent.
She mentally forced herself to not stop eating, and began assessing the surrounding area. The darkness of the night was cut somewhat by the presence of streetlamps up and down, which easily let her see anyone underneath...but as a trade off, her eyes were struggling to spot people who weren't in those lights.
A few people cast her curious gazes, wondering why one of Beacon's best was chewing on ice cream in downtown Vale, but none of those looks seemed hostile.
Glynda squinted slightly, both from suspicion and a small amount of pain from a bit of ice cream landing on one of her more sensitive teeth.
Perhaps she was imagining it.
Just then, the doorbell tinkled at the store entrance, and Glynda perked up as Professor Face returned to the table with...something much larger than he could possibly have bought with just 10 Lien. As the monstrous bowl of ice cream was put on the table with an almost heavy thud, Face sitting down afterwards, Glynda swallowed her mouthful and raised a brow.
"How...were you able to afford that...?" she asked slowly. Face shrugged slightly.
"I used to do a lot of trading," he said calmly, pulling out what appeared to be a shovel so that he could eat his ice cream. "I asked the bloke what he had for a tenner, and he said I could get a massive one for fifteen, but obviously I didn't have fifteen, so I offered to give him a tenner and a nine millimetre pistol that counts kills and the number of times you've killed black Scotsmen with grenade launchers." He paused to take a mouthful of his huge sundae, swallowed it, then smiled. "Basic bartering, Glynda."
The blonde woman slowly nodded, deciding it was best not to ask why the Hell he gave a shopkeeper a gun in exchange for ice cream, or why the Hell the shopkeeper accepted it.
"...of course..." she trailed off, watching as the Mercenary dug into an ice cream that she would normally consider a one-way trip to not being able to wear her jeans anymore.
Half an hour later...
Glynda was clutching her purse rather tightly as the pair of them walked into the rather less-than-reputable looking bar, all kinds of people turning to look at the infamous Glynda Goodwytch in her evening gown with the deranged mass-murdering mercenary at her side.
Despite it being one of Vale's nightlife hotspots, it was popular in the way that most nights, it would be a relaxed and friendly atmosphere, but tonight – a Friday night – it was when most of Vale's less pleasant folk knew that there were police shift changes, and that the bar was in their 'blind spot' with less units patrolling.
The room was a mix of all kinds and all walks; Thugs, genuine people out for a night, humans, faunus. Unlike the streets, however, it was a lot more warm than the frigid social tension that lingered in the outside air; Humans and faunus were sat drinking and laughing together.
And to Face's marginal approval, not one White Fang mask or uniform in sight.
No trouble, tonight.
"Don't bother calling out known criminals, Glynda," Face said in a low voice as they approached the bar counter, weaving between the crowd, "Everyone's a bit dodgy here." Glynda adjusted the drill on the right side of her fringe.
"Of course," she hissed slightly, looking worried, "Then why are we here?!" Face just offered a genuine smile.
"Grabbing a drink," he replied calmly. "Want one?" The woman glanced around at the people at the bar, many of whom were ogling her with hungry eyes, then sighed, and nodded. As they reached the counter, they both pulled up stools and sat down. Face clicked his fingers a few times to get the bartender's attention; He was down the bar, serving a few other people, and upon hearing the clicks, turned his head to nod in acknowledgement.
"With ya in a few!" he called out. The Sniper turned his clicks into a thumbs up, and nodded, before returning his hands to the counter. Glynda was already checking her Scroll, but he could see she was definitely nervous about the location.
Maybe she wasn't used to it.
Nevertheless, Face kept an eye around the bar for anyone he remembered from jail. It was a bit of a stretch, since most of them congregated in Junior's bar, but it'd be nice to see some familiar faces.
Across the room, the door opened loudly with a bang. In this environment, that meant nothing.
Face briefly removed his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes to clear out any gunk, prompting Glynda to tilt her head at him, smirking. "Tired?" she asked mockingly. "I thought you said you were always awake."
"I am," Face muttered, blinking a few times. "Just happens that I, too, get shit in the corners of my eyes." As he opened his eyes properly, he caught a glimpse of a white-clad figure standing beside him.
He raised a brow, and looked to his left.
Standing before him was a fairly short man in full White Fang combat dress, clutching a rather solid looking stun baton. His upper face was obscured by the signature mask – the same kind which Face had stashed a copy of in his backpack – but his lower jaw was smiling menacingly. A pair of Alsatian-like ears protruded from the top of his head.
As Face turned to look at him, he noticed quite a few people, whilst continuing their conversations, were also shooting the White Fang soldier very filthy looks. He also noticed the man wasn't alone: Briefly glancing around, he noticed another four of them had swept up behind him and Glynda, all holding the same stun batons.
"Well, turns out you didn't bail on us," began the Faunus in front of Face. "And you brought us a real treat, huh?" Face raised a brow, putting his shades back on.
"Excuse me?" he said flatly. The soldier just gestured with his baton towards Glynda.
"Here I was, thinking you were just gonna dump the boss' plan, but then you go and bring us Glynda Oum-damned Goodwytch." He heard Glynda shift nervously behind him.
"Face..." she whispered. "What's he-?"
He swiftly cut her off and raised a hand to silence her, before looking back at the White Fang trooper. "I didn't bring you jack shit, dickface," he snarled, prompting the smirk to drop off the Faunus' maw. "Now how about you and your boys take those overblown batsabers and walk your arses out of here, eh?"
The man bared teeth, and clicked a button on his baton, causing it to make a loud arcing noise that rang through the air. Everyone in the bar knew that noise that accompanied the bright blue flash, and cleared space immediately, some panicking. The other four Faunus quickly followed suit, lighting their own batons to make a show of blue flashes that lit the room briefly.
"I'm thinking you might wanna reword that," the Faunus to Face's left snarled, beginning to circle him from a slight distance. "Sounded to me like you just said you're looking to get roughed up, as well. That about right?" Face sighed, and got up from the stool, which caused his SMG and revolver to become a lot more visible as they dropped down to bear weight on the holsters. The soldier noticed this as well, with his stance suddenly tensing up considerably.
"And I'm thinking you might wanna back out," Face growled. "Or else I'll turn that fucking mask into one of those road signs that people shoot on the way into bad neighbourhoods." He narrowed his eyes, the other four White Fang members forming up beside their leader on the opposite end of the bar.
"You're outnumbered, humie," the leader snapped. "Besides, you've been taking the boss' spotlight from us. Time to show her who's-"
"The top dog?" Face cut in. It took a second for the man to process the racially-charged insult to his Faunus appearance, before his teeth started gritting. "Kiss my arse, puppyboy, I'm heeled and ready."
Behind him, he heard Glynda taking up a combat stance.
Considering how easy it was to anger the Faunus, and the fact that he had one of Remnant's most powerful Dust users behind him, Face was thinking he had it in the bag.
Then he saw a few people around the bar slipping on White Fang masks and slowly moving over through the crowd to join their comrades.
One...two...five...ten...twenty...twenty five...
Face didn't let his face betray his internal emotions.
'Shit, I've never fought this many at once. Even Gray Mann's robots attacked in groups of about two or three.'
He noticed the lead Faunus' nose twitch as he grinned, the near three dozen other White Fang members behind him grinning and cracking their knuckles or gripping their bottles like clubs. "Dogs have better smelling sense than humans," he spat wickedly, giving his baton a test swing. "Smells to me like you're pissing yourself."
Face narrowed his eyes.
Speaking of piss, he really should have brought some Jarate for this crowd.
"Thirty six against two," laughed the Faunus, before he aggressively pointed his baton at Face and Glynda. "Your move."
Just as Face was about to suggest to Glynda that they run, there was a commotion behind him in the crowd. He was tempted to turn and face the noise, but before he could, someone stepped up beside him.
"Actually," came a familiar voice, "I think a few of us owe him a favour. Make that thirty six against fifty, you twat."
Face was briefly stunned, looking to his right to the mysterious helper.
Standing to his right, wearing a fresh suit, and with a stance that radiated pure defiance, was none other than Jim Oxworth. His hair had been trimmed down to a much tidier contour, and the light burning on his face was covered in make-up, making it hard for Face to notice it right away.
Hell, he almost looked normal. No wonder nobody had recaptured him.
"Bloody Hell!" Face said in surprise, laughing slightly. "Fancy you being here!"
Jim flashed Face the grin that usually meant he was ready to go: He'd seen him flash him that grin in jail when he jumped from a first floor balcony to elbow slam the guy who'd raped a Signal Academy Student.
It meant that Jim Oxworth was damned ready to do something stupid, dangerous, or both.
"Ah, come on, mate," he chuckled, adjusting his lapels, and withdrawing a small revolver from the back of his waistband. "Can't let you have all the Fang-bashin' fun. Besides, quite a lot of us owe you one." Jim turned to look at the crowd behind him. "Ain't that right, lads?"
The men and women behind gave a hearty cheer of approval, raising fists, bottles, pocket knives, and at least one barstool.
Face turned his head to look them over, smiling.
Goddamn, there was a lot of guys from prison. Hell of a lot of Faunus too; He remembered the White Fang being very unpopular in jail.
More than anything...
...damn, he hadn't worked as part of a team for a long time.
Just then, someone grabbed his left shoulder rather sharply. Face turned, and came face-to-chest with Glynda, then looked up.
Oh, she was not happy.
"I think you really need to explain this situation to me," she said flatly, glaring into his eyes. The intimidation factor of her stare – which was incredibly high – was immediately rendered null as Jim let out a laugh behind him.
"Fuckin' Nora, Face! You hit it off with Professor Goodtits?" A hand clapped Face's shoulder, as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and Glynda's eye started twitching with seething rage. "Top stuff, mate, got yourself a solid eight outta ten, maybe nine if she dropped the human experimentin' thing..." Jim mused. Face tilted his head slightly, nervously looking at his superior and not breaking eye contact.
"Ah, Jim? Now's not really the time..." he whispered.
"Professor, as soon as we get out of here, you and I are going into my office to have a discussion," she hissed, narrowing her eyes and closing the face distance between them. "A very. Long. Discussion."
Face swallowed hard, moving his head away slightly.
Oh, fuck, she really was intimidating.
Once more, the threat was somewhat dampened by the sound of a few wolf whistles at her comment, prompting her to angrily shake her head. "Damn it, Professor, what have you gotten us into?!" she asked angrily. Face shrugged.
"Beats the shit outta me," he replied flatly, drawing his own revolver to match Jim's. "Apparently I've brought you to these guys, but I've got other plans."
"That plan being?" Glynda asked, raising her hands in (what she assumed was) a hand to hand combat stance. Face thought for a second.
"...hold, please."
He leaned over to Jim, who was pointing his revolver at the White Fang thugs opposite them. Everyone else in the bar had either cleared out when trouble began, or taken Face and Jim's side as soon as it all kicked off.
"Jim, what's the plan?" he whispered, "The cops'll be here any minute." The bank robber raised a brow, and thought for a second.
"In fairness, mate," he began, "I'm thinkin' you and yer girlfriend might wanna leg it. They did say they're after you, but they won't be gettin' you without goin' through us lot first." Face was briefly confused.
"Wait, you're staying?!" he asked, stunned. "Christ, Jim, if the police catch you here, they'll hold you forever!"
"And if these Fauni fucks get you, who can even say what they'll bloody do to you?" Jim responded calmly, before patting Face's shoulder again. "Go on. I did say most of us owed you a favour." He paused, and pointed at Glynda. "Little Miss Frilly-Knickers over there can repay us all, later."
Glynda was about to vapourize him, but then realized two things.
First, nothing to do Dust magic with.
Second, he was helping her, as rude as he may be.
Sighing, she closed her eyes, and nodded appreciatively.
She began edging back towards the crowd with Face, the people parting as they approached. "I'll see to it that Face tells me if you need assistance, Mr...?"
Jim flashed her a grin, giving her a finger gun with his left hand and aiming his revolver with his right.
"Oxworth. Jim Oxworth."
Glynda's eyes went wide at the name.
"Hold on," she cried, "I know you! You're that bank ro-!"
A yell broke out from the other side of the room.
"STOP THEM! THEY'RE TRYING TO RUN!"
There was a near-immediate bang that suddenly rang out as Jim fired a warning shot at the White Fang. "STAY OVER THERE, YOU BASTARDS!" he yelled, before stepping back slightly to keep distance and turning his head to Face. "Accelerate, you wanker! We've got you covered!"
Face hesitated, then gave a firm nod and dragged Glynda into the heaving mass of people as glasses began to shatter as they were thrown from each end of the room.
Glynda and Face had just about reached the back door when someone screamed 'GET 'EM, LADS!', prompting Glynda to repeat what she'd done at the depot and practically shove Face through the push bar door as more sporadic gunfire, yelling, and glass smashing broke out behind them. Glynda let out a loud yelp as they went down the short concrete step, but Face paid it no heed, keeping his gun drawn and looking both ways.
Once they were in the back alley behind the bar, and he was sure it was clear, Face mulled over his options.
Street, or backstreet?
"Ah, bugger, I never came down here..." he groaned, before looking to Glynda. "Which way to the airship-port?" He stared expectantly at his superior whilst she sat down, removing her right shoe and rubbing her ankle. Immediately, he guessed what had happened. "You're bloody joking."
The blonde grit her teeth slightly, nodding as she massaged the joint. "One of the downsides of heels," she muttered, "I-I landed on it funny. I think it might be broken." She narrowed her eyes at him, tears formed in the corners from the pain. "For Oum's sake, Professor, this is your fault, with your criminal friends and the fact that – hey – you tried to bring me to the White Fang!"
Face slotted his revolver away and raised his hands defensively, crouching near her ankle to get a better look at it. "I didn't figure that those dicks would show up," he replied sharply. "I thought the White Fang wanted nothing more to do with me, at this point, but apparently they expected me to be in Vale with you?"
Glynda gripped the concrete step's edge as Face felt the injured leg. "Ach-!" Face stopped instantly as the woman scrunched her eyes in agony. "Y-Yes...I think it's broken...oh, for the love of-!"
"Calm it, Glynda," he said flatly, placing a hand on her shoulder. That's an easy fix if we get back to Beacon. We'll have to figure all this White Fang shit out later, but to be clear, if you think I wanna betray one of my only real friends in this world, you think that, but I ain't selling you out to some mask-wearing dickheads."
The blonde woman just stared at him exasperatedly.
"Just...just try and get me something for the pain," she grumbled, slipping her other shoe off. Face stood up, and looked around.
Well, he didn't have his backpack, or any of Demo's whiskey...
Wait. Alcohol was a fantastic painkiller.
And where was he?
He looked at the bar backdoor, the sounds of a rather brutal scuffle going on inside.
He narrowed his eyes, unclipped his SMG from his belt, and handed it to Glynda. "W-Well, where are you going?" she asked frustratedly.
Face grit his teeth, and cracked his knuckles before he lowered his hat brow.
"Gonna go get some medicine for you."
Two minutes later...
"Alright, Glynda, pick your poison," Face announced, standing in front of her with two bottles, one very large, one much smallee. He read the labels. "Atlas Forty Year Reserve, or Vacuo Vineyard Crimson?" Glynda's expression hardened further.
"Are you really trying to get me drunk?" she snarled. For the first time that evening, Face properly narrowed his eyes at her, the lights casting a solid black shadow beneath his hat brow that only let her see the miserable grimace of the clone of a long-dead assassin.
Now it was Glynda's turn to feel intimidated. No wonder Face said he was fantastic at interrogations: He could be genuinely a frightening man without saying anything.
"You trying to get me to make you walk home?" he asked, a rather unnerving tone in his voice. "I'm not about to listen to you 'ooh'ing and 'aah'ing all the way back to Beacon because you thought you were too good for basic pain medication." He punctuated this by practically shoving the smaller bottle of Atlas Reserve in her face. "Get drinking, or you'll be screaming."
Glynda chewed her lip briefly, looking away in a mix of embarrassment and slight fear.
Finally, she sighed.
"...I prefer wine to port."
Face's expression softened, and he grinned, uncorking the Vacuo Crimson with one thumb and offering it to Glynda. Gingerly, she took the glass container, sniffed the opening, and winced, nearly gagging. "Um. Oh. Wow. That is...mm." She blinked a few times. "Uhh...it's...it's been while since I've had anything to drink..."
Nervously, she glanced at the size of the bottle.
'Oh, lord above, this is almost three litres of wine.'
Face folded his arms and raised a brow, sliding the bottle of Atlas Reserve into his pouch. "Glynda, the only booze I've had in most of my life has been the equivalent of industrial paint stripper," he said flatly. "Don't you be whining about the only booze available, especially one where the label's been printed with a machine, instead of drawn on with lead paint, and the stuff inside is fine-aged from a place you can identify, as opposed to poured in from what might as well be a sewage run-off pipe."
Glynda just gave him a blank look.
Face rolled his eyes, and stepped forward as Glynda opened her mouth.
"Oh, come on, just drink up."
His hand swept forward, grabbing the base of the bottle and pushing it forwards toward his co-worker's mouth. She immediately let out an 'MMMPH?!' of protest as the red mind-numbing ooze began to slosh from the bottle into her mouth. She tried using her hands to push the bottle away, but Face's right arm strength was too good.
He must have been exceptionally well-exercised with his right hand, from throwing what she assumed to be grenades and chopping people into meat chunks.
Her mouth was practically full of wine, but more was coming in and it would soon start dobbling out of her mouth and onto her dress.
'Oh, Oumdammit, I'm going to regret this.'
Reluctantly, Glynda finally began swallowing as much of the wine as she could to keep herself from drowning in the stuff as the Mercenary in front of her practically forced her to take a litre of a three litre bottle in one go.
Face kept his grip there, forcing the bottle into her mouth like some kind of really shit parents feeding their baby. Mentally, he was counting.
'...eight seconds...nine...aaaaaaand ten.'
Upon reaching the end of his countdown, he released his grip, and Glynda finally shoved the bottle out of her mouth, inhaling deeply and trying to catch her breath. She shifted slightly, then gasped in pain as her ankle flared up again. "Y-You...you son of a bitch..." she groaned, still glaring at her colleague. "It...it burned my mouth..." Face nodded approvingly.
"At least we know you got enough down your neck," he declared calmly. "Give it twenty minutes or so, and that ankle'll feel like nothing." Calmly, he crouched down, and put himself underneath Glynda's right armpit. The woman groaned, and held onto him as he supported her on the way to standing.
Once they were upright, Face began to guide her towards the alley exit. "So...where to next?" Glynda asked finally as they made it onto the street. By now, there were sirens in the distance, so they were making a good move by getting distance from the night time bar brawl.
Face sniffed the air. "Weather's gonna hold up tonight, so airships should still be going," he began. "What we'll do is get to the airport and get back to Beacon, you'll go to the med-bay, and I'll see if I can dig up any more on who sent those goons back there." Glynda nodded exasperatedly.
"You mean your employer...?" she grumbled.
"Former employer," Face corrected. "She didn't tell me anything about herself or her group. Whatever she's doing that involves trying to get hold of you is not something I want part of: After all, this teaching gig is the best decision I ever made." He glanced around the night-lit street. "Stars say that it's about eleven thirty. Best we get to the airport soon, so keep up."
What Face had failed to notice was that during the past few minutes, a rather dazed look had been setting onto his much taller co-worker's face, one which was decorated with a rather dumb smile unbefitting for Glynda Goodwytch.