Tying Strings

Second semester was on its way, and soon classes would begin. It felt like the time had flown by Obaz, and he had little to show for it in his opinion. He could shoot the broad side of a barn now, finally. His swordplay had stepped up from choosing an angle and taking a swing. His aura was able to hold up against more than a handful of attacks by maybe a handful more, and he was now friends with more individuals his age than he had ever imagined he could find. That last gain, he had to admit, was noteworthy for him –but the rest felt less than he should have accomplished by now.

The only thing he found himself content with between all this was having gotten his hat back; when told to remove it by Lt. Keene, he had been forced to abandon it downtown. After returning to the Academy, he had called Mr. Petto in hopes that it were still on that street. He had gone to get it from the man early yesterday before the gun course debacle, and though he suspected the cap of being a new replacement he was still happy having the headwear again. Having lacked it for a few days, however, had started a trend in one of his partners since its return; Sophia now refused to talk to him at length before reaching up to take off his hat.

This was because, while it was missing, she must have realized why he wore it in the first place; to hide his eyes. While this might have been what they figured it was for in the first place, she now knew just why their partner would go to these lengths; a famous quote said 'the eyes are a window to the soul', and in Obaz' case they were very clear windows. The feelings he did not express facially came through in his eyes so easily that they nearly gave a different message entirely from when he spoke or gestured, something he had never been able to explain or stop. She must have at least some inkling of this fact now, and would be taking advantage of this knowledge –it wasn't as if he could ignore her for the rest of their school years because she kept taking his beloved hat, tempted as he might be.

The act in itself wasn't bothering him much as of yet, because if she started approaching a subject he would rather not let her know his true opinion of, he would shut his eyes and speak –but this was hardly a solution because he hated disrespecting his fellow teammate by breaking eye contact, much less anyone else for that matter. It was the conundrum his hat had served to fix; he knew that proper courtesy was to look straight at the other person's eyes when communicating but never wanted them to actually see his, so he obscured that view as much as he could while impacting his own visibility as little as possible. What he feared was her giving of this newfound way to see him to their friends in common; he had said before that emotions only proved to weigh down on interactions between people, and this included his own. Already Sophia had been questioned in the odd new ritual between them, and Yang had even begun to try it herself, seeing firsthand what point there was to do so.

Unfortunately, this was when she started to ask about the night she saved his life.

Yang held the hat she had swiped off the top of his head behind her back in both hands, leaning toward him slightly though not provocatively. Having caught him roaming the courtyard, she had drawn him out for this little exchange by stealing his hat in the first place, perhaps only holding it hostage any further out of convenience. "So. Are you ready to tell me what the heck happened a few weeks ago?"

Only now did he realize it wasn't just her idea of fun and games for once. The night was well underway, the moonlight illuminating them both from above –this could have been romantic were Obaz the type or Yang interested. He sighed, trying to piece together how he should start while fussing over meeting her gaze. Yang already seemed to be guessing at why she was mimicking Sophia's recent habit. "I do not know. The man that directed you to me, he and I are not acquainted... that I know of."

He had promised her this, and rather than try to delay the inevitable he motioned for her to follow him further from Beacon's walls. The last thing he wanted was an eavesdropper, though that could be considered a double standard. The fountain was a good place to start... the spout was turned off right now, so it was eerily silent compared to the afternoon. They both took a seat on the edge of the granite circle, like he and Weiss had some time ago, though Obaz put a distance between them. He stared down at his hands momentarily, then at the moon, and slowly back to Yang, who was waiting patiently for him to get on with it. Another rarity... "I have explained my memory to you before; some have described it as 'perfect'. That is not entirely true –at least, I have reason not to consider it such."

Yang gave him a look. He tried to stare at the ground as best he could. "Where are you going with this?"

"That man suggested he knew me –quite well at that. While I can say I have not become acquainted with him anytime recently, I am uncertain about whether or not he is lying..."

"So you're saying you don't know if Khiver is some acquaintance of yours or not?" He could swear the skepticism in her voice could be grasped and tied into a knot, if only for wishful thinking.

"Yes. The last three –now almost four –years are vivid in my mind... starting at January 10th. No images, words, places, or names come to me spanning roughly three years further back than that. All I can remember of that time is what I might have felt on a given day." He paused. She said nothing. The moon watched on in its crumbled state.

Finally, he continued. "Everything before even those years is comprehendible starting before February 16th, but the memories are vague and rearranged. Despite knowing what date they take place, they are... fuzzy, and only make sense in a different order from how I perceive them. None of them involve Khiver, or Omeghis..." Having had to write a testimony to her and Weiss' actions against OTAF, she knew what Omeghis was by now. There was another pause. "I find this difficult to explain properly."

"Sounds like it." Yang offhandedly said. She planted her hands on an angle to the sides of her, leaning back slightly and shifting her feet to play with the grit beneath them. His hat woefully stayed in the hand on her side that he wasn't occupying. "Do you know why they were attacking you?"

Obaz shook his head, rather miserably at that. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "One of their commanding officers recognized me. He considered me another fugitive besides Khiver, and ordered their forces to find me once I ran. I have no idea who Khiver is at present, nor that 'Shmots' character that showed up later... Although, something about Khiver's name, and the name they kept referring to me with, strike me as familiar –not enough so to make sense of, but... familiar."

"Pierce, right?"

Obaz glanced at her with surprise. She was equally surprised by the fact that she could now tell that was what it was just from the lack of a hat. He nodded once past this. "That's right. Pierce Noccio."

She sighed. "What are you going to do about all of that? Going after Khiver, or Omeghis?"

"I would prefer to continue my studies and ignore them both, if I had the option. Whatever it is I have forgotten is likely to have not been pleasant, and I have gotten by thus far without the need to know, though assuming they do know me from that period of time –not a far stretch –I will have to let things die down if I plan to act regardless... Though this 'Khiver' did tell me to ask your team about him." She looked puzzled.

"Us? Well, we were only given the gist, really. He was a dust and aura researcher –for Omeghis, go figure –who went loopy three years ago, broke out and started hounding Weiss." She drew an imaginary line under her summary and pinched her fingers at the end for a period, saying that was how little they knew.

"He is after Weiss?" Obaz repeated.

"Yeah, ran off with her once already for who knows what. Despite what happened, he hasn't been too interested in her since, though... and don't tell Weiss I said any of that, either." She had actually told him more in that sentence than she likely thought she had, so he moved on.

"Do you believe I am being honest?" He asked. In her shoes, he would have been unlikely to.

She laughed under her breath a bit, looking over at him now with those strange violet-hued eyes of hers. "I don't want to settle for that, honestly, but I know you. You would come up with a much better lie than that nonsense." He frowned at that, finding the word 'nonsense' described his life right now all too well.

Standing from the fountain, Obaz rubbed his shoulder a bit, eyes wandering away from her again. "Come what may, you will have your own priorities to consider. You should leave me to mine... as should your teammates."

Yang stood herself, looking dissatisfied as expected. "You know you're allowed to rely on your friends, don't you?"

"... How should I know when that is the right choice to make?" Obaz questioned back. He held his hand out to her, and reluctantly she handed him his headwear. She held it back out of his reach at the last second, not quite finished;

"You're not allowed to wear this when we talk anymore."

"Then we will not talk anymore."

"Nice bluff, but I'm not buying that." She playfully set it crooked atop his noggin, making him frown before righting the cap. She smiled a sad smile, like waving goodbye to someone you don't get to see enough of. He regained the ability to seem indifferent to the sight.

"... Is that all?"

"Guess it is." Yang answered, though her tone suggested there was more to say. Eager to continue his work, Obaz got up and made to leave anyway. She stopped him with another question; "One more thing, actually. Have you ever met Roman Torchwick?"

Obaz glanced back, and then shook his head. "No. That name means nothing to me."

They stood in silence for a moment, until Obaz went on his way and Yang chose to catch up with him. They approached the dormitory side by side until it was time to head to their respective ones. They bade each other a quick goodbye, as if nothing had really changed. That behaviour couldn't possibly last.

Obaz returned to his team's dorm, intending to gather a few things and sneak off the premises before anyone got up. Instead he met with Regis on his way out, a couple of hours after Laera had meandered back in from her midnight escapades. He crept silently to the door, motioning for Obaz to be quiet despite him being still as a statue at his desk –possibly to suggest secrecy rather than silence. Not seeing any reason to linger, Obaz left right behind Regis and nearly scared him out of his wits.

"What are you following me for?" He hissed.

"I was stopping by here shortly to begin with." Obaz shook his head at his team's leader, falling in step beside the boy as they navigated the empty halls. "Let me guess. You have a date?"

"Spot on. How'd you know?"

"You use that as a cover for privacy in other matters."

Regis swept a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his head at the end. "You got me, huh? Do you know what I've been up to?"

"No." His tone was flat.

"Do you want to?"

"No. And do not ask me about mine."

"Couple of right secretive kids we are, huh?" Regis nodded his understanding, and that was that. They may not have liked each other all that much, but knew the other well enough that they could reach a consensus within seconds. However, Regis moved on to a different topic. "Does Sophia seem paler lately?"

Obaz' turn to nod affirmation. "Yes, ever since receiving a letter in the mail several days ago. She did a poor job of hiding the fact."

Regis rubbed his jaw, thinking to himself. His blue eyes slid over to look at his companion. "If that was from her parents, she could be in trouble."

They hung a corner, and Obaz gave him a head tilt, signifying his interest. Regis went on; "If her family found out that she and I are going to the same school, let alone on the same team, they will probably try to drag her back home. If it comes down to that, I can see Sophia losing the argument –the Towers's are pretty stubborn that way."

"I see. I recall her mentioning the Towers' and Agemonts having a standing blood feud to this day, though not an extreme case. Would there be any other reasons for them to take Sophia from the academy?" Regis shrugged.

"Not that I can get off the top of my head. Just their hatred of me and mine... That'd be enough for them, though, I'd wager." They reached a T-junction where they were about to part ways, and they stopped to finish the conversation.

"What should we do in the case of this? Is there any way to counteract her family's reclaiming of her?" Hopefully her kinsmen wouldn't just ship her out of Beacon like property of theirs, but Regis made it sound expectable...

"I'm not exactly full of ideas on that one. What I do know is that I'll just make things worse if I try to intervene in person." So Regis was hoping Obaz could use this forewarning to diffuse the situation. He frowned.

Regis began walking his own hall now, waving goodbye. "No pressure or anything. If I can help without screwing it up, let me know." His team leader noncommittally parted with him, though it was better than having the boy simply sit on that information. Obaz began to plot for a way to keep Sophia among them if the worst came to pass, making his way to the last of the smaller shuttles to lower Vale.

It had been a long time since he'd had to use the many alleyways that criss-crossed throughout southeastern Vale. The network of passages was only known off by heart to those who constructed Vale and those who lived outside, and those who constructed Vale had come and gone long ago of course; many a time had Obaz needed to shake some pursuer or another among these narrows, and after a few minutes of weaving a disorganized trail through the area –both ground level and above, as stairwells and connecting complexes were abundant –he felt sure he had lost any possible followers. A last-minute check for caution's sake, and it seemed safe enough to contact Hank.

He would have found any bugs planted on him or his equipment upon the third sweep of these things earlier today, but despite having checked his scroll he didn't really need to; he and Hank never communicated through devices (save for the time he was handed Shmots' phone). They always met face to face, and had means with which to contact the other without electronics.

Obaz arrived at a short bridge overlooking the opening and rise of a subway tunnel, and after a final visual sweep of the area he leaped the railing. Hanging onto the side of the bridge he planted his feet between support beams closest to the side, and let go in order to duck and reach for old, rusted rungs underneath. He monkey-barred his way toward the wall opposite the way he had come, where this wall had been replaced with a grate the size of a tall house door. He used his foot to hook a loop on a chain, and pushing it downward it released the grate as a landing, as well as sliding a thin sheet of metal behind it out of the way. Carefully setting down, the grate covered a drainage hub for rainwater that had been forgotten ages ago, the series of gutters once connecting here plugged above by either concrete or garbage. They had plugged these accessways further from this end with their own means, and after having cleaned it out the hub was like a tiny secret hideout.

This place was Obaz' contribution to a shared life on the streets. Hank had found him out here in Vale, and taught him about surviving the concrete jungle; in turn, Obaz began to make their lives easier. Hank could get them out of trouble with his experience and quick thinking; Obaz in return would plan out a course of action to earn their keep. Street performing, volunteer work, occasionally forced to lowly begging, the two had been inseparable for about a year and a half... That closeness had been strained when Hank was scouted for a scholarship at Beacon, getting kicked out in that same year only to find Obaz had found employment and more surrogate family. Hank and Mr. Petto had butt heads on several occasions, but sadly they both never persisted for very long because they knew Obaz wouldn't appreciate it nor try to help the situation any when they did. This safe haven was the masterwork Obaz had made them both, just before they were divided by opportunities they couldn't afford to pass up.

Not long ago this was filled with damaged and abandoned furniture of small sizes, moth-eaten fabrics and food that was less than sanitary. Now, it had its own hand-cranked dynamo for a power supply leading to a mini-fridge, desktop computer and radio clock. There was an outdoorsy sleeping bag and a well-sealed chute that still retained its purpose as a waste disposal, leading down to the sewer. Hank was sitting in a fabric lawn chair, and saluted Obaz with a smile. He returned the gesture with a smirk.

"It's been too long. You just keep making yourself busier, Baz." Hank had a close eye on his massively modified schnellphone sitting next to the radio clock, the impressiveness of the appearance vastly depleted by the masking tape that held it together. Obaz lifted the grate behind him and closed the sheet metal shutter on it.

"I like being busy. How is business?"

"Slow, other than Mr. Teeth. Either Beacon has been working overtime compared to the last few years, or the Grimm count is dropping hard." Most of Hank's success came from taking small-scale Grimm- slaying jobs that Beacon often overlooked or set aside until they had dealt with the more immediate threats, and his clients had grown so grateful for this help that they often turned a blind eye when he was around or kept tight-lipped to those in search of him. Sure, he took some less than lawful gigs, but he was ultimately good for Vale. It didn't take much to guess who he was referring to in the beginning, here.

"His name is Khiver, for your information. Speaking of whom... It's time we discussed what you are doing, exactly." Obaz found a seat on a mildly old nightstand near the sleeping bag.

Hank sighed over emphatically, drooping posture. "Always straight to the point... Look, he's offering me a lot of money, and so far all I've seen him do is kneecap some guys. And they were up and walking around the next day, so there was hardly any harm done in that. Well, it must have hurt a lot actually, but seriously? I'm into this more out of curiosity now than anything."

He waved his hands at Obaz when he mentioned 'curiosity', as he had become the interesting part of this whole job. Obaz moved the discussion forward. "Has he said anything to you? How he may know me, connections to Omeghis?"

Hank leaned on his legs and did his best impression of his manic boss. "That kid's gotta figure this mess out all by his lonesome. Otherwise he'll be runnin' around doin' all kinds 'a weird shit." He returned to normal after that. "If I knew, you'd be the first to know I knew."

That hardly answered any questions. It also sounded a lot like Regis. "How much is he paying you? I can guess where he is getting the Lien." He had witnessed Khiver snatch up an entire cash register, a likely source among others. Crime rates were definitely up this year.

Hank smiled, wide and toothy like his employer minus the many pinpoints. "Fifteen Thousand, every time I do him a solid."

"Impressive gain."

Hank smugly nodded. "Damn right. I've got half a dozen IOU's off of him already."

Obaz glared at him intensely, causing Hank to hold up his hands defensively. "Hey, I already got a couple thou in collateral, and that's good enough for me. Like I said, work is scarce, and I'm more curious about the job than dedicated to it."

Obaz glowered at him nonetheless. "That is unlike you."

"I would have called it quits by now, but it isn't like I get a client who mysteriously knows my brother very often." Hank didn't refer to Obaz as his brother much, but that was what they considered one another. "I always thought it was weird that you were just... homeless. No reason. No rejecting mother, no abusive father, no overzealous foster homes or orphanages. Why didn't you tell me you had a three year blind spot of all things?"

"It was irrelevant at the time... and when I know what happened during that period, you will be notified of that knowledge." Hank cringed at the taste of the medicine he had accidentally borrowed from Regis. Obaz continued; "It is widely believed that Khiver is targeting Weiss Schnee. He is using your scroll to track her, no?"

"Ah, so you figured that out... Yeah, half the reason he reeled me in for the ride was to use my jailbroken student scroll. By the time he approached me, he already had her scroll's uplink data; he's been creeping her status ever since... which also gets him the links her scroll makes after the fact. My scroll is with Khiver now, and has eyes on her, her teammates... you. I really wish I had known that one sooner." Hank shrugged the would haves and could haves away, making for a drink in the mini-fridge and passing Obaz a soda as well.

Popping the tab, he gulped back some of the drink before he went on. "I can say for a fact that you're right; he is tracking Weiss Schnee. Targeting, on the other hand, not so much –definitely would have pulled a move or two by now. It might have something to do with where he sends me off to."

"And where would that be?" Obaz wondered.

"Random places, it seems. Once or twice I've had to disrupt some Omeghis troops, but I think he's mostly having me smile for the cameras. Having some copper-armored kid jump out can distract Omeghis' desk jockeys, and as soon as a Beacon lens catches sight of me they come running. It's so far the least violent work I've had in the illicit department." Hank had hardly finished the sentence when the phone he had just started to ignore came to life with a soft jingle. He flipped open the device, read whatever the message was, and gathered up his spear and shield from the wall they leaned against.

"Duty calls?"

"Ain't no rest for the wicked..."

"There. Isn't. Any." Obaz corrected. Hank waved off his nagging.

As much as he would like to sit here and dissect everything Hank had yet seen of and alongside Khiver, the longer he stayed here the more he put himself at risk. Obaz stepped toward the way he had entered while Hank used the ever-so-classy sewer exit; the chute itself was where they took their garbage down, but turning off the passage sooner made just as good an escape route from here with less refuse. He was beginning to get a picture of what Khiver may be up to, but that was largely open to interpretation so long as past events lie hidden. He would return to Beacon for now, and find ways to poke and prod at Omeghis' information...