Eyes drooped open. His mouth felt tingly and dry, as if his mouth was made of cotton. His entire body felt sore. His arm ached. But damn, did his mouth hurt. His swollen tongue lolled on his molars. Lifting the swollen muscle, he graced his teeth one by one, till he found a gap. The templar had knocked out one of his incisors. Or at least chipped a good forty percent of it off. Rot hissed as his tongue touched his open nerve.

"You're up." Commented the templar as he rested against his armoire. "Feeling any better?"

Rot lifted himself off of his back. "Everything hurts." Slurred Rot.

"He did hit you with a truck." Commented a second voice.

"I did hit him with a truck," echoed the templar.

Rot touched his tooth with his finger and flinched. "Why am I alive?"

"We came here to talk. Not to kill you guys."

"Why talk when you could have easily mopped the floor with us." Rot felt up the bandages on his face. "Much easier than talking."

"Yeah, but then I'd have to kill all of you." Admitted the templar. "A lot more annoying and ethically problematic."

"That, and the likelihood of one of you surviving, and swearing a blood oath to kill us, spanning the course of multiple books, increases significantly." Chimed in the second voice.

Rot watched as the templar stifled a laugh. "What she said." He leaned his head back, and with a solid thunk, rested it on the cabinet. "Aw jeez."

"Are we a joke to you? Like all of us?" Asked Rot. "Because it seems like you're not worried about us. You just act without a care."

The templar sighed. "No, you're not a joke, and I'd wish you'd teach your boys that. I'm just tired and have had a long week."

"He really has."

"Who is that second voice." Complained Rot. "And what do you guys what?"

"First of all, I am a female." Corrected the voice from out of sight. "And secondly, if you had listened to my friend here, you would know that we only came here to talk. Simply needed a show of force to bring you to the bargaining table."

"You know they're not going to listen to me, right? I lost. I'm no longer the strongest."

"I hit you with a truck." The templar balked. "Of course, you lost. You already were on the back foot."

"I've won all the other fights. What's going to stop them from killing me once you guys leave."

"The fact that we're going to stick around for a day or two to solidify the trade details."

"You're not a templar, are you?"

"Ding, ding, ding!" Chimed the not-templar. "You can call me Bird."

"And me, Penny."

"I thought I asked you to use a fake name."

"What was I supposed to use? Most of the names you suggested were terrible!"

"No, they were not. They. Worked."

"Mr. Rot, do you think, quote, unquote, Pence, would have been a good fake name? With my name as Penny."

Rot really didn't care. He just felt really sore. "Uh, sure. I, uh, what? Yeah, Pence is fine."

"See?"

"This test is void! He is obviously concussed!" Squealed the feminine voice.

"Won't change the fact we're about to get a treaty out of him." The not-templar turned back to him. "So, you ready to hear us out, or do you want a drink first?"

Rot froze. "Don't tell me. Did you raid my collection?" He was bristling. No one touches Rot's stash.

"Uh, no. Most of it was soda."

Rot dropped back onto the bed. "Thank the gods."

"Why do you have so much Canta?" Hissed the not-templar. Not aggressively, Rot could tell, but as if he was prepared to back off on a touchy subject.

"I like Canta." Defiantly defended Rot.

"You do know that it is just syrup, right? It's not even sugar water."

"You can't put a price on nostalgia."

"Two-ninety-five."

"You know that's not what I meant." Moaned Rot.

"I know. Bad habit." Admitted the not-templar. He wasn't going to call him Bird. What kind of self-respecting person chooses to go by the name Bird? Surname, maybe, but first name? "So why not Fofo-fola?"

"Canta is inherently Atlassian." Explained Rot from his mat. "It brings back memories."

"Canta only entered production about seven years ago, due to the rationing that caused Fofo-fola, the parent company, to stop sending them the ingredients."

"And?" Rot stared at the masked man incredulously. "Just because Fofo-fola is a Vale product, doesn't mean that Canta is as well. Canta is the product of Atlas finding a way to deal with the war in its own way and making the best of it. An era of suffering, sure, but one in which people made do, and pushed as hard as they could. Don't disparage them."

The not-templar fell silent. Then he nodded along. "Understood." Another long sigh. "Want one?"

"Not now. I just got my butt served on a platter to me." Rot groaned. "No reason to celebrate it."

"Can I have one then?" Asked the not-templar, almost too innocently.

Rot was about to tear into him. He could feel the bile building up in him. But no. It would be wrong to do so. The strong took as they pleased. "Fine. You won after all."

"Cool, thanks." The not-templar popped open the armoire and picked up a chilled bottle. Not that it was a fridge, it was that everything was always chilled when you were in the frozen wastes that used to be Atlas. The not-templar slid off his mask, and placed it on the table, revealing his face. Almond eyes, chestnut brown bangs, light stubble. A bit bruised and banged up. He took a sip, and his face soured. "This is flat."

"Yeah."

He put down the bottled syrup. "Why do you have a cabinet of flat soda?"

"Nostalgia?" Asked Pence.

"Nostalgia." Confirmed Rot.

"Are we going to actually do the negotiation talk now?" Pence sounded as if she was done with the not-templar's shenanigans. "The sooner we get done, the sooner you can show me the ocean, if that is still the plan."

The not-templar's expression sobered. "Right. Don't want to spend too much time here. Go wants to initiate trade and a non-aggression pact."

"Who is this Go?"

"The guy, girl, can't tell, too much smoker voice, in charge of the insane religious folks."

"They're insane followers of Salem. Why should we stop?"

"An y'all are insane racists. Why should they stop?"

Rot paused. "There's another reason why they're proposing this isn't there?"

"Both of your water reserves are poisoned, there's little food to go around, and both of you could be flattened by a traveling grimm herd." Explained the not-templar. "The way they see it, neither of you will be around, nor have people to protect much longer if you two keep chipping away at each other like this."

"And why or how should I trust him when they send an animal to do their business?"

The not-templar palmed his face. "I'm not an animal. Not a faunus. No animal trait."

"You do know that all faunus have two traits, right?" Fact-checked Rot. "You do know that your eyes count as one of them?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. If they're a species without night vision, they usually inherit a second trait. Like the ears and the tail. Or like the third eyelid on some of those reptiles. It's a thing. Look it up."

"Wasn't that written by some really racist guy back two-hundred years ago?"

Rot grimaces and waved his hand a bit. "Just because he was really off about a lot of things, doesn't mean that he didn't have some facts right."

"And how do you know?" The not-templar didn't trust him. Distrust. Makes sense. He was a dirty animal.

"I used my semblance on a corpse."

"Oh." The not-templar shifted uncomfortably. "Still, not a faunus."

"Indeed. He is not a faunus." Confirmed Pence.

"Then why do you wear their regalia? Their armor and insignia."

"Because the armor is good." The not-templar looked down upon him. "I mean, I literally beat you because your armor had a flaw that mine didn't. I found this after a snowstorm."

"You're telling me that one of the templars died from a storm? The knights of the witch? One was killed by the cold?"

"Yeah."

Rot could hardly believe it. "Wow. They were a real struggle to go against, and one just up and freezes to death. Don't mess with nature, I guess."

"Guess so."

"So, what does Go want?"

"Go wants to trade your dirty food and water for clean food and water. Maybe share some equipment." Explained the not-templar. "I'm looking for three-fifty-seven, if you've got any."

"Dude." Rot stared at him with a concerned look. "They stopped making three-fifty-seven like six years ago. Standardized ammunition. No one uses that relic of a caliber."

"Well, I do." The man snarled. "Just trying to find any. Do you have any? At all?"

"No." Rot sighed. "But sure, if this Go can prove that they can make the food and water edible, then maybe we'll stop trying to raid them. It's not a terrible idea. Anything else?"

The man grinned. Rot did not like that grin. "We're going to raid the Stone Mile."

"That's a terrible idea."