A storm rages outside, the rain hammers against the building, bombarding the windows and roof. The wind howls outside, flowing through the drafty bar, but the roaring fire in the hearth keeps the establishment warm.
A cloaked omega hidden in a corner takes a sip of their drink as the bar door opens, letting in a gust of cold air. In walks a young, lean Huntsman-the cloaked Omega's target. The man walks up to the bar, unaware that the man in the cloak is watching him.
The Huntsman stays at the bar for two hours, eating, drinking, and being merry. Halfway through the first hour, the Huntsman dries off enough that the Omega catches a whiff of his scent. Jasmine and lime, the man's an Alpha. A pang goes through the Omega, fondly remembering his Alpha. His lavender-and-mint fragrance was always able to calm him down and make him feel safe. He misses having his Alpha's arms wrapped around him, holding him close, reading to him in soothing, soft tones. The bond marks on his neck are fading, remnants of the past. Another wave of sadness sweeps through him, realizing his Alpha's bond marks must be fading too. The Omega's emotion seeps into his scent, tainting his earthy rain and seaweed fragrance. The foulness draws a few curious eyes before the Omega can curtail his scent back to normal.
Another wave of the Alpha's jasmine-and-lime scent assaults the Omega's nose as he leaves, reminding him of his mission. Shit. He stands abruptly, chair screeching against the floor, and dashes out into the storm following the Alpha. The gale buffets the tall Omega, and the rain tears at his eyes, drenching his leather cloak almost instantly. The downpour makes stalking the Alpha by smell impossible.
Lightening cracks nearby, dousing the dainty village with a flash of white. He catches sight of the Alpha stumbling towards the woods. Is he drunk? Good, that'll make this easier. He sprints to the tree line, unsheathing his bladed tonfas from his cloak sleaves as he goes, the massive Mistrialan oaks providing some cover from the rainstorm. He jumps at the drunken Huntsman, swinging his tonfa out and forward, one quick blow to daze him. The Huntsman ducks, the Omega's tonfa misses the Alpha striking air. He fails the landing, his foot sliding on the wet, muddy forest floor.
"The Branwen Tribe sent you, didn't they?" The Alpha growls, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He brandishes two wicked-looking green dust daggers. "They should have known to send more than one measly Omega!"
The Omega throws himself out of the way of the charging Alpha. He pushes himself to his feet, readjusting his tonfas as the Alpha slips in some mud. The Alpha charges again and the Omegajumps back, swinging his tonfas out, slamming them into the sides of the Alpha's head. The impact knocks him out instantaneously, and his unconscious body falls to the mud. Thank you, Atlesian military training. He grabs out his scroll, snaps a picture of the fallen Huntsman, and forwards it to his employer.
An otherworldly vrrrumm rings out, drawing his attention; a red and black portal flickers, swirling like a vortex, a few feet behind the Omega. A female black-haired Alpha struts through it, radiating confidence and Alpha energy. He smiles, recognizing the familiar figure. "Raven."
She takes her Grimm mask off and mirrors his smile. "Good job, Testudo." The praise sends warmth rushing through him despite the freezing wind. She grabs the Huntsman and throws him over her shoulder. Confusion knots her eyebrows, and she turns to Testudo. "His aura is fully intact; how'd you manage that?"
"Eardrum damage," Testudo answers, proud of himself. Raven scoffs and rolls her eyes.
"Fucking Atlas Special Operatives," Raven mutters. "Come on, let's get out of the rain."
Raven leaves through her portal, and Testudo jumps in after her. His feet meet the hard, dry ground of the Branwen Tribe hideout. It's night here, and most importantly, not raining. He shivers, the wetness of his clothes seeping into his skin. Damn, this omega body. He glances at the burning fire; the embers float up towards the sky, the image vaguely reminding him of the Atlesian Lights and the times his Alpha, himself, and their partner would gaze up at them. He tears his mind away from the memory and glances back to Raven.
"You should get warm; you'll get a cold if you stay wet for much longer. I'll take this one to Phoenix. I'll make sure someone brings you some food, and don't leave-we have another job for you."
Testudo nods. "Yes, Ma'am!" He chirps. Raven wanders away, and Testudo joins a few bandits by the fire. All of them are Betas; one drinks excessively, another-a female-sharpens two crescent-shaped blades, and a grumpy-looking teenager stares prolongingly at the flames. The mood is tense and heavily depressing, but the fire warms him and dries his clothes. He removes his sodden leather cloak and spreads it across his knees. Moments later, a scrubby young boy hands him a bowl of soup, it's warm, and he eats it without hesitation. It lacks a flavor, but it goes down easy and fills his stomach.
As he finishes his meal, Raven returns to join him. She's dried off enough that he can smell her black tea-and-fresh blood scent, it used to throw him off, but he's grown used to it. "You can stay here for the night; we'll brief you in the morning."
Testudo can tell she's only putting on airs, an act for her crew; she's gotten good at acting. Guess you learn fast when you grow up with bandits. "Feel free to spend your night in my tent." He blinks at the surprising kindness from the bandit chief, but not an unwelcome one. Under different circumstances, he'd have teased her about her offer being uncharacteristic for "the big bad bandit chief," and she'd scoff and roll her eyes, looking away sheepishly; but this isn't the time nor place for such an action. It would only undermine her already shaky authority. Everything she did, she did for the tribe, to command respect from them, and protect them. Loyal to a tribe with, at best, shaky loyalty and everchanging opinions. "If you need anything, ask Vernal."
"Where are you going?" His question is an affront to the Alpha's authority, but he can't stop himself from asking. She doesn't spare him a glance as she leaves.
"Scouting." Stalking my daughter. He hears her flap away toward the obscurity of the forest; she wouldn't dare open a portal to Yang in the middle of the camp or anywhere near the tribe.
"Yes, Ma'am, see you in the morning." He hopes that by showing the tribe that he-a strong huntsman-respects their chief, they might respect her more, but he doubts it. The tribe respects strength; she'd have to kill him in front of the tribe for them to respect her more. Unfortunately for her, that's not in his plans and hopefully not in hers. Although, even if it was, he's not sure he'd fight back. He's already lost his Alpha and their Omega partner, not much left for him except his lingering loyalty to Raven.
He runs his hand along the back of his cloak. It's still damp but much drier than before. He stretches his arms above his head, hearing a satisfying pop! He catches the girl-Vernal-staring at him, she quickly ducks her head away. Time to retire to Raven's tent.
He sweeps up his cloak and leaves the fire, entering Raven's tent. Her scent is damn near intolerable, making the poor Omega's head roll. He covers his mouth and nose with the damp cloak; it helps immensely. He casts his gaze around the tent, emerald eyes searching for a scent diffuser. He knows that she has one.
Naturally, he checks under the bed first; it's not there. Of course, it isn't. He searches for about five minutes in every place he can think of before realizing, like the dumbass he is, it's on the table. He presses the 'on' switch, and it powers up, filtering fresh, scent-free air into the tent. After a minute or so, he removes the makeshift mask taking a deep breath of fresh air. He hangs the cloak up on one of the tent's ropes.
Raven's red bedsheets-calling it a bed is a stretch-bare her scent, nothing he can do about that. She's been using them for years, her scents as much a part of it as it is her. The scent will never go away, no matter how many times it's washed.
He lays down under the sheets, and her scents envelopes him again. He won't receive a fitful sleep-who would be able to with thieves and murderers so close?-but it's something, and, arguably, it's safer than what his normal sleeping conditions are. It's certainly better.
The tent smells so much like Raven that Testudo fails to register when she walks in, but he does hear her rifling around, and the sound startles him awake. He falls off the bed in an ungraceful fashion, ripping the sheets off the bed as he falls, grasping for his bladed tonfas within his cloak. But the leather cloak isn't there, and he remembers: A.) he isn't wearing his cloak, and his tonfas aren't with him at the moment, and B.) He's safe with the Branwen Tribe.
"So, did you get thrown out of the military for your gracefulness or lack of perception and awareness?" Raven asks, her arms folded neatly over her chest. Her voice is soft, teasing, not as haught and airy as when she orders her tribe around or plays dominance games. He gives her a good-natured, sour look, one they both know he doesn't mean. She smiles softly and offers him her hand. He takes it, and she hauls him to his feet. He feels her strength as she pulls him up.
"How's your mini-me?" Testudo asks, taking down his leather cloak from the rope and inspecting it. It seemed dry enough, maybe a bit of dampness lingering deep inside, but he slips in on, the familiar weight of his tonfas dragging on the sleeves.
"Heading off to Beacon," She spits out the word, her hatred abundantly clearly. "to become Ozpin's puppet." Just like Qrow. She grasps his shoulder and leads him-none too gently-out the back of the tent. The harsh morning sun assaults his eyes, and he makes a hiss of annoyance. His eyes adjust quickly enough, and he finds Phoenix Branwen before him with Raven to his left, a private meeting for the three of them. The Omega doesn't like the feel of this, and it's not because he's the only non-Alpha of the trio.
Phoenix is a strong man in body and soul; his muscles stand out on his toned body. His hair is black, like Raven's, but it's cut short. At first glance, it looks to have feathers intertwined within it, but that's a misconception. Thick, fuzzy black facial hair covers his lower jaw and part of his neck. Mildly tanned skin complements his smoky eyes. He's attractive, and with Phoenix's habit of going without a shirt, there's plenty of him to look at, not that anyone would catch Testudo complaining. He smells like ancient bones and salt.
The presence of both-powerful-Alphas starts to affect his Omega body, and his feet shift as heat pools in his stomach. A nagging part of his brain fears he'll go into heat, but another part knows he won't. He's never felt safe enough to go into heat, not since his run from the military, so his body won't allow him to, but it doesn't stop him from feeling certain things even if he doesn't want to.
Phoenix is the first to notice the change in his scent; it's undoubtedly sweeter now, more appealing. He chuckles, his Alpha pride stroked, knowing that an Omega half his age finds him appealing, albeit he'd prefer a female Omega over a male one. Raven utters a sound of disgust once she notices his sweet scent and shoves her hand into Testudo's shoulder. The Alphas know he can't control his reaction, and-he hopes-they don't hold it against him.
"So, what's this new mission?" Testudo asks, turning their minds away from his scent and back to their meeting.
"Well, I'm sure my daughter has told you that Yang will be attending Beacon in the fall," Phoenix says.
"Yes."
"We want you to look after her, keep her out of Ozpin's grip and keep her alive," Raven informs, and Testudo can't say he's surprised. "Ruby too."
Phoenix snaps his head in her direction, nearly obtaining whiplash. "What?"
"Whose 'Ruby'?" He asks, ignoring Phoenix.
"She's Summer's daughter," She answers. "and I can only imagine what Ozpin has planned for her."
"I'll watch after them," Testudo promises. When he'd come to her three years ago after being thrown out by the military, she'd taken him in without hesitation. She trusted him with the knowledge Ozpin told her-and what he didn't. Salem, Ozma, the brothers of Light and Darkness, he knew it all. "I swear it."
"You should get to Vale. The Fall Semester starts in two months. If we have any missions we need you to complete, we'll contact you through the usual channels." Phoenix cut in.
The Omega's thoughts ran a mile a minute; He could swing down to Calihar; it'd take him a week or so of walking, but they had a working airship. He could get someone to do a check on his tonfas-Raven had a blacksmith acquaintance living there. Once in Vale, he could get a rent, maybe work a few odd jobs to afford it, but he'd have to keep a low profile. "Yes, sir."