Author's Note: Big boi champter.

Still working like a dog, but I actually set aside the proper time to write and sleep this week! Go me!

Chapter 52

Menagerian steel was interesting to work with. Each of the different types of steel had their quirks, sure, but there was just something radically different about it that Carol just enjoyed working with it so much. Vacuan was almost stubborn in the forging process, having to be hammered with a half or so more times force than any other type. Atlesian was finicky to get to be shaped correctly, Mistralian was just plain annoying as it dispersed more of the energy evenly than would be intended, and Valean was a nice balance of hardness, malleability and edge retention.

Not so with Menagerian. Whereas other metals were visceral events that required equal amounts of muscle and careful technique, Menagerian was where you hit it, not how hard. It was the outlier in all, an elegant metal in the midst of its cruder brethren. That wasn't to say it was without its downsides, however. Despite the fact that its edge was superior to even Atlesian steel, the core of the blade was extraordinarily soft. What that meant is that while it was superbly flexible and able to take impacts well, it was almost too flexible.

That was the reason why many weapons that employed the use of the metal were smaller in nature. Say, a knife, a dart, or a spike. The less of a mass that it had, the less chance it could bend and be stuck in an odd angle, which was no good in the middle of a fight. The most famous example that Carol could think of was when a swordsman wielding a long blade of Menagerian steel met one with an equally long blade of Valean found his sword bent in a twenty degree angle after clashing once. Granted, that also meant that he was using poor technique, but hey, if a parable proves a point, then one should accept a bit of embellishment.

In this case, Carol could appreciate Ren's choice of steel. StormFlower's bladed parts were of a small enough size to mitigate Menagerian's tendency to bend, yet long enough to do sizeable damage to Grimm as well. It still didn't explain how someone almost penitently poor as he and Nora were got their mitts on it, but it wasn't Carol's onus to figure that out. His was to ensure that the blade came out correctly. He took a break from his careful hammering to inspect the blade. No odd angles, no protrusions, no fissures...yep, form's good. Time for the quench.

There wasn't anything fancy that he had to do, either. Due to the laws of thermodynamics, the water Dust would settle in the core while the Ice would settle on the outside. At least, that's what Carol thought would explain it. Either way, regardless of the introspection or understanding on the processes that happened in a quench, the end result would be the same. The blade hissed and spat as Carol slowly dunked it into the Dust and oil mix, the scent of ozone filling the area, as well as the crackling of the ice Dust in the mixture. Carol pulled it out, the oil sloughing off and dripping back into the receptacle. At least, as much as would drip off. The rest he took a towel to, revealing the natural color of the blade, as well as the strange jagged pattern of ice Dust on the surface. He held it to the light, seeing the blade almost absorb the orange glow of the furnace. It was confusing, but it made the beauty of it that much more apparent because of his lack of understanding. He was no geologist, he just understood how to shape the metal.

Which brought it to the next part; The belt grinder. Alright, time to see that bleeding edge your type's known for. It would be the last loud part of the night, and just in time, too. Curfew was forty minutes off, he'd barely have time to grind the edge into existence and drill the mooring holes for the retainer pins. Technically, there was nothing stopping him from ignoring it, which he was going to do, but he was going to be quiet about it. The absolute worst case scenario was Goodwitch stumbling into his forge in the early hours to string him up and drag him to his dorm room. That, and she'd delay tomorrow's trip to the forge because of detention or some crap like that.

He sighed. No point in considering alternative situations, it only distracted from the task at hand. Sparks flew as he pressed the blade against the spinning belt, carefully holding it against the rapidly spinning coarse paper. Or, whatever surface it was made of. A calm hand rotated it against the grain as precious steel was shaved away, almost powderized by the rapidly spinning belt. An edge was slowly revealed as the machine did its work, a dangerous sheen of polished metal that would be glinting in the light if it weren't Menagerian in origin. He pulled it away from the spinning machinery to run his thumb across the blade. It didn't hurt, nor draw blood, but he got the impression that if he'd put any more pressure into it he'd have taken off a layer or two of skin. Smiling to himself, he shut the machine off, the engine sputtering and calming down with a whine.

Alright, next step, drilling. This was one process that had no manual or old style alternative. There were simply things that humans lacked the precision to do that a machine drill afforded. The drill was completely stable, it didn't tire, and it gave a steady pace. Humans could do none of these easily. Faunus, too, for that matter, but semantics weren't exactly what was worrying him right now. One had to be extremely diligent when they arrived to the drilling step; One wayward action would send the hole askew and ruin an entire night of smithing, not to mention the valuable metal. He placed the blade into the vise installed in the drill, and clamped it down tightly. This was not something he wanted to mess up.

The drill started with a roar that settled in to a purr, then a whine as he spun the drill bit up. Careful, Magnusson. Careful, he chided himself. He slowly eased the bit into the captive blade, putting more and more pressure towards the blade. Steel particles flew once more from the blade, some even flying up and hitting him in the chin. Gods, I hope none of it gets stuck in my nose. Or my scruff. Reminds me, I need to shave...again. He felt as if these past few months at Beacon had added several years to his age, but then again, apparently he was already an old man. According to his team, that is. And the frustrating thing was, they weren't totally wrong.

He brought the drill up and away, blowing a jet of air to clear the rest of the metal particles away, though mostly towards his face. Well, if it wasn't there before, it is now. Still, he had to check the hole he'd drilled, and he found it lacking, but mercifully it was too shallow of a depression rather than too deep. Pressing the drill back into the blade, he finished the job proper this time, lifting it up and away from the blade and powering the machine down. He held it up to the light, brushing away what residue was there with his thumb. A smile crept along his face, and he checked the time just to see how quick he was. Five minutes before curfew. He really was too good. Absentmindedly, he spun the blade around his fingers, unfortunately losing his grip halfway through. The knife careened towards the floor, and he yelped and pulled his foot away from the falling metal. Good thing, too, as the very sharp blade fell tip first and sank in halfway to the concrete.

Carol looked left, then right, scanning the room. No one was there to see him accidentally amputate a few toes. A ragged breath escaped his throat. "Okay, universe, I get it. You don't want me to gloat." He bent down and tugged on the blade, pulling it free with some effort. At least it would have been a clean cut, though that still wasn't much of a reassurance. He'd cauterized a wound before, he wasn't keen on doing it a second time. He decided to stymie his erratic heart rate by moving on with work, which brought him to the second to last task he'd set; Painting the blade proper. Well, after he made sure that the pins fit the blade.

StormFlower's metal frame clinked against the blade being inserted into the recess on its front. The pins that Carol had set aside were retrieved, and carefully slotted into the drilled holes, fitting tightly against the frame. He tugged on the blade, tried to shake it out, banged it on the side of the table, then checked the pins again. They were indeed stuck fast, which brought him to the next leg of the journey, the one that required the most attention and a careful hand.

Painting. Now, Carol very much enjoyed the act, almost more than any other part of forging. It didn't change the fact that one had to be very exacting with how they handled the painting process. Just as Dust quenching made a unique pattern that couldn't be eliminated from a blade without a lengthy chemical bath, so too did Dust paints refuse to come out. It was a little less dire than the quenching, as you could just paint over it and no one would easily be able to tell the difference, but errors were errors, and Carol wasn't about to make one. Proper prep-work had to be done, from the paints he needed to the chemical solution to take the paint of the brush.

Luckily, the latter came in a pre-mixed form, so that was easy enough to prepare. The former, however, was another story. There was some forest green paint stockpiled in the workshop, but it was still a long way off from the emerald used on Ren's weapon, especially since he had various shades of it green besides just emerald. Luckily, he had stocked up on white when he went to the parts wholesaler, so it would be a relatively simple matter to mix the paints to reach the pigment desired. Simple didn't mean easy, though. At least there's only two types of paint I have to use...

Carol grabbed a small bowl to house the cleansing agent, and the two cans of paint he'd need...and a set of latex gloves as well. The stuff stained weapons, which were hardened metal. He'd not want to risk having it contaminate his skin, as well. He huffed as he sat down, before groaning and standing up again to get a surface to place the paints on, and the brushes themselves.

Finally prepared, he sat down on the stool in front of the blade. He moved to start retrieving some of the paint from the cans, but curled his hand back before he could, bringing it to his shirt pocket instead. A pair of glasses was retrieved from his shirt pocket, balanced carefully on his nose. There. Now we can start proper. He decided to start with blending for the emerald color first; If he messed up making it, he could simply continue on to lighten the pigment to make it the odd, almost cream colored green. A few dollops of the forest green made it onto the small slat of wood he'd collected, and he rinsed the tool off in the bath before dipping it into the can of white. He dropped the bit of paint into the other, and started to mix it in, ending up at a shade too dark for emerald. Frowning, he took another bit of it and began to add it, carefully tipping it over slowly to add only a slight amount of the stuff.

An irritating particle of dust escaped up his nose as he breathed in, making it twitch rapidly, beginning the urge to sneeze. He successfully repressed the urge, but the slight shake as he did so made more paint than he intended to fall into the slightly mixed paint. "Damnit." He cursed. This was why he started with the more difficult one to make first, though. At least he hadn't wasted his time. He created a second pile, and this time he didn't have an itchy nose to mess up his mixing. Which meant that the only thing left to do was put paint to blade. He dipped the mid-size brush into the darker puddle, putting it to the side of the blade and leaving behind a green brushstroke on the surface. Now all he had to do was repeat the process ad nauseam until the entirety was painted...and then clean the interior of Ren's weapon from the dust deposits. Carol sighed, settling in for a very, very long night.

A mighty yawn filled the empty silence of the training hall as Carol fought off the still remaining urge to go to bed. Though, it probably wasn't as bad for him as it was for the people he was expecting to arrive. Once they had gotten over the shock that he had their numbers (there was a lot of information that Carol could find on Huntsmen, after all), the irritation had set in, though they did bite their tongues as he'd told them Ren's weapon was ready. Absentmindedly, he checked his scroll for the time. Perhaps he could have swung by the common room and gotten some concentrated wake up juice, but it was too late now.

As a way to pass the time, he opened the small weapons case that housed StormFlower. He'd have liked to have a custom one made to replace the old one as a matter of professional courtesy, but the one that Ren stored in the locker where the forge was would have to do. He ran a finger across the blade, testing the sharpness once more as if it would wane, but to his complete lack of surprise it was as sharp as it was the previous night. The harsh lighting from overhead played across the surface of the firearm, and despite Carol preferring a blade, he had to resist the urge to play with the action again. With the cleaning he'd done, and the replacing of the springs, it almost seemed like an entirely new machinepistol knife thing. Additionally, he'd given the entirety of the weapon a wipedown, making it shine like new.

To be completely honest? He went overboard. A lot. He blamed the fact that he loved tinkering with weapons. The thing that sucked though, is Ren never gave him express permission to access his blueprint. Obviously, he assumed Carol had his ways to get it, which he did, but neglected to actually say the words. It didn't affect the build process, but unfortunately Carol wasn't able to produce his own blueprint. He wasn't going to make a mock-up of the exact dimensions of someone's weapon unless they specifically gave him full creative control. He still retained the information he'd gained on StormFlower, but he couldn't go back and easily access something that told every weakpoint on the weapon. Sure, he'd done it before, but things were different now. He just wasn't sure exactly how.

A couple pairs of footsteps sounded out from the hallway adjoined to the training hall, so Carol closed the hardcase with a muted click. Voices soon followed, mainly Nora complaining about what hour they were up at. Tough shit, girl. I haven't slept at all, and you don't see me whining. Closing his eyes, he willed the irritation away. Snapping at the two who he invited out here would be poor taste. And speaking of, the twosome walked around the corner. He gave a lazy wave to each of them, pushing off of the wall he was standing near. "'Sup?"

"Hi." Ren succintly greeted. The boy seemed to be barely conscious, still fighting off the urge to sleep. Nora was quiet for once, simply staring at him while yawning mightily. Clearly, she was the one who was handling it the worst out of all three of them. "You said that the weapon was ready?"

"Straight to business, huh? I dig it." Ren merely raised an eyebrow, causing Carol to sigh. "Fine, so serious, jeez." He lifted the case, carefully handing it over to Ren. "Yep, it's ready. Go ahead and give it a once over." Ren plucked it from Carol's grip, turning the case over to open it. In a rare display of emotion, Ren's eyebrows shot up as he beheld the contents of the case.

"I...well. It does look like it's done." Ren handed the case off to Nora, who had been woken up by Ren's shocked reaction. Well, as much as Ren could appear shocked, anyway. Carol had only ever seen him irritated, neutral and...mildly irritated. "Could I give it a functions test?" Carol simply raised an eyebrow.

"Ain't my weapon, so I don't know why you're askin' my permission." He stated. "If you were sayin' that cuz you weren't sure if I'd completed the job, then don't worry about it. Though you will need this." Carol pulled a magazine loaded with Dust rounds out of his pocket, handing it over to Ren. "Rules of firearm safety state to never keep a firearm in storage loaded. You understand, right?"

"Yes." Ren said, nodding once. Nora, however, cringed and looked the other direction. Somehow, Carol wasn't surprised that she ignored the rules. Ren took the magazine and inserted it into the bottom of the magazine well, driving it in and slingshotting the slide to load a round. He took a stance, aiming at some nondescript area, making Carol roll his eyes.

"You realize we're in a training room, right? Summon one of those images instead of putting pockmarks in the walls." Carol chided, earning a semi-frustrated snort from Ren.

"Summon one image, target mode." The speakers around them beeped, and the familiar blue image fizzled into existence, holding its arms straight out from it's body while keeping its feet together. Nora gasped dramatically.

"He's T-posing for dominance Ren! Shoot him!" Carol raised an eyebrow, confused, but Ren complied with his partner's request, snapping off a singular round into the dummy, shearing off one of its arms. "Now he's L-posing! Quick, finish him!" To that, Ren rolled his own eyes, but let off a burst of automatic fire, drawing a diagonal line from the lower left of its torso to the top right. Surprisingly, the image was still standing. Carol supposed that a target dummy was meant to absorb a bit more punishment, but wasn't too sure as StormFlower had lower caliber rounds than most. Regardless of whichever it was, Ren ducked and ran forward, closing the distance rapidly and lashing out with the bladed function of his weapon. Specifically the one that Carol had completed and fitted the previous night...or should he say morning?

Either way, the steel cut splendidly as it was supposed to, rending the image in half about the midsection. Ren looked at his weapon once more, as if it were speaking to him, then turned to Carol. "What-"

"Hey, make your weapon safe, first!" Carol admonished, earning a blank stare. "Look, I don't care if everyone here can deflect bullets using their soul or some mumbo-jumbo like that, it's just common sense!" Ren just continued staring, but his finger manipulated the weapon's safety regardles. "There. Was that so hard?"

"Never took you to be one for rules..." Ren muttered. "What did you do to StormFlower?" Odd question.

"What you told me to do. Fix it. Blade looks fixed to me." Ren shook his head.

"Stop deflecting. What did you do, in exact terms?" Carol sighed. He did have to have clarity with his customers, even if they were freeloaders.

"I forged the blade, quenched it in ice Dust, water Dust, and oil. Then I painted it, replaced the recoil springs on both firearm components, and cleaned every inch of the pair of pistol-knife-things." As he listed the acts he had performed on StormFlower, Ren's expression shifted from expectant to confused to dumbfounded within moments, Nora being almost a complete mirror of his own reactions, but dialed up to eleven. Carol grinned as a result. "Damn, that's the most lost I've ever seen you."

"Why?" Nora asked for the much quieter than usual boy. There was a lot to answer for, the addition of a different type of Dust to the quench, the fact that he had completely cleaned the entirety of the weapons and replaced the recoil springs, or perhaps she meant 'why was it done so fast'? He chose the first out of the three.

"Well, ice Dust on Menagerian steel makes it much too brittle to use effectively without running risk of having it shatter-" Carol threw a pointed glance to Ren, "- so I added water Dust in to make up the difference while still retaining the benefits of the first type."

"No, not like that. Just...you've done a lot for people you hate." Carol frowned.

"Who said I hate you? I just think you're all selfish." He responded, truthfully. He didn't really hate anyone at Beacon, as much as they tested his patience. Even Blake. He knew that she was Fang and appeared to have turned over a new leaf, so her current situation was probably fall out from her emotional landscape being all sorts of messed up. At least, so he thought. "Oh, by the way, Ren." The boy in question looked at him, still in disbelief. "Check under the foam matting of the case. I stuffed a bit of weapon oil, Dust solvent and a rag there for you to clean your weapon with. Not gonna lie, the internals were pretty disgusting." Ren hesitated for a moment, before turning to Nora who was checking the underneath of the case, which revealed exactly what Carol said would be there. Ren's jaw worked for a few moments as he appeared to struggle with what to say.

"What do you want?" He asked.

"Nothing. Why do you think that?"

"I don't believe it. No one does this much for anyone, least of all someone who has admitted to disliking Huntsmen." Ren said, growing steadily more confident as he spoke. "Tell me what you want. Please." Was this Ren's way of making up for making Carol go out of his way? It wasn't even the quiet boy's fault; Carol just got carried away when he was taking care of StormFlower.

Carol sighed, beginning to speak in a monotone voice, as if he'd rehearsed what he was saying many times. Obviously, though, it would be the first time. "We here at Magnusson Arms and Armor pride ourselves in the craftsmanship in each weapon that passes out of our doors. To maintain the stringent quality impressed upon our craftsmen, we strive to extend the dogged pursuit of excellence even when your weapon is out of our forge. Thus, we offer complimentary upkeep of all projects sanctioned by our CEO, Carol Magnusson." Carol stopped, cocking a hip and giving a smug smile. "Y'see, it ain't that I want anythin' from you. It's just professional courtesy." Ren just fixed him with a clueless look, which had Carol failing to repress the laugh bubbling up in his throat.

"So, you don't want anything?" Nora asked. "Then, why did you even accept? Pity?" Carol fell silent, turning to face Nora with a quizzical expression on his face. It helped to mask the fact that she was partly correct.

"Pity? Why would I pity him?" A shit-eating grin alighted on his face. "Well, besides feeling bad for him sleeping next to a rumbling train." The expression faded from his face as Nora didn't react with anger as she usually did.

"Then, you didn't do it because we're here on a scholarship?"

"Nora!" Ren shouted, appearing shocked and ashamed at the same time. Carol understood why; If you were there on a scholarship, that meant you couldn't pay the tuition for Beacon. Which meant either you were dirt poor, or disowned and didn't have any family who could get a grant in your name. Or, perhaps something else. Regardless, he didn't want them to feel like he did it out of pity for them, so he decided to nip that in the bud.

"And? So am I."

"What, an orphan?" Carol blankly stared at Nora, hearing the slap of face meeting palm coming from Ren. "Eep!" Nora covered her mouth, face reddening. It explained a lot, actually. Why Nora was so clingy and why Ren never got on her case about it, just to name one example. Another was the fact that money was so tight for them, that all they were able to afford was ammunition and the bare necessities, and were reliant on the scholarship's additional personal funds to help cover the costs instead of just being a pseudo-allowance.

"No, I'm here on a scholarship." Carol said, coughing into his hand to not chuckle at the two of them. It wouldn't do to laugh when Nora accidentally shared something so personal. "And even if I did know it...well, actually, I won't pretend and say that it wouldn't affect my judgement. Still, that's not what I was intending when I accepted the request, so my point still stands."

"So...?" Nora asked, face still normalizing at its normal cream color.

"No, I don't want anything. Now get back to your team before they think something's up. Or better yet, before my team gets here. We've got morning training and I'd rather not get caught with you two."

"Why?" Ren asked, still unbelieving of the current situation, and definitely not wondering why Carol was sending them away so adamantly. Carol was running out of excuses to make to avoid answering his question specifically, so he decided to deflect as he usually did.

"Oh, would you listen to that? I think I hear someone walking this way!" Carol said, pretending to listen to something into the distance. To his shock, he actually began to hear several sets of footfalls. "Oh, bugger me, I was actually right."

"So you were-"

"Lying to get rid of you? Yes, yes, now go before my team gets here!" Ren made to stay, but Nora had other plans, picking the boy up and placing him over her shoulder.

"Hey!"

"Shhh! We gotta move, Renny!" Nora said, pinning the boy so he couldn't move. She turned to Carol, smiling widely. "Thank you, Carol." The earnestness of her smile and her words heated his face, and he found himself lost for words. Thankfully enough, she didn't expect a response and beat a hasty retreat on the opposite end of the training hall. Carol was alone, and he had a few moments before his team arrived. He spent them sighing and looking up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the fuzzy feeling in his chest.

End note: Comments and criticisms are welcome as always!