Author's note: Got nothin', sorry.

Chapter 54

The dust repository was a small thing, easily encompassed within Carol's hand. It was no more than a couple inches at its widest with its length matching and four inches high. He pressed it to the side of the Dao, tilting his head in an effort to puzzle out what he'd have to do. The Dust repository would definitely fit into the blade, though it would require a fair amount of machining. Then there was the second bit, which was to make a way to activate the repository in a way that wouldn't jar with the mechanics of the weapons, or go off during use. Not that it was intended to see combat, in fact, he had no idea what Arae was planning with it. He was still going to make it a useable weapon if any Hunter was going to pick it up, and indeed, only a Hunter could. The weapon, while balanced, was going to be heavy. Not an issue for a Huntsman, but for normal people it would be.

That was the scary thing. Carol often forgot about just how different his life was from normal citizens now. He tangled with a woman that literally set herself on fire and whose punch's force was somewhere in the ballpark of a freight train. Not only could he fling Russel at speeds matching consumer vehicles, but Russel could withstand the pressure and tension of such a sudden acceleration. He could go on and on about the superhuman abilities each of them possessed (except for himself, of course), but that would take too much time away from his work.

The first thing to do was to spin up the machine drill and get a hollow area drilled so it could fit. My bad, a few holes. While one was good, multiple meant versatility. Water Dust and ice Dust being used in tandem, or maybe in sequential order, would be a very fast deep freeze for any Grimm involved, or person. Carol didn't really want to think about his weapon being used in such a manner, even still. That, and it helped the weapon from being too simple, and thus not to taste for Arae. Even though her taste was ill-defined, or perhaps too extravagant for his understanding.

Regardless, Carol spun up the drill, placing the blade firmly into the vice attached to it, twirling the clamp to set it entirely. He slowly brought the spinning bit closer and closer to the blade, bearing down on it to push it against the tough metal. Sparks shot off as the bit glanced off the surface of the spine, though it eventually caught and started sending thin strands of twisted metal from the opposite end of the bit. He brought the drill bit out of the newly machined hole, blowing into it to get out the detritus left. Experimentally, he dropped the repository into the recess, pushing it down with his thumb. Luckily, his eyeballing proved accurate, and he wouldn't even have to take a dremel to smooth out the rough interior. In fact, it actually was to his advantage. But first, he'd have to drill two more identical holes before he could begin that particular venture.

The drill bit spun up again, whining loudly, voicing its protestations even louder when he pressed it into the blade again, and once more when he drilled the third hole. He tried the dust repository in the other recesses to check if his guesses were correct. Thankfully, he didn't make a mistake and drill it too shallow or deep. Which meant that he needed to return to his hardcase for something he'd been waiting to have to use. The machine drill was shut off, whine shifting down octaves until it ceased with an almost piteous growl. He spun the clamp's lever around, releasing the blade from its hold and pulling it to the light. And spun it in a flourish, just because he could. Everyone had their quirks when it came to weapons, and Carol's was to twirl the blade about the wrist, the smooth metal forcing him to grip it tighter than he ought to in order to keep it in place.

The action revealed another oversight on his part, however. He failed to place an order for the leather he'd need for the hilt, especially considering he'd need it in a color other than brown. He had been thinking white, but wasn't terribly sure on what to make it, yet. There'd be plenty of time to think about it while he was on the mission with his team, though, so he didn't need to think too hard about it now. That also meant he'd have to delay the finishing of the weapon until after he was back, but then again, he also lacked a time frame that he had to finish the build. Still, it felt like he was failing to hit a goal he'd set for himself, a revelation that burned in his gut. He'd just blame it on Ren needing his own weapon repaired. Or should he blame Cardin?

...nah. Better to blame someone out of his team rather than his leader. Besides, Cardin was a good guy and didn't mean to break it.

At any rate, Carol looked over the sword once more, tilting his head. There was something else he forgot, he was sure of it. And yet he couldn't figure out just what it was. But the repositories still needed to be set, so he plodded over to his hardcase in the corner of the room to retrieve the necessary tool. The case creaked as it opened, revealing a plethora of parts and other things he'd bought, but he ignored them all, reaching for a very specific compartment. A small set of grayish finger size bricks wrapped in plastic sat neatly tied together in a clump, which Carol grasped and retrieved from its area, as well as some rubber seals.

Smither's glue, something essential to many armorers. In this case, he'd be using it to moor the repositories into their recesses, and plugging what little space was left with some rubber rings so liquid couldn't get in. If he really wanted it to stay in, he'd just weld the ports shut, but maintenance was the name of the game. While true that it would make certain that they would never fall out, if the seal became damaged in some way or just had too much use, it would be a royal pain in the ass to replace it, even in a workshop with all the tools. So, for ease of repairs, the rubber seal it was to be. But he'd be damned if what he forgot wasn't eating at him.

Carol carefully peeled one brick away, knowing he'd only need the one to fit all three correctly. The small lumpy block was placed on the table and carefully divided into the three equal size chunks, ready to be placed in the recesses...when Carol discovered he'd made yet another mistake. Smither's glue was activated by a small amount of water being worked into it to activate the adhesive components, and he had no water nearby. Beacon being as well funded as it was, they had plenty of oil to quench it with, which meant that no one (if anyone even used the facility) had to use water to quench. It was a terrible idea in the first place, the temperature difference more likely causing weapons to fracture or become brittle, so for that Carol was thankful. However, that meant that the closest place he had to get some water was perhaps a drinking fountain in the halls. That meant risking Goodwitch finding him, though, so that was out of the question.

"Welp. Gonna have to get 'inventive', then." A trick that Carol knew of was that while water was what you were supposed to use, saliva worked just as well. It wasn't exactly the most sanitary of solutions, but if it was stupid and it worked, it wasn't stupid. He took one of the small chunks and formed it into a thin cup before spitting into it and rubbing the saliva into the walls. It worked, beginning to stick to his fingers, so he quickly dropped it into one of the holes on the weapons, squishing it down and to the sides of the recess with the repository, sealing it with the gasket on top. Carol pressed and pressed until the gap between the top of the device and the blade was nonexistent, squeezing it even further just to make sure. And then, he repeated the process two more times, shaking his hand to relax it from the strain. His palm now carried a circular ring in the center, though it was slowly starting to fade already.

He looked over the blade once more. The steel that drank the light around them, the Dust repositories on top sitting almost proudly, the mark on the blade that denoted him as the mak- Wait a minute... Carol picked it up from the table, looking on both sides. I'll be damned. In his haste to finish the weapon, he'd completely forgotten about the usual ritual. No reason to not to, even if it was a bit late. "Alright, Dust pen, Dust pen, where are ya at?" The answer, of course, was in his hardcase. "Mmmkay, C-" Carol tapped the hammer onto the small character, "-M-" Tap, "-and circle with an O." Tap. He blew the soot away from the blade, beholding the new divets in the blade. Nodding, he placed the blade onto the nearby table and looked it over one final time to see if he'd forgotten anything. After several minutes, nothing came to mind, and he wasn't sure to be frustrated or relieved. To distract himself, he placed his working glasses onto his brow, still grumbling.

But allowing himself to stand around accomplishing nothing was basically the opposite of what he wanted to accomplish. While he couldn't finish the weapon totally, he could get it to the point where it required only a few finishing touches. Which meant that it was time to paint. Once again trekking over to his hardcase, he gathered every single tool and tool accessory he'd need, including the brushes he'd let soak throughout the day to get rid of the residual paint...though he'd have to tap the chemicals off them. The paint cans were arranged on the counter, the same palette thing he'd substituted before placed on the counter in front of his stool, the seat squeaking in protest as he sat atop it. The first step was mixing the paint to what he'd need, though thankfully it would be less premixing and more blending it on the blade itself. He did keep a small bowl of the paint remover nearby, as he'd no doubt need it many times.

Painting was easy, though time consuming. The main issue he foresaw was the fact that he'd have to let one side dry before he could work on the other, though he had plenty of time now that the pressure of finishing the project that night was gone. The first business was painting the edge of the blade, so it would dry first, and he could balance the blade on it so he could move on to the other side as quick as possible. Time aplenty be damned, he still wasn't going to waste effort in double work. He chose the medium brush, dipping it into the small puddle of titanium white he'd set onto the palette. Carefully, he began to run it along the edge from the tip to the base, making sure to leave it in even strokes with no patches. Each stroke was done purposefully and with great care, as he'd either leave a build-up of paint on the blade or have to run a brush with solvent over the blade to remove it. Granted, it also was a pretty neat technique you could use so you could to give an almost dripping sensation on the blade.

But this blade wasn't water based, so he'd abstain from that particular technique. And yes, while snow was just frozen water, that was more semantics than anything. Humming, he went further towards the back of the blade, switching to the wider brush to leave thicker strokes that would become the snowdrifts of an empty field in Solitas. The thicker brush was swapped out itself for the thinnest brush that Carol had bought, which he dipped into the midnight blue paint. An interesting quirk with snow was that it wasn't just white. In the twilight of Solitas, it would take a slight blue hue when viewed from a distance. He tapped the brush against the snowdrifts, blending it in to give depth and...well, make it look pretty as well.

Next up was the twilight sky, so Carol took the purple paint and began laying it above the snow, giving the illusion that the sun was rising in the distance. Above that, he layered the dark blue paint in the foreground, carefully blending the edges to seamlessly mix with the background. Additionally, he made sure to put little spots of purple and blue on the opposite side of their respective places in the background and foreground, blending those as well. Which just left the top of the blade, which required a buildup from the foreground in the form of a stem to fit the floral design he'd give the repositories. It also meant it was time for his first mixing of paint before placing it onto the blade.

As he set a new puddle that was the majority white with a small spot of blue aside to blend together to make a sort of grayish blue, he lamented the fact that he couldn't listen to music while he painted. Technically, nothing was stopping him from playing it out loud, but his fear of Goodwitch was stronger than his desire to listen to Vacuan samba, or an Atlesian rhapsody. Regardless of whether or not she would be on the warpath at that ungodly hour, Carol didn't want to maximize the time he could be found by the teacher. He chose the medium brush this time, leaving a slightly wider than normal stem to match the fact it was in the foreground. It was connected to the middle repository on the back of the blade, and for the others he imagined an intertwining design, almost wrapping the stems around each other. Once again, the stem was started at the edge of the blade, moving to twist around the first flower from the left and circling around it once to end up on the right. Finally, he started from the right of the original, copying the pattern but in the opposite fashion. Though, it was going to be really fun to mirror the pattern on the other side. Sighing, he accepted his own self-made lot, examining the blade.

It was certainly a very pretty thing to look at, even as unfinished as it was. From what he could tell, there was no mars or missteps on the paintjob he'd applied. Though, now that he looked at it, was one of those stems a bit thin? Frowning, he reached over to the blade to fix the issue, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead as he concentrated wholly on thickening the stem. He'd have to be careful to not make a mistake and put an errant mark on the blade, as it would just cause more work for him. Leaning in, he slowly brought the brush in to the side of the stem, pressing it softly to the blade...

"See? I told you he was-" Carol jumped, knee banging on the table as the brush darted to the side and made a thick mark to the side of the stem. Despite the pain in his knee, he stared at the mark like it had crapped on his lawn, before turning that ire to the source of the voice. "...here."

Sky, at least, looked a bit mollified at spooking Carol, though the rest of his team wasn't as apologetic as his blue haired friend. Cardin had his arms folded and was frowning, Russel being a smaller, skinnier mirror of their team leader...with a sick mohawk. Regardless, their expressions were pretty indicative of a desire for explanation, and his temple began to pulse in irritation.

I just wanted to work, damnit.

End Note: You know the drill.