Chapter 11: Barstool Warrior
"Was it bad luck, was it fate, or a past that she couldn't escape?"
Nexus Shade carried many titles.
He was a technician, a bartender, an underage hacker slash anonymous thief, but he was most certainly not a psychiatrist.
The blonde guy retched into his drink. Thank whatever gods out there no undesirable projectiles came out of the scrawny teen's mouth. At least, not this time. Vomit Boy seemed to be the worst type of lightweight—the kind that experienced their first time during an existential moment of crisis.
"Wh—What am I going to do, Nex?" Jaune Arc slurred as if they were the best of pals, which they most definitely were not. "I'm—oh, gods!"
Nex patted Vomit Boy's back, nursing a cooler himself. When in Vale, do as the Valeans. When in Junior's club, do your best to blend in. There was no point in alienating the poor guy. Or causing a scene in The Club.
In fact, Jaune was pouting like a kicked puppy. A kicked puppy that repulsed every other guest within five feet, but a kicked puppy nonetheless. It was probably why he was sitting with the guy. Social security blanket and all. He could cope with the vomit. Years as a bartender did that to people.
"Shhh, it's okay. It's okay. We mess up sometimes," Nex said, rubbing the back of Vomit Boy's hoodie. "But we have to move on from the past in order to go to the future."
Nexus Shade was summoning bullshit out of nowhere, conjuring words straight from the Void. Move on from the past? Go to the future? No shit, Nex. Might as well give the drunk teenager a lesson on how the day progressed from morning to night.
"You reall—really think so?" Jaune said. "I can't possibly go back to my family."
Nex shrugged. Right. Because he could totally relate to that.
Jaune slumped into the counter, staring into his first pint of tap. "They'll hate me."
If he looked like Jaune in class, then it was no wonder his partner tried her best to get him to stay awake. Not that he liked being kicked into consciousness. Definitely not. But it was the thought that counted.
Said partner was still on a flight from Atlas to Vale. Atlas Primary provided its students mass transport via armed airships, but Neo's teleportation was simply more efficient.
He simply told her to go ahead on the first batch of flights, waving it off as wanting some time to himself. She accepted it without much protest, bringing their robot dog with her.
The festival was only three days away.
He needed some way to kill time. Hanging out in a less than reputable establishment seemed like a good idea. It was practically his second home.
"I don't know about that," Nex said, humming. "Mind telling me exactly what you did wrong?"
Jaune hiccupped, bravely taking a miniscule sip of the amber liquid. "I ran away from home and faked my way into Beacon."
Nex nodded. It was pretty ballsy. Right up there with the White Fang incident. The one that made headlines days ago. But so far, there was nothing intrinsically wrong with what the drunk guy did. It was simply a matter of principle.
"Then what's the problem?" Nex said. "You succeeded, right?"
If any other person was here, the conversation would not have gone as smoothly as it did.
Weiss would have shrieked at Jaune's face, launching into a tirade about how irresponsible he was. Winter would have tried convincing Jaune to confess to his crime and go home. Qrow would have bought Jaune another pint of beer and called it a solution.
Truly, they were sterling paragons of virtue. And it certainly spoke a lot about him.
"Yes," Jaune said, spitting the word as if it was venom. "Then I realized that I don't know the first thing about fighting. I don't even have my aura unlocked."
Nex sputtered, waves of pink splashing his midnight-blue trench. "And here I thought the White Fang was stupid. Congrats, you just one-upped an entire terrorist cell."
"Gee, thanks," Jaune said, rolling his eyes. They lingered on his extra pair of ears. "I thought all faunus like the White Fang."
Nex shrugged. "Nope. Some of us don't have a death wish."
Jaune glanced at the two swords fastened to either side of his belt. "You're a huntsman, right?"
"Soon," Nex said. "I'm planning to enrol in Beacon as well."
"Teach me," Jaune said. "Teach me how to fight."
The blonde looked like a corgi readying itself for a round in the ring. His skin was tinged red. The chest plate over the hoodie looked ridiculous, and his weapon seemed suspiciously similar to Hrunting and Vigilance. The only thing missing was a gun. Clipped to the blonde's belt, the blade looked only a few inches shorter.
As expected, since Hrunting was engineered to be longer than the standard prescription. It was designed to outreach other arming swords, skewing the odds to his favour. A few inches could be the difference between life and death. His semblance deduced the scabbard turned into a shield as well. One probably the same size as Vigilance.
The sword and shield were timeless classics, ubiquitous weapons for those who had no prior combat experience.
But still, he took the art of sword and board even further, tinkering with it until the style became something recognizably his. He might have cannibalized a sabre, a katana, a greatsword, a halberd, a spear, a shotgun, and a damn cannon somewhere into it, but the foundations of his style began with the sword and shield. The basics Amariss taught him.
There was no denying he could wield his weapons with his eyes closed, obsessed as he was with perfecting the art. Even dabbling in hand to hand at some point. But stabbing and blowing stuff up was more satisfying.
The only question was if Jaune could dedicate the effort into doing the same. Or if he had the time and patience.
Vomit Boy was staring at him, probably waiting for his answer. Or another round of forbidden projectiles. Both were equally possible.
"Say, if I do this," Nex said, his brain overcome by a budding migraine. What the hell—nothing to lose, right? "Will you go back to your family?"
"I'm going to go back after a school year or two," Jaune said. "I need to let them calm down first."
Clever.
Jaune emptied his mug. "Why are you so concerned about my family, anyway?"
Nex shrugged, offering the scrawny teen a smile. "Family's important. Don't take it for granted."
A cane thumped the counter.
"You sure know how to say it," Roman Torchwick said, smiling as he tipped his hat. "And Jaune. Good to see my forgeries are as great as ever."
"What?!" Jaune said, scrambling to his feet. "Don't say that so loud, people might hear."
Nex rolled his eyes, kissing the rim of his sweet, sweet, strawberry cooler. There goes the moment. Dead in a pit somewhere. "Roman Torchwick. And here I thought I smelled bad mascara and hair dye."
Roman chuckled, taking the other stool beside him. "Have you looked around, kid? Half the patrons here don't give a damn. The other half are simply deaf to what's going on around Vale."
Thick bass and shrill synths smothered the air. The thief was right. No one here would give a damn even if he was planning to blow up the residential district. Not even if he screamed it out for the entire club to hear.
To his credit, Jaune did look around. But the fact that the scrawny teen only did so after someone told him branded him with a coat of green.
"Err... You're right, I guess," Jaune said, sitting back down. "Did you come here to talk?"
Roman looked at the scrawny teen as if he was stupid. Furrowed eyebrows and all. "And why would I even do that? We had a transaction. Done. Over. Now we can move on with our lives."
Jaune flushed and stared into his mug. He stood up, tossing a few cards of lien on the counter.
Vomit Boy mumbled a goodbye and slipped through the writhing bodies.
Yep.
Apparently, the guy was already experiencing a hangover.
"What did you come here for?" Nex said, shooting his fellow thief a look. "Your face is all over the city."
Not that he was worried about his fellow thief, but Roman Torchwick was coordinating raids on SDC-sponsored dust shops. The less he had to do with the operation, the better. If his partner found out he helped one Roman Torchwick steal from her company...
No use thinking about that rabbit hole. What was done was already done. He could only adapt in the best way he always did.
It was fortunate Roman never came looking for his help.
Until now.
"I need you to do something," Roman said. "A friend wants you to do something. She insisted."
By insisted, he meant someone was holding him by the balls. Not the first time the thief stepped over the wrong toes.
Torchwick could get out of this by himself.
"Nope. You stepped into trouble, dear uncle Roman," Nex said, flicking his half-empty glass. "Get out of it yourself."
Roman scowled. "Dammit, Nex. This isn't one of your edgy jokes. We're all in this together—you, me and Neo. Help me out and I'll owe you a favour. I'll even double the hard light dust that you like so much."
Well, well. That sweetened the deal by a lot, even if the thief seemed a little too desperate.
It was a favour from Roman, a master criminal who had a foothold in all of the four kingdoms. It could serve as invaluable collateral should something bad happen in the future. The dust was nice, but it would not have been enough by itself.
His partner already shared some of hers with him, circumventing the need to go to the expensive consumer's market or bargain with notorious thieves. His supply of dust was already straight from the source. The coffers of the SDC, even.
"Lay it on me," Nex said, bobbing his head into a nod. The Nex trapped in the glass counter seemed to do the opposite, but it was probably due to the flashing lights. "Who's your friend and what does she have over you?"
Roman tapped the glass with a gloved finger. "She's a flaming bitch by the name of Cinder Fall. The woman's in on some sort of shadowy conspiracy, all cloak and dagger and shit. She's the one ordering me to collect all of the dust in Vale."
That made sense.
While the dust trade was lucrative, aggravating the SDC was not.
Roman had a limit on the amount of dust he could steal before he painted a target on his back. The next time the thief robbed a dust shop, it might be a little more complicated. If Roman ended up in a secure Atlesian prison somewhere, then even Neo would have trouble busting him out.
Gods forbid he needed to hack an Atlesian prison to effect Roman's escape. It would throw his anonymity to the wolves.
"That doesn't tell me why you're following her orders," Nex said. "What do you have to gain from this?"
Roman sighed, pinching his nose. "Nex. You of all people should know. For survivors like us, it's not about what we have to gain. It's about what we can't stand to lose."
Well, Roman Torchwick spoke nothing but the truth. People did things to survive. Things they did not necessarily have to be proud of.
If Cinder Fall was holding a knife against Roman's neck, then he was going to find some way to hold a sword over hers.
His brain filed her name away. Maybe he could look into her background some time in the future.
"Alright. You've convinced me," Nex said. "What does Cinder want?"
Roman left The Club, undoubtedly satisfied.
Well, shit.
Cinder wanted a virus. A virus that could penetrate the very same code that he gave the good general.
Apparently, the woman's own hacker was stumped when the old-school backdoors were closed, the code gutted and transformed into something chaotic and new.
Roman mocked Cinder, boasting his payroll had the best hacker on Remnant.
Cinder called him out on it, threatening a painful death via immolation.
And so, here he was.
Torn between laughter and tears.
Between Scylla and Charybdis.
Fuckity fuck.
"Great..." Nex said, his wolf ears flattening. "Dear uncle and his big mouth..."
It would be easy enough to hack his own code. His semblance and powerful aura reserves made sure of that.
But he was going to give Cinder Fall the metaphorical keys to the kingdom.
Not without a little bit of inspiration from his brain then. It was like a gift. One that just kept on giving.
"Why the long face?" some woman said. "Bad breakup?"
The woman plopped down beside him, her blonde mane covering most of the stool.
Nex turned, shooting her a look.
Lilac eyes widened.
"Uncle Qrow? This isn't what you—" the woman said, her breath hitching. "You're not him. Sorry. You looked like someone I know. Bad lighting."
Great.
Now he could pretend to be a drunk birdbrain. It could technically fit, considering that he was drinking. In one of Vale's less than reputable establishments, even.
Nex shrugged. "You know, being mistaken for the drunk birdbrain is probably the least annoying thing that's happened to me today."
The woman laughed, waving at the swamped bartender. "Drunk birdbrain? I gotta remember that. The name's Yang. Yang Xiao-Long."
"Nexus Shade," he drawled. "It's short, sweet, rolls off the tongue. Ladies love it."
Jaune Arc, you son of a bitch.
Yang Xiao Long grinned. Like she was used to random guys talking to her in nightclubs. She probably was, judging from the number of eyes looking at her direction.
"Do they?" Yang said, smirking as she raised a challenging eyebrow. "I gotta see that, short-stuff."
Nex shrugged. "Maybe. Calling me short-stuff isn't really an insult. Size is a liability."
Yang glanced at his swords—the second blonde to do so today. "You're a huntsman then?"
"Trainee," Nex said. "You too?"
Her bracers were damning.
His semblance gleaned everything it could from a glance. They deployed into full-fledged shotgun gauntlets. Not bad, except they had the tendency to damage the user as well.
Yang nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Well, aren't you observant. I'm not used to guys staring at Ember Celica. They tend to look at other things."
Other things?
What else was there to look at?
The blonde seemed to have no other weapons on her person, or else his semblance would have warned him about the possible threats. It was its job. Even if it rebelled from time to time. Case in point—whenever his partner nudged him awake in class. Or that one time her nails left gouges on his arm.
"Whatever. People are stupid," Nex said, rolling his eyes. "Being distracted by other things can be a death sentence."
Yang ordered a strawberry sunrise with one of those little umbrellas, grinning as she held it with expert hands. "I get it, edge lord. You're the broody, serious type. How exactly do you know my uncle?"
Edge lord.
Well, it was nothing new.
Roman and Mekel let that title slip from time to time.
More importantly, should he pop Yang's impression of her dear Uncle Qrow?
Nex shrugged. No point in doing it. "He's a regular at the bar I work in. It's Atlesian. You been in Atlas before?"
"Nope," Yang said. The expression was a little bit familiar. Odd. "Atlas is a bit too stuffy for me."
Nex nodded. "You said it."
The conversation dried up for a few minutes. Apparently, neither of them had anything life-changing to talk about.
Nex spent the time finishing off his cooler. He was about to get up and return to his cheap motel room, when Yang pushed a scroll towards him.
"You know who she is?" Yang said.
Some woman stared through the screen.
Black hair, red eyes, pale skin.
The woman looked like a Qrow with waist-length hair.
Nex shook his head, standing up and dropping some lien on the counter. "She looks like a Qrow."
He sighed, strolling away.
"But so do you..." Yang muttered behind him.
Seriously. Yang Xiao Long needed to get her eyes checked.
Maybe even get a pair of glasses.
Fun trivia: Nexus Shade would be Chaotic Neutral if he played DnD. The guy helps Ironwood, Cinder, and Roman all at the same time while doing it behind each other's backs. All for himself too.