Hello dear Reader! Welcome back for the 5th chapter of 'The Darkling Thrush'!

Before we get started, as per usual just going to give a shout out to our reviewers! Majestic Sappling, Guest and Baoh joestar! I'm real glad you guys are enjoying the story so far. The kind words and little comments make it worth writing.

And one last shout out for king claudius and Windninja1000! Thanks for the follows guys, I appreciate it!

V

Russel: Conclusion

So they all ended up in Marlowe's barn.

A good amount of neighbors and shop keeps were there in attendance. All had gathered to pay their respect for the man who'd died. It had been a week since that night and Oakwood was still reeling from the events that transpired. Whole farms were barren and ash.

The people who lived there were displaced, rooming with kind and gentle souls who were willing to come to their aid. The Bluebottoms were one of the many who'd sold their land. They didn't want to raise a child in Oakwood, not after what happened.

One by one the men and women who knew Russel's Father got up to the podium to speak. They all shared stories, recanting those moments where the man most affect their lives. Mr. Bluebottom spoke of a time when the Thrush Patriarch had aided him in wrangling up his escaped lived stock.

Mr. Cherri told a story of how they'd all gone down to drink at the local watering hole. How some drifter in a drunken frenzy started harassing the regulars. Russel's old man had walked right up to the drifter and tossed him through a window.

It was difficult for Russel. His relationship with his Father was complicated and he didn't know whether or not he was going to miss him. Was it bad of him to think such a thing? Was he supposed to be crying or was he supposed to be smiling? The lone Thrush felt a myriad of emotions. He felt sad. He felt angry.

The Marlowe took the stage. The old man was someone they all knew. Even after the damage his property had endured, he opened his home and held the service. Not because he was asked to, but because he wanted to.

And then Marlowe spoke about Russel's Father. They'd been neighbors for years. It was only Marlowe's sentiment that seemed genuine to the young Thrush. It was like a walk down memory lane, narrated by his kind voice.

"...was a Huntsman and a Farmer." Marlowe said. "He was my neighbor. He was my friend. He will be missed."

Then Marlowe called for Russel to take the podium and say a few words. It was like his body was on auto pilot. Then next thing Russel knew he was standing behind the podium, overlooking the gathered.

The hell was he supposed to say? He never knew the man they all described in their stories. They all spoke of Russel's Father as some righteous individual who made the right move when the moment called for it. He'd only seen that man once, only once. And that was on the night he died.

"I don't know what to say" Russel spoke wearily.

"Just say what you feel, Russel." Marlowe said with that elderly tone of his, the one that just made you want to live up to whatever example he would set. Marlowe stepped off the stage with the help of his cane and took a seat at the front row.

Russel looked to the crowd. There were those who were crying, there were those trying their best to look sympathetic.

It was up there Russel realized there was nothing wrong with him. Just another look at the assembled audience was enough to make him sick. He looked to Marlowe, sitting there in the front row, looking to him like a caring grandpa.

"Just speak from your heart, Russel." Marlowe said.

So Russel turned to look at these 'mourners'. He could see Marie-Anne in the back row, along with many other farmers' children. She probably was studying every one of his features with that damn semblance of hers, just to figure out what he was going to next.

"I...I'm not good at communicating." Russel spoke softly, looking around and making eye contact with those in attendance like a good speaker would. "Those of you who know me, actually know me, not heard of me would know that."

"But that's just it isn't it? None of you really know me. You didn't really know my old man either." Russel spoke resentfully. "I mean, I are we talking about the same man? He helped you catch live stock? He beat up a drifter for causing problems?"

Russel was laughing. The audience's sympathetic looks were replaced with ones of offense. "My dad was a drunk. The most lively I'd seen him in all my years living was whenever he got to hit something."

"I don't believe for a second you actually cared about him. I don't believe any of you miss him." Russel threw his arms up slightly, only to let them fall. "He did stuff for you, sure. But that doesn't mean you actually liked him. You probably even hated him. Enough is enough. Leave. Just leave." Russel pointed at the door.

Entire aisles were soon vacant. One by one those in attendance began to file out of the barn. Russel just watched as they all left. He could hear them murmuring, talking amongst themselves. They were trying to vindicate themselves of that guilt they felt for not missing the dead man.

When it was all over, it was just Russel and Marlowe. Russel looked over to Marlowe, half expecting to find disappointment in those eyes of his. He wasn't exactly wrong. Marlowe sat there with a look of disappointment, but there was something else there. In his Marlowe's eyes was understanding.

"When I said speak from your heart, I didn't expect to get the uncensored version." Marlowe said jokingly.

Russel just stared down at the podium where his arms now rested. "I'm not sorry." Russel muttered.

"You don't have to be, I guess." Marlowe shrugged.

"Thanks."

After that, Russel and a few of Marlowe's farm hands marched up a hill in Oakwood's cemetery. They trudged up hill and eventually stopped by a recently dug up hole. The grave stone was already in place.

Russel didn't know why he'd gotten a plot on a hill. Maybe it was to discourage him from visiting. Or maybe it was to give the old man a nice view. They set the casket down into the freshly dug hole. With that, the farmhands left, their job was done. The groundskeepers stood ready with shovels to fill in the hole.

"Can I have a minute?" Russel asked. The pair of ground keeps nodded. This wasn't the first time they'd buried a body. There was always that one guy who needed that last moment to speak. It was nothing new to them.

Russel peered down into the open hole, down at the casket. "Hey dad." Russel muttered. "I doubt you would've approved of how I handled that earlier. But I also think you wouldn't have given a shit."

Russel just stared down the hole. His eyes narrowed and he frowned. It was like he could hear his father's voice. 'Ain't nobody gonna give you anything, Killer.' Was Russel seriously expecting to find solace?

"Catch you later Dad." Russel said before turning away. He looked to the groundskeepers and gave them the thumbs up. "We're done here."

Russel made the walk down the steep hill. He could hear the sounds of shovels stabbing into dirt and the fluid motion of tossing said dirt into a six foot deep hole.

It was later in the afternoon. Russel was sitting in the living room, going over a list of things to do. Russel was now the youngest farm owner in Oakwood. He was on his own now. On the list was a number of chores he and his dad divided amongst themselves.

Russel was soon lost in thought, anxiety creeping up at him as the new responsibility of managing the farm full time weighed down on him. Thankfully, he was shaken out of his thoughts by a knock at the door.

The young man sat up off the recliner chair and approached the wooden front door. He unlocked the door and pulled it open only slightly. For all Russel knew it could be one of those so called 'mourners' drunk off their ass and looking to get even with him.

"Mind if I come in?" Russel found not a drunk but Marlowe, standing there on the doormat with a gentle smile. Russel opened the door fully, admitting the man entry. Marlowe kicked off his boots and stepped through the doorway. This action earn an odd look from Russel. "Showing my respect to the household."

"What's up?" Russel asked, closing the door.

"Just wanted to check up on you. After today, you're probably not feeling right as rain." Marlowe said as they walked into the living room.

"Something to drink?" Russel pointed a thumb at the kitchen.

"Oh no thank you, I don't think I'll be long." Marlowe declined. Marlowe took a seat on the living room couch. The old man's eyes wandered to the coffee table and the stack of papers that rested on it. "I see you're getting your affairs in order."

"I have to." Russel sighed. He took a seat opposite from Marlowe on the recliner. "The farms still capable of producing. I just need to meet with demand and keep up with our contracts."

"All by your lonesome?" Marlowe spoke in a humorous tone.

"What are you really here for Marlowe?" Russel asked, not really in the mood for games.

"I want to buy your farm." Marlowe answered simply. "I bought out the Bluebottom's and I want to buy yours."

"What?" Russel recoiled in surprise. "Why?"

"Because you're a young man in way over your head." Marlowe sighed. "You've got your whole life ahead of you Russel. You shouldn't be bogged down in a dead end farm job."

"I'm just making you an offer." Marlowe said, setting the matter straight. "You can even set the price. I've got enough banked from all my years of managing farms and days as a Huntsman."

"Marlowe…I don't know what to say." Russel found himself staring at the floor.

"You don't have to give me an answer. I just hope you'll think about the offer. Would you do that for me?" The old man stood up from where he was seated. "Now would you mind escorting a shriveled up old bag like me out the door?"

After seeing Marlowe out, Russel made his way to the kitchen. He hadn't been eating regularly. And for that he was kicking himself in the ass. So he wandered into the kitchen and dug into the fridge.

He made himself a simple sandwich. He hadn't purchased any groceries in the past week. He lacked the means to prepare a proper meal. So Russel sat down at the kitchen table and ate his sandwich.

There was a stack of papers on the table. His Father's things. He actually hadn't gone through all of his stuff yet. It seemed unnatural to Russel, to disturb his Father's things. But he began to sift through the stack of papers. He might as well start out small before moving onto the stuff in his dad's room.

Amongst the stack was an entrance application for Beacon Academy. Russel leaned back in his seat and studied the application. He though back to when his Father and he last spoke, right after Graduation. He'd asked him about his plans. Russel had told him he wanted to be a farmer.

His Father had one of his outbursts, it was the usual routine. But that time was different. It soon dawned on Russel that his Father was hoping for him to want to continue on and become a full-fledged Huntsman. The form was proof enough.

'No one's going to give you anything.' Russel heard his Father's voice.

"Take the initiative you jackass." Russel said aloud as a means to talk himself into it. "Just go."

From the Desk of Russel Thrush

Graduation Speech Entry

Dear, family and friends. My fellow students and 'good enough' faculty. This is the part where I'm supposed to tell you that the future's bright and we're all going to be fine. That's what you'd like to hear, but it's not what I'm going to say.

Russel made his way to the bus station. He bought his ticket and sat at a bench, waiting for bus to Vale. Seeing as he had time on his hands, Russel got to work double checking his duffel bag. He'd only taken the essentials the rest were sold.

On hand, Russel had only four pairs of pants, ten shirts, twelve pairs of boxers, nine pairs of socks, a spare green hoodie, his laptop, cash, the twin daggers and his Beacon acceptance paper.

Time flies as the next thing Russel knew he was on the bus, outbound to his destination. He peered out the window, watching Oakwood fly past him. This was i

The biggest misconception in life is that we believe we're owed a happily ever after. The truth is we aren't owed anything.

Nobody is going to give you anything.

Hegemony Marlowe arrived home that afternoon. He'd just given Russel a lift to the

"I see you've gotten rid of the boy." A gravelly brickish voice called out to Marlowe.

Marlowe turned and glanced to a darkened corner of his living room. There, in the recliner he'd purchased from Russel, sat The Iron Nail. "I did a better job than your lot did." The Iron Nail just glared at Marlowe. The tension in the room could be cut with a butter knife. "Tell your superior thank you for his cooperation."

"Just keep your end of the deal." The Iron Nail said threateningly.

Marlowe chuckled. "I will."

Fight as you may. Rail against society and its constructs. Dems the breaks.

Don't consider these words to be the only exception. Because there aren't any. Call it pity, call it some lonely prick's vain attempt to reach out and interact with the outside world.

When Russel arrived in Vale, he'd found the city lights mesmerizing. He got off the bus and found himself a hotel. For the time being, the cheap Inn he'd be staying at was home. He took the opportunity to get acquainted with the new town.

Vale was a melting pot. Here he was the guy from the small town, seeing humans and faunus interact in more peaceful instances. Russel took in the sights. He managed to get into a night club with a fake ID he purchased from some guy named 'Kevin' in an alley.

Of course he had to clear out. Some blonde bombshell had decided to pick a fight with the club owner.

These are just words I wish someone would tell me.

We don't get happy endings. We make them.

The day finally arrived. Class was finally in session.

Russel boarded an airship to Beacon and stood at the back by a window. He just had to take it in. There was this sense of wonder. He'd never been this high up in the sky before.

'Suck it gravity'. Russel mused.

There would be trials ahead of him. Russel was no longer in that small pond, he was here with the heavy hitters, those who would be Huntsmen someday. And excited him.

"Blugh!" The sound of a man throwing up filled the room. Russel turned away from the window and attempted to peer through the mob of people.

"Oh Yang, gross! You have puke on your shoe!"

"Gross, gross, gross, gross, gross, gross…!"

"Get away, get away, get away from me!"

You aren't here for a reason. You're here because you just are. What you do with that is up to you. It's all you can ask for.

Now go make something of yourself.

And so ends the first arc of 'The Darkling Thrush'. I'm not sure this chapter is up to par with the last one.

When I originally began writing this, I only planned for 5 chapters. It book ends nicely I think. I tie up all the little storylines I've been seeding up until this point.

But since then my plans have evolved. And I hope to you'll all stick around for those plans in the future.

The next update will be an 'Interlude'. There'll be an interlude after each arc as a sort of buffer.

Well, until next time. And the time after that. Later Days Dear Reader.