Welcome back everyone! As always after every arc we have an interlude!

Before we get started I just wanted to thank everyone who left a review on the last chapter. I see some of you weren't prepared for that feels trip, right? Yes? No? Okay. Well, than you EternalKing, Baoh joestar, jin0uga, Ussop, noone297 and xLeonhardt! Thanks for the comments. I'll address some of your comments down below as, well, they're going to be addressed in the next arc. So yeah.

Some of you might be disappointed with this interlude. If you were expecting a flash forward like with Cardin and Pyrrha, I'm sorry to tell you, this is a flashback.

Welp, on with the show, eh?

Beginnings

It was a warm summer's day in Oakwood then.

The town and its people weren't blessed with the salvation provided by gusts of wind nor the enlightening feeling of the end of the work week. The day was Tuesday, the day after Monday, the day with no feeling.

A man worn down by years of fighting, years of intense labor and emotional exhaustion stood at the feet of a wire gate. The man was old, but clean shaven. He was a retired huntsman, but he didn't make the mistake of falling into disorder. After all, now in his golden years, Hegemony Marlowe had turned to big business.

Marlowe was known throughout town for a multitude of things. His charity and caring nature for his fellow man for example. But even a charitable man such as he had his limits. And that is what has brought him to the Thrush's door. Marlowe was a nice man, he was fairly reasonable. He'd outsourced several contracts to the Thrush patriarch, a man who only a few years earlier had settled out of the huntsmen business with his darling wife.

But the man's wife was long dead and that bright hopeful look in his eyes had faded. Marlowe had taken pity in the man and overlooked his downward spiral for some time. But now was not the time for coddling. Marlowe's own personal reputation was at stake, as he had introduced the Thrush to the suits from out of town. They had been complaining recently, noting less and less product being shipped from the Thrush farm.

The threat was clear, the Thrush's continued failures would forever be assigned to Marlowe unless the man turned it all around. And so that's why Marlowe was now pushing open the wire gate and marching up to the Thrush home. He'd stuck out his neck for one man far too long and without compensation, it seemed the best course of action would be to cut his losses if no solution could be found.

So the old and graying man walked up to the front door, balled his hand into a fist and like the thunderous will of god brought his fist against door three times. He had words to share with the man, words of fire and brimstone. He would grovel like any other dead beat had before, the likes whom had drained the well of sympathy from a man such as he. No more chances, just get in line or get tossed. That were the words Marlowe had for the Thrush.

So then the front door opened with a slow creek. Marlowe glared forward, hoping to meet the eyes of the Thrush dead on, to show him the kind of anger he'd brought forth from such a fine man such as he. But the door opened inward and there was no one there at eye level to meet him.

Confused, Marlowe glanced around to the sides, but still he found no one. That was, until he looked down. There standing in the open doorway stood a child with green hair wearing a messy white shirt two sizes too big and some tattered pants. The kid stood around three feet tall and was staring up at Marlowe with his big wide brown eyes.

"Hello?" The kid asked, sounding slightly afraid as he raised his arm against his face to wipe his nose.

"Um, yes. Hello." Marlowe said in surprise at the sight of the child. He silently quelled his anger as he studied the child. He appeared to have

"Are you here to see my dad?" The kid asked, still looking up at Marlowe.

"…Yes. I am." Marlowe nodded slowly.

"He's passed out in his room." The kid casually glanced over his shoulder down into the house.

"It's half past three." Marlowe deadpanned. For goodness sake, he expected more out of the Thrush.

"I know." The kid said before wiping his nose on his arm once more.

Marlowe just stared downward at the child in front of him. He had half a mind to march into the Thrush household and wake the man in his bed, but there was the matter of the child. Marlowe took a closer look at the boy, at his pale complexion and the drying tears on his cheek.

So this was their child, Marlowe thought to himself as he continued to stare at the boy. He recalled seeing Alba's baby bump, but he was nowhere present when the child was born. He'd heard of that unfortunate day, how she'd died delivering the kid now standing in front of him.

"You're welcome to wait outside until he wakes up." The kid said gently as he peered out the door and pointed to the bench on the porch.

"…Sure…" Marlowe muttered awkwardly. The old man then walked over and took a seat by the bench, content to wait things out rather than make a fuss in front of the kid.

"You're old." The kid commented as he took a seat beside Marlowe.

The old man just watched, stifling a laugh as the boy struggled to pull himself onto the bench. He found it humorous enough to not take offense to the boy's words. As soon as the boy was seated on the bench beside Marlowe, the kid turned to him with his wide eyes and pointed at Marlowe's face. "But it's not the hair that makes you old." The kid said. "It's the lines on your face. It's the wars."

Marlowe just raised a brow at the boy's words. "I don't deny your claims, child. I am a man of many years. But pray tell, what do you mean by that?" He asked curiously.

"My dad has the same lines." The kid said as turned back to look at his farm's fields. "My teachers don't though. But that's because he's a teacher. Not a huntsman." Marlowe just stared at the boy, surprised by his observational skills. So the old man just remained silent, as the boy began to ramble on.

"Schools weird." The kid said, completely out of nowhere. "Teachers talk and talk and talk and talk. They write stuff on the board and think you follow along and stuff. And then they grade you for how well you remember how they say things. It's weird. They're weird."

"I take it you don't get too many good grades then, kid." Marlowe commented, feeling some pity for the boy.

"I get 'A's." The kid muttered.

"Then why are you complaining?" Marlowe asked curiously.

"Because they didn't teach me." The kid said, looking down at his feet as he kicked up and back aimlessly. "You ever read outside of class before?"

"Well, it's been some time since I've been in primary school." Marlowe said thoughtfully, answering the boys' question. "But yes, I have."

"The pages make more sense than the teacher." The kid said as he continued kicking his legs against the air. "The teacher just talks. But it's the book that does the teaching. School's weird."

"Yes, well, I guess it is weird isn't it." He chuckled. "You're well-spoken for a child your age." Marlowe pointed out. "How'd you get so good with your words?"

"From a book." The kid answered as if there were nothing to it.

Marlowe cracked a smile, impressed by the boy. "I'm Hegemony Marlowe." Marlowe said, introducing himself.

"Heg-heg-mon-ey." The kid frowned as he attempted to recite Marlowe's name. "Mar-Low. Marlowe." He turned and smiled having sounded Marlowe's name out loud, revealing that most of his teeth hadn't even grown in yet. "I'm Russel."

"Pleased to meet you Russel."

Russel as a child I always imagined to be having a hard time dealing with his dad. At the age of 4 he's not the guy who's running around talking back to the man, he's just a kid who can't really defend himself. Keeping in line with some of the traits he's been established to have, as a child Russel is an outlier, not really taking comfort in the way others teach. I might explore more of Russel as a child in the future, but for the time being I feel like this is the final word on his time in Oakwood. From here on out, Russel will be moving on with his life, which is something I've been wanting to explore.

To EternalKing, I've done my best to imply and portray Oakwood as some rural town. Russel's mom died in childbirth, which has since been a thing that's followed Russel around his entire life as it was the reason why his dad fell into his downward spiral. So naturally people like throwing that in his face.

And to Baoh joestar. You're in luck.

Next Arc: Downtime

It's all about three long running plot threads. One of them being: Russel v Blake: Dawn of Injustice. Coming soon!