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Mornings were always quiet.
There were only three trees within 50 miles of the house. All three were alive, although one had a rot growing inside it. Branches had already fallen off one side because of this, but the rest of the tree stubbornly refused to die – new leaves could be seen daily, a vain attempt to gain just one more day of sunlight before it returned to the soil. Birds had taken up residence in the second, their chirping and singing the only regular noise in this barren stretch of nothing, although the wood of this tree was known to creak loudly in stronger winds. The third tree was largely left alone, though it was clearly older and more weathered than the other two. It also only stood half as tall, a result of being worn down by the incessant windstorms of the area.
Sitting beneath the branches of these trees was a house made out of the dead bodies of the other dozen or so that once called this plateau home; a log cabin, roughly designed and roughly cut, which had the audacity to display a second floor for practically no reason whatsoever. There were no firewood logs piled up along the side of the building, as there was nowhere near enough wood in the area to justify such waste. Besides, out of all the residents of the house, only one ever felt the chill of the high altitudes.
Penny #187 carefully swept the land around the house, moving slowly and with more difficulty than in days past. Her joints creaked with every movement, but her smile was as bright and beaming as the day she was first activated. After all, she had a job to do. What robot wouldn't be happy to serve? Sure they rarely if ever had guests… and sure the dust she swept was always back the next day… and the next… and the next…and the next…but that only meant she would stay busy. Dust was a funny thing like that.
A low hum drew her attention away from her work. A steel-blue hovercar landed just on the edge of the plateau, and the door pivoted open to admit a familiar face.
The ancient automaton gave as quick a salute as her joints would allow. "Ah. Miss. Marigold. How. Are. You. Today?" Penny gave her customary greeting, despite her voice box having passed its warranty almost a decade ago.
"Morning, Penny," the blue-haired young woman said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She grinned and said, "Is she awake? Or should I play Prince Charming and give her a kiss…?"
"O'course I'm up," came a ragged voice from inside the house. "How can anyone sleep wi' all that racket outside?!"
The old wooden door creaked open, a cloud of dust rolling away from the movement, and from the opening came a figure who could easily have been mistaken for a rouge tree, gnarled and withered, that somehow gained legs in order to stand up and move about the area. She walked with a low hunch, her face almost scraping against the floor with every step, and her pale white hair shone in the morning light. No part of her body could be seen beneath her vast shawl, the fabric draped heavy about her narrow shoulders. A pair of dusty glasses adorned her brow, almost as old as the one who wore them, yet behind the glass sat a pair of silver eyes with a hidden spark, deeper even than the Cloud Ocean. Briar Rose might have been older than the hills, but she was nowhere near senile.
"Penny, you rusty sod," Briar addressed her robotic housemate first. "Didn't ye apply yer oil this mornin?"
"Of. Course. I. Did. Master." Penny replied with a stiff salute. "I. Lubricate. Every. Day."
May Marigold almost choked a laugh, but managed to stop herself.
Briar shot her a look, then turned back to Penny, "Well ye missed a spot. Or twenty. Go back 'n do it again."
"As. You. Wish." Penny smiled, then dropped the broom and hobbled back to her shed to fetch her oil can. She may not have been the most efficient model, but she was certainly obedient.
A dusty wind blew by in the pause that followed. Briar Rose turned her silver eyes back to the newcomer, "You again… May, was it? How many times have ye tried now?"
"This time makes 11, ma'am."
"At least ye remembered yer manners this time," Briar adjusted her shawl, then cleared her throat. "Are ye ready?"
May stood up straight, putting her right hand over her gut. "Briar Rose… ask me your riddle."
The old woman placed her own hand in the same position, then looked up and spoke with a voice younger than her years:
"I am something people love or hate.
"I change peoples appearances and thoughts.
"If a person takes care of them self, I will go even higher.
"To some people, I will fool them. To others, I am a mystery.
"Some people might want to try and hide me, but I will show.
"No matter how hard people try, I will never go down.
"What am I?"
May's face went pale. This was a harder one than she expected. She crossed her arms and gazed at the ground, running as many possibilities through her head as she knew. A mystery… love or hate… never go down…
"Is the answer… … …you?" May gestured forward.
Briar Rose fell over laughing.
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"Is. She. Already. Gone?"
"Yep. Lost again, she did… that's 11. If she loses another, that's it. And she knows it."
"What. A. Shame. I. Hope. She. Gets. It. Next. Time."
"Don't hope for what can't happen, Penny. If she deserves my training, she'll get it. If not, she'll have to find someone else to knock her about for the rest of her life. Heh heh…"
"What. Was. The. Answer. Today?"
"Oh ye heard that, did ye? Well if ye must know… the answer is 'age.'"
"I. See. Then. May. Was. Not. Entirely. Wrong. Heh. Heh."
"…Yer goin the right way fer a smacked bottom."
"Heh… Sorry."
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Penny always stored herself in the charging station out back, which also had enough room for her tools and oil cans, so in a way the android was more like a casual roommate; this left the rest of the house for Briar alone. It was a modest little place by what was considered 'modern' sensibilities, and that was fine – the old warrior had every intention of spending the rest of her life right here. No amount of honors or fanfare would change her mind. It helped that she'd built the place with her own two hands, putting her own sweat and blood into the walls. Literally, in a few places. The old cabin was as much a part of herself as her left foot.
The old woman hobbled into the kitchen and started preparing lunch, along with a pot of tea, her gnarled fingers moving with purpose. Those with a keen eye might notice that none of her fine motions held even the faintest tremor; after all her years of life, Briar Rose had never once spilled a drop of tea. Plenty of blood, but never tea.
A plate of sunflower butter sandwiches was ready in next to no time, so she settled herself into a chair as the teapot heated up, patiently waiting. Always waiting was old Briar. That seemed to be what most of her life consisted of lately… waiting. If she wasn't waiting for her teapot, she was waiting for a new trainee to answer one of her riddles. Or waiting for Penny to finally break down, plunging the entire plateau into abominable silence. Or simply waiting for old Father Time to come and take her away at long last.
The teapot decided to answer her patience first, letting out a pleasant whistle. Briar took a moment to clean her glasses before standing back up to finish the tea. Dust floated aimlessly in the shafts of light spilling into the cabin, lazily heading back to the floor where Penny would sweep them up tomorrow. Again. Like clockwork. If there was one constant in this odd, ever-changing world she lived in, it was the dust – no matter how many times you swept it up, it always piled up again within a few days. Every time. Almost like the world itself was ancient and rotting away beneath her feet.
Briar tried not to think of these things as she took the plate and made her way upstairs.
The second floor was almost totally barren. There were a few windows up here, and the sunlight was even stronger due to the lack of curtains. At the edge of the open space lay an empty plate and teacup. A thick layer of dust covered both of these, as well as the item propped up next to them, leaning against the wall like an old, dead tree just waiting for something to shift it. Waiting to fall into ruin. Bright red metal stood out in sharp contrast to the dusty old wood of the cabin, though not as bright as it once was – much like Briar herself, time had taken a heavy toll on the scythe. The blade, once bright, gleaming steel, now sat dull and lifeless. Various cobwebs seemed to try and attach the weapon to the wall around it.
Briar Rose took several minutes to wipe the dust away with a rag and knock off the cobwebs. Penny could have done it, but the old woman had given her very specific orders to leave this room alone. No amount of wiping would restore the luster of the original red color, of course, but it was the act that mattered. No one saw what she did. No one needed to see what she did.
She lightly ran her fingers along the stock of the gun, along the chamber where rounds were once loaded, ready to be fired in the heat and glory of battle. Those days were long behind her, behind both of them. Far enough, in fact, that Briar had lost track of how many days they'd both been sitting in this lonely cabin, waiting for the end.
The old woman took the empty plate and cup, replacing them with the set she'd just prepared, then turned to go back downstairs. "Don't let the tea get too cold, Cress," she quietly said.
The rusty weapon gave no reply.
Briar Rose shook her head, then closed the door behind her and returned downstairs. Light from the single window in the stairwell seemed to glitter against the various medals and awards that adorned the space, all old and meaningless. Accolades from a life she'd long since abandoned. Yet it was probably her stubborn nature, or maybe just the fleeting memories of her glory days, that made her leave them up. Maybe it was just a token gesture to the few souls who'd actually been allowed inside the cabin over the years, hero worshipers who simply wanted to bask in her presence but who always left with a look of disappointment on their face. And who could blame them? The legendary Briar Rose, undefeated Warlord of Remnant, was nothing more than a tottering old hag now.
On the other hand, those types of visitors were fewer and further between than ever before. No doubt they'd fully stop before long. Even prospective trainees had all but stopped; May Marigold was the last one for nearly half a decade, and may well be the last.
The idea that she'd be forgotten before she'd actually died was… almost more terrifying than death itself.
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Hours passed in total silence as the suns dipped further and further down. Penny's battery couldn't hold much of a charge anymore, and every day her working hours became less and less productive. Likely wouldn't last the rest of the year. Briar gave a weary grimace as she thought about how utterly alone she would be once that day finally came, and Penny simply refused to activate anymore.
If she was lucky, Atlas might simply send her a new model – no strings or questions – and she'd have someone to hold a normal conversation with for the final few years of her life.
Then again, they'd probably also go out of their way to give her whatever life-extension therapies they thought necessary to keep her around for several more years than she wanted to linger. Money-hungry rotguts…
Briar let these thoughts fade as the suns finally dipped below the horizon, plunging the plateau into darkness. She turned on the electric fireplace, as there was nowhere near enough wood left to justify burning a real fire, and watched the pixelated flames dance to the artificial crackling of logs from the speakers. It was terribly fake, but at least the idea of it was enough to help her relax. She left the heater switched off tonight, mostly because the smell was almost unbearable.
In the pause between noises from the fireplace, Briar heard the distinctive clink of a teacup from the second floor.
She smiled at the sound. One more day, Cress… one more day.
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Designation: Remnant-9128 (Battle World)
Type 5Variant World [Multiverse Hub]
Class 4 Population – No Discernible HF (Human/Faunus) Ratio
Grimm Threat NOT DETECTED
Environment: RED
Integrity: GREEN
Culture: YELLOW
Dust/Aura: GREEN
Deviation from Standard: 73.2%
Special Note: I never wanna deal with that old bitch again. I don't care that she's another Ruby. Screw it.
(Actual) Special Note: This is one of the very few worlds that is not only aware of the existence of other worlds, but actively functions as a hub for transit between them. It would be wise to keep tabs on this world for future reference, or even to study their technology to improve our own here. They also regularly host fighting tournaments in their capitol city, which we might need to keep in mind as potential training opportunities.
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Author's Note: Here we have a Ruby that's almost at the end of her journey. More often than not we, as authors, create alternate realities where our heroes are young, vibrant and full of life, but I wanted to explore a reality where that's all in the past. A story that looks at a hero after all the excitement is over. And as one would expect, it's rather depressing. It's also relevant to me, as I recently had another birthday and I have never felt so much like an old man as I do now.
Next Chapter: If you remember what DC comic's Earth-3 was all about, then I don't have to explain very much. If not, just google it.
(Mild Spoiler: 'Cress' refers to Crescent Rose, another OC of The Layman, who first appears in Distorted Mirror Images. Yes, I use a lot of his OCs, get over it.)
=^..^=