Alright, the next chapter. This time around, the Lone Wanderer will be having a 'conversation' with an old 'friend' that should hopefully shed some light on things. Hope you enjoy!
He wanted to complain. About what? About the aliens who'd sent him to this crazy world, about Qrow who'd sent him to this crazy school. With super powers and monster and all other kinds of absurdity, this place just wasn't doing it for him. As he pried himself up out of the small crater he'd formed in the ground, he really just wanted to work out the kinks and grumble about all the insanity that'd been imposed on him.
He just didn't have the time.
Dark, conspicuous growling crept out from the woods all around him.
One beowolf, then another, then another. They stalked out of the foliage, a small pack, to confront him, to surround him. He saw half a dozen, each snarling and scratching their claws against the ground as they approached.
He drew Crocea Mors. They were lesser beowolfs, the same sort that he'd faced weeks ago in his first ever fight on Remnant. From what he'd heard on the radio, these guys were actually some of the small fries. Guess it was time to show them what he could do now that he had aura.
His grip on Crocea Mors tightened. His aura seeped out and into the weapon itself, strengthening it. He'd wielded the ripper-sword long enough that it was practically a part of him, and his aura went accordingly. He'd learned all about this too in the special on huntsman and huntresses. Thank God for the radio.
Breath deep. Hold. Release.
The beowolves crouched low, prepared to pounce.
He took the initiative.
Pulling the sword's trigger, he launched himself forward and swung, hurtling through the air far faster than he ever could've hoped to achieve back on Earth. He cut straight through a beowolf's head, tearing it to pieces with the sword's many brutal teeth. A triumphant smile for a triumphant moment: his first ever kill with this new aura, his true induction to this world's peculiar combat. He'd killed a huge monster in just a second with just a single strike! Ha! He felt like a superhero!
He proceeded to fly past and gracelessly smash face-first into a tree, then collapse to the ground.
Alright, adjustment was necessary. Superpowers came with some assembly required.
He pried himself up off the ground spat out grains of bark that had been shoved into his mouth, before quickly reorienting against his enemies. The beowolves had turned around to face him as well, but were unable to take advantage of his embarrassing display, if only because he'd been so haphazard about it and they were too stupid. Quickly, however, they growled and charged for him, propelled by a bestial desire to kill the prey before them.
Breath deep. Hold. Release.
He rushed forward, feet firmly planted on the ground this time. He ducked under a clumsy swipe by one, shooting up with a counter swing that raked its abdomen, tearing out chunks of flesh and bone. The creature howled, before collapsing to the ground, writhing in pain and shortly becoming motionless. He propelled his momentum into a stab that skewered another one, the cruel blade's vicious teeth gnawing through flesh until he pried it out. He dodged back from another's snapping jaws, then swiped upwards into its face, tearing through its head, sending brain matter and skull fragments flying.
Then he was struck from behind. A beowolf smashed into him with its arms, throwing him up and into the air. His aura flared white, protecting him from a brutal death that most certainly would have arrested him back on Earth. He crashed through low-laying branches that crackled and snapped as he passed, before he fell inelegantly to the ground for the third time in not more than five minutes. Since when had he become a ragdoll for teachers and monsters alike?
He rolled the moment he landed, evading a snarling beowolf that crashed down onto the dirt where he'd been just a second prior, carving out deep rents with its claws. He sprung up from the ground and sliced off the beast's head with one good strike, but once more, he stumbled forward from the over-blown momentum, before tripping head-over-heels into the bushes. Cursing, he wrenched himself from the plants and hurtled to the side, narrowly avoiding another strike. He turned on his heel and swung with the spin, brutalizing the arm that had shot out to stab him. Crocea Mors screamed as he flipped it back around and slashed across the monster's neck, tearing halfway through and driving it to the ground, dead.
He threw himself away to avoid a strike from the final beowolf, readying his sword to charge in and finish the fight.
Someone beat him to it.
A loud gunshot rang throughout the forest. A red blur cut through the air and lodged itself in the beowolf's back. The monster jolted with a shock, before any and all energy within dissipated, and it fell to the ground. A bronze and red spear stuck out of its back.
The Wanderer hoisted his sword and cautiously scanned the forest, trying to penetrate through the thick haze of greenery and see whatever had entered the fray. He had fallen back into a low stance, ready to evade or attack whatever that may be.
"Hello there." A voice. A woman's voice. Not a second later, she stepped out from the trees, revealed. She was tall, at least at tall as he was, dressed in an outfit of crimson and copper. Her hair was a strong shade of scarlet; her eyes, emerald green.
Wait, her eyes... oh God damn it.
"Well then, it looks like we're partners, right?" she asked. The smile she wore was a little too wide, a little too genuine, for him to conceive that she was anything other than legitimately excited.
Good for her.
She effortlessly tore the spear out from the Grimm, which had already begun to dissolve. The Wanderer was also radiating an acrid, black steam as the blood and flesh and bone that he'd violently ripped from the Grimm began to evaporate. It made for easy cleaning, at least.
His new partner strode up to him, confidently. Actually, she straightened her back a bit more, tilted her head just a bit higher before she spoke. "My name is Pyrrha Nikos," she said with a kindly smile, holding her hand out for him to shake.
He didn't entertain the idea of greeting her for even a single second.
Instead, he looked up into the sky, squint and peering up through the canopy. "North is that way," he said, pointing. "We should get going."
"Huh, oh, how do you know?" Pyrrha asked, still holding out her hand.
"The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, right?"
She nodded tentatively.
"Then north is that way, and the Headmaster said the ruins would be in the northern part of the forest. You take point and I'll follow up." He pointed again into the forest.
Pyrrha let her hand drop. Her look was... uncertain. That was the best way to describe it. Uncertain about what, he didn't know, but that didn't matter. They just needed to move. He again gestured for her to take point. There was no way he'd be leading the way, since that would mean letting her stand behind him. Her, holding that weapon.
Pyrrha hesitantly nodded and marched in the direction he'd indicated. The Lone Wanderer followed. There were no more words.
He dutifully scrutinized the forest, finger on the trigger of Crocea Mors, ready to bring it roaring to life. However, he looked at his new 'partner' more often than anything else. He kept his sword held in such a way that he could easily strike out at her, or, besides that, parry any attacks on her part.
And why would she do that? Why would a girl who'd helped in a fight, come up to him, smiled and introduced herself bother attacking him?
Well... she was friends with that white-haired girl, right? Yes... maybe that was it. Even if it wasn't, he had a feeling. He had a feeling that crawled around under his skin whenever there were people around him who were out of his sight. It was a scratchy, itchy sensation that set his thoughts quivering in agitation. A natural response to this girl who may have a motive unknown to him, a motive she held close within the impenetrable confines of her own mind. People were innately insidious, after all. It wasn't irrational in the slightest to think that she might wish to harm him.
No, not irrational at all.
"I think I've found something," Pyrrha said. His eyes snapped immediately in the direction she was pointing. Sure enough, there was what appeared to be a cave entrance. She approached it, straying from the northern direction they'd been trudging in. He obliged to follow. "Look at these markings, do you think perhaps this is the ruin the Headmaster mentioned?"
The Lone Wanderer left her question hanging in the air as he insepected the crude drawings of stick figures fighting a scorpion.
"The drawings might mean a ruin," he said, "But caves are dangerous. This could have all sorts of stuff inside." Images of deathclaws, yao-guai and giant ants hidden in dark, earthy corridors came to mind. He grimaced. "Then again... they wouldn't want to make this easy for us, would they?" Of course, it could never be easy, damn it. "A cave filled with monsters would definitely be a good test..." And if they'd thrown them off a cliff already, why not force them into a deadly, dark dungeon of doom for these 'relics'?
"Uhm, I suppose it would," Pyrrha said, holding out the point of her spear at the cave.
The Wanderer flipped a dial on his pip-boy, turning on its industrial flashlight and shining the pale white beam into the cavern, where it cut deep into the darkness. Nothing was revealed aside from slippery rocks and puddles, but the cave clearly went on for a while. He nodded at Pyrrha to enter.
"Shouldn't you lead, since you have the light?"
He narrowed his eyes.
She held his gaze for a moment, before huffing. "Well, fine," she said, each syllable tinged with exasperation. This was the first spark of indignance she'd yet conveyed. Before the day was over, she'd certainly have a fire's worth.
She marched into the cave, weapon in hand, and the Wanderer followed.
He really hated caves.
They'd been sprinting for several minutes now, and that gigantic radscorpion wasn't letting up. Oh no, it screeched and crashed its way through the forest after them, either smashing through or scrabbling over anything that got in its way.
Even the biggest albino radscorpion he'd ever seen (and those things got big) was nothing compared to this monstrosity. Dear God, why had he been dropped off in a world that somehow had even larger, meaner monsters than Earth?
The deathstalker, as Pyrrha had called it, screeched behind him, a sound like rending metal. Its snapping claws played a sharp, staccato rhythm that sounded like swords crashing together. Its many feet drove into the ground, causing an uproar of harsh, dull beats. All in all, he was being chased by a monstrous orchestra of death.
Good for him and bad for the deathstalker, the Lone Wanderer already possessed a large amount of experience running away from giant deadly monstrosities.
His breathing level, his legs limber, he sprinted through the forest. His partner was much the same, although he doubted she'd built up her stamina through exposure to life or death situations of fight or flight and choosing the latter. Still, at least the people of this world were as fit and hardy as he was, otherwise she'd have been caught and he'd have had to come back and rescue her. It was actually the case, to his consternation, that she managed to stay a few paces ahead of them the entire time. Stamina could be deadly in a fight, He'd been the famed Lone Wanderer back home, but here was up against people who've been training all their lives with the superpowers he'd just acquired. If he ever got into a proper fight with one of them, he'd be lucky not to smash his face into another tree!
During his inattention, he smashed into a small tree, destroying it completely as he stumbled forward and kept fleeing.
He spat out splinters, again. Fine, less thinking, more running.
Their mad dash eventually brought them hurtling out of the tree line and into a meager field, where another battle already raged. A giant black bird, a nevermore, was circling in the air, terrorizing several other students around what appeared to be—
"Ruins!" he yelled. Yeah, they were being chased in a life-or-death situation, but he'd be damned if he let some stupid animal stop him from getting into Beacon!
He charged for the ruins, Pyrrha just beside him, deathstalker just behind. He dashed between crumbling stone columns and snatched something—which he really hoped was a relic—off a pedastal before darting away. He glanced back. Maybe the stone structures would be strong enough to slow down—
The eight-legged hell-beast barreled through the ruins, smashing through everything in its way without losing a second of time, smashing through the Wanderer's hopes simultaneously.
Great.
"A little help here!" Pyrrha yelled.
He glanced over. What the Hell did she expect him to do!? Oh wait, she's talking to those people over there, those people who... who hopefully don't hold grudges.
Apparently not, for the orange-haired girl and her green-clad friend must've heard them and answered the call, rushing over even as the other students took after the nevermore. Maybe it was just because Pyrrha had been the one to call them, or maybe they weren't so petty as to allow personal animosity to stop them from helping people. If the latter was true, then maybe they deserve a few nicer words.
Impetus aside, he had a fight to win. With four people, this could work. That thing was big, but it'd probably fall to the same tactics that worked on radscorpions. The trick was crippling its legs. If you do that, then you can finish it off from afar. His magnum only had six shots, not enough to end it, but that wouldn't matter. They didn't have to kill this thing, just immobilize and leave with their relics. The only problem would be that stinger and those pincers, which could strike out to the side. Someone would need to try and stay in front of it and keep its attention so the others could flank it and strike.
That would be the single deadliest role in the entire encounter.
"Circle around it!" he yelled. "Get on either side of it and hit its leg! I'll distract it from the front!" The approaching duo looked at him, each shooting him indignant scowls as they were undoubtedly accosted by memories of who he was like. Nevertheless, they acted on his commands, at least letting the urgency of battle guide them more than emotion.
Those two and Pyrrha all broke off to the sides as he simultaneously spun about and drew the Mysterious Magnum. It would do little to nothing in terms of damage, but it might just get the bastard's attention.
Breath deep. Hold. Release.
Normally, he never would've been stupid enough to fire the pistol one-handed, not wanting to break his wrist, but aura was aura, and he pulled the trigger. Two shots rang out and two bullets crashed into the monster's face. A chip was picked off of its white carapace by one; a beady red eye was ruptured and destroyed by the other.
It screamed and shot forward.
He holstered the Mysterious Magnum and hoisted Crocea Mors just in time to deflect the golden stinger. He pulled down on the sword's trigger and it writhed with power. He backpedaled to avoid its snapping pincers, striking back at them with glancing blows from his sword that did nothing more than scratch it. That was all he needed.
His companions rushed to either flank and wasted no time darting in to cripple the beast. Pyrrha stabbed straight into one of its joints with her spear, skewering the limb before tearing it out and leaping back. The guy darted in and quickly inflicted a succession of slashes at one of the legs, twisting it garishly. The other girl simply brought her hammer down in a full arc and brutally smashed one of the legs into a sickeningly irregular angle.
The monster took notice and backpedaled to try and force all of the combatants in front of it. The Lone Wanderer pressed forward with a loud yell, waving Crocea Mors, which still roared its violent call, to try and keep the attention on him. He lashed out a few glancing blows at it pincers as well, just for good measure. It worked, and the monster quickly focused all of its pained rage on the Wanderer. Its stinger lashed out lightning fast, a golden blur that careened towards him.
A slight bolt of panic snapped through him at the sight of the monstrous stinger. He grit his teeth. He flicked his wrist and threw up Crocea Mors, which sawed into the stinger just in time to deflect it.
But the Deathclaw had more than one weapon at its disposal. Its twin pincers swiped forward, one seeking to decapitate him, the other seeking to simply cut him in two at the waist.
The Wanderer cursed and threw himself back just in time to avoid being taken hold of. Maybe those pincers couldn't immediately tear into his aura, but if that thing managed to get a good grip on him...? He'd be ripped to pieces.
The Wanderer fell back onto the ground and immediately rolled back, dodging another strike from the stinger, which shot down into the spot he'd been at not a second before. He pounced back up to his feet and let out another yell as he raked Crocea Mors across the tail, actually managing to cut deep, leaving the tip of the stinger hanging limply. Huh, he really was a lot stronger now, wasn't he?
It screeched and moved—no, collapsed—forwards. His companions had done a good job of cutting at its legs, but powered by pure rage and its immense momentum, the creature was able to advance upon him nonetheless. It threw both pincers into an outward sweep, hoping to crash them into him and send him flying back.
Frustration bubbled up within him. Why couldn't this thing just stop already!? He planted both feet firmly into the ground and brought Crocea Mors to bear in front of him. He wouldn't let this thing push him around anymore, not if his newfound aura and all its strength had anything to say about. With its stinger decommissioned, he could afford to be still, catching it at the same time and presenting another good opportunity for his companions to strike out at its legs.
Both claws swept out towards him, powered by the strength of its bestial muscles and the weight of its formidable armor. He caught them both with his sword. He was pushed back no more than a few steps, even though this thing could probably have sent a super mutant flying with such an attack. He kept the pincers locked in place with Crocea Mors, which harshly sawed into the pale carapace.
The Monster accepted the challenge, pressing forward and trying to overpower the Wanderer. Even if its immense strength force him to take another step back, he refused to give it any ground.
His companions took advantage of this. They picked apart its legs with brutal precision, and when Pyrrha called out that her side was done, and when the orange-haired girl called out the same, the Wanderer removed himself from the deadlock and leapt back.
The deathstalker tried to follow, but only then did it realize through its fury-induced haze that it was unable to do so. These Grimm really were stupid, weren't they?
His allies stepped back and stood in file alongside him. Pyrrha raised her spear, which shifted and converted into a rifle. The orange-haired girl raised her hammer which collapsed into a grenade launcher. The boy's blades hinged into twin submachine guns.
Somehow, The Wanderer wasn't surprised in the slightest.
He covered his ears, and they opened fire. Even with his hands tightly pressed onto either side of his head, the barrage of explosions and bullets echoed through the field as the scorpion was destroyed. It took a good bit of concentrated fire before the beast finally stopped writhing and screeching. Its corpse began to smoke and dissipate, and soon the only evidence of the deathstalker's existence would be the carnage left on the landscape.
The Lone Wanderer sighed deeply, finally done with the fight against the largest creature he'd yet faced. Well, it wasn't bigger than a behemoth, but it was safe to consider that using fat-mans and mini-nukes was sorta cheating.
He wiped some of the sweat from his brow. He settled his breathing, which had increased a little. Not too much, but a bit. He'd had to run just as fast for much longer, so this really wasn't too bad. Still, he wouldn't be unwelcoming of a break.
"Oh my..." Pyrrha spoke, her voice slightly awed.
The Wanderer looked in the same direction as her, and his eyes widened. There, in the distance, a decapitated nevermore fell from the sky. Stood at the top of a cliff was a small, barely perceivable figure. The red made her unmistakable.
The Wanderer smiled. As far as helpers went, it looked like he'd chosen pretty well. Wait... this proved just how dangerous she was. His face dropped into a scowl and a frown, becoming a painting of revulsion. He'd need to be extremely on edge when around that one.
He shook his head. That was for the future. Right now, the present was more important. Now what was that relic he'd taken? He'd just run past a pedestal and grabbed one at random. Now that he took it out of his pocket, he saw a white chess piece, a rook.
"Oh..." It was the girl, the one with the orange hair, the one he'd shoved and berated. She reached into her pockets and pulled out her own relic, which she held up in the air and presented to him: a white rook.
Shit.
"For finding the white rook pieces, you four shall henceforth be known as Team JNPR, lead by Jaune Arc."
Applause echoed throughout the auditorium. Pyrrha Nikos clapped along only halfheartedly, and her two teammates, Lie Ren and Nora Valkyrie, didn't clap at all. Neither did Jaune.
She wished she could get a good bearing on him, but that was simply impossible. She'd figured he'd want to, well, get to know her, just like he said he would. Nothing like that had happened yet. No questions, no ice breakers. Nothing.
Then there was his interactions with Nora and Ren. This was notable in that there only interactions were limited to occasionally glaring at one another. Obviously, there was some kind of history there, but she hadn't the first guess as to what. She'd been able to talk with the two of them after Jaune abandoned them following initiation. The instant he left, the duo had lit up, Nora specifically. The girl proved boisterous and exceedingly kind, just the kind of person that Pyrrha had been looking for. Not only that, but she hadn't mentioned her celebrity status at all. Either she didn't know or didn't care, just like Jaune. This seemed to be the case with Ren as well, who'd been quiet, yet polite. That was opposed to Jaune's status as quiet, and nothing else. When she'd questioned them about Jaune, she was granted only complicated expressions and noncommittal excuses to change the subject.
She just hoped this wasn't anything too bad, something they could all work past in time.
They all walked off the platform for the next team, and Jaune instantly diverted to skulk away from the crowd, heading for the door. There it was again. From what she'd seen, he was actually extremely antisocial. Maybe he just had a problem with crowds? Maybe he just didn't like talking to people?
She glanced at Ren, who already gave off a sense of reservation just from the short time that she'd spent with him. Perhaps he and Jaune were similar? Maybe Jaune was just a bit more reserved even than Ren was?
She looked back at her new team leader as he pushed his way through the crowd... pushed. Literally, he pushed people out of his way when they didn't move. Alright, that was a little rude.
She kept looking at him as he crossed the room. He had his hand on the door out of the auditorium when he was stopped by a girl wearing red. She was short and bouncy, certain to be rebuffed easily... or not? They actually chatted for a moment before Jaune gestured towards the door and left, the girl waving goodbye after him. That girl, Ruby Rose, wasn't it? Another team leader... perhaps they were friends? Well, then that might just lend some credence to her theory of his shyness. He made friends, he just wasn't overt about it. He could definitely stand to limit some of his more rude tendencies, but maybe he just suffered from anxiety?
And maybe she was just being desperate again.
Alright, perhaps she was, but perhaps he was just socially anxious and driven to harsh reactions when pressed? Who knows? She certainly didn't.
She shifted from one foot to the other, biting her lip even as she did so. Maybe this hadn't been the best decision for her to make. Maybe she should've just let the dice roll when she found her partner. Or, maybe she could stop being so indecisive and inactive. Why not just actually try and talk to him again? And now that he's away from the crowds and the stress of initiation, maybe he'd be more receptive to introductions? Yes, just give him a little time to be alone and then find him.
Yes. A little time. Just a little bit.
Alright, it'd already been a few minutes since he left, perhaps it'd be fine to go now?
She was only able to take a few steps in the direction of the door before a hand on her arm stopped her.
"I think you should really just leave him alone," Lie Ren said.
"Yeah," Nora echoed, "He... he's not a very nice person."
"What?" Pyrrha asked, "What's that supposed to mean? He-he's my partner I haven't even gotten introduced to him. I only ever learned his name when the Headmaster said it on the stage." She clasped her hands together. "I-I should get to know him, don't you think?"
"I don't think he wants anything like that," Nora said. In the short talk they'd shared on their way back up from initiation and then in the lull afterwards, the girl had been an excitable beacon of happiness. She no longer seemed half so happy. "You should leave him alone. We are."
"What, how can you say that? He's our leader. We should at least try and... do something." She shrugged. "Something, right?"
Ren and Nora shared a look, then glanced back at Pyrrha.
"He wasn't really nice to me..." Nora said.
"It doesn't look like he's very nice to anyone..." Ren said.
No! No, this wasn't happening!
She'd come to another continent for the express purpose of making friends, and she wasn't going to have a partner who refused to acknowledge her existence! She wouldn't just accept this lying down, she could at least go and actually try and talk to him!
She turned her back to them and cut through the crowd, leaving the two behind. She could at least wrestle some sort of words from him, like a 'hello' or a 'how are you' or something like that. That was all she wanted. Really, that was all she needed!
She just needed to talk to Jaune Arc.
The Lone Wanderer wasn't in the mood for talking—he never was.
As such, he'd escaped and now stood at the cliffs of Beacon, cigarette in hand. He'd had to steal it, since it was illegal for people under eighteen to buy them... God damn laws. Not like he'd had any money anyway, since he'd given away his last. He'd been assigned to a state of destitution for the few days before Beacon began. It actually hadn't been bad, not at all. It was pretty easy to find food on the streets, and there were plenty of places around the city to sleep at night. A lot better than the wasteland, anyway.
He looked out over the cliffs, saw the evening sun cast a glittering glow over the lush, green forest. A lot better than the wasteland, indeed. He pulled in a breath from his cigarette, savoring the sensation, which was a lot better than anything he'd managed to find back on Earth, probably because everything back there was either crudely hand-made or hundreds of years old. Neither made for the best smoking experience. He sighed and let out a cloud of smoke, basking in the rough scent.
Things were nice.
"Uh, hello?"
Things had been nice.
"I-I just thought I'd come and try to have a decent conversation," Pyrrha said, "I know that we haven't really talked..." Her words lingered in the air. "I... is now not a good time? Would you rather we just talk later?"
She wasn't going to let it up, was she?
He sighed. He turned to face her fully, looking right into her eyes. Those sparkling, emerald eyes.
"Alright, let me tell you something Pyrrha."
"Yes?" The edges of her lips tilted upwards and her posture straightened, a sickening display of hope.
"Leave me alone."
Her eyes widened; her shoulders sagged; her smile faded.
"Huh-"
"Don't talk to me, don't look at me, don't think about me, don't even come near me. Pretend I don't even exist, because I'm sure as Hell going to pretend that you don't."
Her eyes became dominated by a sincere expression of... panic. Yes. Panic, and even some pain.
"What are you talki—"
"Shut up."
She took a step back as if he'd hit her. Those eyes, they held his gaze, and they asked a question that he hadn't let her words convey: why?
"I don't know you, and I don' want to know you." He only ever set out to 'know' people so much as he needed to evaluate whether or not they were a threat. He'd already seen her combat prowess, her physical ability. He'd looked her up on his scroll after he'd left them behind following initiation. She was a renown fighter. The danger she presented him was greater than perhaps anyone else in the school.
"So fuck off."
Her eyes were soft, pained. They held a lot of pain. Everything about her did. From her posture (which was slouched and defeated) to her face (which was shocked and aghast), she portrayed the view of someone hurt.
He hadn't expected her to get this upset.
She swallowed. She even reached up to massage her throat, which was undoubtedly blocked and aching, in the way that only happened alongside pain.
He wanted to look away from her, but found himself unable to any such thing.
She finally broke eye contact, staring down at her feet. He could still see those emerald eyes, which shone in a tell-tale manner. Wait, she wasn't going to cry? No, not tears, just a plain manifestation of discord. Why was she like this? He was some random guy she'd just met, why would she be so hurt? What kind of importance had she put onto him already!?
She took a few deep breaths.
Good, calm down. Calm down or get mad. Just get mad. Get angry at me. Get angry at me the way Nora has.
Pyrrha Nikos raised her head and looked him dead in the eyes, a slight sneer on her face, barely perceptible yet starkly contrasting the placid and kindly girl he'd thus far observed.
She was angry, sadness gone.
He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.
"Fine," she spat, "If that's what you want, then that's what you'll get. I-I'll just spend time with Nora and Ren, at least they aren't awful." She continued to stare at him. What was she waiting for? Was she giving him one last chance of some sort? Fine, he'd use that.
He was finally able to turn away from her, now that her eyes shone with hate. He waved one had dismissively. "You can fuck off now."
She did. Without another word, she turned on the spot and stomped away, heels cracking imperiously against the ground.
Jesus Christ, first Nora and now Pyrrha... why couldn't people just take the hint and leave him alone? Why'd they have to press? It was their fault, then. Yeah... it was their fault... they should know better.
He remembered again the look on Nora's face when they'd first met. Rather, he remembered the way it had melted after he'd shoved her. He remembered his much more recent encounter with her, wherein a stony expression dominated the bubbly girl when she was in his presence. And, of course, the dim light in Pyrrha's eyes still burned in his vision.
At least now they were both mad at him instead.
"Whatever, not like I care anyway," he grumbled.
He tried to take another drag from his cigarette, only to frown. It was smashed. His grip had unwittingly tightened and completely crumpled the cigarette into a twisted corpse of paper, fiber and ash.
He snarled and threw it to the ground.
He'd arrived to their room early and claimed a bed, the one nearest to the wall. He'd thrown his bags on top of it and shoved it up against the wall. Then he'd left before the other came. Now it was night when he'd returned, ready to get to sleep and not spare a word, not give them so much as a single glance more than he needed to make sure they weren't up to anything.
He entered the room. No one spoke to him; he spoke to no one.
He laid on his side and pressed his back against the wall, blanket draped loosely over him. One hand reached under his pillow, near the Mysterious Magnum. He stared with lidded eyes as the rest of his 'team' settled down, climbing into their own beds. Pyrrha turned off the lights.
The Lone Wander's nerves shot up once he was shrouded in darkness, but he kept his eyes wide open, breath eventually evening out again as his vision adjusted. He'd make out any shapes that approached him; he'd pull out his pistol quick enough to stop anyone who came near.
He stared at them as they shifted under the covers, trying to get the most comfortable, or trying to find the most advantageous positions to rest in, just as he had. Time bled by. His 'team' slowly stopped moving and settled into stillness, their breath dominated by steady rhythm, signaling that they truly were asleep.
Or at least pretending.
Every time the Wanderer's eyes drifted shut, a gruesome image would stab into his consciousness, of those people he had to sleep with. They'd rise once he finally fell away to sleep, once he'd finally let his guard down. They'd have their weapons, which they'd snuck in just as he had his. They'd close in on his bed. They'd smile. They's raise their arms in the air, blade edges glinting cruelly from what little moonlight seeped into the room through the curtains. They'd kill him.
Every time his eyes shut, he had that thought, and they snapped back open. Accordingly, he didn't sleep for several hours.
What would their motivation be? He didn't know, but just because he didn't know, didn't mean it didn't exist. It would be foolish to think such. Still, it wasn't even any conscious act on his part. The thoughts simply appeared and forced their way into his mind, and once they were there, he just wasn't able to push them out.
However, the wear from being launched off a cliff and fighting a giant scorpion had taken a toll. Mind-over-matter lasted for only so long, and eventually his eyes did shut. Exhaustion beat down paranoia. He fell to sleep.
There would be no respite for him there.
Dogmeat wagged his tail as he sauntered back, stick in mouth. Jane and John were both cooing for him to approach them, but the ever-loyal hound padded past. A young man with blonde hair and two blue eyes reclined in a ruined old lawn chair, lounging in the setting sun.
They were in the DC suburbs during the waning twilight hours. The ruined house behind them would be their camp for the night, but before anyone went to sleep, before guards were posted, before night fell, they'd have some fun.
Dogmeat happily dropped the stick at his master's feet and barked excitedly. The young man bent over and picked it up off the ground. In his comfortable laziness, he decided to delegate the actual task of throwing it to John. Accordingly, he threw it as his head.
John cursed and barely caught it in time to stop a black eye, subsequently glaring at him. Jane walked over, laughing, and gave the lounging teen a high-five. John's grumbling quickly subsided as Dogmeat frantically scrabbled at his feet, whining for him to throw. With a fresh smile, he did just that, and the dog was off, rushing down across the yard and quickly retrieving the stick. He gnawed on it happily as he came back, again dropping it off by his master.
Once more, he delegated the task. This time, however, he threw it to the team's resident super mutant, who caught and looked at it hesitantly. Dogmeat's desperate begging for play, however, quickly erased his trepidation. He threw the stick... which flew high and far, eventually crashing through the half-shattered window of a house down the street.
Dogmeat only whined.
John and Jane and the young man quickly broke down in laughter, which Fawkes followed shortly, and even Dogmeat's melancholy was overcome by the collective festivity. The young man continued to chuckle even as he closed his eyes, content to let the laughter of his friends and the soft touch of the setting sun lull him into a state of peace.
Life was good.
"No, no, no, this isn't right at all."
His eyes shot open. Come from nowhere, another young man with two blue eyes stood directly in front of him, blocking out the sunlight, blocking out his view of his friends, blocking out with his voice the sound of their laughter. He couldn't have been any older than seventeen, even though he looked more mature in that crisp military uniform, an officer's formal attire. A genteel smile graced his face, wide and kind. He was strikingly handsome for his age, a figure of good health and attraction. His vitality was channeled through his easy expression, creating a sense of youthful, vibrant kindness.
The young man who would one day be called the Lone Wanderer wanted to do many things. He wanted to leap up and attack. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run away. He would do none of these things, for Bishop Beauvais acted first.
The monster snapped his fingers, and the world bled away. In an instant, the sunlight and the friends and the laughter was annihilated, replaced by an all-consuming darkness. Suddenly, the Lone Wanderer was trapped.
"There we go," Bishop said. "That, that was the past. Now this, this is the present."
He was in a dark room—no entrance, no exit.
It was too dim to make out any details. There were no walls, just a great nothingness that simultaneously stretched out forever and pressed close to him, claustrophobically so. It was an all-encompassing blackness that shrouded everything.
He tried to thrash and struggle, but a terrible paralysis gripped him, stopped him from so much as flinching. He couldn't even move his head, couldn't even close his eyes, couldn't even open his mouth to scream. How he wanted to scream, to yell, to curse. All at the one who stood across from him.
Bishop was wrapped in darkness, such that the Wanderer could only make out his vague figure. Still, he could feel that smile, even without seeing it. He felt that warm smile and those kindly eyes, both made of pure rhinestone. He felt a disgusting tightness in his stomach, the overpowering sense of sickness that this monster inspired within anyone who knew what he was capable of.
"It's nice to see you again," he said. That voice, that disgusting voice. It was tinged with a refined accent reminiscent of southern aristocracy, the same accent as Eden and Autumn. Everyone in the Enclave possessed it, just one more way for them to separate themselves from the mutated savages of the wasteland.
"I'm glad to see you getting along well with your new team," he said with a light, airy chuckle that sounded as if he'd just heard a close friend tell a polite joke. He always had a way of speaking as if he was talking with someone he cared for deeply, as if he was giving a legitimate, kindhearted compliment. The bastard.
"Here, I'll let you talk, if only to make things more interesting." He snapped his fingers, a sharp crack emanating through the dark room, and the Wanderer felt his jaw loosen, control returning.
"You son of a bitch!"
"Oh my, you seem to be upset."
"Fuck you! Get out of my head!"
"I think I'll muzzle you again," Bishop said. He snapped his fingers once more, and the Wanderer's mouth shut closed, once more unmoving. "Obviously, you aren't in the mood to contribute to any sort of meaningful conversation. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You ought to appreciate the gift of speech." He leaned forward, and the Wander barely made out his hand reaching out in the dark. He tensed at he felt Bishop's fingers prod his throat. "You really should be more careful with what you say. From what I can see, your words aren't doing you any favors. The only person you've even been somewhat nice to is that Ruby girl. Funny, how you rushed to check on her, then nearly berated her away. Pushed her away." Bishop lightly reached out and slapped a hand against his shoulder, a disgustingly friendly action. "An interesting dichotomy, no? Rush for good; instantly resort to brashness for... for what? Just to make them mad?"
The Wanderer glared at him, for it was the most he could do.
"Sure, you can pin a lot of it on paranoia, but wouldn't it be better to make friends out of potential threats? You've made a lot of these enemies on your own. No subconscious reaction has driven you to consciously tell everyone off. Nope, all you. And now, most everyone here already hates you." Bishop leaned back and hummed. "Your partner, Pyrrha, for example. A deadly person, she is, yet you went out of your way to burn that bridge. Strange indeed." He hummed once more, a despicably soft sound. "You know, Maxwell Noble would never have spoken to anyone this way."
In that moment, every last fiber of the Lone Wanderer's being ached as he struggled to attack.
"Maxwell Noble: the person you wish you could be. Isn't that right? Of course it is." Bishop wistfully looked away, as if staring at something far in the distance, something nearly out of sight and certainly out of reach. "Maxwell Noble... too bad he's dead now, hm? Now all the world has is you. You, who's gone around wearing some form of a snarl or a sneer at every moment." Bishop turned back to him, observing with those handsome blue eyes, clouded behind darkness.
"Now that I think about it, it's almost as if you want to make enemies, almost as if you're trying to burn bridges, just so no one can cross. Now that would be strange, wouldn't it?"
He wanted to make enemies? Ridiculous... the Wanderer never went out of his way to anger people... he just acted accordingly. It was for the best if these potential adversaries were away from him. There was no other reason. Absolutely.
"Why would that be, I wonder? Well... it's a lot easier to deal with losing an enemy than a friend, isn't it?"
The Wanderer struggled with all his might to attack, but not a single muscle did so much as twitch.
"Or maybe it's because plenty of enemies means plenty of reasons to leave, hm? After all, you are the Wanderer. Danger gives you all the excuses you need to keep on the move." Bishop leaned in. "You've been running for a long time. But from what? The past? The future?"
The Wanderer could feel the shining smile ripping into him through the darkness.
"Actually... I'd say you're running from both."
What? The Wanderer wasn't running, he was going from place, living his life. There was no fear here.
"Oh, come now, don't look at me like that. We both know you're a coward. We both know you can't handle what happened. You're weak. You were weak then, so you failed; you're weak now, so you can't even face the memories." Bishop laughed softly. "A pathetic weakling. You can't even bear the thought of it happening again."
Even through the diatribe, Bishop's voice sounded as nice and polite and genteel as ever, and the Wanderer knew that that rhinestone was still shining behind the darkness. Never had he seen Bishop drop that façade of kindness. No matter how the cruel the words, they always sounded nice.
"So just keep on running. Just keep on making enemies and running away, never getting close, because you're too weak to do anything else. Do you even have a goal in life, anymore? What's your motivation?" Bishop laughed once more. "I know what your motivation is: fear. That's the only things that drives you now."
Bishop walked around the Wanderer, out of sight. All of his nerves were set on fire as the great adversary fell out of view. The next time Bishop spoke, it was closer, so close that the Wanderer could feel his cold breath on the back of his neck.
"One has to wonder, though, why you've chosen the life you have. Going from place to place, angering everyone you meet, killing people and instigating people to kill you, doing 'good' as you pass by. It's just about the most dangerous life you could possibly live, isn't it?" Bishop hummed yet again, the only outward manifestation of his speedy thought process. "Then again, maybe that's the point? It keeps you running, it keeps you distracted, and that's the important part. If you stay still, then you might let people in. Might feel the impetus to be nice every now and again. Might make friends." Bishop laughed once more. "But now you've stopped, haven't you? Are you here to stay?"
The Wanderer could only glare.
"Oh, who am I kidding. Of course you're not. Staying would mean facing it, and we both know you don't have the spine to do that." Bishop clapped his hands together, a single solid smack that echoed throughout the dark room and would've made the Wanderer wince, if only he could. "So just keep on pushing people away and keep on running, then you won't ever have to deal with it again, will you? Keep on making enemies, since it's easier to lose them than people you care for. Keep on making enemies, so you have an excuse to flee. You pathetic failure." Bishop leaned in close, face just a foot from his. "You should've died back there, you know? You deserve to have died." Bishop snapped his fingers.
The Lone Wanderer was silent.
"Hmph, I thought as much. Just keep living this hollow 'life' of yours, just keep pushing people away, since Lord knows you'd never be able to keep them safe."
He snapped. "Just shut up! Shut up! You bastard! Just leave me alone! I killed you! You're dead! You're gone! Get out of my head!"
The Lone Wanderer was left breathing heavy from his outburst, a scratchy pain digging into his throat from how hard he yelled.
Bishop only laughed and snapped his fingers again, once more stripping the Lone Wanderer of his voice, once more rendering him completely powerless within the dark room.
"You're right—I am dead, and you killed me." He leaned closer still, until the Wanderer could feel the crude heat from his skin and the cool breath from his mouth. "But you're wrong, too. I'm not gone, not now, not ever. I'm always going to be right..." He reached out with one hand and poked the Wanderer in the chest, just above his heart. "… here."
He stabbed his finger harder against the Wanderer. A terrible feeling coalesced within his chest, a horrible, foreign presence that sat right where his heart was supposed to be. It was awful; it was wrong; it was painful.
Bishop chuckled as the horrendous feeling only coalesced and became heavier, even more unbearable, even more invasive and defiling.
He woke with a start, only to find that he was similarly paralyzed in his bed as he had been in the dream. For a good minute, he was unable to move at all, entire body clenched and constricted, trembling ever so slightly. The despicable feeling in his chest persisted, a tight knot of pain under his ribs that shouldn't be there. It just shouldn't be there. He couldn't even breath, and panic shot through him at the thought that he may very well asphyxiate.
For a seemingly endless moment, he was left shaking, unable to move, gasping desperately for breath as the wicked sensation in chest continued to boil.
Eventually, however, things began to calm. His lungs were released from whatever terrible grip had constricted them, and he was finally able to draw in air once more. His muscles began to relax. An incredible lethargy replaced the coursing, painful energy that had just dominated his system. The awful feeling in his chest gradually subsided, giving way to a dull ache that still felt so incredibly violating.
He was covered in a sheen of sweat; nonetheless, he shivered. He clutched the blankets close, curling up tightly, wishing to dispel the disturbing chill that had settled upon him. Every muscle in his body quivered with exhaustion. His breath came and went in ragged, quick gasps. His thoughts were dull, for he could focus on nothing other than the disgusting sensations of wear and pain that dominated his body.
He didn't go back to sleep.
The Lone Wanderer continues to be... not very nice. However, I hope that this time around, it's a bit easier to empathize with him since it's from his POV and we get a bit of an explanation as to why this is happening. Then again, you weren't really supposed to empathize with him last time. Still, there was a bit of confusion (justifiably) that I figured I ought to try and address. The good thing about being able to get real-time feedback from an audience is that I can tailor things to make sure everything makes sense and remains satisfying, which are traits that I hope persists throughout this story.
And we finally get to see Bishop again, for what I believe is the first time since the first scene of this fic. My much alluded to OC villain will be getting more love in the future, in terms of both his own personal history and how he's connected to the Wanderer's. I hope you'll all love hating him.
Also, Maxwell Noble. We'll be learning a lot more about him in time as well. There's a lot of stuff in this chapter that will take a while to be fully revealed.
Anyhow, come back around this time next week for the next update. I'm gonna try and make this time-frame the official update time that I'll always try to follow, give or take several hours. Sorry if you're an Aussie and this is a little late to fit into you weekend reading schedule.
As always, any and all reviews and/or questions are both welcomed and encouraged!