Author's Note: Like a phoenix from the ashes… I… HAVE… RETURNED!

So, you may be wondering where I've been. Well, there was finals, my sister's graduation, and moving back home from college, then I spent a week doing pretty much nothing.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to their owners. Which is a good thing.

The Journey of a Thousand Miles

Flying is Faster than Walking

"Jerk," Milly grumbled under her breath, punching several buttons on the cash register with practiced ease. She cleared her throat and said "Your total is eighty thousand five hundred, sir."

"Thanks," replied her customer, who began hunting through his pockets.

Milly sighed, and turned to look at Misaka, who was standing nearby and watching her expectantly. As she had been for the past hour and a half. She hadn't started attracting flies yet, but a customer was staring at her, apparently thinking her an incredibly well-done display.

"Misaka, you should head back over to the RV," Milly ordered. "It's ten o'clock."

"'Are you sure?' asks Misaka, worried," Misaka said. "'I thought we were supposed to stay together,' she continues." The customer jumped back, stifling a shriek.

"I can watch out for myself," Milly reassured her. "You, on the other hand—here's your change—need to get your sleep."

"'I… I'm not sure that I remember where we parked,' Misaka confesses, embarrassed."

Milly laughed. "Then check where you think we parked first. It's you, Misaka," she added reassuringly, "You can handle anyone who tries anything. Now get moving, I've got a customer."

Misaka stepped away slowly. "'Alright,' says Misaka tremulously," she replied, and walked for the door with the same slow step.

"You'll be fine!" Milly called after her, and turned to the next customer.

The first thing that Lancer was aware of was a pounding headache. Opening his eyes made it worse, so he squeezed them shut. From the sound of rushing water, he figured that he was near a river, no wait, probably a mountain stream, but what was he doing last night… Oh right…

"I must be hung-over then," he said to no one in particular.

"You are indeed," Adam said, dryly. "Now help me find the RV."

Lancer cracked an eye open at that. "Wait, what?"

"Help me find the RV, I can't remember where we parked," Adam repeated.

"You're kidding, right? There's only like six or seven streets here. How could you lose the RV?" Lancer asked incredulously, opening his eyes and immediately regretting the decision. He squeezed them shut again, and wished for a glass of water.

"I don't want to talk about it," Adam groused. Lancer decided to try opening his eyes again, slowly this time. This time, the light was a little more bearable, just enough for him to keep his eyes open.

"Oh, we're on that bridge then. I can get my bearings from here," he said, attempting to pull himself to his feet. "Ow. Ow. Freakin' ow." Then he made a mess of the road directly in front of him.

"Good," Adam replied. "But once we get back, we are not mentioning this to anyone. Understand me?"

"'So you found your way back after all,' says Misaka, expressing her relief," Misaka said, lowering herself down from the loft. "'I was worried that you wouldn't come back,' she adds."

Lancer prayed for his hangover to depart him so that he could laugh his butt off at Adam. The Faunus stood, rigid, as if he had been struck by lightning. Finally, he turned and climbed out the door.

"I'm going to get something to eat," he said, and stalked away. Lancer tuned out Misaka's attempt to point out that there was, in fact, food in the refrigerator and set about getting himself a glass of water. Besides, it wasn't like Adam would get lost again.

… At least, Adam wasn't very likely to get lost. He didn't think.

"'Lancer? Can we talk,' asks Misaka hopefully," Misaka asked… well, hopefully.

Lancer gulped down his glass. "Maybe a bit later," he replied. "For now, I have a headache."

Adam stalked down the street. The immediate shame was less than if Milly had been there, that was true. However, that did not change the fact that Misaka would tell Milly as soon as asked, and the end result—Milly refusing to let him live it down—would be the same. How did he end up getting that impossibly lost, anyways? He was a faunus! His strength, speed, senses, were greater than any humans! He had trained under one of the greatest warriors in the history of the world! How could he get lost in a town that only had SEVEN STREETS?

He paused by one of the small stores that took up most of the streets and looked in the window. He immediately regretted it, looking directly into the eyes of a puppy that was small enough presently, but looked like it would eventually grow into some subspecies of wooly mastodon. Also, it was not cute. Not in the slightest.

Adam immediately went ramrod straight, spun on his heels, and walked away from the apparent petshop with it's puppy (that was not cute), and walked into the shop immediately next door. This shop turned out to be a small diner with the colors, smells, and noises that such establishments were expected to bear. Adam scanned around, and noticed in one corner a small stack of newspapers in one corner. He walked over, skimmed through the stack to find the paper of that particular date, and set about reading.

He'd barely covered the first page when the screaming started.

One ten-minute rewind and irritating scene break later, Milly was finally finishing her overnight shift at Schneemart.

"What is going on here?" she grumbled, scanning a jug of milk and shoving it into a plastic bag, "a night owl convention?" It did seem the most likely explanation for why so many people would be shopping at night. "Oh good lord, I hope I don't have bags under my eyes!"

The hand clicked over eight. Suddenly, Milly felt a spark of energy where none seemed to have been left before. The end had come. All that remained now was to change back, accept her meager pay, and head back over to the RV so that they could finally head out and she could sleep until the next morning.

Somewhere, whatever being there is that commands fate and irony took notice of this, and threw a wrench into the works. Such was their custom.

"Excuse me," a thin, reedy voice piped up. Milly whipped around, and saw nothing. Then she looked down to see an old man, bald except for an extraordinarily long Fu Manchu mustache, whose head barely came up to her stomach. "I require your services, young lady."

Milly held back a scathing reply and said as calmly as possible, "I'm sorry, but I just got off. Someone should be along to assist you shortly."

"Excuse me," the little old man repeated, "I require your services young lady."

Milly stared at him for a full fifteen seconds. "You cannot be serious," she growled.

"Excuse me—"

"Look!" Milly snapped. "I have just worked OVERNIGHT, from nine-thirty to eight, without a break OR a replacement, because everyone in this little mountain town is, for some reason, an insomniac! I am done! Finished! All I want is to get my pay, and go to sleep until tomorrow morning!" Her voice began to rise in pitch and volume. "Yeah, you have something you want dealt with! But right now? I'M TOO TIRED TO DEAL WITH IT! WAIT FOR MY REPLACEMENT!"

The old man simply looked at her. She threw her hands in the air in disgust, and stalked away.

"What was his problem?" Milly grumbled, yanking her black t-shirt over her head. A part of her missed the Ashford Academy uniform—flattering, and worked VERY well with her hair—but she had left that behind when she had left Ashford.

"Who did he think he was?" she hissed under her breath. The manager, a thirtyish man who had mastered the subtle art of looking like a manga protagonist, raised an eyebrow at her complaints, and handed her an envelope filled with five thousand glorious Lien, which she took from him gratefully and excused herself from his presence.

"I'm done with customers! Just done!" she grumbled, stomping out the sliding door. The impending relief and good mood from finally—finally—finishing a long night of work had been smashed to pieces by a little man with a stupid mustache.

The unidentified being that held power over fate and irony smirked, and patted itself on the back.

Milly ground to a halt to keep from walking directly into a giant robot. She looked up, and up, and up, to see that the machine was at least thirty feet high, and that the little man who had irked her previously was looking down at her from the open cockpit (Milly immediately ruled out any and all professionally constructed mecha and most amateur models as its design).

"You should have provided me service," the man's voice, amplified through a large speaker that seemed to be situated on the robot's chest, rang out. It's massive, three-fingered hand closed into a fist, and the robot swung downwards with a hammer blow. Milly, experiencing the phenomenon of "oh dust oh dust I don't want to die," leapt out of the way, her body suddenly realizing that it did, in fact, have enough energy to avoid being crushed.

Milly immediately regretted returning to the RV and leaving her pistols so that she could work without any awkward questions being asked, but there wasn't much time for that. She spun on her heels, and began running for where she was certain they had parked.

That of course, was the robot's cue to raise its other hand and transform it into a laser cannon.

They should make you get a giant mecha licence, Milly lamented silently, rounding a corner and dodging the intense beam of focused light as best she could. This, of course, would be about when the aforementioned screaming started.

In a small café that sat adjacent to a pet store where the puppy in the window was not cute, Adam rolled the newspaper he was reading up and shoved it in his pocket, then charged out the door just in time to run slam into Milly. This sent them both sprawling—although thankfully not in an awkward position that could be relentlessly drawn on for comedy—and the giant robot rounded the corner.

"Where did that thing come from?" Adam exclaimed. Thirty feet, while on the smaller side for giant robots, was still THIRTY FREAKING FEET, which was enough to stand strangely missing head and shoulders above the buildings that surrounded them (except for a single bell tower that was probably meant to be a tourist attraction of some kind). Adam was thus fairly miffed that he hadn't noticed it in an absurdly small town.

"Angry customer," Milly replied, already clambering to her feet. Adam, in the process of doing the same, paused briefly.

"I suppose that makes sense," he began, but was cut off by a laser beam shattering the ground a mere two feet in front of him.

"Friendship?" Lancer asked, silently thanking whoever it was that came up with the concept of heroic spirits. His hangover was far from gone, but it had decreased sufficiently that he could drive and converse without significant discomfort. He and Misaka were currently sitting across from each other at the small table in the RV's cabin.

"'Yes,' Misaka answers," Misaka replied. "'The network has received several contradictory answers, and is trying to formulate a single definition,' she clarifies, hopefully." She had cocked her head to one side. Lancer wondered if it was something her little collective did as a whole, or if it was a quirk unique to the individual clone.

"Okay, friendship friendship friendship…" Lancer said, stretching his arms above his head and lowering them to rest on the table. "Well, I can tell you that a friend is someone who sticks with you through thick and thin. They fight at your side, and they don't let you give up even when you most want to. They're strong where you're weak, and no matter how much you fight they always come back to you. So, I guess that friendship is whatever makes you want to be like that."

"'Your description has much in common with several previously discussed definitions,' says Misaka, unsure whether or not Lancer's explanation has helped," Miaka said curtly (which was the well-nigh emotionless clone equivalent of grousing).

"Well don't be so grumpy about it," Lancer replied, "I only—what the heck is that noise?"

Misaka stood up, and walked over to the small robe ladder that was the only way in and out of the loft (Lancer had always meant to install an alternate way up, but had never gotten around to it). She clambered up, and began rooting around. In less than a minute, she was dropping down from the loft holding a large, metal case which she opened to reveal a disassembled sniper rifle. As she set about constructing the apparatus, Lancer stood, muscle shirt and baggy cargo shorts vanishing to reveal skintight blue and silver armor. He extended a hand, and Gae Bolg appeared, hovering in place long enough for him to seize it out of midair.

As Misaka finished with her rifle, Lancer walked to the door and quietly pushed it open. He stepped out, and began searching the area for the problem. Having cleared the area immediately around him, he looked up to notice the massive robot punching the ground at its feet. He paused, wagered the likelihood that Adam and Milly were not at that immediate location, and found the chances not worth mention.

"Typical," he said.

"'I don't follow,' says Misaka, worried at how victory will be attained," Misaka admitted.

"That's an easy one, kid," Lancer replied. "Just circle around."

"'What about Lancer and Milly?' Misaka asks, fearing for her friends," Misaka asked.

"Don't worry," Lancer grinned. "I'll make sure they're alive. How else would I be able to rub this in their faces?

Adam was gradually becoming more and more frustrated with this opponent. If anything, he found it remarkably similar to the "spider droid" that he and Blake had faced before she had betrayed the White Fang and left. He would have used his semblance already if given the chance. Unlike Blake, though, Milly did not have a weapon on her at the moment—FOOT—or an opening to attempt an attack on the robot.

This left Adam and Milly in the singularly uncomfortable position of targets, if very difficult to hit ones.

Milly rolled under a shot from the laser arm, skidded to a halt, allowed the shot to pass her by, leapt backwards to escape a shot that hit directly where she had been standing. Adam paused and began focusing, drawing on his semblance, and then had to dodge to evade an arm telescoping with incredible speed. He attempted to strike at it, but whatever the robot was constructed of, Wilt simply rang off of it.

It was no use. Milly, while skilled for roughly two years' experience, still wasn't on a level where she could defeat a robot easy as you please. Adam's more powerful non-sword skills all required some space for him to unleash. Through some random chance, they had run across some no-name, low level opponent who somehow—SOMEHOW—had exactly the right weapons and abilities to outmatch them.

Adam doubted the little man with the ridiculous mustache even knew who he was fighting.

He whipped his sword around to deflect a laser blast, jumped up to evade a kick, landed right on the metallic leg.

He saw an opening. Took it.

Jumping off the leg, he shot high, high into the air, well above the silly little mad scientist with his silly little OPEN AIR COCKPIT, leaned forward, mentally groaned as a shell exploded in front of him, created a shockwave that threw him backwards, away from the robot. The shell did more than that, creating a high shriek that had Milly cry out and cover her ears, freeze for a moment, brief but still a moment too long. Adam saw the laser arm arc around, glowing with energy. He tucked his knees in, rolled backward, he wouldn't be in time.

He wasn't fast enough.

Lancer was.

The Servant of the Spear was suddenly in the middle of the fray, dragging Milly out of the way, whipping his spear around to parry a second shot, leaping away gracefully.

"KEEP HIM BUSY," Lancer shouted, jumping away again. Adam paused for a moment, wondering why Lancer didn't simply use his Noble Phantasm, was the opponent who was beating them, how was this stupid little man not worth the effort? But it sounded like Lancer had some kind of idea, so Adam huffed and braced himself for another round of dodging.

With Lancer joining their side, the fight began to even out. Lancer's presence meant that Adam could charge some of his moves up, and soon the robot was sporting gashes down its arms and legs from his and Lancer's counterattacks. However, he and Milly were running out of energy, and the Lancer, while fresh, was still limiting himself to non-killing blows for some reason. The chances of a mutual kill, however unlikely, were becoming more and more prominent wait what the heck?

The robot stumbled, fell to its knees, and the three of them were running, fleeing as it collapsed on the ground, spilling its pilot onto the ground. Lancer slowed to a halt, and waved in the direction of the bell tower.

"Misaka?" Adam asked, already knowing the answer. Misaka wasn't allowed live ammo, but she had gotten her hands on some very useful stun bullets. It would explain why the mustache midget was unconscious instead of, well, dead.

"Who else?" Lancer grinned. "And now, Ladies and Gentleman," he continued, turning to examine street lined with nice, quaint little shops with neat, not very quaint at all carbon scoring and holes in them, "I do believe we've outstayed our welcome?"

"I still don't understand why you didn't just hit him with Gae Bolg," Adam pointed out softly. "Kill him right there, be done with the whole thing. He shoved his hand into his pocket, then paused. He pulled it out, producing the newspaper that he had inadvertently taken with him. Briefly considering what to do with it, he opened it up and settled down to read.

He and Lancer had taken up their customary positions, in the passenger and drivers' seats respectively. Milly had promptly curled up on one of the benches and fallen asleep, Misaka sitting across from her.

"I didn't want to kill him," Lancer replied.

"How come?" Adam asked.

"There's some kid out there with this whole sense of justice and values and junk," Lancer said reflectively. "I don't really like the guy, but I owe him my life. Thought I'd give it a shot,"

Adam raised an eyebrow (we think), and went back to his newspaper. There was silence again for roughly thirty seconds.

"I think we're going to have to go to Japan," Adam said, checking the name on the paper again to be sure. But there it was, black and white.

Ruben K. Ashford

Ashford Academy Headmaster Dies at 75

Author's Note: And thus we start the first story arc! Now watch as we start the long, ponderous journey to Japan, with Grimm! And bad plans! And Pocky! And probably none of those things.

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