A long three hours of paperwork and micromanaging later he finally did it! Five soldiers - of which three were recruits and two were of higher rank - with one extra man. The man was someone he could trust, a fellow Vault Dweller. That's what he says he is though, he's elderly, but kick ass. Everything Patton needed.

Grabbing a mug of coffee with the last of the forms being taken by a Mr. Handy, Patton watched as the Protectron construction crew and men stood ready to be transported to their new Summer home. Checking his own watch on his Pip-Boy, it was already damn four in the morning. It was best to hike it back to the room and get some shut-eye.

Pushing haphazardly whatever papers existed on the table into the top-right corner, Patton dragged himself out of the small room he designated his office, and out to the portal. He didn't need to see them on his way out - he already gave them a list of what to do when they arrive. The basic stuff: Activate locator beacon so he can confirm where they're at, set up a small outpost, use strictly the microfusion-breeder weapons they were provided (mainly to save on multiple trips) and report statuses. That's basically it. Simple as that. Almost all of it is just to make busy work though.

Maybe it was too simple? Simple as in too vague. Though he trusted these people enough, there should be no worry. They would report when he gets back to Blake.

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A man with silvery hair and a face that reeked experience rested against the cold interior of a warehouse. Boxes piled high that had obvious signs of abandon filled the room. His first impressions?

Pretty shit.

All he needed to do was start up his radio, send out the signal, and pray that kid's soldiers actually pickup.

Placing a dish pointing out of a window frame that still had fragments of shattered glass he continued to wire the ham radio with the dish and set the frequency that he memorized. Dead air emanated from the speakers until voices of distress came through,

"Where the fuck are you!" A voice with a heavy German accent that was thick enough to beat cold syrup in a viscosity contest blared through the speakers as there was murmurs in the background.

"Calm your tits. I didn't kick the Enclave's ass only to-" the tribal was interrupted by the raging Na- German.

The man was clearly stressing way too much over this. He's fine! He's not his mother either, she died around - thirty? No, forty years ago. Probably. Damn I'm old. "We don't care about that. Walking through that portal could've caused some cataclysmic event! Or maybe-"

"Yeah… No. I'm just gonna wait it out here - see if I can get response from the kiddo." The tribal didn't need to worry about that guy, he was sure they were fine. All he needs to focus on is survival and possibly have him come to help. From the shattered window, the sun seems to be rising. Lucky him.

/-/

It was two in the afternoon, Patton felt satisfied! Good rest, sleep schedule was fucked most likely - but at least he got a good rest. He reclined on the bed. Watched the news, the usual appeared. Them making a huge deal because some famous dude fucked another famous chick and some shit. Blake on the other hand was… Disappointed? Could he call the look she gave him that? Like… disgruntled-parent-dissatisfied-with-their-child.

Blake sat on a nearby chair, leg crossed over the other, and she crossed her arms as if she was some mother ready to scold, "Any reason why you slept this late? You usually wake up early. This is new." Blake's voice was direct as if she expected an answer now.

Slightly shrugging and with a nasally tone, Patton whined like a child,"Mommy! I had extra homework to do!"

Blake laughed at that, "Well whatever it was, you need a break. " Blake stood up and walked over the TV and shut it off before planting herself beside Patton, "I think it's Mommy's turn to show her child a nice place."

"Kinky."

"Not that way!"

Patton rolled his eyes — something Blake clearly took note of — but besides his obvious annoyance at losing his TV privileges temporarily, Blake reverted back from doting mother to being actually concerned slightly, "You say you go out and do research, I understand you go on this… Expedition, to help you understand the world better, but I believe you need to take a break and relax."

Patton was… Baffled? He did need a break, but how convenient was it of her to offer him some R-n-R from that office work? But it was meant for the whole pilgrimage thing right? Whatever, office work is like going on a journey. A journey of carpal tunnel syndrome and lost sleep—but nonetheless it's a journey.

"Sure. Why not?" Patton clambered off the bed, and much to Blake's pleasure was finally granted the temporary title of "Leader" of the party, "Lead the way Blake." Patton said begrudgingly.

/-/

He should've expected it really. Blake dragged his ass to a bookstore. The rickety old sign read, "Tukson's Book Trade" it could be also read as "Blake's Smut Capital" and a subtitle that read, "Home to every book under the sun" or more better titled "You got a fetish? We have it!" Or Patton was probably busting Blake's (metaphorical) balls a little bit.

Inside was a kindly man though, he was armed with some pretty rad sideburns and nice clean-cut hair. He greeted Blake and Patton in tow with the same respect, no matter how much the Drifter looked like he could rip his head off.

"Ah! It's great to see you again Blake." Tukso turned to Patton with the same thoughtful smile, "I see you brought a friend." He gestured kindly to the armor clad bulk of badassery. Before settling back to leaning on the counter.

Blake already had a grin on her face, "Thanks. My friend has been needing time to calm down." She turns to look to her friend, "Right Patton?"

"Sure." Patton didn't care—he kind of did—but that doesn't mean he was missing out on having an epic journey killing large beasts of destruction. He was perfectly fine sitting in a tiny-ass bookstore that probably doesn't even have a bathroom for him to use those few porn magazines that were terribly hidden behind a few shelves.

He wasn't mad at all!

"Then please, take a seat around and read what you like" Tukson proceeded to walk to the back and reemerge with a stack of books and plopped them on the counter, "I'd recommend your friend Patton to read these."

Patton just stared at the stack of five books. They were relatively thick, but the titles all kinda sucked. Whoever wrote the books didn't win an award for "most creative title" Some were labeled as "The War of (insert what ever name of country here)" Sure there were books like that back on Earth, but they used "The War of" on a more grander scale. Not this. They sounded more like text books.

Tukson kept looking at Patton, expecting him to take a book. He couldn't say no without disrespecting the guy, and he was nice enough.

Biting the bullet, Patton hefted the meaty books next to where Blake was sitting and decided to read the book that nestled in the center of the stack of leather and paper.

"The Traveler"

The Book was the thinnest of the bunch, something quick to get through first. And so he dug in.

A story of a veteran of Remnant's Great War. He lost his home during the war and his family. Blah, Blah, Blah. It was really boring. In fact, it was very easy to tell where the book was going.

Okay, he was exaggerating. The book was an okay read honestly, nothing spectacular or holy-shit-this-is-fucking-groundbreaking but more along the lines "it's nice." Still he had four more books to plow through and he-

His Pip-Boy beeped

Patton nearly knocked the entire stack over earning a funny look from Blake. But Patton had more important things to worry about. He panned through the radio, and lo and behold. There they were. His radio listed that it worked. Except that there was two signals. Someone was separated? Patton didn't like the idea of his men in some crowded city walking around with a shit ton of robots and power armor. That's attention they didn't need!

Scrounging the books and nearly throwing them at Tukson, Patton was in a rush and was exasperated, "Sorry Blake. I have to get something really important." Blake was speechless, they were there for barely two hours and he suddenly just hops up and leaves?

Blake grabbed his wrist, "I thought you agreed to take a break?"

"No- I mean… Yes! But this is very damn important!" Patton stumbled and tugged his arm for Blake to release her iron grip.

With a sigh, she shook her head, "Fine." the Faunus released her grip, and went back to reading her book, "Just be quick alright?"

"Yeah, yeah Blake—I get it!" Patton waved the girl off before nearly going into some wild sprint out of the door into the streets.

Blake just watched with slight worry. What's wrong with him? Maybe he left something important? Maybe I should watch over him? Yeah—that sounded good, make sure he doesn't harm himself in whatever way.

She made up her mind, slamming her book shut, she pushed it aside, "I'm coming back in a little bit." Blake huffed, obviously annoyed that Patton may have just gotten this day way more complicated than it should've been, Tukson almost seemed to share the same thoughts as her though.

"You make sure your friend is safe." Tukson nodded before Blake bolted out of the building into the same city streets.

/-/

Patton and the Tribal silently sat across from each other in the abandoned warehouse. Water damaged boxes, rotted furniture, musty stale air. All reminiscent of the wasteland, something the two contrasting figures were more than accustomed to.

Patton unseated his helmet from his head and let it take space on the table while the Tribal had a bottle of whiskey on standby.

The Tribal's Vault Jumpsuit was a contrast to his drinking buddy's duster. The normally bright blue associated with Vault suits was sun bleached revealing a more aged, weathered blue. The vibrant yellow stripes were replaced with a more rough sandy tone as stitches were randomly splayed over the attire thanks to the constant years of wear and tear. Leather pockets lined the waist and leather padding with obvious steel inserts gave whatever extra protection the lack-luster vault suit couldn't.

"You got an idea on how this should work?" Patton asked with some inkling of hope that the Tribal would somehow have some amazing idea to work out in the end.

The Tribal cocked his head, "I thought you were the one calling the shots?" He chuckled before accidentally knocking over a bottle of precious whiskey that was still almost full. Fucking damn it.

"I mean, my friend is gonna be suspicious if I bring a random old guy with me you know?"

Wait… No he didn't. He didn't just call him that, "Old!? Old!? I'm not old! I'm 'Thoroughly-mature' get it right!" The Tribal almost awkwardly groped his stubble-covered chin in thought as he was trying to conk out an idea, "Maybe… We could…Nah." He shook the idea, it was wacky. Dying his hair, using plastic wrap to stretch his skin back to remove some of the few wrinkles he had and trying to act "hip" probably would still make the girl suspicious. Or he'd look like a victim of a botched plastic surgery attempt.

"Hey T, how about we get out and talk about this more? So we're not stuck breathing in this moldy air?" Patton asked while slipping on his helmet, he quickly flipped through the night vision, thermal, and EM for shits and giggles. That was until his eye caught something while using night vision.

Glowing—wait! Oh lucky me~!

The outline of a female was very visible, she was just outside the broken window that the radio dish also shared. It wouldn't be smart to go after her, instead, let her come to him.

Like they say: Curiosity killed the cat.

Patton raised an eyebrow as he slid from his seat and back onto his feet.

"Yeah. This mildew is getting to me."

/-/

The street wasn't as packed today as it usually was. Meaning: No dumbasses standing side-by-side taking up the entire fucking sidewalk, and not too many people. Not only that, Blakey-Blakey is following them, and a multitude of ideas was coming to mind on how to corner her.

Oh Blake—you don't play that way with me the devilish thought cooked and simmered. Patton loved it when someone tries to spy on him. The look of surprise on their face when they get caught so easily is worth it! Too bad they all sucked. Blake did okay.

The Tribal scratched his chin and asked with slight nervousness, "I know you have guys here. But what exactly do they have with them? I saw some of their stuff, but most were in the crates."

With a nod of his now helmeted head, Patton answered, "They have an OV-10 right now, and the Protectron crews are supposed to start building a proper base for them. They're stationed on an island called Menagerie in a desert supposedly 'Inhospitable' but they should be good. The amount of firepower my men have will easily tear most anything apart on this planet."

T nodded with an understanding look on his face.

"Not only that—our guns are far more superior than those that are made here. They seem to base their science off of more ideas that you would see in a fantasy book. Some things can work, but they don't have a real explanation on how it would work. Understand?"

Eyes were sometimes shooting out at the older Tribal and the young Drifter, among the clean brightly colored pastels or dark color palettes that match, the dirty Vault suit and Elite Riot Gear provide instead a complete break in the colors. Green and White on the shoulder pads with the sandy duster was an alien sight.

Patton knew Blake was trying to keep a keen eye and listen in, but that's difficult to maintain when everyone on the street is speaking too. With a sharp grin under the mask, Patton continued, "Do you feel like a bar? You know, somethin' to grease your throat.",

T could only nod at the idea. Besides, he was a liquor lover, he couldn't help but imagine the kind of stuff that's there.

They continued to walk to the closest bar in mind, or at least one that they could find.

Bar, bar, bar, bar…. Where the fuck is one?

After almost a Fruitless search, a bar was found! Mangy, old, and falling apart, it already felt like home

"After you?" Patton flourished sarcastically only earning a grunt from his senile companion.

The room was pretty much just like the outside. Stools with a few booths and dust fluttering in the stale air. A few patrons littered the building in varying degrees of being wasted. The Bartender looked discontent with his life but kept on living meagerly.

They sat on a fake leather cushion in a booth that was slowly falling into disarray, and they continued the conversation they were having.

"You know about the desert you sent them to right?"

Patton slowly nodded, "Yeah, of course. I wouldn't send them to some place without confirming it was safe." That was a flat lie.

"Good."

I wonder if Blake is gonna grow some balls and come in here Patton conjured with a grin. His radar says that she's most likely just sitting outside. Now he's just waiting for her to make a move.

Enter, or leave. He knew Blake was arguing with herself on how to go about this, but he really wants to insure that she can't get away. Is she listening in? Patton decided to lay the bait.

"Ay, I'm gonna use the restroom A'ight?" Lumbering his body from the booth he dragged himself to the bathroom that was to the right of the bar counter. A few people sat there, an old washed up man with some kind of cape who just kept staring at the Drifter with sharp eyes, and two tired men that were minding their business.

Patton paid little mind though and pushed through to the small dirty bathroom. Homesickness was already screaming at the Drifter. Dust glazed over the windows? Check. A toilet with a broken lid? Check. Visible rusty pipes for the Toilet and sink? Check. Everything lined up and felt more relaxed than ever.

"Sad that I'm more welcoming of a run down bathroom than a hotel." The dry chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned on a sink for a minute, then flushed the toilet, and wetted his hands to give the impression he washed his hands and left the room back to his booth.

He walked with a bit of a swagger hoping she caught the bait. That same washed up man kept throwing gazes that could penetrate inch thick steel. With a gruff tenor in his voice, he called out to the Drifter stopping him in his tracks, "Hey. I saw you on the news."

Stopping dead in his tracks and turning heel first, Patton answered back, "Oh sweet! Did I look good? Or did my my accomplice take all the glory?"

"Ehh…" The dusty man groaned, "Coulda looked better."

"Oh—was it her then that caught all the attention?" Patton looked away a moment to the tribal and then back to the dusty bird of a man, "Damn, I even did the talking," The Drifter acted a small pantomime of kicking a can, "I guess when you get a girl that wears a skimpy outfit like that then most guys would probably be lookin' too." The Drifter enjoyed the jab at Blake and almost internally prayed that she heard it.

The man almost looked like he was about to die from the way he sputtered his drink and laughed, "Yup, girls nowadays don't know how to dress…" He added, "Not that I mind."

"Well, I gotta get back to my—"

"Why not bring your friend over? I'd like to meet him, of course—I would expect some free drinks…" He swirled the glass of whiskey around in a tempting manner.

Under his helmet, Patton's lips were pursed. Should I? Should I really bring T over here? Fuck it. Why not?

Taking a leap of faith, he hoped both of these old men were gonna get along. But considering they're both old as hell, the worse they'll do is delve into tactics in how to consistently win Bingo or some shit.

"Sure." Patton waved over to T, "Getcha ass over here T! I made us a friend!"

Only grumbles were heard from T, "Fucking damn it. What trouble did you get yourself in?"

Rolling his eyes as the dusty old drinker watched with a smile, Patton droned, "No, T, this isn't New Reno, or San Francisco." Midway through he gave Patton that, "You telling the truth?" gaze, "T, it's fine. C'mon" Patton gestured to the seat.

"Fine, but no funny business." T groaned slightly as he left the booth.

Patton could only roll his eyes, he wasn't trouble… well, not always. T took his seat on the stool right by the older man.

"Names, Qrow by the way." He stuck his hand out to Patton,and Patton returned the gesture, "I've heard a bit about you…"

"Oh really now?" Patton replied with exaggerated surprise, "Did I end world hunger?"

"No, no, no." Qrow shook his head with a sly grin. The alcoholic man leaned in, whiskey permeating his breath as he whispered to the armored wastelander, "I heard about a big fight down in Menagerie. Backed up with Security camera footage and everything. I wouldn't expect you know anything about that huh?"

Fuck… What was he thinking when he fought those fucks? Of course there was gonna be some kind of camera to catch the action. He just wasn't used to actually have to worry about cameras. Would this mistake really fuck over this study he was having?

Lowering his voice similar to Qrow's, Patton replied as vaguely as possible, "You say there was a huge shindig down at Menagerie. Whatcha gettin' at?"

With an even growing smile, Qrow added, "Not only that… But someone who was able to go toe-to-toe to Adam and take a blow from his blade with ease? That must be someone special!" The man's face screamed, "I caught you" and Patton knew it too.

The stale air was getting thick and threatened to just solidify. Patton's eyes remained leaned away, back straight. He was getting ready to fight. His hand was itching for his Ranger Sequoia. Qrow on the other hand kept his smile. Cocky and in control it read.

What the fuck do I do? I don't want to start another killing spree! The wastelander was stuck. Kill in the city, be on the run, or run away and possibly have someone very dangerous come for him. Leaning farther back, he saw Blake still sitting there, a cold face was plastered on her. Even she looked uncomfortable in this Standoff.

That was when the sound of a clearing throat killed the silence. The noise belonged to Qrow.

"I understand kid, seeing you and your friend got invited to Beacon. I'm expecting you to be worthwhile kid. In the meantime, Ozzy is going to like the fact I met the boy himself." The fucker was smiling an even brighter smile! He pulled that shit and nearly caused that bar to become a bloodbath!

"Yeah, well go to hell. You bout' made me turn this place to ash thanks to you." Patton grunted and forced himself off his stool, "T. C'mon."

"Fine." T groaned. The Tribal was pissed, he didn't even get to finish his fourth beer!

"You too Blake..." Patton growled. Blake's ears perked up. She didn't even hesitate and quickly followed him out of the bar.

Qrow watched the three leave the bar. A content look was carved on his face. This kid has potential...

Alright guys, it was a long ass time since I last updated. So I learned how to write a chapter: Force myself. Literally. I just keep working and then edit the story. I don't like the way this chapter ended but I hope it was a "Damn" moment