Chapter Eleven - All That Glitters is Not Gold but its Still Damn Beautiful
January 18, 2339
Planet Remnant
FOS Isabella Blaisdell
Blaisdell let loose a shudder of relief as the warm water sprayed onto her skin, feeling the soreness of her muscles temporarily dissipate from the massagelike flow of the shower's faucet. Her head dips down against the tiled wall as a wave of exhaustion hits her, and she tunes out the world while watching the water form into a tiny whirlpool below her feet. The Headmaster had been extremely generous to offer them the use of the school's showers, which she was certainly taking advantage of today.
She had been working particularly hard as of late; she had realized some time ago that she had been remarkably lazy about her fitness since the accident. Her once-toned body was now loose with a lack of definition, reminding her of some of the more particularly doughboy-like foot soldiers assigned to cushiony defense contracts. Or, to put it in better terms would be like a doughboy if she continued not working out.
So after the numerous daily firing and footwork drills with Bishop, she began to run the school's track in most if not all of her gear, and with a distinct frustration, had quickly found out that she couldn't do it nearly as well as she could when she was serving.
She sighed as she raised her head again to adjust the knobs on the shower to bring in more hot water, it had been too long since she could take a long shower like this, and Blaisdell was going to enjoy it before whatever Combat Class that was being taught finished.
Bishop had told her earlier today that they would be sitting in on one tomorrow, something about how the Headmaster of the School wanted them all to have a mutual understanding of each other following the Commander's attempt with the 'golden disc' terminal. That had excited her; from what she had seen, this world was pretty astounding; it sure beat deployments on Outer Rim worlds, at least even though Outer Rim Colony seemed the closest definition to Remnant at the moment.
The sudden bell chime signaling the end of class had Blaisdell clicking her tongue in annoyance; it seemed her r&r in the form of a long shower would have to wait.
The following telltale click of the doors that separate the Training Room and the lockers have her uttering a string of obscenities on top of it. The last thing Blaisdell wants to deal with is people noticing her burns and the endless line of gossiping that would follow. She had seen it before in the Marines; people were chatterboxes about anything abnormal, even in a string of work where injuries like what she had suffered weren't entirely uncommon.
Alas, there was no avoiding it now; she covers her form with a towel to try and cover up the worst of the burns, namely the one on her stomach, and walks out with a fake confidence she knows she doesn't have, choosing to get it over with rather than waiting for the inevitable.
"-Jaune's improvements are more reflective of his willingness to learn than my teaching, Weiss; it's not my handiwork." Pyrrha looks away from the conversation with the heiress, hearing the wet footfalls of Blaisdell, and notices her,
"Oh, hello, ; I was wondering why there were clothes next to my locker. I assume they belong to you?" Pyrrha smiles politely.
Blaisdell had met the seemingly polite and friendly young redhead earlier that day before classes; she had been training her partner at the range and was apparently from the group that Bishop talked to yesterday. Blaisdell assumed it was a daily ritual for them, much like it was for Bishop and herself. With that being said, Blaisdell didn't gain any confidence in having met the girl beforehand; if anything, it made the situation all the worse, a stranger you could avoid but an acquaintance you could not.
Blaisdell smiles back, it not quite reaching her eyes as she is unfortunately forced to respond, "Yeah, those are mine. I just wanted a quick shower before I had to get back to work." Her hand unconsciously moves itself to cover her other arm and hide some of the scarring. She feels Pyrrhas gaze follow the arm only to just as sudden dart bark to her face in a poor attempt to hide the sudden shock at seeing the burn.
Blaisdell hears her heart beating in her ears so loud that she can barely hear the conversation's around her; it all jumbles up into a series of incomprehensible noises. She swallows, her throat far too dry suddenly, and glances about the room, looking for an exit.
"Are you okay, ?" Pyrhha asks, concern visible in her eyes at the sudden change in her.
Blaisdell's eyes lock into Pyrrhas, sharply staring through her; Pyrrha takes her gaze entirely off of her, and Blaisdell forces herself to take a deep breath and then another, until the tunnel vision fades. Hesitantly she responds,
"I-I'm fine; it's just. Yeah, Im fine; I must've just been in the shower too long."
She dresses in a rush wanting to leave there as soon as possible, suddenly not caring to be polite anymore; she feels eyes on her, probing at the off-colored sections of once brown skin as she does so, only making her throw her clothes on faster, even forgoing some of her clothing like her sports bra to hasten the process. She doesn't run to not draw more attention to herself, but instead, speed walks out of the lockers with her hands full of the remaining bundle of clothing she didn't deem necessary to wear in the sudden rush and disappears through the locker room doors.
Pyrrha turned back to Weiss - who had just watched silently, with a distraught look fearing she had done something to upset the woman, "Was it something I said?"
January 18, 2339
Planet Remnant
FOS Bishop Anders
Bishop followed in tow behind Miss Glynda Goodwitch as she showed him around the classrooms he would be sitting in on. The Commander had devised a strange schedule with her suggestions based on their specific niches; for example, Doctor Belmonte would sit in on the Dust Manipulation and Theory classes, given her credentials, while Bishop and Blaisdell would sit in on the Combat training classes.
It was the best way Decker had found to ensure everyone got the necessary information to exchange with each other at the end of the day while also not overwhelming them to the point they couldn't do the rest of their jobs.
"I hope im not imposing on you by taking away your teaching time here, Miss Goodwitch." Bishop was being much more polite than he usually would be but, given the possibility of a diplomatic incident if he pissed the wrong person off, felt it was reasonable.
It had made the situation all the more surprising when Blaisdell - who Bishop felt was usually too polite around others, uncharacteristically shot out of a classroom and bowled into him, knocking both of them down with clothes being flung all over the place.
His earlier politeness is forgotten briefly as Bishop complains, "What the fuck Zips? What the hell is wrong with you?"
Blaisdell is instantly face to face with him, their foreheads nearly touching with a sudden fury showing in her eyes. Through gritted teeth, she manages in a shakey whisper, "Do not fucking call me that."
Bishop is about to yell at her again but stops himself when he sees the uncharacteristic mistiness of Blaisdell's green eyes. He's frozen in place as Blaisdell climbs off of him to gather her scattered belongings before continuing her hasty escape. He only moves once she's long gone down the hallway.
Goodwitch, having witnessed the whole event, holds out a hand, slight worry mixed with confusion evident on her face. " , are you alright?"
Bishop takes it, pulling himself up as he responds. Looking over his shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of Blaisdell's form, "Yeah, im alright; the same can't be said for my Team Member, however."
"Is it something you need to check in on? We can always continue this tour later."
Bishop shakes his head, "No, no, you're already here; I'll worry about her later." He pauses in thought, then continues, "But, like I was saying, I hope im not imposing on your teaching time is all; you seem to be a very busy woman given what little I have seen after all."
Goodwitch's lips curl faintly into the tiniest of smirks, "Well, I will admit, it is nice to see that some of my work does not go unnoticed; I am fine; however, Ozpin offered to teach in place of me for the time being. I should be able to make next period anyways since we are at our last stop" She gestures towards the jarred door Blaisdell had run out of a moment ago.
"This is the classroom you will probably spend most of your time inside; it is here that the students of Beacon will learn proper Aura Manipulation and combative techniques by sparring with each other throughout the period."
Bishop nods his head as he follows her into the expansive room, "I see, force on force is the best way to find flaws in a fighting style; I do have a question, however." He waits for Goodwitch to look towards him before continuing, "Sparring implies fighting with each other; im a little unsure of the purpose of that given what I know of Huntsmen. I was under the impression that you were training them to fight the Grimm, not others. Are Hunstmen meant to act as a policing force of sorts on top of their primary function?"
Glynda seems surprised before responding, "I forgot that you don't have Huntsmen where you're from. But yes, while it's a little more nuanced than that, Huntsmen are frequently hired to deal with bandits in the settlements outside of the Cities and are even employed by Vales Police Force as well. We actually have a couple of midyear assignments, amongst other choices, involving police work within the city that serve as midterms.
Finding the answer satisfactory, Bishop eyes the room with a critiquing gaze; it's rather glamourous to Bishop and reminds him vaguely of the old Colliseums from the Roman Times. A large half-circle of benches is arranged around the actual arena itself, which appears to be made of the same sort of stone that the walls of the Academy are made from. Bishop's eyes trail over to the podium at the arena's edge; Ozpin stands over it, tapping away on the computer inside it. Glynda noticing his gaze, comments on it,
"There's a scroll inside the podium so that I or, in this case, Ozpin, can monitor the student's Aura levels and call the fight before it gets too low."
"I see." Bishop plainly responds.
He still wasn't quite sure what to think of aura; practically, the entire Planetside team had seen Ozpin use it during the meeting, but no one could make any heads or tails of it; and it had admittedly piqued his interest, given the similarity to the energy shielding that he had used in the past, albeit a fair bit more functional and durable.
Ozpin looks up as Glynda approaches him with Bishop in tow.
"Ah, Glynda, perfect timing. I seem to have forgotten how to function the Aura Monitor; I can't seem to get the following classes roster onscreen." To emphasize, he continues tapping at the screen to no avail, accidentally projecting the last fight's 'stats' (for lack of a better term) onto the wall behind him.
Glynda sighs in exasperation and pushes her glasses up with a finger as she steps toward him, "Just move out of the way, Headmaster. I'll handle it," she turns to Bishop with a polite smile, " I believe this concludes our tour, I have put my contact information in your provided scroll alongside the other instructors if you need any help finding a class."
Bishop nods her way, "Yeah, thanks for taking time out of your day to show me around." He had honestly forgotten they gave them all scrolls for easy contact with the staff. So far, it had only helped the Commander set up meetings with Ozpin.
Ozpin inches towards Bishop before he can wander away as Glynda distracts herself with the Aura Monitor.
" , I couldn't help but notice your partner - if I remember her name correctly, was in a particular hurry out of the locker rooms just a few minutes ago." He pauses as if finding the right words, "Is everything okay? She seemed distressed."
Bishop looks at him, "It's nothing you should worry yourself about; whatever it is, she can figure it out." He shrugs, dismissing the thought; it wasn't any of Ozpin's business; he planned to check in on Blaisdell and figure out what had her extra bitchy today anyways.
"I understand, forgive me for prying."
Glynda raises her voice suddenly, "Ozpin." She menacingly states as he reflexively takes a step back. "How is it you managed to do this to our only Aura Monitor."
January 18, 2339
Planet Remnant
Doctor Veronica Belmonte
" , I really don't mean to be rude here, but, please let me work in peace; this job requires particular focus, and your stories, while interesting, are distracting me."
Belmonte could not word what she said more politely to the shuttle pilot; he had been telling her story after story after story while she worked in her makeshift lab inside the shuttle. She didn't want to hurt his feelings; it was clear the Irishman didn't have much to do compared to the rest of them but, still.
"Suit yourself, Lil Missy; I don't want to distract you from your work; I'll find myself something to do. Maybe I'll take a walk or something." He steps out of the shuttle, landing on the ground below with a dull thud, and wanders off.
Belmonte shrinks in on herself, feeling bad for telling him off, unknowing that Daly hadn't seen it as such. She liked the man, he was very friendly, it's just she was so busy. She resounds herself to make it up to the guy when he returns, but she has important work to do right now, so she can't be bothered to make it up to him just yet.
Her fingers click together a few times, and she's back in the zone; she pulls a blood sample from one of the girls out of the refrigeration unit -
'Weiss Schnee.' and opens the device she took notes about them on. She begins speaking to herself as she works out any possible differences between their blood and hers.
"Okay, Weiss Schnee, born in Atlas, possible German ancestry?" She jots down additional notes on the device.
"Naturally White hair, odd but not unheard of, shes not albino though." She pauses, "Genetic mutation?"
Belmonte is so into her work at this point that she doesn't notice Blaisdell sneak past her and into her bunk. Closing the privacy shutter as silently as possible so that she could be alone.
Belmonte takes the blood sample and puts it into a monitoring device that scans for any irregularities- such as lack of specific nutrients or diseases such as anemia. The device was thorough but would take a while, on top of only being able to do one sample at a time.
She leans back in her chair and lets the machine run its course, now processing the information in her head. She sighs soon after; now, she can listen to Daly's stories. Why didn't he just wait until she had downtime? She growls in frustration at the thought. She could find him, but who knows how long that would take.
"Hey Doc?"
Really it was the shuttle pilot's fault for being so chatty and not waiting for her to listen to the story.
"Doctor?"
I mean, who distracts someone when they're busy like that? She had something very important to do; he could have waited five minutes.
"Oh, Jesus Christ. Belmonte, snap the fuck out of it!"
Bishop's loud voice had the young Doctor jumping from her seat with a scream and a flail of hands that accidentally knocked over the blood-scanning device - its whirring stopping instantly with a strange shrieking noise.
Belmonte takes a moment to breathe out her frustrations; she already blew up on Daly, no reason to blow up on another person, even if it was Bishop.
"Oh man, now I need to recalibrate that. What do you want, Bishop."
He crosses his arms, unimpressed, "I would apologize if you didn't do it yourself; you seen my teammate?"
"Blaisdell?" She asks, suddenly curious, he nods in confirmation, and she continues, "No, I haven't seen her. Why?"
Bishop looks around the shuttle briefly and spots the closed privacy shutter separating the bed from the rest of the shuttle. He responds to Belmonte without looking,
"Something happened; nothing you should worry about." He moves towards the privacy shutter and crouches down to it, "If you see Blaisdell, tell her to come and talk to me when she can, I need to figure out why my teammate had a freakout in public like that and what steps we can take to prevent something like that happening in the future so we don't cause a diplomatic incident." He emphasizes the last words leaning in closer to the the closed shutter to make sure Blaisdell hears the words specifically before standing up and casually strolling back towards Belmonte.
"So doing something with blood huh?"
Belmonte is surprised for a moment; usually, the security chief doesn't even speak to her.
"Y-yeah, it's a blood spec-" She hears the dull impact of his boots outside as he hops out of the shuttle's door and into the dirt below. "Are you serious right now? Unbelievable."
She huffs once more and turns to the blood analyzer as she takes a seat; it would need to be recalibrated, which would take forever. She sighed again, delicately opening the device, hoping that the blood sample wasn't compromised - and thankfully, it wasn't. A minor miracle for her.
She resecures the blood sample into the refrigerator - the sample could wait, and so could the maintenance. Instead, she rolls her chair over to the bed that Blaisdell is lying in.
"Isabella, are you okay?" She asks to the shutter quietly. She doesn't hear a response, only the shuffling of sheets.
"Was it 's? Did he say something unforgivable again because, I swear, I'll take him out if I have to. I learned some self-defense techniques in High School, he wont see me coming."
There's a faint but audible chuckle from her acquaintance- no friend; at least, Belmonte thought they were friends. Nevertheless, it's a start.
"What's so funny? You don't think I could take him."
The shutter opens a crack, and Belmonte faintly sees Blaisdell's green eyes from within staring back at her. She responds uncharacteristically softly, "It wasn't Bishop; he's a dick, but I know he's just teasing at the end of the day, and no, I don't think you could take him."
Belmonte leans in closer, carefully placing a hand on the small opening so that Blaisdell can't close it when she pries further.
"Then what's got you so upset, I've never seen you like this before."
Blaisdell hesitates, then groans in frustration, "I may have, freaked out a little bit because, someone saw my burns."
"Oh." Belmonte responds simply, "Well thats not exactly uncommon in the Medical sense, I mean loads of people have panic attacks after an injuiry - especially one as severe as yours, you just happened to have one later then usual is all."
"I don't have panic attacks, Belmonte; I'm a Marine; we don't panic."
"Okay, false bravado aside, why did you have a panic attack?" Belmonte ignores her response.
Blaisdell sighs, embarrassed, "You're going to laugh. It's some real schoolgirl shit."
"Isabella Blaisdell." She begins with an authoritative tone, "I am not only your friend but a Medical Professional, the very last thing I would do is laugh at your issues."
Blaisdell runs a hand across her face, still not entirely comfortable with the idea, "Okay, fine. I was worried that the people who saw my burns were going to talk about it behind my back. And before you say anything, I know they don't know me and probably never will, but still, I did a good job hiding these." She pulls back her sleeve, revealing one of the scars traveling up her entire arm, "At least until now, and no one other than you have seen them before."
"What about Bishop? Has he seen them yet?"
"No, I don't think he even knows I got injured. I thought Blacklight would have given him a medical report about me, but he either didn't read it, or they never gave him one."
Belmonte narrows her eyes, "Then why does he keep calling you Zip's or Zippo."
Blaisdell cringes away for a moment, but before Belmonte can reflexively apologize, she answers,
"No, he calls me that because, of my last name I have the same last name as the guy who invented the Zippo lighter apparently." She frowns at the end of it, clearly not a fan of the nickname.
Belmonte, however, laughs and, in between chuckles, responds, "That's really lame; I guess even Bishop's a bit of a dork, huh?"
Blaisdell laughs softly as well before a comfortable silence hangs in the air for a few moments.
"You know, you can't hide the scars forever, right? At some point, everyone will know; that's just how it works."
Blaisdell sighs, "Yeah, I know. It's just hard to not care about who see's them."
"Even the most confident of people have something they don't like about themselves, Isabella. Why do you think I have so many different hand models?"
Blaisdell opens the shutters further and crawls out to sit beside Belmonte only on the floor, leaning her head against the bedframe before responding,
"I assumed it was because each one served a different function."
Belmonte clicks her fingers together rapidly, 'I mean, yeah, that's part of it, but they also draw people's attention away from everything else."
"I see," Blaisdell doesn't know how to respond. "Confidence is a bitch huh?" She manages after a moment.
"Yeah." Belmonte simply responds.
Any further discussion they could have had is interrupted suddenly by the shuttle pilot's arrival, whistling a song. Blaisdell rapidly moves her sleeve back down on the uncovered arm as he enters through the shuttle's open door.
Blaisdell gets up and leans close to Belmonte and, with a quick whisper, thanks her for her help and then says her goodbyes to them before leaving the shuttle. She never thought being lectured by a girl five or more years younger would make her feel better, but it had.
Belmonte rolls back to her desk to work on the device again, but stops herself, remembering the earlier promise she had made to herself. It's not like the Blood Analyzer was particularly hard to recalibrate after all; just time-consuming.
"Hey Conor, what are you whistling?"
January 18, 2339
Planet Remnant, Somewhere in Vale
Roman Torchwick
Roman stepped out of the car with Neo in tow, something big was happening for Cinder to call him into a meeting so early into their plans, and he had a semblance of what that issue was.
The distinctive voice of Mercury rang out from the other side of the door soon after he wrapped his knuckles against the metal of it. "What's the password?"
Roman began to light a cigar, "Really funny kid, say this door the same metal your legs are made out of." He taps the door again to emphasize his point.
Mercury opens the door with a scowl at the remark, "Your lucky Cinder needs you, why she needs a two-bit criminal like you, I have no idea."
Roman saunters through him, pushing him out of the way with his cane - Melodic Cudgel confidently before responding, "If that's not the pot calling the kettle Mercury Black." He smiles at his joke; it wasn't one of his best, hell it wasn't even particularly creative, but it had the desired reaction of getting the silver-haired kid to storm away.
"And the dog goes back to his kennel." He mutters to Neo, who smiles back at him.
His uncovered eye glares around the room for the other one, the green-haired girl- Emerald, and finds her leaning against a crate staring daggers at him.
"You." He begins throwing a beckoning finger toward her, but she doesn't move, which causes his tongue to click, "Don't want to play along, huh? That's fine. Wheres is your boss?"
"Her name's Cinder." Emerald finally responds, red eyes narrowing further.
"Im well aware of that, now, where is she?"
Emerald merely clicks her tongue and gestures above her to the warehouse's managers office.
"Thank you, see was that so hard." He begins climbing up the set of stairs to the office, "Neo you can keep them company or sit in the car, I shouldnt be to long."
She simply nods in response before leaving the warehouse, blatantly ignoring the two henchmen. Torchwick smiles at the sight, knowing she would have chosen to sit in the car before he even asked but, gaining a small delight at the blatant refusal to be near Emerald or Mercury.
He's at the door a moment later and twists the knob entering with a false bravado.
"Cinder my dear, I am here at last." She's sitting at the desk looking over some papers before a sharp glare has him shrinking in on himself,
" . It is customary to knock before entering; what if I had been changing." There is a teasing tone to her voice that only serves to intimidate Torchwick further, as it doesn't reach any of the features, only managing a baleful stare.
"O-of course Cinder, I'll knock next time." He twirls his cane in apprehension.
"Take a seat, Roman, we have a problem." she gestures to the couch across from the desk, which he hesitantly takes, placing the cane across his lap.
"If by problem you mean the animals, I would agree. They cant seem to do anything right. Really you should just get rid of them now before they cau-"
"Enough." He stops midsentence with a gulp before Cinder continues, "The presence of these so-called 'animals' you call the White Fang is necessary for the plan's success, and I will not have you questioning it further."
"Of course." He leans forward, head resting against his cane on the uncomfortable couch, "Then what is the problem? I have been exceeding your quotas, so it can't be me."
"No, for once, you're doing well; good job." The compliment lacks sympathy, and he is gulping again in preparation for what's next. "You're doing so well, fact, that I have to award you another assignment, im sure you've no doubt seen the gigantic 'spaceship' in the sky." She grabs a newspaper off the desk and tosses it to him, "And im sure you've seen the newspapers, of course."
He looks over the paper and see's one of the men from the ship standing beside Ozpin, smiling and mid-wave.
"Yeah, what about them, I dont see how alien's existing effects our plan?"
"That is precisely why I am the one calling the shots while you are not. Your task is simple, find out information about them through your," she air quotes, " 'Underground' Sources, and tell me what you learn."
He stands up, "Look, I appreciate the newfound confidence in me but, im stretched a little thin with what you've already given me, why not have one of your smooth-brained lackeys handle the info gathering and leave me to my job."
Cinder simply stares him down until he sits again, "Because, I said so, I want you to do this because my lackeys have other jobs to do."
"Fine," Roman responds, "But just to make sure, you just want information, and that's it?"
She leans back into her chair, relaxing, "For now, yes. I'll determine further tasks as issues present themselves, now leave Roman, I dont need to threaten you again - you know what will happen if you fail such a simple task."
Author Notes: I tried to show a little more personality with the crew in this chapter; I feel it's something I have been neglecting, particularly with Blaisdell's confidence, im trying to portray her as a competent individual but having a massive issue within herself and im not sure if that's coming through entirely, eh whatever right?
I was going to continue the scene with Torchwick talking to Neo about the plan, but I felt like the scene might have dragged on for too long if I had included it.
At this point, im not going to mention a possible delay when I go to the range to run drills, test out new kits, etc.., because it's self-evident that I can power through it, and I am looking for an excuse in case I feel lazy.
Speaking of range days, for those who care, I tested out some new glass in the form of a vortex spitfire and a piggybacked Burris fast fire, and they aren't too bad, im more of a canted red dot guy, so this is the first time I've piggybacked an optic, but I get it now, it seems slower than simply canting the rifle, but that could be due to lack of practice. BTW the Burris FastFire is an annoying red dot, do yourself a favor if your in the market for one and buy a better doctor footprint rds. The elevation dials are too tiny, the glass is heavily tinted, and it's an open emitter. Im rambling again, but yeah hope ya'll enjoy the chapter,
I'll see you guys next week on Thursday, probably, and fill you in on my weekend range trips because that's obviously the main reason for you guys reading this fic /s