CHAPTER 10 – Grief & Direction
The Fay's had been led to their room without incident.
Upon entry, both animus' enhanced sense of smell caught the faint scent of chemical tainted lemon from the room having been recently cleaned.
The accommodation was an exercise in modern minimalism but every aspect of the room's contents, from furnishings to appliances, was luxurious.
It was moderately sized with two beds, basic furniture, neutral gray walls, off-white accenting trim, and a simplistic art piece above the bed for decoration.
Simplistic and unoffensive, yes, but to the more discerning eye undeniably expensive.
A place purpose built to cater to every need while being bland enough anyone could feel comfortable in it.
Ironically, the frank transparency of the intent behind the decor lent an undercurrent of purgatory to the space.
Dr. Oobleck took the time to show Judeau how to operate the various plumbing appliances in the bathroom and the room's light switches, which led into a brief lecture about the dangers of jamming things into the electrical outlets.
At least, it was intended to be brief.
After effectively giving a primer on the conceptual fundamentals of electrical engineering, Bartholomew left Judeau and Badaoin to rest for the night.
On his way out the door, the doctor said, "Ah, there is a set of clothes for the young man and meals for the both of you on the desk over there. If you need anything, find one of the staff. Ozpin or I will come in short order."
With that he departed, and the animus' were alone.
Judeau turned to Badaoin, whose gaze was downcast towards the floor, eyes glassy, a state the boy had been in since they had left the headmaster's office.
The corners of the father's lips tugged downward slightly at the sight, something equivalent to a grimace for one as unexpressive as he.
"Are you hungry?" Judeau asked quietly, his son shaking his head wordlessly in response.
"Then that can wait. In the meantime, we both need a bath, and you're going first."
Badaoin silently nodded. In short order he was clean and Badaoin eschewed the blanket that he had been wearing for proper clothing. Albeit a baggy and poorly sized ensemble, it was an improvement.
One that he was in no state to appreciate.
Badaoin was a young mind in shock, trapped by disbelief, something his father knew he could only alleviate but not cure with his own inner tumult.
"It's time to get to bed," Judeau prompted as he helped his son settle into the bed furthest from the door.
He sat at the foot of the bed with the hope his presence would gift some sense of stability and safety to Badaoin.
It did. The moment the young animus's head touched the pillow the tension in his outline beneath the covers slowly slackened until he was asleep.
Rising slowly as to not wake the boy, Judeau reseated himself at the chair for the room's provided desk, quietly turning it about so that he could sit facing Badaoin.
Judeau knew he still had to eat, bathe, and rest… but more than anything else at that moment he needed to stop.
To simply sit and be.
Watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his son's breathing painstakingly unwound the tightness coiled in his chest.
With a single long, shoulder sagging sigh, he caught his face in his hands as he slumped forward to brace his elbows against his knees, trying to ignore how his claws reminded him of where he was and why.
'He is safe, he is safe, he is safe.'
Judeau dared to recall the last time he had experienced the bliss of seeing son peacefully asleep and safe.
It was a memory that felt only a day ago and simultaneously so far past it was blurred like looking through a lens smeared with grease.
He tried to remember other people, places, things, and all he could conjure were, at best, summaries accompanied by a slurry of minute details.
It was a demented almost parodic inversion of being a ghost.
He could only remember the spirit of what once was.
Trying to remember Badaoin's mother was what nearly broke him into fleeing behind some bulwark or armor in his psyche.
For all the complex good and ill of their relationship… was it a crime to want to remember her face? Her smile? Her touch?
The emotions burgeoning within him were like the searing heat of a brand hovering above the skin, threatening to press down.
Oh, how he wanted to ignore it. To pretend it was not there hanging above him, but no petty desire of the self could subvert him.
Judeau knew his son would need him now more than ever.
He compelled himself to endure and feel the pain.
Not to embrace it and wallow, but to face and weather it, for he was familiar of pain like this.
Names of friends now without faces to put to them pulsed in his memory. The aftermath of what happens when the pain from a wound in the soul finds those men who ran from it.
The Old Bear scowled at the idea of letting base instinct control him when he knew better.
'Never again.'
Judeau did not wait for it to find him. It was the conviction of a man as much as it was that of a Grimm when he pressed that psychic brand down himself, loosing a hiss that slithered through his memories as he was forced to grieve by the weight of a world Badaoin and he no longer had a place in.
The sorrow washed over him like a wave.
Judeau would have cried, Brothers knew he tried to bring himself to many a time in private, but that was one of the parts of him that had been broken while he was but a man.
He salvaged reassurance he was still himself from that; Different now, yes… but enough was the same.
There was no way of telling how long it had been when he looked up from his hands after that conclusion. Steel returned to his resolve now that the pain was felt, still raw and aching, thus contained by acknowledgement for now.
For some time more he watched over Badaoin before beginning to get ready to sleep himself.
/\/\/\
One could not fault Meg Scarlatina for falling asleep so early in the afternoon given the exhaustion and stress she had been dealing with.
This did not stop Scarlatina from chastising herself when she found herself awake while the night was still young, however.
She lay there on her back scowling as if she could intimidate herself back to sleep which, as could be expected, did not work.
Meg was still in her Huntress attire: Something designed for comfort in the rigors of fieldwork, not the safety of the home. Or bed as it were.
She sat up stiffly, discovering various aches where the remaining pouches and equipment she had yet to doff pressed into her while she slept.
Instinctively, Meg swiveled her head to locate her falchions, still lying atop the desk against the wall opposite the foot of the bed where she left them.
Next to them was a tray of food, now cold, courteously left by someone at the room's desk while she was asleep.
With an annoyed grunt she acquiesced that a grumbling stomach and the beckons of a warm shower good enough excuses to rise.
'Right back to bed afterward,' was Scarlatina's mantra like promise to herself during her quick meal and subsequent shower.
Unfortunately, there was not to be a set of clean clothes for after said shower.
Circumstances being as extenuated as they were she begrudgingly settled with inverting her undershirt and underwear.
Fresh clothes were a rather civilian issue several tiers below keeping one's Aura from breaking, organs inside the body, and preventing Grimm from compromising the two prior.
'At least you're alive to complain about it,' Meg reasoned to herself. It was a problem easily resolved when she returned home the next day.
This time properly nestled beneath the covers with sheets taught and curled over her shoulder as she laid on her side, Scarlatina returned to bed only to find herself still awake, trying, and failing to intimidate her worries away with a glare craven for unconsciousness.
Like a monolith in the distance that accursed decision still loomed, casting its shadow over everything in her mind. To say nothing of the lifechanging nature of the information that surrounded the necessity of that decision in the first place.
She rolled onto her bag with a groan, rubbing her forehead with frustration, her rabbit ears intermittently spasming in sympathetic exasperation.
Soon enough Scarlatina was back where she was that afternoon before she fell asleep, lying on her back staring at the ceiling and deep in the quagmire of deliberation.
"Fackin'… this is retreaded ground, brain."
Giving voice to the internal strife did not banish it as she had hoped. Meg was a mature enough woman to know that it would not, but she felt obligated to be defiant in the face of what she was feeling.
This isolation she found herself in was stifling. Not in the physical sense, but the interpersonal.
Veterans and authority figures of her profession.
Brothers and sisters in arms.
Old friends and beloved teachers.
Meg was surrounded by people she did, wanted to, and should have been able to trust.
Everyone around her had a vested interest in her agreeing to the offer or genuinely believed it to be for the best. There would be no counterargument to balance these perspectives found here.
The pool of people she felt confident turning to for advice was not just small, there was no one in it.
Only a single person came to mind for a brief second: Her ex-husband… beyond that being a non-option for operational security considerations, she was not in the mood to hear Will's opinion about her continued choice of profession vindicated.
"I've got a week to choose," she said aloud softly staring at the back of her hand in the greyscale of faunus nightvision, trying to put her restless thoughts on this particular topic aside for the night.
A tangent thought had Meg flick her eyes towards the opposite wall, on the other side of which were the two individuals that this entire fiasco orbited.
'If I'm alone, then what the hell does that make them?'
No small part of Scarlatina was raging at herself for wasting consideration on anyone other than her loved ones or herself in this situation.
Especially when these particular 'anyones' had so much unconfirmed about them… but she could not help but empathetically wonder how dire must this state of affairs be from the Fay's perspective?
Meg let her hand fall back onto her forehead with a quiet slap.
She supposed worry for the well being of others while in turmoil oneself was a trait that reflected well on her character.
The small comfort she gleaned from that didn't help her get any sleep the rest of the night.
/\/\/\
Come next morning Ozpin found Beacon a flurry of activity as an academy could be expected to be, although admittedly there were some events he was paying more attention to than others.
A bedraggled Meg Scarlatina had departed on the first air ferry from Beacon back to Vale City some thirty odd minutes post sunrise without so much as a word.
Ozpin did not think ill of her for it.
The headmaster could tell from what he saw of the frustratedly crazed and sleep deprived look in her eyes through the security cameras that the Huntress was thinking herself to pieces about his proposition all night.
'Well… at least she is taking it seriously, I suppose.'
Qrow left shortly after on an unmarked Bullhead from Beacon's Under Levels on orders he had been given the previous night to organize checks with his network of intelligence contacts for insurance any rumors about the previous days events were either tracked or quashed outright.
After rather intently watching Qrow leave through the cameras in case of any incidental property damage to his school, out of vain hope observation would prevent it, Ozpin turned to reviewing the Immediate After-Action Reports from the team involved in the overarching file for Oberon #03.
#03 was proving to be the first Oberon Scenario, indeed anything involving animus, that Headmaster Ozpin was involved with a good outcome.
Ozpin indulged in the smidgen of revelry he felt from that before mentally putting it away like a child returning a toy to a shelf so he could return to studying.
Anne Greene, Peter Port, and Bartholomew Oobleck all returned to their regular duties as professors to return auspices of normalcy to campus.
'As of now, they are most likely preparing coursework to catch up for the class they missed the previous day,' the headmaster guessed to himself, 'It is what I would be doing…'
He went for another sip of coffee and found his mug empty.
"That won't do at all now will it," he said aloud neutrally, the first words from his mouth that day.
Now that he considered it, that was the first thing he had said nearly every day since he became headmaster for various reasons beyond lack of coffee… but it usually did tie into his relationship with caffeine.
He stood to walk over to his favorite cabinet on Remnant, a stout waist high antique of the ruins of Castle Balise that Beacon Academy was built atop, which Ozpin had bought the moment he saw it and painstakingly refurbished by hand.
There was a coffeemaker atop it, a small mini fridge next to it, and a stock of all the ingredients he could ask for within.
The headmaster took a coin sized blue crystal from one of many identically sized in a jar on the cabinet which he tossed into the open coffee pot underhanded in an arc.
This unrefined Water Dust cracked on impact with the force of the descent before catalyzing to release water in a quantity tens of times its own mass; Exactly enough required to fill the pot.
At this point of the room's perimeter the view from the windows was directly away from Vale City towards the cliffs and ocean.
That was intentional he reminded himself, but as he set the coffeemaker to start brewing, Ozpin could not help it.
He turned to look through the opposite window.
The beauty of the wilderness faded away as the headmaster became transfixed upon the skyline of distant civilization.
All the multitudinous threats to that smog ridden light in the dark and what it represented were suddenly more vivid, sharper, barbed, and sneering in his mind.
It was as if there were an ocean beyond the windows now flowing in to crush him in its depths.
Pressure overwhelming mounted, harder, heavier, how dare he be able to breathe evenly?
He who has made more mistakes than any man alive, every folly another voice in the discordant choir whispering over his shoulder, so palpable it was that Ozpin could feel the displacement of air by his ear.
What rights did he have left to anything?
To stand where so many others-
The digital chime and ceasing of the coffeemaker's rumble he was waiting for allowed him to return to reality, untethering himself from the compartmentalized section of his mind drowning in dread.
Ozpin dispensed with any front of grace and returned to his desk with the whole pot, eschewing any creamer, sugar, milk, or other additives.
Such as alcohol.
'…which is for later in the day than this.'
Evenly, calmly, with genuinely no turmoil in his mind after so utterly shoving his woes aside, Headmaster Ozpin got back to work.
Slipping his Scroll into a vertical docking port that connected it to a larger holographic desktop display with an accompanying keyboard, he began parsing the flurry of electronic mail that had accumulated during Oberon #03.
There was little that needed to be acted upon in that regard. Any other time he would have found that to be a boon, however, there were notifications for the encrypted message channels used to communicate with his professors and agents.
One in particular. For Beacon's Deputy Headmistress.
Ozpin took a deep drought from the coffee pot before opening the text chat, "Brother Light give me strength…"
/][\
CONTACT ID: "Glynda Goodwitch"
Scroll Up for Previous Messages
GLYNDA: I'm cutting my business in Atlas short. Everything necessary has already been completed satisfactorily and your next visit here will look inconspicuous from all perspectives. I will be leaving for Beacon shortly.
OZPIN: Glynda. We talked about this last night. You agreed to stay on Solitas until the blizzard passed.
GLYNDA: No, I said I would consider staying and I have elected to return.
OZPIN: A flash blizzard is currently snowing in all air traffic. If everything is said and done businesswise then take the extra time to yourself as we agreed before.
GLYNDA: I arrived on a private airship, and I can leave in it too. The captain and crew will not argue. My Semblance will deal with any interference from the storm.
OZPIN: You are not running the gambit of crashing in the tundra, or worse, the ice flows on the coastline.
OZPIN: There is precious little you could be doing even if you were here. Don't make me regret keeping you informed on situations like this…
GLYNDA: And don't you ellipses me! I am currently an ocean away from a potential end to the Grimm threat, which is in Beacon's custody, that I am not there to defend. I am coming back.
OZPIN: Of course you are. After the blizzard. That is an order. Come to think of it, lest we forget a certain someone was hoping to spend time with you?
GLYNDA: James would and will understand.
OZPIN: You haven't even told him what you are planning…
GLYNDA: This is more important.
OZPIN: Correction, you don't want someone with a will just as strong as yours to tell you no.
OZPIN: You cannot go behind his back on things like this. A sense of duty does not remove the complexities of a man's heart. Take this opportunity to spend time with him.
GLYNDA: He's done the same before.
OZPIN: Yes, and you were livid about it for weeks! This is not something to emulate tit for tat!
GLYNDA: I am going to politely ask you to refrain from commenting on my personal life any further.
OZPIN: And I will oblige. That doesn't change my orders. You are to remain in Atlas until the blizzard passes, that is final.
OZPIN: Ah, also if you disobey these orders and manage to arrive at Beacon alive my paperwork will become yours for the next month. Have a lovely vacation, you've earned it.
\][/
A series of notification chirps rattled off successively from the Scroll Dock's speakers.
Five messages in under half a minute.
Ozpin chuckled, "I haven't seen language that inventively colorful in a while… ultimately good news I suppose."
In the company of friends Glynda swore an unending string of almost poetry like expletives while following orders she disagreed with.
A trait she shared with her father, now retired from the Atlas Military. Ozpin let the reminiscence about an old friend settle warmly around him before shrugging it off.
His investment in the Deputy Headmistress' love life notwithstanding, he truly did want her to remain until it was safe to cross the oceans around the icy Solitas continent.
He knew it was most certainly just paranoia in the wake of this animus windfall, but nonetheless, this was the perfect time for something to go horribly wrong.
One of the most powerful Huntresses on the planet and his right-hand woman dying in a completely avoidable airship crash would fill that role rather apocalyptically.
Ozpin took another swig of coffee before setting to work through his backlog of paperwork, physical and digital alike.
Signing, filing, drafting, trashing, all either by hand or through the screen.
Nearly an hour into this he was interrupted by a Scroll call from a Beacon faculty member from the Under Levels.
He answered immediately upon seeing it, "Yes?"
"The guests are awake and about, sir. I think- I think one of them is asking to see you."
The headmaster eyed the remaining coffee in the pot, but thought better of it, standing as he said, "Good. I will be there to guide them to my office personally, standby."
/\/\/\
"Did you find the accommodations acceptable?"
Judeau wondered to himself how Ozpin managed perfect pronunciation when speaking in Notre Voix.
Even Oobleck, the man that radiated 'obsessive academic' from his entire being did not speak the language natively.
It was evident Notre Voix was no longer the dominant language of Vale if these strangers were earnest… or if they were lying for some indeterminable end goal it was not spoken in Beacon at the very least.
As of yet there was no way for Judeau to know what were lies or truths but the wonders of a full stomach and night's sleep had him ready to parse for both.
"The accommodations were exceptional," the bear animus replied. A polite confirmation, nothing more nor less, delivered neutrally.
"Excellent," Ozpin responded back with a kind contentedness through that same mask of control Judeau had seen exercised the day before.
It was disturbing how the mirth held no hint of artificiality.
A small part of Judeau almost wished his experience with petty political intrigues did not avail him the understanding of just how in control the headmaster was. Almost.
The Old Bear spared a glance to Badaoin on his left, seated in a chair before Ozpin's desk just as he was, the boy still adrift in melancholy with a vacant stare at the floor.
Judeau thought he knew why, at least partially. Whether or not they were being deceived in some way did not change the fact that the best explanation for the bizarre state of the world around them was time.
There was no hiding behind the idea this was all an elaborate hoax… both he and Badaoin were too smart for that.
He was grappling with it as well, only succeeding in comparison to his son by the merits of maturity and experience with inner strife.
The headmaster took a long sip from his mug, the sound bringing Judeau's attention back to him.
By the time Ozpin had returned the glass to the desk he had let all joviality fade from his expression, the tiniest of tired squints pulling at the lines on his face, "To business then I suppose. I am assuming you are wondering what I want of you?"
Blue green and burnished hazel eyes bored into each other, probing for an opening as Judeau said, "I would be lying if I said otherwise."
Headmaster Ozpin rested his hands atop each other on his desk, "Then I will be forthright. What you both are is termed 'animus.' In short, animus are rare and ill understood to the point we have little more than the name as a fact concerning them. Ancient texts refer to what were assumedly animus with abilities capable of sundering cities. Of pertinent interest among those powers is the ability to control Creatures of Grimm. I would be lying if I said I did not want research of these powers, if any exist at all, under Beacon's jurisdiction and Beacon alone."
The dull patter of Judeau rhythmically drumming his clawed fingers against his chair's armrest was the reigning sound for a pause before he responded, "Go on…"
Ozpin leaned forward in his seat and narrowed his eyes a touch further.
"I am more than aware you do not trust me. I would not were I in your position. From what you told me yesterday, you both have functionally returned from the dead," with a deep steadying breath in, Ozpin straightened his posture and continued, "You represent a possible end of Grimm as a threat to human and faunus alike. As a Huntsman and protector of mankind there is no price I can put on that kind of chance. If you work with me to develop your abilities, whatever they may be and even if they are not what we hope of them, I am willing to help you rebuild your lives. New identities to fit into modern society along with housing, protection, amenities, and luxuries. I will give you all of it in exchange for cooperation."
Judeau impassively held Ozpin's imploring gaze, "I cannot in good faith enter into any agreement you present me. My son and I are supposedly seventy years into the future, and even that I am not certain of. What I know of the world as it is now is little better than a glance through a keyhole. I need books, records, evidence. From there the state of the world: Politics, commerce, conflict, everything and anything that gives context. After that, I must see Vale with my own eyes. Prove to me your honesty… and we can begin talks of cooperation."
Old Bear continued to stare down the headmaster, their locked eyes increasing their respective glare's intensities, then suddenly the tension of Ozpin's brow slackened.
The man behind the desk was smiling as he said, "I'll gladly grant all three of your wishes. If you are willing to wait, we can start with the academy's library after it is closed to the student body for the night."
/\/\/\
Old Bear had never bothered to keep track of time beyond perhaps two to three moons prior. Seasons were self-evident as they began if one knew what to look for, so vaguely knowing when the next one was near was all he saw as necessary for himself.
Had he needed more, all he had to do was turn to the Young Wolf.
The Beowulve had always watched the broken celestial object intently. Perhaps it was part of his animalistic nature that saw him counting and remembering to better plan how to savor the simplistic beauty of the lunar body's phases.
His favorites were the particular full moons of sepia yellow off-white that silhouetted the suspended fragments of the moon's shattered side against the inky black of the night sky.
The Young Wolf, much like Badaoin, was a prideful creature. It was a trait that carried into everything he did.
His passion for moon gazing was no exception.
He had made a habit of counting the cycling of the moon's phases even before he had begun traveling with Old Bear.
His total had reached eight hundred, fifty-two, and three-quarters before… Apotheosis.
Badaoin Fay was not particularly skilled at astronomy, but he knew the moon completed a full loop of its phases in roughly the span of a month. He also knew how many months were in a year.
Even with his limited comprehension he understood eight hundred, fifty-two, and three-quarters lunar cycles was a very, very long time. It was a bitter, icy truth.
This fascination with the moon and the knowledge gleaned from it was not his but the Young Wolf's.
Yet it was his.
Badaoin Basille Fay was the Young Wolf.
The Young Wolf was Badaoin Basille Fay.
There was no way out.
He had been forced to confront the disharmony between the human and Grimm that comprised him.
While he was not losing himself to this loss of self and dysphoria, no small achievement for a child, Badaoin was also not pulling free of it either.
There was still the grief to contend with and… the combined strain of it all had him mentally buckle.
He was acting autonomously at prodding from his father while any real consciousness was trapped in a paralyzing rejection of the world, withdrawing into himself at any reminder that strained what little stability his mind had left.
All Badaoin knew of recent events was he had walked somewhere, his father and some vaguely familiar voice had exchanged words, then they had walked to another place where he was now.
At present he was lying on something soft, presumably a bed, wondering if this was all a dream or nightmare of some kind.
His fugue state was interrupted by a knocking sound of some kind followed by his father's voice, "We're moving again."
Automatically Badaoin rose to follow, filing in behind his father and two other men he was able to recognize from the two distinct strains of coffee acridly stinging on the air: Ozpin and Oobleck.
The fact he was now recognizing individuals by scent alone sent the divisions in his psyche grinding against each other like shifting glaciers. That tumbled into noticing how sharp his hearing had become and how his eyes almost instantly adjusted to the light in any space.
Reaching up to rub his sleep bleary eyes only to realize his new claws prevented him from doing so brought him to the brink of screaming in existential frustration.
The sensation of extremities he shouldn't have crashed into the inverse; The Young Wolf wondered to himself where his physique, fur, and armor had gone, then Badaoin reasserted himself.
'Make it stop… the claws, the ears, the tail, there are fangs in my bleeding teeth! This is not me! This cannot be real!'
He faintly registered an exchange between his father and the headmaster before the group entered another room.
The boy did not know how long they had been walking nor where they were now. To him there were more important things worthy of worry.
There was an abrupt hand on his shoulder, and he heard Judeau say, "Rest in that chair over there. Ask me if you need anything and don't wander off."
Badaoin acknowledged with a near indiscernible nod before doing as he was told.
Another chair, another wait, another discussion between his father and this… 'headmaster.'
As if he could make this better.
Badaoin scoffed internally, 'Like anyone could!'
Wealth and influence held no bearing over time itself.
Even power in its most barbarically pure form was useless here. There were individuals of demigod like power among the ranks of those who were attuned to their soul, but not a one had power enough to conquer time nor death.
'Yet father and I have defied both at once. Lo, what we paid for it,' Badaoin thought to himself with a strangled hollow laugh in the depths of his mind,'THIS is our reward. Brothers deliver us…'
It is writ in the creed of all denominations for Dichomitism that unanswered prayers are a sign that one has failed to see how it has been granted or, more likely, the Brother Gods have judged the supplicant to have strength enough to deliver themself.
Oh, how he had prayed this day, and there was no answer forthcoming from neither Brother Dark the Mourning or Brother Light the Martyred.
Badaoin failed to see how his pleas for this elaborate nightmare to end so he might awake in Gévaudan had been answered… and could scarcely imagine there was strength enough within him to face the world if this was reality.
Much to the Young Wolf's chagrin.
That of him which was Grimm gripped the dignity in that which was man like a chain which bound them together, yanking it with a vicious force fueled by primal indignation.
It was to Badaoin as if his pride had gained independent consciousness solely to look down upon him in utter disgust; A loathing at the sick wallowing that he had allowed to cow him and, what's more, groveling at the feet of a higher power to conquer his burdens without even truly trying to do so himself.
'Pathetic.'
Badaoin was shocked to find it was not the Young Wolf that thought this, but he himself.
'Of course I thought it. Were those not my thoughts, is this not my mind?'
All at once the fog clouding his mind began to recede and Badaoin became aware of many things.
There were still rough edges and cracks in the homogeneity of his sense of self, but the dividing gulf that was in it had fused into a solid whole.
The crushing hopelessness that had dominated his psyche remained, skulking at the edges of his mind, lying in wait like a predator that had its meal interrupted. For the time being it was in check.
Foremost above both of these, Badaoin noticed the strain of an arched back and the uncomfortable tightness of interlocked knuckles.
He sat up suddenly, back straight and eyes sharp, seeing Judeau, Ozpin, and Oobleck before him.
The young animus' self-revulsion evolved into loathing when he realized his episode of weakness had played out in front of strangers.
'Unacceptable- wait. Where are we?'
Badaoin paused, looking about to take in the room around him properly for the first time.
It was big. Very big, the size naturally carrying his eyes up to see it all. High above was a vaulted ceiling from which minimalistic modern chandeliers hung, casting soft light on the arched windows whose glass was near perfectly reflective against the dark night beyond.
As the boy's gaze slipped down to the contents of the space he was met with worn but well-made wooden shelves. Lined with books.
Uncontrollably the boy stood from his chair, sliding it back as he did, turning about where he stood in awe.
The table he had been at was one of eight in a seating area between rows of shelves, across a central aisle with a red-carpet runner was more, behind that a wraparound walkway about the room just above the ground floor shelf tops with more shelves carved into the stone walls.
Hundreds of books, thousands of them, more than he had ever dared dream exist in Remnant. All in one place.
'ALL IN ONE PLACE?!'
A soft laugh broke Badaoin's trance.
"Are you ready to join us then?"
While it came out as amusement, seeing his son up and lively as he knew him to be had spread a cool, soothing contentment throughout Judeau's body. The father had hoped seeing a library for the first time would elicit a reaction from Badaoin but he did not expect it to be so… theatrical.
Badaoin, eyes as wide as tea saucers, twisted awkwardly in place so quickly he almost stumbled as he desperately tried to articulate something intelligible. What he managed was, "Books!"
"Indeed," Judeau said wryly with a raised eyebrow for effect, gesturing to the large tomes of varying wear either stacked or open before where the three men were sitting, "Books. This is a library."
The elder Fay strained to not split his face with a grin as a blush blossomed on his son's face, especially when Badaoin turned back to the shelves and sputtered, "There are so many!"
Ozpin and the Doctor were under no such self-restraint as Judeau and chuckled openly at the display.
Badaoin walked back over to the table, "Wha-why are we here? Where are we?"
Oobleck cleared his throat, "We're in Beacon Academy's library. Your father wanted information about recent history and modern Remnant, something the headmaster and I more than willing to oblige."
With a sidelong glance at the eight books around him, not one less than four inches thick, Judeau sighed, "We will be here for some time. The good doctor has insisted on being thorough."
That elicited a short, stifled laugh that echoed through the room from Ozpin, "You have no idea my friend. You will be very informed Mister Fay; Needn't you worry about that."
Throughout this exchange Badaoin had watched and warily sat back down, put off by the amicable banter between these two strangers and his father, glowering questioningly at Judeau.
The father met his son's gaze with a knowing look that wordlessly told the boy building rapport was not the same as placing trust.
At that, Badaoin relaxed and bluntly directed a question at Oobleck, "How do we know your books are trustworthy?"
"You can't," Bart replied equally blunt, "In your position any way I could prove it would mean nothing to you. Consider this a place to start for your own research."
The young animus' eyes narrowed quizzically, "My own?"
"Yes, your own. I am a historian young man. I believe what I am telling you is true based on the evidence available to me, but acknowledging what I know might be wrong is the keystone of my craft," Bartholomew took a swift thermos Badaoin hadn't even noticed he had, "Working within the confines of what I know while adding to and revising my knowledge is the craft itself."
Badaoin spared another glance at his father who was looking at Doctor Oobleck with a serious brow, a measuring stare, and a small smile the boy knew was of respect.
That smidgen of approval from Judeau was all it took for Badaoin to let loose his curiosity, "Then where are we beginning?"
Pulling his glasses off to use his untucked shirt to hastily clean them as he dragged a large textbook in front of him closer, Bartholomew let loose his instincts as a professor and began, "To understand modern Remnant one must understand the Great War, and the Great War is a direct consequence of the Vacuan Succession Crisis; Thus, it is with the Crisis that we begin. When the High Pharros of Vacuo died in 22 Pre-War, ah, the dating system is now divided into Pre and Post Great War. Yes, it was that cataclysmic…"
Review Reply Section
Singular Ash,
Glad to know you want to read more. Here's to hoping I reply before half a year goes by if you review again.
Mooniecat,
Thank you. A lot. I hope you're still interested. I can't believe this took 6 months…
Guest,
If it makes you feel better what I have planned is looking to a very long work, but unfortunately quality takes time.
07/31/2023 Post Chapter Blurb
Tube of You Dot Com /watch?v=XPjWzNvN5qU
This chapter took forever because the interactions going on here are really complex. Or at least they were for me writing them. Trust is basically nonexistent between the Fay's and Ozpin/Beacon but they need to reach an accord to progress the plot. The Fay family is also dealing with really heavy psychological stuff at the same time, which I felt needed to be represented throughout. This is the second draft of my… 6th? 7th attempt?
I'm sorry this is taking so long but I'm writing this to flow when it is a completed work. That means a slow pace and quite a bit of setup. Anyone going, "Man. This is a whole lot of nothing happening." I feel you. I'm trying to make it worth it.
New chapter later, maybe, probably before the end of the year.
Planning to update the translation sections and do grammar checks for previous chapters. That will probably go up with the next chapter.
Critique as you please and thanks for reading.