— A/N —

I wanted to come up with a lighthearted story compared to what I'd normally write, but had a bit of difficulty since I didn't know what would be interesting to read from the reader's point of view. This chapter, as a result, is just an experiment and is very short. There's no real goal or ending in mind since it would mainly be a collection of short stories revolving around a character interacting with the main cast.

Weapons as Art

Chapter 1

At the top of this grand marble room was a large skylight. It was early morning, about twenty minutes till nine. Despite the angle of the sunlight, it reflected off the walls onto the polished tiled floor which illuminated the entire room. Along the walls were traditional art; paintings that depict landscapes and still-lives, and some that were too abstract to make any real sense of. In the middle of the wide, open room were pedestals presenting sculptures, statues. This was one room of many more like it.

Among the art pieces, there was one that stood out from the rest. In a tall glass container rested a large halberd. The blade, or axe part of it, was made of steel, and sharpened to a reflective point. A large and certainly most heavy thing on its own, but the shaft was equally as hefty as it was with a diameter of two inches — though in a more oval shape to accommodate the user's grip. The dark-stained wood had reinforced strips of metal bolted into it that ran along from one end to the other. The spear part of it was thin and had a long slit of a hole to reduce weight. Beside the pole-arm in its case was another object exactly like the spearhead, but with a longer body — about a fourth of the pole-arm's length. Yes, this weapon was capable of firing it like a harpoon.

The morning went on, and more people began showing up to the exhibit. Peanut wore a wool cardigan over a band-collar shirt. He'd been sitting at a bench next to a wide doorway where people could enter the room for the past twenty minutes, just watching them examine the weapon. There were some that looked at its intricate details and some that took photos, but most gave it no more than a quick glance.

"It's quite well-made." Peanut turned his head to where he heard the voice. An older man was in the middle of sitting down beside him. He wore a green vest under a black suit, with shaded, round glasses. In his hand was a mug, and he carried an aroma of coffee with him.

"That's true," Peanut said. "The artist put a lot of work behind it." From the looks of it, the materials were rather simple — just wood and steel — but then there was the craftsmanship of it; the small mechanisms in order to fire the spearhead, the tools needed in order to construct every piece. All of it was done by a single person, meaning it took weeks for it to be completed.

"Indeed, the concept is quite simple, but a weapon like this could be usable by a huntsman."

Peanut turned to the man as he took a sip from his mug. "Concept?" The man, in response, simply hummed, but didn't meet his eyes.

"It is an art piece. I can't imagine the artist going through the effort to make it functional."

"The beauty of weapons is in their function — 'form follows function', as they say. If it didn't, it would have no value outside of its looks." Even if it was something that no one would be able to see, it does not take away the value that it has, nor the work the artist put into it. The idea that it did was ridiculous.

A moment of quiet between the two was held as the man looked at Peanut's artwork. When he turned back to him, he said, "Mister Farcos, I dare say your expertise is on par with hunters who create their own weapons. Yet instead of seeing action, they're made to be displayed. Why use your talents for something like this? That isn't me questioning your choice of career, but rather I'd like to understand your thought process."

Peanut wasn't a huntsman, or even a student to be one, he was simply an engineering student from a normal school who took an interest in hunters. An unhealthy dosage of media may have been to blame for that; there were plenty of videos and coverage on hunters, and each one had their own weapon, like how a boxer had their own unique fighting style. Mechashifts — despite their technical downsides — were especially eye-catching. The design and creation of one was a challenge of practicality. How does one design a weapon with the perfect balance of internal complexity and ease of maintenance? Or fit the mechanisms of a gun in a shaft for an axe? Or better yet, how does one make it work?

A coy smile formed on Peanut's lips. "Would you believe me if I said I wanted to get into art school, but couldn't because of the cost?"

It was the man's turn to smile. "More expensive than it is to create weapons?"

Peanut huffed from his nose. Surprisingly, no — to create a single weapon with money out of his own pocket was incredibly draining. The cost of materials, the membership fees for a nearby public workshop, and the fees to get his weapon displayed at art exhibits was enough to put him in a dicey spot with his landlord. While he does get money from the exhibits, it was usually just enough to make up for all of the previously mentioned costs, but not enough for a living.

"Speaking of which: what are your thoughts on weapon requests?"

"You mean commissions? Well, I certainly do it for money."

The man seemed to acknowledge this. This time, he looked at Peanut. "Do you know who I am?" When Peanut shook his head, he said, "I am Ozpin, the Headmaster of Beacon." A hand was offered, to which he shook it. Firm, yet friendly. "I came here today to offer you a place at Beacon, as a part of its faculty. If you accept, you'll be in charge of maintaining Beacon's workshop, as well as helping students design their weapons."

Ah, so that's what it is… Given his work and his background, it would be the best use of his skills at Beacon. "Not to gloat or anything, but… have you ever asked a gourmet chef to make a sandwich?" Ozpin raised an eyebrow. "Not that I'm trying to compare myself to one — I'm just a student — but it's just that I have all these skills and knowledge on how to do this… It feels like a downgrade to only make what other students want."

"Which could be something inefficient or impractical, yes? Well, Beacon serves to teach the next generation of hunters many things; you could be the one to teach them what is better." As Ozpin took a sip from his mug, Peanut couldn't help but agree with his point. Hunters were generally taught a variety of different topics, all of which took second seat to learning how to fight. He, on the other hand, took classes in mechanical engineering, and used that knowledge to create weapons on the side. "While you aren't doing that, you're free to use the workstations for whatever project you want, as long as you run it by us first."

He'd be lying if he said that he wasn't tempted. "I'll give you my answer a bit later. There's still some things I need to check first before I can make my decision." Ozpin nodded, and produced a card from his jacket.

"Give us a call when you've decided," he said to him. "I'll be waiting for your response. Have a nice day, mister Farcos." Ozpin stood up, and made his way towards the museum's entrance.

Peanut was sure that they both knew he would be calling them later that day.

— # —

In the early morning of the day, the birds were getting warmed up for their wake up call. Not a single person was seen at the campus — save for some faculty members and himself. Peanut walked out into a courtyard off to the side of Beacon's great walls towards a separate, small building. There was a short hallway with two classrooms to the right, and a public restroom on the left. The classrooms themselves were pretty standard, but only one would be used. At the end of the hall was another set of double doors. With keys in hand, Peanut unlocked it, and flicked on the light switches.

The lights came on one by one, revealing the room like a theater. Closer to the entrance were workbenches with vices at each corner; the large square, wooden surface had holes from people who used a hand drill on it, as well as sharp cuts along the edges, most likely from metal objects colliding into it. Further back were rows of machinery to help forge weapons — drill presses, large belt sanders, even a hydraulic press.

Of course, he couldn't forget the front desk; it was off to the right in a corner right next to the door and the supply closet for safety gear. That was where he would be stationed, and where students would be able to log their time spent here. Unlike the workbenches, the wooden surface was glassed like a bartender's counter. Peanut went around it and took a seat at the only stool there.

To think that after weeks since Ozpin had offered him the job that all of that could be his… even he had difficulty believing it. As per his contract, he must regularly maintain the equipment in Beacon's workshop — nicknamed 'The Forge' by the students — and assist any student who requests for it. In return, Peanut would be given a place to stay at Beacon, and be paid a handsome salary. The former was pretty decent, and the latter was fine, but none of that compared to the freedom to use what was in front of him. A small smile formed on his lips.

Don't get too ahead of yourself. Every pro has a con…

Tomorrow marked the first day of Beacon's next semester.

— A/N —

Let me know your thoughts.

Started: July 7, 2023

Finished: July 31, 2023