Red Moon Rising

by MasterofMasyaf9000

The beating of a butterfly's wings can lead to the whipping of a tornado. A world of bloody evolution is forever changed with the most minute of choices: What if Adam Taurus had never joined the White Fang?

5. Ties That Bind

"What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies."

---

Chapter 4: Ties that Bind

---

At first, nothing happened.

No-one made the first move.

Adam balanced his blade in one hand, pointing it high, his left leg behind and the right in front. All weight would be put onto the left, giving more power to the right; a combination of an offensive and defensive stance. She eyed his position impassively , then moved into her own.

It was a stance that he hadn't seen before; that he was sure of, but it felt… familiar to him somehow. She was upright, yet at a closer glance, her knees were slightly bent, no doubt to keep her mobile, as opposed to the horse stance used by most other fighting styles. Reading her body, he realized that it was some form of guard position; cautious, observant and alert, anticipating his strike and building up impetus in anticipation of a counter-strike. That, above all, served to pique the faunus's curiosity.

He wasn't sure how long they stood like that, watching each other, before finally, she smiled, with a quick flick of her hand, as if to say; "Come on."

He needed no second invitation. He dipped and weaved right as he was about to reach her and slashed downwards with the sword. Her arms mimicked the side-winding motion of a snake, with sudden curling and uncurling characteristics as she parried with stiff fingers at his wrist. The swordsman was lighting incarnate and in a single slash struck again , attempting to catch her from stem all the way to stern.

She sidestepped to the right just enough and the blade passed a hair's breadth from her face. Quickly, before Adam could respond with a follow-up, she suddenly made to jam straight fingers into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of the swordsman, and stunning him for a brief moment. He went for a half-sweep, but used it as a feint, rechambering and shoving it forward in a kick that countered with a kick of her own. Adam bent his front arm to block with his forearm and spun around to give a spinning counter slash that she ducked.

Now that she was close, she sent a flurry of one-armed ,open-hand thrusts his way that Adam seemed to ghost through due to his deceptive footwork. That left her open for attacks though, and Adam wasn't one to waste an opening, using his free hand to quickly close the distance. The quick blow had opened her up for another attack and the faunus obliged her, putting a simple sidekick into her stomach, doubling her over, as he performed two spinning heel kicks with the same leg in quick succession.

The first connected, but her dodge of the second turned into a powerful leg sweep that almost knocked Adam entirely upside down, but posting himself up on a single hand, he flipped through and landed back on his feet, as his opponent lunged at him with a confident smirk. He realized only seconds too late, from the evil grin on her face, that she had been counting on the fact that he'd recover from her sweep.

"Gotcha."

She struck at his ribs with a stinging strike. Adam lost his breath, but leapt back to his feet anyway, squaring off for a fight. The woman came at him with an even faster flurry of jabs and snake strikes, each one parried smartly by Adam, never giving an inch. That wasn't to say it was easy however. It took every ounce of his focus to keep ahead of her. After a few more moments, she ceased her attack and stepped back from him.

"Oh, you're way faster than you look." She purred offhandedly, eliciting a tilt of the head and a vapid blink from the faunus. "But you're holding out on me. Don't."

Sweat had broken out against the line of his hair, and it trickled down with cruel slowness down his forehead, threatening to blur his vision. 'I can't be telegraphing that openly!' He thought to himself, focusing all his attention on trying to advance. But despite his efforts, his movements felt sluggish, and she was always able to stay one step ahead. He felt like an amateur again, having to focus as hard as he could just to perform a simple roundhouse kick while retaining his footing.

Standing on his right leg, he lashed out with a rapid series of reaching left-legged kicks, but not a single one came close to hitting her; she was keeping clear almost casually, taking her time to make sure the faunus wasn't trying to bait her into a mistake. Every time he tried to break her advantage or attempt to counter attack with any sort of move of his own, he would be hit before he could even begin to entertain the thought. He began a knee strike, but she wasn't fooled, and a blow caught the ridge of his collarbone; his frame flexed involuntarily. Still he was fortunate that the strike had been a near miss. The jolt gave him a sudden, electrifying realization.

It had been too long since he'd fought someone of any real skill.

He had fought some local hoodlums, yes, and they'd proved no match; no street thug could prevail against the relentless style he employed. In less than three moves, they all would end up running away, with either a swollen face, broken limbs, or a bloody nose. But things were quite different, this time. After only a dozen or so moves, Adam had to swallow his pride and admit that he had underestimated his opponent. Serpentine almost— she moved like she was made of wiry muscle without bone. The woman was a greased eel, weaving and slipping and weaving through his attacks, and continuing to tag him with quick precise jabs and kicks until Adam found himself on the verge of being winded. He wasn't going to beat her like this.

It was time to try something else. His chest heaved slightly with the intense exertion of the last few moments.

She made to strike again, but this time he was ready; Digging the fingers of his free hand into the bicep of the swinging arm and ripping at the muscle, while striking the forearm on the same side, straight in with the elbow of his sword hand. It was a thousand year old battle protocol from the great masters, something that had been drilled into him over many many painful spars: attack the arm that attacks you before you attack the body. It was enough to stun her and check her momentum, giving him some much needed breathing room.

"Heh. So you do actually know a few more tricks," she exclaimed mockingly, blocking another blow with her left arm and stretching out her right hand to grab his shoulder. Adam didn't bother wasting time on a reply, instead, spinning out of her grasp and lashing out again.

She evaded yet again, allowing his blade to thrust forward and whisper past her shoulder and twisted, even faster than before. Feinting a low kick to his midriff, which he narrowly blocked, she landed a solid high kick that connected squarely with his jaw, sending him reeling off balance, and the taste of iron filled his mouth. The sheer speed of the blow alone very nearly sent him to the ground. However, it was then that Adam seized another opportunity; moving his head back and letting loose with a powerful headbutt, which knocked her backwards to the ground.

"You have no idea," he said, his breathing a little ragged. "But I'm more than happy to teach you."

"So…" she remarked, rolling to her feet before bouncing lightly on her heels. "How far are we going? First blood?"

She was fighting with a much more inventive style than he was expecting, and she had the speed advantage,which all but negated the reach of his sword. He had come off from their skirmishes considerably worse than she had, he had no magic twist to turn the tide, and if he allowed things to devolve into a battle of attrition, he'd never be able to win. It was a sour pill to swallow, and the smart thing to do would be to back out while he was still standing. Especially when he stood to gain nothing for his victory.

But at that singular moment, something euphoric seemed to seize his mind. He recognized it's touch at once; something electrifying running along his spine. Something that for the first time in months, made him feel like something more than a living ghost. And despite himself,despite any pain or humiliation he may have felt, he smiled. This was his life. He had never known any other: the wilderness, the bar, the suspicious, hostile stares, the sinking feeling of sorrow, of failure- none of it mattered anymore. He forgot his tiredness, his anger, everything. Here, in this moment, he was Adam again, doing what he'd done since he was old enough to stand. The only thing in his life that had ever made sense. He rose, rubbing at his unshaven chin before grinning wickedly.

The words were out of his mouth well before he could stop them.

"First blood." He chuckled in a voice that he barely held any recognition as being his own. The edge to his voice would have surprised him on any other day, but something was beginning to surface as it never had before. Her eyes glimmered at the challenge, catching wind of the blazing fire in his eye. He could win this, he knew he could—he had the power; he had the skill. All he had to do was keep his distance, and be sure that every strike counted. He saw her smile, probably planning to humble him further, by drawing out the fight.

Adam had no intention of giving her the space to even ponder that option.

Her eyes changed, a glimmer of the exhilaration reflected in his own eye. "Then bleed for me," she purred.

She moved to the left but was immediately balked. Their weapons whistled through the air, moving so swiftly, that to the untrained eye, it may well have appeared that the two combatants were so fast that their limbs were barely visible.

She moved to one knee, sweeping one of her blades horizontally across one of Adam's thighs, but he used a vertical block. A lesser swordsman would have gone for the kill from there, using the opening to bring a swift end to the fight with a two handed vertical sky to ground sweep. This, however, would have brought instant disaster for the faunus, for the woman needed only lean forward a few inches with her opposite arm, for the point of her second weapon to pierce his stomach and immediately vitiate that lethal blow.

Adam was anything but lesser. And he would prove it.

His attack instead was a swing that came in wide from the right and below in an upward curve that would easily vivisect the woman from her right hip to left shoulder. It was, he realized instantly, a foolish move, because he had no solid support and therefore none of the crushing momentum that formed the power of his style of combat, but he had no choice but to commit.

Wordlessly, he lunged. She had countered, exactly as Adam had predicted. They came face to face, straining to gain the upperhand. While Adam far from lacked in strength, his agility was top notch, as demonstrated when he quickly retreated his blade faster before she could blink. He brought his blade down in a vertical slash; a brilliant glint of light following the smooth swipe of the blade; she dodged, only for Adam to come at her again. This time he finished his combination of sword attacks with a hefty kick.

This time, when she moved aside, Adam absently caught himself still grinning. 'He was enjoying himself.' The differences in their techniques and styles were rather complimentary, he admitted. All in all, one could call it a dance.

And despite everything, he could no longer deny the stirring in his own blood.

Deftly, with almost no effort, she dodged again. "This wasn't what they hired me for, but..." She licked her lips, grinned, reaching behind her back and producing a pair of sai, rapidly spinning them around her palms into reverse grips. "I don't even care. This is going to be fun!"

Adam bent his legs and heard the soft whir of a blade going over where his neck had been. Blades went swinging, hitting against each other. His opponent parried using the hilt of one of her blades, the faunus' heel slamming against her wrist. and sword and sai clashed again, with a shriek that sent sparks flying into the air.

She was positioning him, and she thought he couldn't see it happening. It was at least, a little insulting, to be honest. If he took his attention off of her speedy attacks, of which she was not slacking off on in order to properly move him, he would run the risk of getting run through with one. 'I have to try to control the initiative for a chance to win.' He thought to himself resolutely.

Sparing no strength, he attacked with full force.

He lunged into her exposed flank with a series of strikes that forced her onto the backfoot. The attack combinations were deep and wild, powered by adrenaline. There was an unnatural savagery into his movements, wild and unpredictable. They still held discipline, yet contrarily, lacked all rhyme and reason, and she found it harder and harder to predict how they might land with every swing coming closer and closer to tagging flesh.

He could smell the blood pooling under her skin. Contusions, but no tears in the flesh. No blood yet for him to claim.

At that thought, he started his assault with renewed vigor. After thrusting the sword toward the enemy as a feint, he swiped his blade horizontally . Seeing the ferocity of the blow, his opponent dodged out of the way. Adam didn't wait to complete the move; immediately following up with a thrust, the point of his sword shooting straight between his opponent's eyes, and as soon as the woman jumped back from the tip of the sword, his third attack immediately followed. Again, the counter attack came, this time with deadly steel, but Adam raised his sword and blocked the thrust with a clash of metal. Both felt the impact in their arms.

Her eyes widened in surprise, too late to check her momentum. With a low hum of satisfaction, Adam slashed in a flat, two-handed diagonal cut.

The wall of the alleyway was immediately smeared with flecks of blood as Wilt whispered along her flesh, cutting shallow grooves into her cheek and bottom lip as she cried out in a mix of surprise and pain. Not content, he stepped forwards inside her broken guard, and brought his sheath across her ribs; drawing a winded gasp from his opponent, before using it to hook under her knees and take her feet out from under her. She fell to the ground with a surprised yell and a cheer from the old woman. Before he could even process what was going on, a flash of white hot impulse peaked, and the hand that still held his scarlet blade plunged down preparing to end her life…

Before he stopped short.

He hesitated.

The thrill, the joy of being himself again, ebbed away, slipping through his grasp like sand. 'I would have killed her…' Her breath came in ragged gasps. A crimson droplet fell from her split lip, falling to the ground. The faunus barely mustered the strength to stand to his full height. 'That's done. It's over.'

'What just happened? I've never seen anyone beat her befor-'

Before the man could finish, she performed a complicated twist and roll, pulling the faunus to the ground, as Adam felt the world shift and turn around him. By the time his mind caught up, the air had been driven from his lungs, he was flat on his back, and she was straddling him, pinning down his arms as his sword clattered by the wayside. However, she seemed adamant about bothering him further. Her grip on his bicep tightened, and her nails sunk deeper into his flesh, his veins protruding evermore. He saw a slight quirk in the corner of her lips. She seemed to find what she was looking for.

Carefully—and dare he say teasingly—she licked her lips and gently grazed the vein on his cheek with her strikingly white teeth. The action set his jaw on edge: the closest description he could muster was that it felt like the physical equivalent to hearing nails on a chalkboard. It filled him with a discomfort he had never experienced before. It wasn't that it was painful; it was just so...unnatural. He could feel his throat and lungs tighten, and his goal shifted to keeping his breathing steady.

"Oh man, that was great! Finally, someone who pushes all my buttons the right way..."

She grabbed the sides of his cheeks with her nails and yanked his head up to look at her. The motion stung, coupled with everything else and he gritted his teeth to not let his pain be noticeable. With her gaze fixed upon his face, however, it was impossible to hide anything from her. Shifting her weight, she grabbed his wrist and wrenched his hand into view, touching it to her lips. Her blood smeared his knuckles, where, Adam realized, it mixed with his own. Now that the adrenaline had died down, he had become aware of the split skin on the back of his hand, a thin line that oozed crimson ichor that trailed down along his fingers. The implications weren't lost on him.

" I like you, cowboy. You're loco. And me likey your locomotion." She paused, panting hard with a bloody grin. "We'll call that a tie. Not bad. Not bad at all." She released his limb, but made no effort to move from her perch."You got a name?"

Adam glared.

"Pretty please?"

"Fuck. Off." He snarled, his jaw locking tightly. He put a hand on her chest to push her off.

His tone was still foreign to him, despite how he meant the words themselves.. Just laying here and submitting was pitiful enough; he had to fight back any way he could. "Aww, I didn't know you'd be so shy…." She teased in his ear, "Not to worry, I already know how you really feel."

"Get a room, you two! Mari! Let's get going already!" Her partner yelled.

The woman on top of him seemed to switch moods at the flick of a twitch, going from smiling and giggly, to cold and deadly in the space of a second. She looked up and scowled dangerously, no doubt about to say something unpleasant to the interloper who sought to ruin her fun. "Tell me what to do again, and I'll flay you alive." She said, with a dispassionate deadpan.

Adam drew some small measure of satisfaction from the way the man shrunk into himself, his bravado turning into little more than wisps of vapor as he clumsily wrung his hands.

"That is.. the boss… he'll get mad.."

Adam, not caring for any of their nonsense, straightened up, shoving her away and ripping her hands away from his face. Having had some time to recover, the pain from the attacks he had taken was starting to fade, and he wasted no time laying his hands to his sword again, flicking it free of blood.

The malignant pest who had started the whole affair crowed with pleasure. "That should take care of that little debt of ours, right?"

The man, having gotten over his moment of discomfort remarkably quickly, spat with an annoyed glower. "Deal's a deal, I guess."

"Ha ha ha! It's a cold world, I tell ya!"

The psychotic debt collector looked over at Adam, hand on her hip, before blowing a kiss.

"See you around, Cowboy! Next time, we'll play for real!"

And like that, the two were gone, sauntering casually out of the alleyway and leaving the two faunus alone in the shadows.

The old woman approached him slowly, head tilted like a curious songbird as she watched Adam struggle. He could already smell the stench now infused into his jacket and knew that it was going to take a miracle from the gods themselves to get it out. After finally finding his balance, he finally spoke, meeting her eyes.

"Tell me something, old woman. Just who are you? You damn well owe me that much after what you just pulled. What are you after? And who the hell was that?"

"Who, little old me? They call me Jade. And I came to you, cause I had an angry debtor on my wrinkled behind!"

"Real neighborly of you to dump him on me…" Adam grumbled and sighed, his anger still bubbling under the surface of his skin with his welts and contusions as he passed his blade over the mouth of her sheath and slid her home. He didn't really have much room to talk on that front. He had after all, tossed the old crone into those garbage bags. Though to look at her, he remarked privately, one would be hard pressed to see or smell the difference

"And you still didn't answer the question!"

He still couldn't take his mind off the way that other woman moved. The agility. The speed. Sure she wasn't all that strong, but she didn't need to be. Just trying to even hit her at all had worked him breathless, making him sweat harder than he could ever remember, something he'd never known anyone do in a fight with him before. And he had lost.

Even if he'd technically won the terms of the wager, it didn't feel like a victory at all. Not when he'd only won because he'd let his bloodlust get the best of him and he'd caught his opponent by surprise. Even less so when she'd been beating him half the fight without even having a weapon of her own. It was cheap. Meaningless.

"Oh, the girl you were getting cozy with? Her name's Mariko. Mariko Claret. Works for some syndicate on the East Side; no damn clue which one. Can't be asked to remember which. Say, have you ever heard of the Pit?"

They stood at the mouth of the alley, Adam preparing to be on his way.

It was morbid curiosity rather than any real interest that compelled him to acknowledge her without wanting to strangle the old bat.

"No."

True to form, she launched into some kind of explanation, that Adam was really only half focused on. She'd made some bets there, coaching some fighters -The spiteful part of him that was as sore as his jaw and midriff wanted to ask how well it worked out for her- as she explained it was some no holds barred underground fighting ring for thugs, mercenaries, and even ex huntsmen to compete against each other for money and glory.

That had gotten Adam's attention, until he realised that this woman -Jade- had already conned him once, and only someone with the mental faculties of a marble would trust a word that came off her proverbially forked tongue after that. The fact that she mentioned an "entry fee" was merely the icing on the cake. No doubt, he'd play into her games, give her his money and never see her again.

"Sorry. I'm not some starry eyed imbecile who'd fall for that line twice. If you're looking to scout somebody for a scam, keep looking."

"But you've got so much potential! Ugh. Fine. I'll give up for... now. But that doesn't mean I'm giving up for good!"

Adam didn't even bother replying as he walked away.

He limped through with a face that could only be described as haggard. Wearing a drawn frown, dark heavy bags under his eye, looking all the more pronounced, which did nothing to compliment his rough unkempt hair or disheveled fight should have been much easier than it was, but he wasn't moving like normal. He'd gotten weak. His horsepower had waned, and his skills despite his best efforts had grown dull, and he'd been humiliated for it. That would not happen again.

A few more blocks, bathed in neon and deep-setting grunge, past the people with shadows for faces. It was only when he tried to pat around for his keys, that he realized something else.

His wallet was gone.

He fought for a moment, trying to remember if he'd left it in the bar or his room in his scramble to leave, turning over his mind desperately before he realized something.

The old woman.

When she'd hugged him, before the others had shown up, her hands had briefly on his pockets when he'd torn her away from him. She'd had seconds, maybe a fraction of that, but that easily could have been enough time to slip his wallet free. Combined with the fact that she was apparently in debt to some mob/criminals types, and a rage-inducing conclusion began to sink in. Conventional wisdom said that he shouldn't be angry; he kept most of his lien in the bottom of his duffel, he'd barely brought any with him tonight, and due what happened in Solitas all those years ago, he had no identification, or even citizenship to speak of to even house in it, but it was the principle of it that burned deepest.

Against his better instincts, he'd helped her. And once again he'd paid for it. Just thinking of that was enough to make him want to scream. When was he going to learn? Faunus couldn't be trusted. He should have left the moment she asked for his help. Wasn't it enough that they'd cost him an eye and a mother?

But just as then, now as ever, he'd deigned to stick his neck out for one of them, and had it cut off. Again. Was that all he was? A slave to the past and his misplaced sentiment? For what? For the erroneous belief that just because he shared a race with these mewling parasites, he was one of them? How many times did he need to have it thrown in his face before he got a clue?!

For a while, that was all Adam could focus on as he walked – a constant rhythm above the churning malaise his body had become, self hatred all but immolating him from the inside out.

"Note to self," he growled to himself, as he trudged through the trash-filled streets. "In the future, don't waste sympathy on strays."

---

Charlotte's short, manicured fingernails drummed dully off of the surface of the kitchen table as she seemed to wait, killing time for something. In all actuality, she was waiting for nothing. Her mind was too ill at ease for her to remain in bed while her… investment was out. Investment. She frowned, downing the dregs of her empty cup, which rested lightly in her cupped hands, still warm.

She pulled her robe tighter around herself and shivered. Almost impulsively, she looked out to the sky, but wasn't even sure what she was expecting to find. The windows in her place were all single pane, old and definitely not attractively so. It was as though they were just the kind the previous owners threw in twenty years ago expecting it to last fifteen at the most. Generally, they were useless for keeping in any heat, and what little warmth she could pump out from the charcoal heater she kept for this time of year, simply fled through the glass, leaving the entire apartment feeling at times like the insides of a refrigerator.

But tonight, she had felt an uncomfortably stifling warmth that left her irritable and borderline feverish, and in an unusual act for her at this hour of the evening, (or was it technically morning now?) she had opened a window in the kitchen in an attempt to cool down. She wondered if she regretted it now.

Winter hadn't started yet; the snowfall this far south of the capital wouldn't come for at least a few months. Even so, the air coming in was refreshingly cold and swollen with moisture, damp and velvety as she breathed it in from the open window. The golden lights of the street beyond the window were lost in a strange fog, with the silver rays of the moon shining through the glass in their place. The city smelled a lot worse than the bar, a fact that had never been more prevalent in all the years she'd lived here, but at least it wasn't so stuffy.

She sat up, feeling the slow, cool trickle of sweat cooling on her chest and under her arms. The only sounds to be heard were the ticking of the living room clock, and the soft music playing from the portable kitchen radio. She wasn't sure why she even had it on. She used to find it so soothing so long ago, after she'd bought the building. Whenever she couldn't sleep, or when she needed to ground herself after a hard shift, and she wasn't in the mood for drink, the music would always soothe her, but it had been hours now, and yet here she was, none the better for it.

Anxiety started to kick in, semi-patient waiting shifting into involuntary movements such as hair pulling and constant swapping of sitting positions in a ill-fated attempt at getting comfortable. There was clearly too much nervous energy coursing through her to sit still much longer. She stood, brushed away her fringe and rubbed at her temples, trying and failing to alleviate the phantom pain of an oncoming headache.

There was a brief silence, the hissy crackle of speaker interference, then the last four notes of the song began to repeat themselves, popping loudly between each iteration. It was no use. No matter how she tried, her thoughts always came back to him.

A part of her thought he was more trouble than he was worth. He was kind of a jerk, to put it plainly. He was cold most of the time, alarmingly volatile at a pindrop, and half the time when he looked at you, you couldn't tell if he was going to take your head off with that sword he insisted on carrying absolutely everywhere. His personality… well. If he wasn't talking to her—and even that wasn't true all the time— at his absolute friendliest, he was still kind of a dick.

Truthfully, she was just plain confused by it all. Yes, she thought he was hot, and had a killer body, those were undeniable facts. Take away the bad attitude, the hard look that was always on his face, and the tightly coiled tension he wore like a raincoat and he would be even more so. But that wasn't how it was or who he was; there were other attributes that came to the fore and the truth wasn't always pleasant.

He was unpredictable, and clearly had a chip on his shoulder the size of the Vacuoan Desert. He was a liability. She'd operated for so long off the principles of risk and reward, wager and payoff, and not once since the day she had first found herself a street rat all those years ago, had she deviated from the rule that she'd kept so close to her core— never open yourself up with no way to cut and run.

But just as every good barkeep knows how to make a guest feel welcome, every good barkeep knows how to drive unwanted customers away, so subtly they'd feel it their own choice not to return, and she'd learned those lessons long ago. She could have driven him away without him ever realizing. And yet she hadn't. She hadn't kicked him out yet either, even though he wasn't paying a single lien in rent. She told herself it was because he at least made up for it with all the work he did around the bar, and being at least half decent company when he felt like it.

For all his lack of social graces, he was damn useful. He was a quick study, for one, taking to most of what she'd tried to teach him like a fish to water, even if his cocktails could still use only slightly less work than his average bedside manner. He went above and beyond when it came to keeping the bar clean and in order, and he rarely complained much about it. And for a rookie bounty hunter, she appreciated the fact that he took his work seriously, not by going around and being loud and belligerent, but by actually doing his own due diligence, exuding only a quiet determination and unwavering discipline. In conclusion, he was a person. More than that, he was a very lonely person. Adam didn't emote much, unless it was irritation or outright anger, but she didn't need open displays to see it. She thought to herself, the ghost of a smile pulling at her lips.

The wind kicked up from the window with a loud whistle, and a loud creak caught her attention. Peering out into the dark of the rest of the apartment, it didn't take long for her to figure out the cause. The door to his room was ajar, just a fraction of a millimetre. Charlotte stood to her feet. Had it been like that since she'd last passed by before? She edged closer, knocking twice.

"Hornhead? You back?" She called, silently hoping. She paused, then knocked again.

When there was no answer, she pushed the door open, the hinges whining with even greater volume as she did so. She ran her eyes over the dark room from floor to ceiling, his neatly made bed, the dark laminate floorboards, the ratty leather chairs, the open window and the white duffle that seemed to house the entirety of his worldly possessions. She listened. There was no one here.

Charlotte swallowed her unbidden sense of disappointment. She had no right to be here, she knew that. He was entitled to his privacy, and she'd already invaded it once before. But in truth, there wasn't really anywhere else she could have gone if she tried. Somewhat sheepishly, she began to roam the room. He'd left the curtains and window open, and even without that, she hardly needed the view of the sky to tell her it was still nighttime, but the glow of the street lamp outside and the deep tint of the walls made it feel as though dawn had already arrived.

Everything was so orderly, that it hardly looked as if the room was occupied at all. It was almost sterile in its cleanliness, and the disarrayed stack of papers that rustled in the breeze and the blinking Scroll lying on the duvet were just about the only signs that anyone had ever existed in the space at all.

Burning with curiosity, she approached the bed. The Scroll's gunmetal grey contours reflected the yellow light, giving off a silver glint. He must have left it behind.

Carried by a sudden gust of breeze, a sheet of creamy paper from the open file flew erratically across the room. She cursed and stumbled in pursuit, rushing after the loose sheet to retrieve it, before moving to the window, closing it and the curtains, leaving only a thin stream of orange and yellow from a streetlight coming through them.

Returning the sheet of paper to its proper place, she caught glimpses of other notes, full of scratched out, illegible sentiments that she couldn't for the life of her unravel.

Ever since they'd met, she knew there was something about him that captivated her, but she could never put her finger on what it was. A part of her had hoped, perhaps in vain, that things would become easier between them, that they would find some level of companionable equilibrium, despite their relationship beginning on somewhat sour professional terms.

Charlotte looked again at the red diamond of light coming from the Scroll. A message perhaps? Picking it up absently, she turned it over in her hands, lost in her thoughts. The temptation to open it was a big one—if only due to her insatiable curiosity about the man alone, but she managed to muster the resistance to avoid it.

To a large degree, her hopes had borne fruit. Over the past few weeks, Adam had occasionally joined her in dialogue, or in slumps in bar traffic, when he wasn't out prowling the streets. He would sometimes even joke with her in his dry, wry way, but it always ended the same. She'd eventually ended up only able to look on as he checked himself at the zenith of their interactions, recoil and implode inwards in response to some invisible boundary line to what he deemed inappropriate, or some unknown tipping point of his behavior. It was genuinely infuriating for her, for reasons she couldn't even understand but she couldn't do anything about it. She just didn't understand.

Of course, it helped that, even with the loss of an eye, he was the best looking guy Charlotte had ever met in the last few years, —and didn't that say something about the company she was accustomed to keeping — but it was still more than that. She could say with at least middling certainty that she could feel her instincts prodding at her whenever she lay eyes on him, that there was a side of him locked away, like he was holding back, without even really knowing it.

One minute he was sure of himself, stubborn, prickly, hot-headed and a little arrogant...and in the next he was almost awkward, quiet and a gentleman. A strange part of her was eager, even, to find out what was underneath his brooding exterior. He guarded himself and his emotions ruthlessly, and she was disturbed to realize that over time, it was actually beginning to sting a little every time he did it.

As the days wore on, she told herself, again and again, that it would get easier. Her irrational guilt over their business relationship would abate, that the fanciful notions of friendship would dissipate into nothing. She'd held her little lies close to her chest, secure in the knowledge that the world, and especially not him, could not be allowed to see any face, any feelings beyond the one she was ready to present.

Only, it hadn't changed anything. If anything, it had gotten worse over time. And the less she thought about that, the better. She stood still for a moment, bracing herself against the bedpost. He agreed to this. It wasn't her screwing him over. She certainly didn't care about him. So why the hell did she feel a sinking pit of worry in her stomach?

A loud crash brought her out of her thoughts, causing her to drop the Scroll, where it clattered somewhere on the floor, somewhere she didn't have time to look as she darted out of the room.

In the hallway, the stairs and the bar downstairs had been plunged into shadows, lit only by the small night-light Charlotte kept on all night behind the bar in the event she ever heard something down there that woke her enough to feel the need to shadows at the base of the stairs seemed darker and more solid than any shadows had a right to be. Charlotte shook her head. She wasn't a child anymore; there was no earthly reason to be afraid of the dark in her own apartment. Especially not when she was a faunus.

Her mind had been bleary and full of cobwebs, but what little sleep that had weighed on her disappeared in an instant. She froze, standing stock still. One of the shadows seemed more solid than the others.

"Hornhead?"

He grunted, trying and failing to make his way to his feet and only getting as far as his knees, but the sight of him caused her to sigh with relief.

"You were out for a while."

"Just walking."

Adam thoroughly despised how weak his voice sounded to his own ears, the dryness of his throat making his voice crack, and he privately hoped it wasn't too noticeable.

"I'm fine." he added, with all the hostile vigor he was capable of mustering, which sounded even more pathetic than he'd anticipated. Terse silence passed between them.

She'd have thought he was drinking, were it not for the total absence of the smell of booze that should have been lingering on his clothes and breath. Instead he smelled faintly of rain and garbage, a residual scent that was rapidly beginning to expand into the wider room. Adam passed a hand across his good eye, the weariness displayed by his body and expressions for once not hidden by his abrasive defenses or an impassive mask of stability. He kept his gaze low, as if direct eye contact might reveal too much.

"No, you're not." She said flatly, as she walked over to him, and grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet. She felt Adam stiffen under her embrace. He smelt putrid, sweat, blood and whatever else mixing into a repugnant odor, but to her surprise, it did not bother her nearly as much as she felt it should. "You're going to take a shower, and then you're going to bed." She commanded at last, silently loathing how much she sounded like an overly concerned mother.

Adam started to protest instinctually, before letting out a sigh. He was physically and emotionally drained, and he'd learned by now there was really no arguing with the proprietress of Charlotte's Web once her mind was made up on something. He possessed just enough resistance to glare balefully as he was hauled to his feet by the smaller woman, the tattered vestiges of his pride allowing for nothing less, but in truth, his heart wasn't in it.

She wasn't quite as tall as him, and he ended up leaning on her more than anything as she led him up the stairs to the apartment. He was pressed against her, her hands a firm pressure at the small of his back and his bicep. Perhaps it was the late night. Perhaps it was him simply being an overly sentimental fool. All he knew was that he was tired. He was sick of the continual analysis of her motives, the thinking, the calculating. He was sick of everything.

It felt so strangely good, her holding him like this, even as some part of him felt it shouldn't, that it was too much, more than he ought. That he shouldn't be so needy, so damn broken, that he wouldn't be so weak and she wouldn't have to reach out and hold him in the night like this, like he was a child. He resented his feebleness with every cell that composed his being, but he was too weak to even express that, it seemed. Aware on a subconscious level, that she was saying something, but his mind had long since checked out of reality, leaving only the sounds of white noise to permeate his senses.

At the top step, he nearly stumbled again, almost bringing Charlotte down with him, before finding his footing with some difficulty. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. She'd all but tossed him inside, and the fact that she'd even been able to do so with minimal resistance on his part was an indisputable sign of his weakness.

'Pathetic.' His reflection seemed to sneer.

Placing his hand on the lever, the pipes moaned loudly as the water began, so cold at first he almost cried out in shock. The cold energized him a little, temporarily forcing away his lethargy as he unconsciously braced his muscles to stop himself moving out of the stream. turning the water on high and letting it beat over his head in warm rivulets, much to his subdued surprise. Closing his eyes to the water as the heat soaked into his skin, Adam leaned forward against the cool tiles as his weak legs threatened to buckle. The din of his thoughts began to fade away to mere whispers, as conscious thought morphed into a sense of autopilot.

He finally emerged around thirty minutes later, wearing the trousers that had escaped the worst of the dreck of the slums, and carrying what remained under his arm. He could feel himself shivering, an involuntary shake through his limbs, that while not uncomfortable, was one that he'd rather do without. Dropping all but his weapon haphazardly into a chair next to his duffel, Adam clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering as he sat down on the bed, feeling the long muscles on the inside of his legs painfully constrict painfully. What little clarity and respite the cold had provided him had long since ebbed away , sucked down the shower drain with the embers of lucidity. Sleep. He needed sleep. The primal voice in his head chanted.

His senses faintly acknowledged that someone had entered the room behind him, moving quietly as he lay back onto his pillow, the hilt of his blade digging into his back. They were leaning over him, and he felt something soft and light being draped over his body. His vision was blurred, but the curtain of raven hair and jasmine scent was… familiar somehow. 'Pretty' his reptile brain provided in response to his unconscious assessment. The blurry face had a name too, though he couldn't recall it at the moment.

B? C? Adam played with the words. It started with one of those two, he was certain of it. An arm came up to investigate, meeting flesh, and he heard something in response. It was well beyond what his language centers could process, but he liked the voice. It didn't sound like the one in his head. There was a warm, light pressure on his forearm, pushing it back down into the mattress.

It was as if every eyelash weighed more than it should as he lay back, the mere act of keeping them open seemingly sapping what little strength remained to him. Adam considered at that moment, the idea that he might lie awake for a long time, staring into the blackness of the room around him. His sleep drunk mind had other ideas; his visible eye fluttering as his hand roved over the curtain of her hair, stroking its silky lengths and breathing in the meadow smell of her, and the next thing he knew, he was asleep.

Charlotte blinked. That had been… unexpected.

She'd only come in to toss him an extra blanket, if only so he wasn't in an even shittier mood come daylight, but then that had happened. She could have gotten pissed about him suddenly being so handsy —In the past, she'd broken fingers for less—but she'd chalk it up to the fact that he could barely see the end of his own nose, was mumbling nonsense under his breath and it was an honest accident.

'There were worse people to be accidentally groped by.' The thought was eviscerated with extreme prejudice almost as soon as it crossed her mind. What was she doing? And more importantly, how was he this out of it without stinking of booze?

Charlotte took another look at the sleeping figure beneath the blanket, and was unable to avoid a gasp. The blood on his face had been washed away, though she could still scent the taste of iron faintly in the air. But that wasn't what had shocked her. His chest and his entire upper body was covered in scars, white and faded with age. Raised welts and ugly strafe marks crisscrossed his entire upper body. The marks extended from his abdomen to his shoulders, and they didn't seem to stop there— they looked like they extended around to his back too, calling to mind the viciousness and power with which he had been beaten. It was a hideous constellation of pain, and with all she had seen, all she had done, she couldn't help wonder, who, or what, had seen fit to visit that kind of agony on anyone.

Dwelling on that proved too difficult, so she looked away, ignoring her own phantom pains and instead choosing to examine his face. She was powerfully possessed of the urge to ruffle that red hair, now that he couldn't object or fight back. Of course, there lay the risk of waking him back up, and there was no telling what mood he'd be in and whether the shock of suddenly being awoken would result in his sword being pointed at her throat—.the sword she noticed, was now being cradled in the crook of his elbow and hugged to his bare chest as though it was some kind of lethal teddy bear. His breaths were even and calming, the expression on his face no longer stressed but relaxed. His eyelid fluttered again, but he seemed too deep in slumber to notice.

Cute…" she muttered under her breath. He made a soft noise of protest when she finally moved; and she rested two fingertips on the curve of his temple in response. "Shh," she whispered, her voice one of reassurance and comfortable lies. "Sleep."

She hovered in the doorway, uncharacteristically unsure of herself. Her hand hovered over the light switch, feet still halfway across the threshold and out of the room. She knew she could resist the temptation that would surely present itself, but she still felt an odd sense of curiosity surge again, which did naught to alleviate her irritation with herself.

The buzzer of a scroll call went off, the metal vibrating against the wooden floor like a horde of irate hornets, and Charlotte practically snarled as he started to toss and turn in his sleep. Her loud footsteps lost under the din, she dropped to her knees, scrambling around in the dark until she finally found it. After a mental debate of two seconds about whether or not she should answer it, or simply screen the call and hope they didn't call again, she decided not to take the chance, and unlocked it, pressing accept.

"Hello." she growled into the scroll with forced politeness. The last thing she needed right now was this. The ringing stopped, and she caught a feminine hitch of breath over the line before being met with a click of the Scroll's dial tone.

"Hmm."

She examined the Scroll again. There was no contact name, but there was a silhouette of a black kitten above the number. Charlotte chuffed. Who knew Hornhead was popular enough for prank calls? She turned it off and tucked it just under the blanket. He'd find it when he woke up, and hopefully he would be okay with her answering his Scroll, if only to preserve his beauty sleep. Not that he wasn't cute enough as it was, but if anything, she'd probably saved whoever was on the other end of the line a large dose of angry Hornhead, and that wasn't something she would wish on most strangers.

What was she going to do about him?

As she watched, small shafts of amber light from the rising sun gradually slid over the glass panes of the hallway, signaling the coming dawn. For the next few hours, there would be plenty of work that would give her all the distraction she needed. As quietly as possible, she pulled the door shut. Whatever she chose, she didn't have to make the decision now, and that was good enough for her.

---

When Adam did wake for good, it was well past sunrise and he found that his clothes laid out on the back of the armchair—clean, warm to the touch and remarkably not smelling like wet garbage, thank the gods —beside him. He could faintly hear the whistling sound of water boiling from the kitchen.

He quickly sat up, surprised to find himself entangled in a blanket as he tried to get his bearings, feeling a hard line impressed into his flesh like a knife wound. The silver rectangle of his Scroll glinted beside his head, one edge dewy with the imprint of his face. He hadn't remembered putting it there, but in lieu of a better explanation, he decided to forgo the mental inquiries in favour of trying to rid himself of the pins and needles sensation crawling up his left forearm.

Groggy, his brain pounded a brutal rhythm on the inside of his skull as he shifted himself in increments over to the edge of the bed, rolling over onto his back. In the process he freed up the blood flow to his arm,which he could only assume he had been laying on at some point during his slumber, and found a small note attached to his forehead. Snatching it off, he peered at the square of paper, quickly deciphering his hostess' chicken scratch in spite of his slight dizziness.

Sleep well, sweet Prince~.

-C.C

Fuck. Everything came back in an instant and he felt adrenaline flood his system.

Dread-filled alarm and a deep sense of frustration severed the happiness that was ready to settle so nicely in his insides as he began to recall the events that had left him in his current predicament.

He remembered making his way back to the city gates, only to find the guardsmen gone, the gates closed and the courtyard empty and desolate. Whatever they'd been waiting for had already happened, and he'd missed it. He'd screwed up, because he'd been too focused on the past instead of what had been quite literally, right in front of him. And he had squat to show for it but a bruised ego and a missing wallet.

Clenching his hand into a tight fist, Adam had let the nearest dumpster feel the full extent of his intentions and the spirit of his enraged ramblings. Riding the tide of a hot-tempered rage, he hadn't even bothered drawing his weapon, instead thrusting his fist forth repeatedly, penetrating the thick metal like it was a mere sheet of paper. He'd thrown a temper tantrum like a petulant child. It was frankly unbecoming of him, and on any other day, he would have felt at least some reticence but he'd been so incensed, so frustrated with his own ineptitude, that he hadn't given a damn.

His repressed fury had finally engulfed him and allowed his inner demons to emerge, the chains no longer in place to keep him restrained. His voice and weeks of pure repressed anger erupted in the darkness of the night until he was well and truly hoarse.

When he'd finally run out of steam, he summoned the strength to drag himself upright, with all the speed and efficacy of a corpse, and prepared to hobble his way back to the bar with his proverbial tail between his legs. He'd expected Charlotte to be asleep—she usually didn't wait up for him, and he preferred things that way, if only because it made things less complicated overall.

That at least, had been a pleasant surprise.

And then, on top of his almost entirely wasted evening, it had started to rain, of all things. He had been too drained to pick up his pace, and within a few steps, he was soaked to his skin. Yet another indignity, one atop a veritable cascade of others, yet he just hadn't been able to summon the strength to be angry about it, even though by all accounts, he should have been. He barely remembered how he'd made it back at all. Every street blurred into the next, shuffling like a zombie, until he finally arrived in the alley that housed the bar's back entrance, where he stumbled inside, almost immediately tripping over and falling to his knees.

Then, she was there.

Briefly emerging from his train of thought, Adam suddenly realised how cunningly she had interlaid her casual conversation with a command, something that ordinarily he would have never obeyed out of pure pride, yet she had him comply without a single consideration. Whilst he could have blamed it on his utter exhaustion, only a truly skilful woman could do that to a man, and he found that it gave him even more of a begrudging respect for her.

He briefly considered the idea of feigning sleep for a few more minutes, if only to give her the idea that he was complying, but he found the idea of doing so an intolerable one— the desire to move was too great.

It was as good a time to move as any. He got out of bed slowly, limb by limb detaching himself from the tangled mess of blankets and sheets, and dressed himself, the sickening scent of … something frying, with the cloying smell drifting underneath his door and into his nostrils. He edged the door open with the toe of one boot, just enough so that he could see the exterior of the room without being noticed. Pulling the door open the rest of the way slowly and silently, he wrinkled his nose, peeking over at the kitchen, his wild mop of hair sticking out in every direction. She was at the stove, her back to him, poking at a sizzling pan with a large metal spatula with one hand and a kitchen knife in the other.

He was about to call out and make his presence known, perhaps even thank her for taking care of his personal effects, but then… he hesitated, clamping his mouth shut.

The savage caveman living in the back of the mind, human or faunus, always knew when it was being closely watched, sooner or later. Most ordinary people just took far longer to embrace that primal instinct and react than others. Moreover, Adam found himself curious as to how she might respond to his sudden appearance. It was childish, he knew, but the idea that he might gain some petty vengeance for the manhandling of the previous night was also a factor that had entered his mind, seconds before he made the decision to begin to approach her and pluck her tsil, which, now that he considered it, looked oddly lifeless, as silently as possible.

He was wrong to hope for a dramatic startle response, it seemed: he looked closely to be sure , but he didn't spot any cue, no telltale tensing of muscles or shifting of weight, when she finally moved. No sooner had he reached the doorway, she simply turned her head, swift, casual and smooth, to meet his eye. The motion was so fluid, so natural, it took him a full five seconds to realize her grip on the knife in her hand had effortlessly flipped, spinning from the loose overhand hammer grip used for chopping and cutting to the underhand reverse grip favored by those accustomed to fighting with knives in close quarters.

And when he did realize what he'd just seen, it was he who stepped back in shock, much to her own visible amusement. "You really shouldn't sneak up on me like that, you know." Her lips twitched into a facsimile of a smile.

"I'll consider myself warned." He muttered, sounding intrigued, yet almost disappointed in a rather amusing way. It was all she could do not to laugh at how unwittingly petulant he sounded. It was honestly quite adorable.

"Some nice slicing you have there, Barkeep." He remarked conversationally, quietly filing away his observation to examine at a later date. "You a chef..or a serial killer?"

She laughed.

"Neither. When you've been in business as long as I have, you pick up a few skills to impress the rubes. Gotta have something entertaining to keep the drunks from drinking at home, you know?"

"New look?" She asked after a moment of hesitation, her eyes flicking towards Adam's hair. The redhead rolled his eye and walked into the kitchen proper, ignoring the comment, pushing his hair back into its usual position. "Okay, well at least take a seat," she continued gesturing to one of the wooden chairs. He sat himself down at the table as instructed, careful to choose one that allowed him a full view of the room. "First things first," she murmured just out of his hearing, turning down the stove and making her way over to a low cupboard.

He was looking better at least, she thought, catching a glimpse of his face from the corner of her eye. It no longer looked haunted and pale, his formerly sallow skin all but glowing in health by comparison. His bedside manner had even improved some, at least in the sense that he wasn't being the abrasive bastard he usually was around now.

And by all accounts, Adam did feel stronger. With every movement he made, he could feel just how much of his strength had returned to him after his slumber, and how much of his stamina he had regained. He no longer felt the encumberment of fatigue that had dogged him with every step and every menial task he performed no longer felt like the greatest of exertions. His wounded pride aside, he was indisputably closer to form than he had been in days, and he had every intention of putting his newfound vigor to use.

As steadily as she could manage, she paused, setting aside the cooking utensil she was still carrying, and set her palms down flat on the counter. She turned back and grabbed the bag of flour she'd been seeking, hauling it up with one arm and onto the counter like it weighed nothing instead of the twenty odd pounds he knew it did. "Good morning to you too, by the way. I hope you slept well?" He could hear the satisfaction in her tone, and knew full well the statement was rhetorical.

He wasn't sure what to say by way of reply, so he ignored her.

"Actually, it's a good thing you're up now. I need a guinea-pig."

"Why do I already not like where this is going?"

She joined him herself, carrying a plate of food before sitting on another chair which ran at a ninety degree angle to his own, so that she was almost sitting opposite him. A great deal of her legs were visible below the table and her shirt didn't quite close all the way over her chest, providing a great deal of cleavage. "Because you're irrationally paranoid and you need to learn to relax? It won't kill you, you know."

'Yes. But you might.'

Adam really hadn't pegged her for a cook, but he found himself trying desperately to not drool. The mere smell of any food, especially after a day of hunger, was to die for.

He impaled a morsel on a fork and inspected it for a moment before raising it to his lips and taking a bite fully aware of Charlotte's eyes on him. He could have found it difficult to not show just how truly delicious it was. He was unable to hold back a satisfied huff that he emitted as he did so, and quickly coughed into his elbow, hoping that she hadn't noticed.

No such luck.

She raised an eyebrow. "That good, eh?"

"It's not awful." He muttered hastily, looking anywhere but the smug gaze that was certain to be plastered across her visage. not. "...It's just… It's been a while since I had someone make breakfast for me." he admitted quietly..

"Awww, that's sweet. Hey, if you're good, maybe I'll make it a habit!"

Charlotte took his moment of distraction to start picking the food off his plate with her own fork, much to his stomach's unmistakable displeasure. She smiled at him, leaning back into her seat. Eventually, Adam could stand it no longer.

"What?"

Her grin grew wider. "What do you mean?"

"You keep staring at me. What is it?" Adam repeated.

"I was just thinking that you're a lot cuter when you decide to act like a normal person, instead of a stubborn jackass."

Adam nearly choked on a mouthful of food, gripping the table as he tried to dislodge the debris from his windpipe with heavy whooping coughs. Finally, he regained control, and looked at her with a hint of incredulousness.

"That's… pretty brazen of you." He managed to sputter, sucking at air as best he could.

'You're one to talk about brazen after last night, Mister.'

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything at first, cause I didn't want you to take it the wrong way and go back to being your usual bipolar self." She paused. Shit, did I say that out loud?"

"Is that right..." Adam queried with no small degree of tentativeness, keeping his eye squarely on her while sipping his water.

He didn't look angry at least. Might as well ride the train to the station...

"Well…" She started, tapping a finger against her jaw in thought. "I guess you could say it's just a change in pace for me. Most of the people I've ever met have just been morally dubious pieces of crap. Perks of this city, I suppose. She shrugged. "No variety, no depth to them at all. Just pure unadulterated bastard from head to toe. I mean, you can still be one half the time, but at least there's something more to you, when you feel like showing it off."

Adam wasn't sure how to respond to that. It had sounded as though there was a compliment in there somewhere at least.

"Thank you?"

Chewing on a piece of particularly tender meat, he swallowed before continuing.

"I suppose the same applies to you." He met her eyes pointedly. "You know, when you aren't being a condescending bitch."

She laughed at that, covering her mouth with her hand in a very ladylike fashion. The notion that it suited her quickly flashed across his mind, with the subsequent reaffirmation that he enjoyed making her laugh, before he promptly derailed that train of thought. Where had that come from?

"See? You're enjoying this. You're talking like a normal person. We're having an actual conversation. And you're not even scowling!" She reached over to poke him in the forehead, unintentionally shaking him from his erstwhile thoughts, much to his initial confusion. "A lot of the regulars in the bar are put off by the quiet, angry and mysterious act you always have, but once you actually talk, you're not as terrifying as people think you are. Hell, people might even think you had a sense of humor."

"Say it ain't so."

Adam's voice, and exaggerated drawl, practically oozed sarcasm. Charlotte was among the more bearable people he'd known in his life, and privately on some days, he could even admit to himself that he liked her, as much conflict as that occasionally kicked up. But the day she could reasonably expect him to be that way with the wider world at large, would be the day the Grimmlands froze over; a sentiment that, to his credit, he thought hard about how he could convey in some semblance of politeness. Swallowing again, he jabbed the air in her direction with his fork. "You really don't know me that well, do you?"

If he'd hoped the fact would deter her though, he'd be thoroughly disappointed.

"So, let's talk then!" She pounced, leaning over the table with her trademark Cheshire grin, suddenly making Adam keenly aware of the ditch he had dug for himself. "Tell me about yourself. What do you do for fun? Any family? Friends? He was reminded almost of a shark circling the water for blood. "Lovers?"

His face warming, Adam waved a hand to silence her uncomfortably rapid stream of queries long enough to collect his thoughts. "I'm not a big fan of talking about myself, so please, don't ask."

She rolled her eyes, putting her hand over her chin. "Suit yourself, you weird bastard. But don't you get lonely having no one to talk to about hating everything? I'd be crazy if I were you."

He studied her for a few moments before answering in a surreptitious grumble. "...I don't hate everything."

Silence reigned. His words tasted like ash, hollow even to his own ears.

"Alright," he sighed. "You get one question for now. I'll answer the best I can."

She grinned, predatorial like. "Have you ever even had a girlfriend?"

Of all the questions…

"That's none of your business."

"Aww, don't be like that!" She teased. "C'mon, a yes or a no?"

"No." Adam rubbed at the back of his neck, letting his arm drop down to the table's surface with his open palm loudly connecting with the wood. "I don't have friends." He said flatly, the cold beginning to creep into his voice. The last friends I had left me rolling around in a pool of my own blood, screaming and half blind, so you'll have to forgive me if I'm not in a hurry to look for new ones."

The reply stung her something sour, far more hurtful than it should have been. For a brief moment, the thought flashed through her mind of just why she was so keen for his approval before Charlotte stared at his side of the table in astonishment and a little offense. "None?!"

At his slow nod in the affirmative, she narrowed her eyes, much to his own disguised shock. "So what am I, furniture?" She gestured to herself.

His voice turned colder still, though she thought she detected a hint of hesitance in his tone. "That's pity. Pity doesn't mean you can just call yourself someone's friend."

"Wow. Is that really what you think?" Charlotte asked, feeling hurt despite everything, and more than a little ill tempered. That …asshole. He was handing her an out. A smart woman would have taken it. She could have just dropped it, gone about her day and left it at that. But instead, she opened her big mouth, her voice raising with a sharp edge to her tone. "Have the last couple of weeks meant nothing to you? Cause in case you hadn't noticed, I don't do this kinda stuff for just anyone, you know. And it wouldn't kill you to, for once, not be a colossal prick!"

Adam couldn't help but look away upon hearing that, abashed and conscience-stricken. Here was the one of the few people who had shown him anything resembling genuine kindness, and he was spitting it in her face. She didn't have to take him in. She didn't have to help him. She didn't have to give him a job, or house him. These few weeks, she'd mainlined his personality, all his dark tendencies, sourness and had come through relatively unchanged. Her acceptance of him was so rare in his life. And it wasn't as though he didn't like her—in spite of her more grating moments. Was it really fair of him to hold her at arm's length, when she had done so little to earn his mistrust?

Charlotte exhaled in frustration and ran her fingers through her hair before letting her hand rest on her leg again. She spoke quietly now, in an uncharacteristically serious tone of voice, at least by her own standards. "You know, I really don't think you're doing yourself any favors with your total crippling paranoia. Not everyone's out to get you, you know."

Believe me," she continued. "I get putting up walls, I do. But sometimes you need to let them down, even if it's just a little bit, and let other people in. People want to help people. It's in our DNA."

His first and prevailing instinct was to scoff, decline her proverbial extended hand, and do so vehemently. His pride had already been stung, and the last thing he wanted from anyone was their pity, which was the lynchpin of just what he figured this would have been for.

Adam twitched, almost imperceptibly. Maybe she was right. Maybe. But was maybe good enough? He was in a power struggle with himself and his pride, and both sides seemed to be losing. It was pulling him steadily towards the edge of a cliff, where he knew he'd fall into complete disarray. Her words were bitter in their truth, and he cringed in spite of himself. He was, and had always been rather selective in whom he considered his friends, which probably explained at least in part, why he didn't have any. That needling feeling from the previous night returned and before he had the familiar inclination to repress it, he stopped. He didn't want this to end, not the way he was intending to sever their burgeoning relationship. Not when he had so little left.

"I'm sorry." The words fell out of his mouth. He was surprised at himself. He was never one to capitulate so easily, nor apologize without teeth pulling. "I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. It's just this is so... frustrating. Look, I… you've been bending over backwards for me since I got here, so I guess I owe you. Just not used to living like this." He muttered the last sentence, hating himself for trying to say all that. He never had the right words for things like this and he knew it.

His life had never been full of people rising to his defense; nor had he ever learned how to accept charity or championing with good grace. If he'd had this conversation a week ago, or even last night, he'd have lashed out. He'd have railed against anything resembling the challenge that this woman had laid before him, hissing, kicking and snarling, simply for the feeling of being in the right. 'I came here for a new start.' A new voice sounded in his head. And in order for things to change, he knew, however hard, or… aggravating it may be, he had to stop feeling sorry for himself and stop doing the same repetitive shit. He had to make an effort somewhere, because if he didn't… then what was the point? For the kindness she had shown him, the least she deserved was an attempt.

Charlotte looked at him with that contemplative, half-inquisitive, half sharp stare that he'd come in time to equate with being sized up. It was rather unnerving, in all honesty, his contrition laid bare before that kind of gaze. He looked at her, and she looked back at him. Something was conveyed while they stared at each other for a drawn out moment, each searching for an answer in the other's eyes to a question neither could even name.

Then her eyes lit up with a glint that he was familiar with, the light that she was going to start causing some mischief. "Well too bad for you, because you've got one now" she stated.

"...What?"

She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye."You heard me." Her sass was back. It annoyed him, but he also really admired her for her guts. Adam wasn't even sure how to answer, his mouth absently hanging open in shock.

"Why?" He couldn't stop himself. He had to know. "I'm not your problem. Why..."

"Do I need a reason?"

"Yes". Came his blunt reply. "No one just helps people."

Even more so anyone with so little to be able to offer anything in return. He couldn't believe anyone was capable of such caring. At least, came the unbidden thought, no one alive.

You're right, there." She admitted slowly, sighing. "Like I said, I don't do this for just anyone. You're smarter than that, and I'm not going to treat you like an idiot. But you've helped me a hell of a lot too, and in spite of my little outburst, you're not the biggest asshole in the world. Believe me, I'd know. Is it too hard to believe that I want to repay some favors to someone who did me a solid? Or that I might genuinely want to know you?"

Adam's face was still stony, but his gaze softened, if only a shade. The two of them remained silent, as they made short work of their collective breakfast. The atmosphere was still tense, but she could sense that he was starting to relax a little. After some time, Adam placed his now empty glass down on the table and stood to his feet. No sooner had he started to pick up the dishes, when he felt Charlotte's hand grip his forearm suddenly, and the surprise caused him to nearly drop the fragile crockery on the ground. Thankfully, his quick reflexes allowed him to catch it at the last moment and he took the opportunity to deposit the dirty plate safely in the sink.

"Be careful." He chided cooly, reaching out for the wet sponge on the draining board she used to wash up.

"You don't have to." Charlotte responded, rising to her feet and turning on the tap, filling the sink with warm soapy water, taking great cares not to touch him and startle him again.

"I'm staying in your home, you took care of my things and you made me food. It's only right that I do something." She heard, rather than saw the faint smirk in his words. "A favour, if you will."

She knew full well the futility of attempting to argue with him, especially when he was paraphrasing her own words, and she wasn't willing to waste what little progress she had made by accidentally insulting his pride by reminding him that yes, she was in fact capable of cleaning her own dishes. She threw her arms up again in mock exasperated defeat, letting him gather the few remaining items on the table and counter and bring them to join the plate in the sink. She followed at his heels, and leaned her back against the counter to watch him. There was an air about him that felt different after their conversation. It was almost as though her eyes only now had the chance to take in fully what she perceived as his true likeness, free from that unhealthy tenseness and well maintained wall of ice and fire he put up all the time. And honestly? She liked what she saw. Maybe she was making the right decision after all.

Smiling to herself, she grabbed a tea-towel from the counter and started to dry things as he placed them on the draining board.

Between the two of them, they quickly finished the cleanup in silence. It wasn't an awkward quiet, at least she didn't feel it was. It was more that the two of them didn't feel the need to speak. They could just exist together, and that was enough for her for the moment. Folding the tea-towel into a tight, perfect square, Charlotte bit the inside of her cheek in thought.

"Hmm…"

That sound would be all the warning Adam would receive.

She was far too close for him to defend himself, which gave her the space she needed to wrap her arms around his midriff and pull him backwards into her chest in a not entirely uncomfortable embrace, though he suspected it had everything to do with the way she felt pressed up against him. Adam, flush with surprise, embarrassment and a smidgen of irritation, waved his arms frantically in the air and struggled briefly, before finally staring into the distance, waiting for it to be over.

"What in the name of the Gods, are you doing?" He hissed.

"Come on, isn't this making you feel at least a little bit better?" She asked, her hands joining to tighten her grip around his waist and pulling herself flush to his back as her chin rested on his shoulder.

"If I lie and say yes, will you let go?"

"Spoilsport."

"Unhand me at once."

"Say please."

" Now."

"You have to do it nicely— Damn it, Hornhead!"

She whooped loudly as Adam drew one of his unpinned hands backwards and jammed it into her right side, aiming straight for the ribs, which he quickly found to be highly ticklish. She was forced to let him go, trying to control her laughter, and the scene quickly dissolved into a flurry of foul language, laughter, elbows and knees.

He would fervently deny for weeks on end that he had drawn even the faintest caliber of enjoyment out of any of it. He hadn't smiled as the Grimm-Menace attempted to pursue her own counter attack, attempting to find a weak spot on his own body and forcing him to defend himself. He'd utterly loathed the distinctly feminine squeal that rang out across the small kitchen when he'd resorted to childishly flicking cold dish water from the sink at her in order to keep her at a firm distance; nor had he been especially thrilled when after being backed against the counter, she had retaliated by reaching an arm into the still open bag of flour, grabbing clumps of the stuff and pelting him with it, causing him to duck behind the table while being showered in white dust.

And above all, he certainly hadn't still been fighting off the shortness of breath and the spasms of pain from his diaphragm minutes later, hunched over with mop in hand as they tried to clean the wet ,soggy mixture of flour and water from the floor, as every stray movement simply added more white powder from his saturated clothes into the very mess they were trying to dispose of.

But if her seeming to make his life as difficult as possible was to be the future of their "friendship".. maybe that was too optimistic for him.

---

It had been a while before he remembered to give her the USB and ledger he'd found; she'd been fairly excited when he'd told her where they had come from, although he had at least had the good sense to leave out how that night had ended. She'd left the apartment about an hour or so later, around midday, and had also told him not to expect her back for a while. He would have been lying if he said he wasn't curious as to where she was going, but he hadn't asked, namely because he had so much of his own dilemmas to process, and the welcome respite of solitude would likely help him in that regard. Adam lay back, spread-eagled above the duvet, his eye seemingly transfixed with the spiderweb-esque cracks in the ceiling plaster.

He... He'd been an ass earlier. The shock of the memory and the stress of the confinement, his emotions had gotten the better of him and he'd taken it all out on her, her, the one hope he had of getting out of here. Adam internally groaned at his idiocy, and resolved to fix it. That she was still trying had to mean something, right?

He could say this about her, she had been nothing if not persistent, especially in his head. His mind was seemingly very keen on reminding him of the absurdity of his own predicament, even after Adam had consciously decided to take matters into his own hands. He couldn't wrap his head around her. No one had ever confronted him like that, and certainly not in the way she had.

Tossing it lightly in his palm, he looked over at his Scroll for what had to be the sixth time in as many minutes. It hadn't been working all day, and the charger seemed to have given up the ghost. He made a note to look into a new battery when he had the funds to spare, until he paused. Who would he even talk to on it anyway? The damnable impulses he'd thought checked resurged with a vengeance. He didn't have time for future problems. The present was already far more than his ability to handle.

His mind drifted to the previous night, and his battle with that lunatic woman. The euphoria he'd felt facing her...

Fighting had always felt familiar to him. Like coming home. Perhaps it was because he had been doing it since he was a child, or maybe, because it was his sole connection to the people he'd loved. Either way, it had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember.

Without it, he would have nothing. He would be nothing.

The more that thought turned in his head, the more lost Adam felt.

The fight was a form of communication, one that held a meaning deeper than mere words could ever express. It gave him purpose. Nothing gave him greater joy than learning a new kata, or perfecting a new technique, that inched him that much closer to his ultimate goal; becoming a true warrior. A master of the arts that were passed down to him. As long as there was that goal to strive for, as long as there were still techniques yet to master, everything he did, Adam felt, still had a purpose. And for as long as he'd been able to do that, his life had direction.

That was what he'd been missing for so long, what that woman had painfully reminded him of last night. And what Charlotte, and almost no one around him, save one, had ever understood.

Over the course of his entire nineteen years, Adam had probably spoken the most words at any given time to his mother. When he was young, she was the only person he felt completely safe and carefree around enough to speak freely. She let him talk about the weapons he liked, what he enjoyed, even his aspirations. Even when he was having a bad day - which was often - Evelyn listened to him. With her gone, Adam had lost that outlet forever, and all of the feelings and thoughts and burdens he carried with him now were lost in a tight abyss somewhere inside of him, eternally condemned and imprisoned.

However, those facts didn't seem to dilute the power Charlotte seemed to have over him, especially to make him avoid that which gave him purpose. All things considering, he wasn't too proud to admit that the frequency of their interactions had been actually increasing long before the confrontation they'd had today.

Normal thoughts barely formed in his mind before they were replaced with the intrusive and unwelcome melancholy longing and the fantasies of what could have been. The painful memories of his family - the kith and kin who's dreams he had abandoned for this new life, a life seeking a fortune of… hell, he wasn't even sure of that anymore. Mixing cocktails? Scrubbing floors?

Had he made the right decision? At the time, it had all seemed very simple. But he still wasn't sure. There was a voice whispering to him on the wind that this was all a terrible mistake, that he shouldn't be here, that it wasn't too late to get away. But where would he go? What would he do? How could he return to what he pretended to be , knowing what he did? He couldn't erase the images from his mind. The betrayal. The murderous impulses.

Loathing, rage and loathing flowed through him in turn, every wave blending seamlessly into another as the hours spooled away into the dark. His brow twisted in contempt, chewing and watching the two men from the shadows.

Something needed to change. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. He'd taken the high roads, hadn't he? He hadn't killed anyone, even if they'd deserved it. He wanted to forget the past. To let go of it and simply focus on what was happening in the present.

He just didn't know how he could.

What was he doing wrong? Frustrated that he had spent his time daydreaming and talking himself into circles rather than using his time wisely by sorting out his feelings, Adam kicked out with his heel at a bedpost, and immediately regretted the decision when the sharp pain lanced up his foot.

"Maybe I made a mistake." He mumbled under his breath. He didn't know. He couldn't begin to know. But he doubted anyone could provide him with the help he needed. There was really nothing he could do. Nothing at all.

It had all been so much easier when he hadn't cared.

As he continued to think, he swore he felt his limbs start to weaken. He wasn't all too sure of how long he had even been there for. His eyelids drooped and there was a slight lolling to his head, drunk as it was with fatigue. Determined to stay awake, he kicked out again, connecting with the bedpost with a loud thunk. It was then, as he brought his leg back that his duffle slipped from its perch on the edge of the bed, noisily spilling its contents over the floor with a loud clatter. With a sinking sigh, he hauled his body up into a sitting position to survey the damage.

It didn't take him long to gather the contents; but as he was doing so, he spotted something that stood out. Or rather, he almost tripped over it. Looking down, Adam recognized it immediately, a cold sinking feeling settling in his gut like a stone. He'd forgotten he'd even packed it, the memories too raw to devote much thought to its purpose. His mother had kept it for as long as he'd known her, even back in the mines, but had always refused to let him see the contents.

A copper box, perhaps twenty inches by twelve, enameled and elaborately lacquered. On its top, was an exquisitely painted eastern dragon, ebony-scaled dragon, entwined with an enormous crimson bull. In the backdrop, was a ruby orb; a painted moon. Sitting on the edge of the bed and setting it in his lap, his long forefinger tapped the lid absently, letting the tip trace the lines of the two creatures emblazoned there. It was important to her, he knew that much. When they were starving in the wilderness after their escape, in his darkest moments, a young Adam had asked himself why she hadn't sold it. It looked expensive, and she had always told him that one should never be too proud to put food on the table. After all, what good was dignity when you were eating out of trash and scavenging like vultures. Older, and at least a little wiser, Adam had come to understand that some things were worth more than mere lien, and couldn't be traded on a whim. Without pride, one may as well be a dog.

All the same, as he sat on the bed, some of that childish curiosity surged in him at this old, yet familiar relic of his past.

Slowly, with deft economical movements of his fingers, he opened it.

If he was expecting hidden treasures, he was destined for disappointment. Inside, he found more of his mother's shuriken, blunted from disuse. He removed one, weighing it in his hand. Briefly, he felt the temptation to throw it, before dropping it back into the box. He didn't know how to throw them accurately anyway, and with his luck, it'd probably ricochet and hit him square in the crotch. Shifting through the box again, he found a set of earrings, some letters, and the items that held the most significance to him: his mother's wedding ring, and a ratty leather bound book that was held closed with an old shoe lace withered down to strings, that he immediately recognised as his mother's journal.

He paused, looking at it. She was gone. but here was a window into her private thoughts. Did he want to know? Would it be a further violence to her memory to read it? Or did it matter now she was lost to him? Did the dead care for their privacy?

While he mused, a shift of his knees saw an envelope fell free from the covers of the book, prompting Adam to set it aside on the bed and retrieve it, only for his blood to run cold in his veins.

The letter had his name on it. And it was in her handwriting.

Slowly, as if moving through mud, Adam exhaled, his hands trembling as he tore the seal, each scream of the withered paper sounding louder in the almost noiseless room. When that was done, he eased free its contents, being careful not to damage them, and deftly unfolded the paper. The ink was old, and had obviously run through the paper and dried. Furthermore, there were several lines that seemed to be blotted out, and crossed through, with the excess ink having dribbled over the clearer ones, but it didn't take long for Adam to decipher its contents.

"To the son I love more than anything in this world.

If you are the one to read this, then I am no longer in this world, and I can only ask that you forgive me for throwing myself into work and thinking little of our family. The idea of leaving you behind, alone, causes me more pain that I could ever describe, but as much as it may sunder my soul, I know… have always known, that the bill would come due for my sins. Sins that you shouldn't have to pay the price for. I have watched you grow from a boy into a young man, from an enthusiastic and rambunctious novice, into my greatest pupil. I have watched you master every form and technique I have ever taught you, as if you were the one to create them. I have even seen you find something that most fighters spend years trying to achieve but never succeed- the delicate balance between speed, grace and...power."

"One day, you will forge your own path as a warrior, and fight for a purpose greater than yourself. Remember, when the time comes to walk this path in life, my son; fight for this purpose with all your being. Never stop, never quit, and never yield or kneel to your enemies for even an instant because if you do, they will never cease making you kneel until the day they die...or you do."

"I truly do hope, Adam, above all things… that you find someone to love. Who will love you back. Just the way you are. I never want you to feel like you aren't normal, and don't deserve joy or love in this world. I hope you never suffer anything in this life alone. That is my sincerest wish.

Eternal and enduring love,

Your mother,

Eve.

He could read no more, folding the letter and feeling his eye begin to mist over as he read, the words becoming blurrier as the words became harder and harder to make out. A part of him wondered what the entries of her journal might have said, but he didn't feel right reading them now. He placed the book back inside the box, being sure to fold the letter carefully into the back cover. He tucked the box away, and closed his eye, sending up a silent prayer that he hoped that somewhere, she'd hear.

He would try. He had failed her once already, by allowing her death at all, and again, when he had proven himself incapable of pledging herself to the cause she had believed in, had been slaughtered for. But this? This he could at least try, and it was that thought, that allowed him to smile at least slightly as he lay back again.

Even through his tears.

---

The first sign of Charlotte's return was the sound of the fridge opening and the clicking of heels on a hard surface, and he made his way to greet her..

"My knight in leather jacket," she remarked, upon sensing him enter the room. "Was hoping you were still around. I had an ide-" She stopped, taking note of his red tinged eye. "You sure you're ok?"

"Are you ever going to stop with the nicknames? You're really annoying, you know." He complained with a token exasperation, though without any of the true malice she had grown accustomed hearing to when he was on the verge of losing his temper with patrons. Her musical laugh was carefree, and despite his best efforts, began the process of evaporating his irritation.

"True. But I also have dessert."

"Hmm."

"Annyyyywayy.." She drawled. I had an idea. I was thinking, we could have a movie night."

"Hmmm." Adam hummed noncommittally.

"You don't mind, do you? Besides, it means we get more time together, right?" Charlotte replied smoothly, flashing him a wink that made his stomach feel pleasantly strange. He quickly looked away with a ghost of a blush that faded within a heartbeat. She wondered if she'd imagined it.

"And why would I want that?"

"Because one: dessert, and two.." She paused. "I can make it worth your while. But, if you'd rather sit out in the cold for hours and freeze your balls off in the rain, then who am I to stop you?"

Adam considered what she was saying for a few moments. As much as he was reluctant to admit it, her proposition had merit. It hadn't escaped his attention how hungry he was, and if the night before had taught him anything, he needed to start taking better care of his body if he wanted to move ahead with his goals. And at least it was a meal he didn't have to pay for. God, he wished he could hate her, this whole thought process made him feel weak and worse, vulnerable. But like so many other annoying things that involved her, he was probably going to end up doing what she wanted anyway. Already feeling his mind willing him to concede to her terms, he resignedly looked down at her smugly expectant face and crossed his arms.

He divested himself of his jacket, and she watched as he absently folded it in into a neat rectangle and settled the garment onto his lap. There was an almost unnatural grace to his actions, she noted, but asides from that, she was somewhat amused by just how ordinary he looked for once, as she brandished a spoon in front of his face, lifting a plate in the other hand. It smelled like strawberries.

"I wasn't lying about desserts, by the way."

"I'm fine, thank you."

Awww. Please? I promise it's good~"

"I'll take your word for it."

"Not even a little?"

Adam looked up, studying the expectant expression she still wore, still brandishing the spoon back and forth in what seemed to have been some juvenile attempt to hypnotize him. He exhaled, before, in what was perhaps a fit of pique, leaning towards her and taking a bite from the spoon's contents. "Happy?" He rolled his eye and leaned back again, dismissively licking his lips clean of crumbs and cream alike.

Charlotte squawked and froze, her arm still hanging in the air. Hoping that the red coloring of her face was at least partially invisible in the semi lit room, or if he did catch it, he attributed it to the warmth of the room. It was at that moment, something occurred to her.

"What do you want me to do with this?" She sputtered, raising the spoon and still clenched in her palm.

"It was my impression that you used cutlery to eat, Charlotte."

At his dry humored, droll reply, she scowled and the spoon landed squarely against the side of his head with a solid thud. "I can't do that, you licked it!" She hissed at him with some degree of hollow acrimony, drawing a faint smirk from her companion.

Catching the spoon before it landed on the floor, or managed to stain the seats of the couch, he brought it to his lips once again, leisurely licking it clean of the remaining residue, sweet as it was. Finally, when finished, he responded, trying to keep his amusement out of his voice by maintaining a disinterested deadpan inflection.

"And that's a problem?"

"Well, yeah! You wouldn't eat with something I licked, would y-" She stopped, quickly becoming cognizant of the fact that she had no idea what answer she was hoping for.

Adam, noticing her sudden pause, finally glanced back over to her, and she caught a glimpse of what may have been a smile that he had tried to bury under a look of faux irritation. Her scowl deepened, and her fingers curled into her palms. Very quickly, she stood up, and stalked her way to the kitchen in an attempt to cool herself down, returning with a new spoon and huffing loudly as she returned to her seat. He didn't mean anything by it. He was never that bold before. He was just doing it to get back at her. That was it. Well two could play at that. He wasn't the brightest bulb in the basket if he thought he could get one over on her, and if that was the game he wanted to play...

It was only after a few minutes of silent pouting and scheming, as she watched him fidget with the buttons of his jacket in an attempt to ignore her, that the woman realized that, for perhaps the first time since they'd met, Adam had actually used her name. She couldn't help but feel a certain self satisfaction at that. Her little scheme to get him to warm up to her was working like a dream, even faster than she had planned.

"Oh, right! I nearly forgot!"

She scrambled to her feet, searching for something, before holding up what looked to be a disk case of some kind, turned to the box beneath the television, bending forward on all fours to tinker with it. And, in doing so, sticking her rear up in the air, directly facing him. He should have been long desensitized to her by now, but he found himself muttering a silent prayer to the gods for strength nonetheless. Finally she turned around, flouncing back over him with a salacious grin.

"Kiss of the White Lotus. Martial arts classic. I figured you might like it. You know.. on account of the sword and everything." She mimed swinging an invisible weapon.

Adam raised an eyebrow. Martial arts? He hadn't thought her the type to be interested in that kind of thing.

"I can't imagine your taste in movies is all that engaging, Cavitica." The doubt was ever present in his voice, and Charlotte pouted in rejoinder.

"That so, Hornhead? Well, I'll have you know, I happen to be one hell of a martial arts movie buff."

"Hmm."

She crossed her arms in mock petulance, before her trademark smile returned.

He'd see soon enough in time. Just you wait.

Adam had initially expected the plot to be as simple as its choreography was, upon catching sight of the film grain of the opening title credits. A trite and uncompelling tale that appealed to the average human sensibilities, and had a happy ending where the hero had plot armour thicker than a Goliath's hide.

A wandering swordswoman, who sought the truth about her family's slaughter in her youth, seeks exact vengeance while assassins are dispatched to kill her. He wasn't entirely certain what to make of it, upon hearing the synopsis, even if vengeance was something that he, more than anyone, could understand. Authenticity was a big deal for him, especially when it came to the art of combat, and he really wasn't sure he would be able to stand it when the fighters in the film inevitably began doing things that any real fighter would never dream of doing, simply for the sake of being aesthetically pleasing. He soon discovered, much to Charlotte's own private amusement, that he was in for a pleasant surprise.

No holds were barred and few punches, if any were pulled, but rather than soaking in the brutal violence, Adam was left marvelling at the leading character's speed, technique and pain threshold even more so with the added note that no special effects or stunt doubles were used. He was even more surprised, and intrigued, that the leading actress and director in question, to hear Charlotte tell it, her legs leisurely crossed in his lap, was a faunus, by the name of Usagi Kazama.

Hers was not a name he was familiar with, so she had elaborated. A Mistrilian hare faunus, and master martial artist, Kazama was the grandchild of one of the last members of the Mistrilian Army before its disbandment following the Great War. She herself went on to become a tournament fighter of some repute, before simply dropping off the map to create movies. Her films were actually banned in three of the four kingdoms, partly because of the themes presented in her work, and also because of some rumors that may or may hold weight regarding her outspoken grievances towards Atlas' suppression of culture and free thought, a fact that raised Adam's eyebrow and his interest substantially. Even if it wasn't so excellent, he'd have watched simply to stick it to them, if nothing else.

"How did you even get a hold of this, then?"

She'd only given her usual grin in response and refused to tell him anything.

"I work in mysterious ways, my dear sweet Bull-Boy. You'd do well to remember that."

That was the last he'd been able to get out of her.

He'd seen Huntsmen fight before. A few encounters from a distance as a child, and slightly more often during his time on Menagerie as an adolescent , though there were very few of them on the island to speak of. Their fighting styles, he found flashy and even interesting at first, but the more he saw, the less substance and the more …uninspired they all came to be. As though they all read from the same textbook. He supposed it was the natural side effect of fighting almost exclusively Grimm all the time; stagnation. Why change your own tactics, or grow in strength, when fighting an inferior enemy that never changed theirs?

The more he thought on the matter, the more he feared the same thing happening to himself. Was he stifling himself as a fighter? Yes, he had lost his semblance, which had set him back some, but he had thought his technique alone with a blade sufficient. Young as he was, he had always been proud of his training, a craft learned through dedication, blood and struggle. He had been instructed early in his life that his techniques needed to be fast, powerful or both, rooted deep in the view, no, the knowledge that if he did not embrace that pain and it's lessons adequately, he simply would not survive to fight again.

He had been proven wrong. First by that damned woman— and again, watching the faunus on the screen. Watching Kazama move was like watching an artist, like poetry in motion. It made him feel like he was still that clumsy child in the wilderness, the one who had barely been able to grasp his hands around his blade's hilt, much less fight with it, and it was harder still for him to quash the natural resentment that came with seeing someone perform with a blade in an indisputably superior fashion to himself. Moreover, it was clear that unlike most, she had not devoted herself solely to a single weapon, or discipline.

She displayed clear mastery of multiple weapon styles, from the bo staff, the halberd-like naginata, the spear and even in empty-hand combat, all with equal if not greater mastery than with her blade. He couldn't count the times he almost completely lost track of the plot entirely, simply through his own fascination with her skill. What could he do to gain that strength? He found himself at a loss for an answer, and it infuriated him.

As if in answer, he was drawn once more from his thoughts by the movie itself. The protagonist knelt in a meditative stance, while her master's words echoed.

"Become unpredictable, strike from your subconscious mind, let your moves flow out of your individual essence. Even the most masterful opponent will fall from a strike that has no history or reference. The moves created from your own individual and unique essence may surprise even you."

Was that what Adam was missing? Was his adherence to his traditional swordsmanship holding him back somehow? Mother had always said as much; hence her fixation on trying to learn other disciplines and styles, but it was now he realized he'd never fully believed it. He couldn't honestly say he put the same devotion into his hand to hand as he did his swordplay, because if he had, he would be better and if last night's defeat had proven anything to him, it was that he has grown complacent in his skills. Already his mind was thinking of ways to set that right, but all of them required a sparring partner, and it was clear by now that the run of the mill thugs of Kuchinashi wouldn't do anymore if he wanted to grow. All the same though, his attention soon returned to the screen. Maybe there was more wisdom for him to glean.

Charlotte looked over at him from her end of the couch.

Adam was enthralled. Fully engrossed, barely noticing the world around of the tension had eased out of his shoulders; the edges of his lips were rounded up, just a fraction, and his voice was thinly painted with awe as he continued to be absorbed into the plot, and the grim, yet philosophical tone that seemed to permeate every aspect of script and dialogue.

She saw her chance. Her feet swung off of his lap and tucked underneath her as she moved her body closer to him again. She just needed him to stay still...

It didn't take her long to inch closer to him from just outside of his peripheral vision, but before he could scare her off again, a soft weight settled against him. He tried nudging her away with his shoulder and she simply snuggled further down into his side in response. He huffed and decided to let it be. He didn't understand this woman, and something was beginning to tell him that he never would. Adam ultimately decided the wiser thing to do was simply not to give her more undue attention, and made a point to ignore her, though this didn't go as unnoticed as he might have hoped.

Charlotte smiled. He could act as nonchalant about it as he liked, but she'd seen his brow wrinkle and his widening eye, and that put an even greater smile on her face. She would let him figure it out on his own. They watched in near silence as the story continued to unfold, enjoying their newfound commonality.

At the climax of the movie, after hacking and slashing through everything thrown at him, Kazama finally reached her fated foe, the Grandmaster of the White Lotus clan. The actor playing the role of antagonist wasn't someone he expected to be a physically imposing man, but Adam could see the lean muscle underneath the ivory robes and grey hair, and felt a sense of juvenile excitement for the oncoming clash.

The warrior raised her sword and attacked him instantly, and Adam felt his excitement mount... only for her enemy's body to disintegrate to nothing but sand, having been dead long before she'd even reached him. Confusion was his first feeling, and then, disappointment. That was it? Where was the climactic final battle? The action, the clash of wills? The idea that he'd been cheated had begun to creep into his mind and make itself at home. Finally as the minutes drew on, understanding began to settle and his breath hitched. Something of his thoughts had to have shown on his face, despite how hard he was trying to control his reaction, because he eventually felt Charlotte trying to get his attention, a look of concern written over her features.

"You were lost in thought there. You didn't even notice that I've been poking you with this, for like, a whole five minutes." Her eyes were laughing at him as she held up the end of a metal spoon that glinted in the dim light. "You weren't thinking of a career in stunt work, were you? You're too pretty to have a mashed up face." He almost glared at her in response. Her gloves were crimson silk today, he absently noticed, as they traced their way up his forearm to his shoulder. "What's on your mind? A pause. "You need a minute?"

"No." Time was the last thing he needed, or wanted. "I was thinking that you should tell me what you were going to, before we started this."

The girl tilted her head upwards to meet his gaze, the smile she'd worn all evening quite gone the moment she noticed his fallen countenance.

"What's wrong?" she asked again, her usual flirtatious nature missing, now deadly serious.

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing," she said in a low voice. "I know that look. You're trying to forget something."

His chest rose and fell with each contemplating breath and she squinted, wondering if he was making up a response on the fly. His gaze was no longer turned to her, looking off to the side in a way that hid his eyepatch from view.

"...Why would I?" he said after a long while, low, and deep. It was her turn to make a questioning noise, drawing another agonized silence from him.

Suddenly, his dreams of vengeance didn't seem so appetizing. He could get up, right now, leave this place, leave all this behind, walk all the way back to Menagerie , and put that sanctimonious weasel Belladonna out of his misery; make him suffer, make him bleed, to exact some form of righteous justice, like he desperately wanted to, and finally put the matter to bed once and for all… and lose what little freedom he had earned. He sighed softly, silently crushing the fantasy like the neck he wasn't holding.

But the alternative would be to let him escape any kind of justice at all, and that just sat wrong. The idea of him living a happy life, with everything he had robbed Adam and his mother of, was intolerable. 'And you just left him alone.' A dark part of his mind whispered with sadistic malice. This evening had begun to turn into a guilt trip, and he didn't like it one bit. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to feel like this.

Charlotte was saying something. He should probably be listening. It shouldn't take much effort. He couldn't help but wonder if he looked at her, could she still see how tormented he felt? Or would she see the side of him that hungered for blood, that wished he'd settled accounts in a more permanent fashion? He felt both so much that he could barely breathe. Every time. Every single damn time. He tried to focus on something else, and it reared its head like an unwelcome rash. No matter how hard he tried to suffocate it, holding his regrets and shame underwater and hoping they died, someone or something would breathe life into them again.

He stood to his feet, almost immediately missing her warmth, and feigned a stretch.

"Aw, you're leaving already?" She sighed dramatically, bottom lip jutting out in a playful pout. Adam, who had by his palm inches from the doorhandle, turned to catch the expression on her face, prompting him to shrug. This wasn't her doing. She hadn't wronged him, and certainly didn't deserve to suffer for his sour mood now. His words weren't coming out right; like something was sitting in his chest.

"It's late." He managed, though his outstretched palm still hesitated over the handle, before finally dropping to his side. "Thank you for the evening." He added quietly.

"Was it something I said?" Charlotte replied, the playful sparkle behind her eyes dulling again. The sounds of the movie credits music playing on the television seemed so far away. He wracked his brain trying to think of how to get his head straight again, so much so that he nearly missed the next part of her sentence as he started to walk away.

"—he's here, it shouldn't take me too long to find him. Soon, I promise."

Despite being in no real state to read her expression, Adam attempted to study her for a few moments, as though he might apprise the truth of the matter with his eyes alone.

"Charlotte." He finally answered, grateful to have something to finally distract him from his burgeoning penitence. "What were you saying?"

She craned her neck halfway.

"Myst. He's here in the city. My contact finally came through. He's planning some kind of big comeback party. Adam could have sworn he heard the words "fucking narcissist" under her breath, but he had no way of knowing for sure, because before he could commit that to memory, she spoke again. "He should be here soon."

He tried not to show his disappointment. 'Soon' was not a quantifiable time. Most importantly, it certainly wasn't 'now', a real time he could genuinely count down to, but the same bullshit word he had spent every day for a whole month wearing to a blunt nub. He wanted to lose himself in the frustration of it all. Anything to just stop thinking. He could endure it. He had to.

"No. I mean...Can I ask you something?"

"...Fire away, Hornhead."

"Have you ever really wanted revenge?"

"Are you serious?" She asked, with tepid bemusement, being fully aware of his hidden predilection to dry humor. "If this is about the stuff with the flour earlier, then I'm not a-"

"No." He cut her off firmly. "No, that's not it."

There was a hint of anger that transmuted into a soft and deadly determination as he spoke. His mind was somewhere clearly far away, and as terse seconds passed between them, the more locked-down his face became as he stood stone still, staring off into the middle distance.

Revenge. she had always considered it to be a very much belied concept. Knowing that she always served people what they had truly earned kept her happy and serene. She would smile, nod and give every impression that she was the gracious loser, pretending to take it well. But she wasn't one for the high road. She wasn't going to lie and spout some half-assed cliche like revenge was wrong.

"Sometimes, it's necessary. It's not always wrong, same as it's not always right. Depends on the circumstance. But you don't have to be the instrument to own an act of vengeance. Sometimes—"

She went silent mid-word and swallowed tersely, looked at him with such pity he almost flinched. "Are you sure you're ok?" Her hand came up to grasp his own with a gentle squeeze, her voice was soft and compassionate. It was the last thing he expected her to ask. But most surprising of all, there was understanding in her eyes, even if she hadn't said the words themselves. She got it. She understood.

He didn't want his eyes to drift any lower than her face out of respect because if he did he would have wound up staring.

I guess what I'm saying is, you have to ask yourself if you can live with it. There's no such thing as a fresh start Adam. Every day we keep living, we pick up new baggage, baggage that we'll carry for the rest of our lives. We don't get to just drop it and pretend we're fresh and clean just because we're not the same people we were then."

A small part of Charlotte's mind noticed that he was listening intently, which was surprising, and yet... welcoming. there was no judgement in his voice, or moral superiority at the idea of taking the low road, simply curiosity, and acceptance.t

They simply didn't have a relationship like that, which was part of its appeal for both of them really. She felt free to act on impulse and not feel judged for her thoughts—or if he was judging her, it never felt like that judgement would weigh on her with morality. Amd that alone, was more than worth her making an effort.

"Rebuild your life. Be happy." She said, quietly. "That's the only real way to have your revenge, to continue to have a life, even when they tried to break it."

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. She'd learned enough from him earlier that he tended to get defensive when things got personal, something he paired with what she could only describe as muted body language. Words were clipped, straight to the point, almost cuttingly so, and half the time he would barely even turn his head to look at you. She'd seen it before, maybe too many times on the streets of Kuchinashi. And even more often in the mirror, once upon a time. Putting up walls, or trying to change the subject before the subject matter got too personal for her liking. Making there

Adam sighed, turning his head.

"If only it ever worked out that way. But thanks." He shuffled from foot to foot, keeping his eyes anywhere but on her. "For hearing me out, that is. I'll get out of your hair now."

He gave a light wave, and left without another word, already gone before she could move, though she didn't chase him.

And even more so, though she didn't say it, the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that formed at his despondent words, told Charlotte that she was inclined to agree with him.

---

Author's note: Sorry, it's been a minute. Life happened. I moved house, started a new job, etc. But yeah. I'm here now. Next chapter is slightly shorter, but my computer went and deleted the chapter after that, So, I'll have to rewrite that one from scratch almost. Hopefully this double upload'll keep you tided over till then. Thanks for sticking with me so far!