This Is Atlas

Volume 1: FROM THE M TO THE A

Chapter I: Don't Catch You Slippin' Now

"Four more years and we'll be through!"

—I—

"—And topping the charts is Don Kleebatt's This Is Atlas!"

Marrow kept bopping. His knuckles followed the beat right through the song's cadence jump to trap, and they rapped an invisible symphony against his thigh as he ambled down the aisle. He elected to ignore the looks that certain passengers threw his way, and snorted when more than a few of them leaned away from him as he passed, their luggage clutched closer to their breasts in the quiet shuffling of silent shunning. Marrow carefully schooled his face into a nondescript mask, even as his ears paid rapt attention to the quiet harrumphs and exhale of formerly-held breaths when he moved to take his seat, and his eyes keenly tracked the relaxing of lines on scowled faces, human faces, now content to throw their poisonous gaze out the window instead.

The awkward and strained silence of the past thirty-three seconds gave way to restless taps of feet on the stained and sun faded carpet and the muted swipes of dry fingers over scrolls. In his periphery, he saw them resume their scrolling of video sites, news, and microblogs, as bored looks returned to their faces. His neighbors had pursued their prior routine with a vigor, as though to unwrite the past few seconds from their collective memory. Marrow felt his lips tighten. Somewhere along the line, his fingers had stopped dancing.

What the hell'd they think was gonna happen? What, he'd break out a gat and pistol whip someone in the name of Sintayehu?

Marrow compressed the flare of irritation he felt into a shrug rather than complete the thought, and squirmed slightly to adjust his seating. He was pleasantly surprised to find a hole cut out in the back of the seat which gave him space for his tail rather than the cramp in his backside that he'd become accustomed to suffering through. He hadn't expected that. As he relaxed his body and leant fully back, Marrow couldn't help but think things looked good so far. He'd even snagged a window seat!

In the interim the player had moved on to a different part of the song, and with a few quick taps he rewound it to where he'd left off. Satisfied, he resumed rapping his knuckles to the beat, this time on the hard bakelite wall of the armrest. The song seemed to synchronize with the airship's takeoff, the Hansa climbing up and up into the sky above Mantle.

Through the window, Marrow could see his folks right off the platform waving at him and waved back, even as they became blobs of color, then dots, until he couldn't see them anymore. They had both been overjoyed at the letter congratulating him on being accepted into the Kingdom's most prestigious Academy, one step closer to becoming a Huntsman. It'd been a load off his dad's shoulders because Marrow may or may not have told him it was all or nothing and that if he wasn't accepted, he was gonna be a sapper like his old man.

From the path they were heading, you could just about see the entire city. They'd departed from the aerodrome a hundred meters south-east of the Johann Line, at the heart of the Platz — which was itself at the heart of the city. And no, Marrow was not set tripping for the Platz. It was simply the best place to stay in Mantle, and that was a fact of life that some folks would just have to accept—

Marrow was rudely startled out of his thoughts when someone smacked him in the back and yelled something over the music. Slipping his headphones off and rounding on the perpetrator incredulously, Marrow slowly blinked at the hot mess express of a person pretending way too hard to lean relaxedly on the empty seat next to him. Girl looked like she was about to pass out, way she was sweating and breathing a bit too hard, so he couldn't help but raise a brow and ask, "Yo, you good?"

The girl blinked at him owlishly and opened her mouth, only to have him flinching away from her when it sounded like she choked on her own saliva and hacked up one of her lungs. She cleared her throat harshly and spoke like she hadn't been fighting for her life moments ago, "I'm chilling. By the way, this seat ain't taken, right? Bet."

And just like that, the girl plopped down into the unoccupied seat and made a noise of satisfaction as she practically melted into the fake leather. Marrow raised another brow, poking the girl to check if she was still breathing after a little bit. She jolted forward out of nowhere and turned to him after he pulled his hand back, the sound of the back of his head hitting the window louder than he would've liked. Pausing at the glares they received, the girl shrugged and offered her hand. "So! I'm Felicia, ayy-kay-ayy Doja Katt on DustCloud. You?"

No, because Marrow had to pause real quick and do a double take, because there was no way she was expecting the conversation to keep going like she hadn't just verbally flashbanged him. He looked at her a second time, past the sheen of sweat covering damn near alabaster skin and noted her seeming a little too proud of Mantle, the way she was wearing almost nothing but Catthart. The dark blue and gray tones of the hooded jacket, sleeves bound with tape like she was a traceur off the streets of Vale, blended with a pair of bleached shorts with black leggings. Still, none of that caught his eye as much as the pink tail idly wriggling around that Marrow swore hadn't been there before.

"Take you a pic. It'll last longer," her dryly amused voice snapped him out of it. Marrow coughed into his fist, hoping the desperation at being caught staring was replaced by the tone of asking someone in a mental ward if they'd remembered to take their pills when he asked, "You said your name's Felicia?"

The girl—Felicia, smirked at him. "I ain't choose it. So boom, my family's from around the Zwei so you know how folks over there is. Got a history of holding onto what they can. It's why my moms' name Selima and my pops' name Leon — doesn't sound Atlesian, right? Prolly 'cause this spooky thing called slavery happened and our entire identity was nearly erased. And that's not even mentioning the GU. But you know what's even crazier?"

"What?"

"The fact that you leaving me hanging right now, like damn I see how it is," she said, expression solemn like Marrow had pissed on her grandma's grave by not dapping her up. Marrow snorted, reaching over to give her some skin with an impressive clap that rang out and drew more glares. Their hands pulled apart and punctuated the dap by snapping their fingers. "What's your name anyways?"

"Marrow. Marrow Amin."

She looked at him, seemingly surprised. "Oh, so you foreign? That's cool. You were born in Vacuo, or you coming over from one of the feeder schools? If that's the case, then congrats! You made it out the trenches." Holy shit, she was even making the sign of The Claw, too.

Marrow struggled not to laugh. "Some offense taken, but nah, born and raised in the Platz."

"Damn, that's even worse."

He looked her up and down exaggeratedly, raising a brow. "Oh, I know you not talking—"

"Excuse me."

Marrow stopped, looking over at the source of what sounded like barely restrained irritation and anger as he made eye contact with pale blue eyes. The aforementioned eyes were set in a face even paler and skinner than Felicia's, framed by long snow-white hair tied back into a loose ponytail. She was taller than the faunus girl too, dressing humbly — only wearing a hoodie as white as her hair, save for the dark gray sleeves and the outline of the Atlesian cog and hammer above her heart, and some white trousers.

She stared back at them, unamused. "Are people always this loud where you're from?"

Marrow raised both brows, whistling sharply. Damn, he hadn't even gotten off the airship yet! Most people would just wait for him to walk through the doors and right up to the counter before politely informing him that he was unwelcome in this establishment and/or threaten to call the cops on him if they hadn't already. This had to be a new record or something.

Felicia just leaned forward, elbow propped up on the armrest and smiling none too innocently at the girl in the aisle. "Mind telling us what you mean by "you people," jungfrau?"

Die jungfrau in question bristled at the word and Marrow wouldn't have blamed her if she actually knew what it meant. "I don't speak that slop, and I mean from whatever corner of Mantle the either of you two managed to escape."

Felicia snorted loudly, not at all offended, and turned to him. "I mean shit, Amin, what'd you pull out your ass if even someone from the Platz managed to get out?"

Marrow didn't so much as smile as he did bare his teeth at her and old girl. "Y'know, since you asked so nicely, it's probably 'cause I suck a mean cock. Back home, they used to call the manner in which I applied my talents to procure my placement suction destruction, awesome jawsome, immaculate cranium, the Gluck Gluck 9,000— the works! Made even— what's that new guy's name? Ironwood! —Ironwood himself crumble before my might."

Old girl's expression turned from one of vague distaste to outright disgust as Marrow continued to describe all the ways in the art of head, even giving up neck perchance. "All right, I thoroughly regret even starting this line of conversation. Your . . . vivid description was completely unnecessary."

Marrow tried to smother his laughter in a fist. Tried being the key word. "Girl, I didn't actually give up neck to get into the Academy. I applied for, and passed the entrance exams. Same as anyone else."

"I'm surprised she ain't say nothing 'bout no quotas," Felicia muttered.

"I'm sure you did," old girl said, in a noncommittal tone that made clear exactly what she thought of it. "Regardless, you are not, as they say, back on the block, so do keep it down in the future."

Now that made Marrow blink and sit up, opening his mouth to fire back a retort, only for the girl with the snow-white hair to swiftly turn on her heel and leave the conversation without another word. His seatmate glowered at her back, scoffing. "What a bitch. Schnees ain't shit, as usual. Even the ones that got the galls to actually do something."

"Wait, galls?" then he actually absorbed the other part. "Wait, Schnees?"

Felicia turned to him with a raised brow, the look on her face asking him if he was being deadass. "Uh, yeah, that was Winter Schnee. Heiress to the Schnee Dust Company. Y'know, the dust conglomerate that controls most of the dust trade in the Kingdom and prolly like, half of Remnant. Man, ain't you from Vacuo? You prolly know more 'bout her and her family than me."

Marrow just stared at her. ". . . In my defense, my father was more domineering than he was absent, so I've been focusing on getting in before paying attention to whatever's going on with that hot mess. Because it was either this, or I join the Army. But hey! At least she called us future students and not like, slurs."

Felicia regarded him like she would a rambling süchtigen trying to sucker her for her lien, shaking her head and opting to melt back into her seat as if she hadn't made a horrible decision. "Shit, way you're talking, you making me think I shoulda just hit up my recruiter instead. I mean, probably not 'cause I'm pretty sure he was tryna smash and I'm still fucking seventeen but it's the principle of it, dammit."

"Think about it like this: four more years and we'll be through." he echoed, trying to emulate his father when he'd gone on the trail for three years. No, that didn't mean Papa Amin had left for ciggies and only came back eleven years later. His father was many things, but a stereotype he was not.

Felicia closed her eyes, head facing the airship's ceiling for strength the same way Emiye looked at the ceiling of their apartment whenever her kids started acting up. "I hope the pilot crashes this airship into the side of Atlas."

Almost as if on cue, the Hansa's intercom suddenly crackled to life. "Hello, ladies, gentlemen," there was a pause, "Schnee."

Ignoring the angry voice that exploded from the back of the airship, the pilot kept going in the same falsetto saccharine tone. "This is your pilot, Chief Warrant Officer Gruen, speaking. On behalf of Atlas Army Aviation, I'd like to thank y'all for choosing Air Atlas. I hope you enjoyed your flight to this jumped-up summer camp for wayward Hunters as much as I enjoyed flying around a buncha super-cadets and yuppies, least of all a Schnee. Please ensure none of your belongings are left behind because we will be selling them to the highest bidding ratchet-ass local. If the Fang, Grimm or Army don't get yer asses, we sincerely hope to see you again. Maybe. Not really, I don't care."

Even Marrow blinked at that, but it wasn't like he could say anything to the crusty old Chief that's probably been in longer than he'd been alive. Besides, it didn't matter now. The aircraft's doors shuddered open and a ramp extended down to the platform itself. He shivered at the sudden chill from the gust which blew into the airship, flaring his aura and taking comfort in his own soul's warmth. He inhaled sharply at the scene that he'd spent years working towards, and was finally right there in front of him.

What struck him first was the way Atlas Academy was bathed in the glow of the early Atlesian sun and sprinkled in light snow; it made it look almost as ethereal as the Nahr Aljana. The sight was only enhanced by the buildings' eclectic ashlike gray and glimmering white mixing with the striking array of electric cobalt and navy blue. Autocabs, airships, jets and bullheads alike shrieked through the skies with all the speed and fury as a swarm of locusts. The next thing his eyes latched onto was the rest of it.

Even at this hour, the Academy grounds were absolutely teeming with bustling crowds: civilian workers and contractors walking leisurely, servicemembers from all branches hustling, ungainly androids and their bulky rifles clanking with each step and of course, the Hunters. More specifically, the Hunters-in-training.

Compared to any other Academy's students, Marrow had to admit that they looked bland as hell but that didn't mean they weren't looking good too. Not too different from any other uniforms he'd had in high school that tried to instill something resembling discipline or patriotism in his generation. White, with shades of light and dark gray, the outline of the Atlesian crest above their hearts and black berets that were nestled neatly under the left shoulder epaulet. The ones that really stood out were those who looked like they were just coming back from training or mission, happily clad in their own ensemble and kit and looking way more at home than he did.

Unfortunately, the moment was rudely interrupted when he found himself face-to-face with one of the soldiers milling by the entrance to the building. Marrow's eyes lingered on the fangs glistening in the sunlight when the soldier smiled, hazel eyes boring into the crowd and gray feline ears with tufts of white fur flicking towards them. SCHREIBER was the name sewn on his right breast, ATLAS ARMY over his heart and a sergeant's chevrons on his shoulders. "Why yes, I am labeled for your pleasure. Thank you for noticing, kind sir."

Before he could stop himself, Marrow replied, "Don't call me sir, I work for a living."

The heat rushed into his cheeks once he'd realized what he'd said and at the sergeant's raised brow before he chuckled. "Damn, one of y'all do got a sense of humor. Love to see it."

Marrow turned his head to the side as he steadfastly pretended that all eyes weren't on him, and it was by the grace of whatever nameless deities were out there when the sergeant clapped. "So! Welcome to the Academy! Well, not really the Academy, more like y'all's Reception. Wait, not even that. Initiation! Yeah, that's the word I'm looking for. I'm Sergeant Schreiber, and welcome to your Initiation!"

Sergeant Schreiber continued, heedless of his captive audience's blank stares. "For the next ninety or so hours, I'll be one of your many, many unwilling chaperones. Word of advice: don't act a fool! You never know who's watching and regardless, y'all mighta made it here but that doesn't necessarily mean you students just yet, much less bonafide Hunters. You can, and will be dropped for stupid shit so don't give your potential proctors an excuse! And another word of advice: don't wander 'round the halls with what little privilege you have, or you'll just fuck it up for everybody else. If you end up lost, then use your common sense and call Staff Duty or ask somebody for help. You. Yes, you with the face!"

Marrow turned to whoever the sergeant was pointing at, brows furrowing when it was the same girl from before with her hand up. Aaaand now she was going to parade rest for him. Of course she was. "What about the matter of our luggage?"

Sergeant Schreiber looked like he didn't know whether to be confused or horrified. "First of all, relax. For whoever pass, all y'all basically cadets so please don't go to parade rest for me. That shit weird. I technically have to call y'all mister or miss but miss me with that shit, I got boots that seen more action than all y'all combined. Call me when whoever makes it graduates from here."

He clapped his hands again. "But yes, the matter of your luggage! It's being handled as we speak and y'all will be given separate lockers. Any more questions? No? Good! Now here comes the fun part! Follow me so then we can get y'all down to Dawnclaw Hall for y'all's Initiation brief."

Despite several hands in the air, Sergeant Schreiber turned on his heel and opened the door for the crowd that suddenly surged forward. Marrow watched as they struggled to enter, glancing up at the words FOR THE DAWN carved into the marble above the doors, flanked by twin griffons. He'd seen them in the neighborhoods where they'd been proudly flown since the days of Old Mantle. Same neighborhood where he wasn't welcome, of course. They still weren't going to ruin the moment.

"Ay, you! Chop, chop, we ain't got all day!" the sergeant called out and Marrow bolted into the Academy.

A/N: i have no idea what i'm doing but thanks to the folks of the maison d'orleans server for helping me construct this monstrosity