Hello everyone! Gosh, this chapter took me the full seven days, but I hope it was worth the wait. I've only got a few notes so don't worry as I'll get straight to the point.
First off, there aren't any endgame relationships for this story as of now. I know with this recent chapter that it seems as though Glynda has taken a massive lead, but we're only in the beginning stages of this story so there's plenty of roads to be explored. Also, I don't think that romance blooms off of one date, so don't get your hopes up just yet.
Second, for those of you who read my previous work, the main Patch arc is up next, but there will be some massive changes to the original path I took with that plotline.
Anyhow, that's about it folks, I can't wait to see you all for the incoming time skip after chapter 40, and I know I've been raving about this, but please leave a review whether it be negative or positive! As any constructive criticism will no doubt improve my work and aid in your enjoyment of my stories.
Cheers everyone, Searoar.
Dashing side to side, Hawkins maneuvered his way past the flying debris and entered the witch's personal space. His sword raised, it surged down with both hands on the hilt with the intent to split its target in half.
Her eyes wide, Glynda stepped back and pressed a button where the handle of her weapon met its leathery extension. Upon activation, the crop extended and stiffened to match the characteristics of an extendable police baton. With a sparking clash, the huntress successfully halted her adversary's advance, but the weight of his blade proved greater than anticipated.
Adjusting her footwork, Glynda mirrored a skilled fencer as she weaved between Hawkins' powerful swings and lashed out at his exposed cheek. With a rippling crack, a tint of blood dribbled from the small wound and left a blotch on his borrowed suit.
"That's my second point." Glynda grinned a pearly smile. "Your brute strength would do well against the sluggish Grimm, but it plays poorly against a competent Mantlesian fencer."
Wiping the blood off his face, Hawkins charged once more. Again, the impact of sharpened steel against a blunt baton ringing over the gardens, the huntress who worked on the defensive had to do a double-take after seeing the predatory aura that radiated from the magician's stoic gaze.
"Hawkins, are you trying to actually kill me?!" Glynda hissed as her heels dug into the ground and their weapons were forced into a grinding stalemate.
The magician said nothing and dislodged his blade, his hand raised, it curled into a fist which promptly met with Glynda's cheek. Her glasses sent clear into the bushes, Glynda activated her semblance and hurled an unoccupied bench at her blonde foe. This bought her time to recuperate, but Hawkins cut through the hurling obstacle denying her the third point.
"That's one point for me, but I suppose you still hold the lead." The magician sighed.
"What kind of barbarian are you?! You just punched me!" The witch hissed back. Jumping back then scouring the shrubbery for her cracked spectacles as she did so.
"There were never any rules against that."
Glynda's expression was one of indignant mortification. "I am your date, and a refined lady at that!"
"Should I keep my attacks bellow the neck then?"
Pursuing the witch-like an angry bulldog, Hawkins continued to hack at her defenses with merciless intent. The edge of his blade growing hot with each strike, he managed to find an opening after stomping on the loose end of his date's dress then briskly swinging for a hit.
"Shriiip!"
A sudden gasp, Glynda grit her teeth as her balance wavered, barely managing to dodge the sharp steel aimed for her chest. However, despite his earlier attempts of cleaving his fellow blonde to pieces, the former pirate found his inner fire mellowing with a subtle feeling of content growing in its place.
"What are you doing?!" The witch snarled. Her noble tongue lashing out, her history as a former Mantlesian came full circle with the insults she spewed.
"You uncouth hooligan, your manners are those of a ghastly Beowolf who's had its teeth removed!"
Scrabbling to keep her dress from falling apart, Hawkins was enveloped in a purple hue and was sent barreling back into a prickly bush. Flicking the thorns off his clothes and skin, he curled a brow at the rapidly souring face of his opponent.
"Have you no tact?!" Glynda screamed. The waist of her dress barely holding together thus presenting her fellow blonde with a lot of pantyhosed thigh.
The magician deadpanned. "If you wanted to keep your clothes off the damage list then you should have said so."
"That's not the bloody point!"
"I can always return to the tailor shop to buy you a new one," Hawkins replied as if this were the easiest thing in the world.
Her left eye throbbing and the vein above it pulsing, Glynda retracted her baton to its crop form and initiated her semblance to its utter limits. The stone walls that encircled the gardens coming to life in a brilliant purple, they shuddered and banged together to form three hulking rectangular pillars that pointed towards a single man.
A twinkle of excitement in her bright green eyes, Glynda relished at the wary expression Hawkins wore. He'd underestimated the witch's abilities, and now he was going to discover the error of his brutish ways first hand.
Seconds before the inevitable downpour of rock, Glynda felt a light tugging close to her ankles. To the huntress' horror, Hawkins' straw had slithered across the ground during her proud semblance display and managed to snag itself on the hem of her dress. Eyes wide, Glynda's hands floundered with holding her crop and the ripped sections of cloth that kept her decent.
"H-Hawkins! If you don't let go of my dress I'm going to make you regret it!" She shrieked.
The magician gave a sly smile. "Hm? You wish to let go of your dress? Very well then, allow me to assist you."
He pulled back the hilt of his blade, which in turn caused his opponent's dress to slink slightly from the waist exposing even more of Glynda's slender pantyhosed legs as well as a rather inappropriate view around her waist and buttocks.
"Hm... I assumed your undergarments would be violet as it is your favorite color. To think my guess would be wrong." Hawkins said as the sight of black laced panties was marked in his memories. Though not transparent enough to see through, the risqué selection was no doubt Glynda's preferred choice seeing that she was comfortable to fight in such clothing.
His words reaching the witch's ears, her cheeks burned hot and the redness swiftly spread across her fair skin like butter on a hot frying pan.
"H-Hawkins, avert your eyes as any decent gentleman would! Have you no shame?!" Glynda screeched in a pitch much too squeaky for a woman of her stature.
"It's not my fault you chose such daring lingerie." The man shrugged lazily.
To tell the truth, Hawkins wasn't interested in such perverted thoughts, but the mixture of distressful agony and sheer embarrassment on the snooty huntress' visage had lit a sadistic flame he hadn't experienced since his time as a pirate. Which meant he wanted to revel in the ongoing scenario for as long as possible.
"T-That's not the bloody point you deaf buffoon!" Glynda yelped like a whiny tyke as the struggle to save her dignity continued.
All the while, the gathered rubble she'd amassed moments before now balanced precariously above in flickering violet. The fact noticed by the magician, Hawkins' smirk widened at the possible finisher to his delighted mood. With a gentle pull, he achieved his goal and removed a small section from Glynda's dress.
Spouting countless insults not meant for public ears, the witch reclaimed what was left of her clothed dignity as she lashed out at Hawkins' straw. Her crop doing well to whip away the stiff wheat, a falling pebble that knocked her shoulder sent an alarming reminder of what she'd been using her aura for prior.
A quick and unrefined cry later, Hawkins shielded his eyes from the dust that accompanied the crumbling dismantlement of the huntress' stone pillars. Once the dust settled, he approached the stone pile carefully and leaned an ear for Glynda's voice.
Muffled grumbles from beneath the rock, Hawkins began to dig out his former adversary.
"Urnf... Hawkins?" Glynda groaned blearily. Her head poking out of the rubble.
The magician nodded at the huntress' disheveled state. Her glasses cracked and hair strewn about, she tried to move but flinched as her arm nicked against a shattered piece of brick.
"Don't move." The former pirate sighed and fastened his pace. Once all was said and done, the two blondes stood before one another. The male with his usual stoic demeanor, and the female with a stern glare that could burn through steel.
Arms crossed, Glynda refused to blink despite the reddish strain that circled her pupils.
Sensing the animosity, Hawkins also crossed his arms and joined the staring contest. The battle of silent wills lasting well over three minutes, one of them finally cracked, but it was obvious they weren't happy about it.
Unwilling to stir the pot, Hawkins made the first move and opened his mouth. "I apologize for my brutish tactics, but in my defense, we never agreed that foul play was against the rules."
Biting her lower lip, the witch raised her nose and closed her eyes. "I knew you lacked manners, but I failed to imagine the extent of your coarse methods."
Taking a moment to study her features, the magician's sights veered to Glynda's crossed arms. What he assumed to be a physical display of defiance, was actually a nurturing cradle for the cut she'd received from the sharp rock pile. He had to tread carefully, for he learned long ago that a woman's temper should not be tested unless absolutely necessary.
That, and he was panting after all the exercise he'd been through. After all, it had been quite some time since he'd truly been willing to fight with his full arsenal. Minus the voodoo dolls, but he figured Glynda didn't have any killing intent from the get-go.
"Hm, so aura is a protective and versatile ability, but it seems to be set in a specific quantity that can run dry." He mumbled under his breath.
"Did you say something?" The huntress huffed. Her lids still lowered.
"Again, I'm sorry for your wounds, but I cannot do anything about your blunted pride." He replied in a boring tone and ripped a piece of cloth from his sleeve. He'd lower himself for this situation, as to ease the witch's ire and draw out her patience.
"My wounds?" Glynda curled a brow and almost jumped back when she felt Hawkins' hand on her cheek.
"Stop moving, I can't clean your cuts if you whip your head back and forth." The magician sighed as he continued to wipe the blonde woman's fair visage.
Eyes blown wide in disbelief, Glynda swallowed a thick lump as she debated whether to swat the man's hand with a nasty scowl. However, as seconds passed, she realized just how gentle Hawkins' movements were. The same hands, which were filled with rage and aggression a few minutes ago, had simmered to a humble touch that could rival a feather.
Yet, there was a certain coldness in the fiery gemstones that aided him to see. A certain glossy complexion one would associate with blank glass, Hawkins' demeanor was like a furnace you had to stoke in order to get any emotion, but there was something else. Something in his crimson pupils that Glynda had seen many times now that she thought about it...
It was sadness. A kind of sadness that drooped over the magician's shoulders like the heaviest anvil.
Her mind befuddled beyond belief, the witch couldn't decide what to make of the mysterious man she'd chosen for a date. How could a foul-mouthed brute be so calm and meticulous? Yet the mere sight of his current state invoked a feeling of pity that made her want to comfort him.
She'd seen the same face worn by Port, and while she couldn't personally relate to her fellow Mantlesian's strife, she could not deny the aches that nicked her heart whenever she witnessed her teammate's woeful strife of regret and shame. Furrowing her brows, Glynda wondered if those were the emotions that swirled in the card reader's chest. Did he lose someone dear to him? Perhaps more than one? He did mention a fantastic treasure that was now out of his reach, but Hawkins didn't come off as super materialistic.
"I've finished." Hawkins' dull tune broke Glynda from her internal musings, but when she tilted her head to match her date's stare, she turned away as the looming sorrow proved too great to meet. Though she felt terribly dreadful for doing so.
"Is something the matter? Are there any injuries that I missed?" He asked.
All Glynda could manage was a meek shake of the head. Shifting her sights towards the tips of her high-heels, the huntress contemplated what she could say. A thank you would suffice, but was there more she wanted to add?
Hawkins, who attempted to grasp the blonde woman's attention several times, rolled his eyes and surveyed his surroundings. To his surprise, a familiar black cloak with a ruffled white collar sat neatly folded on a nearby bench. That, and an empty popcorn bag and paper coffee cup.
Hawkins checked his surroundings once more. Nothing but disturbed soil, brick, and foliage, the former pirate could only guess as to how his original attire ended up here. Turning back to his blonde cohort, Hawkins curled a brow as the witch made her way to a nearby bench that had been spared from the chaos of their battle.
The midnight breeze sending a chill down the witch's back, she shuddered and cursed the pathetic state of her attire. It really was a nice dress that Hawkins had picked out for her, and she doubted that the tailor shop would have a replacement seeing the price on said dress was very high, thus proving it was a modified specialty.
Not to mention she was showing far too much leg for her liking. That, and having given Hawkins the forbidden view of her panty selection had swelled her embarrassment so much that it would take several days, maybe weeks, to recover from and forget about.
Her elbow gloves long lost with the rubble pile, Glynda did her best to hammer down her humiliating blush and was lucky to find a nearby bench. Plopping down with a defeated sigh, Glynda gave a slight hiss as the bench was like a block of ice. Its cold comfort worming its way through her ripped silk as she let out another long sigh.
Her focus shifted, however, as a drape of some kind blocked out the light and covered her shivering body.
"H-Hawkins? What is this?"
"Use this until you get home or change into something decent. You don't have to worry about giving it back either, as the outfit was only meant to be temporary from the get-go." The magician replied.
Peeking through the dark covers, Glynda was shocked to see the new ruffle-collared cloak that Hawkins once wore. She glanced at the man who bestowed it upon her, but he said nothing and simply grunted when her curious green eyes met his stoic red. A subtle warmth rising through the skin of her left breast, it grew in intensity as Hawkins decided to sit on the same bench she was on.
Not that there were any other options available, but that detail doesn't need to be said. Only typed.
However, the magician kept his distance and placed himself on the other side of the bench with his arms crossed. This slightly annoyed Glynda, but for what reasons she could not tell.
The lids over Hawkins' crimson gaze growing heavier by the second, he sighed longingly and lowered his head just a tad.
Shuffling in her seat, Glynda felt something crumple along the hidden waistband that kept her Disciplinarian at her hip. A weak chuckle, the witch realized she'd forgotten the whole purpose for tonight's outing. It was supposed to be a fair trade and nothing more with Hawkins serving his side in attendance and hers with information regarding Harold Arc.
Glancing at the man beside her, she unrolled the newspaper and gave it a once over. She never really thought about it, but it did pique her interest as to why such an important death had been so easily forgotten. Perhaps the situation was different in Mistral, but one could never be truly sure when it came to subjects such as unexpected death.
After all, the Arcs were well known across the globe for their contributions to both peace and military action, though the noble bloodline had fallen off the latter topic after the great war.
"Say, Hawkins, why is this paper so important again?" Glynda paused at the soft sounds of sleeping breaths.
Resting soundly, Hawkins had long tuned out of the conversation and his slow breaths took the form of white puffs that joined the chilly air.
The man's arms still crossed, he showed no signs of waking and Glynda decided it was best to leave him be. After all, he didn't have aura, which meant his stamina would recover at a much slower pace than her own. Another chill passing through her spine, the witch pulled the cloak tighter to her body but felt a slight bump on her back.
Searching for the source of discomfort, Glynda's eyes widened as she plucked the same purple box which held the teal earrings the magician had purchased as some sort of strange Valesian tradition she'd never heard of from the cloak's breast pocket. Her mind stirred, she looked down at the newspaper on her lap then at the earrings she held.
A tinge of shame marring her composure, the huntress bit her lower lip and shook her head in an indolent manner. Hawkins, while she would admit that he was not the nicest of company, the stoic card reader had far surpassed her expectations and had shown he was fully prepared to commit to his temporary role.
Thus Glynda felt that her contributions to the whole matter paled in comparison. She'd avoided Ironwood for the majority of the evening, and Tai and Summer had come to her aid shortly after her separation with Hawkins. Then the magician even apologized for his lack of punctuation and Glynda liked to think he was sincere about it.
Lastly, the earrings. Lifting the lid of the purple box, the teal complexion of the carved stone shimmered under the moonlight. While not the most expensive sort of jewelry, Hawkins did make the right choice that the earrings would fit well with the witch's usual combat attire.
And lest we forget, the very dress that she'd been so pleased with wearing had come from Hawkins' own pocket. She wondered how a lazy man such as he could afford such an order, but Glynda put it off as she'd judged the magician harshly since day one and didn't want to venture down that same tedious road.
"How can a rude man like you be so kind?" The huntress rubbed her temples as her opinions of her fellow blonde seemed to change from a calm ocean to a terrible hurricane in the blink of an eye.
Again, another revelation spiked. Not once had Hawkins made any lewd advance or remark during the entirety of their date. Sure, the tugging on her dress was uncalled for, but now that she thought about it, the tarot reader's intentions were clearly on distracting his opponent instead of trying to peek at her undergarments in lust.
Gripping both the newspaper and the boxed earrings, Glynda frowned as she turned to the sleeping form of Hawkins.
"I'll admit that our night together was a rollercoaster of emotions," she began with a sigh, "but you've done more for me than any stranger before."
An unfamiliar feeling worming its way into her chest, Glynda stood from her seat and put the newspaper on the magician's lap. A tiny smile, this one different from her usual grin, was a sight to behold as she'd only showed it on very special occasions reserved for her family and closest friends.
"I say this absolute honesty. Thank you, Basil Hawkins, for making this a night to remember."
With that, Glynda leaned down and put the newspaper on the magician's lap, however, she made sure to leave him a second gift in order to compensate for his devotion throughout the night; and briskly made her way out of the gardens in fear that if the stoic blonde awoke, he'd witness the fervent blush that marred the witch's cheeks.
And Glynda would rather quit being a huntress than have anyone, especially the man she'd bestowed her special gift upon, to see.
/-/
"Oi, is that you, Hawkins?" Sam yawned deeply and answered the door. "I thought you said you'd be back by midnight."
The front door swung open and a tired hazel met with a worn-down crimson. Sam moved to allow his friend entry but quickly blocked his path. Taking several blinks, the farmer rubbed his eyes at the sight of his stoic friend.
"Hawkins? What happened to the fancy clothes you had when you left?"
"They were ripped beyond repair," the blonde said, "I encountered a few Grimm on my way back to the district."
Sam curled a brow but shrugged off his suspicions. The night-long past, the time was three in the morning and Sam just didn't have the energy to press for answers he likely wouldn't get. Carla, on the other hand, was more than happy to play the role of an interrogator and swiftly made her way from the living room to the front door.
"So, did you have fun?" Her question came off more like a demand.
"It was... enjoyable to a degree."
Sam and Carla tilted their heads and glanced at each other. Clearly shocked at Hawkins' genuine answer, they cupped their chins and inspected the former pirate from head to toe. His face was slightly smudged by dirt and dust, as well as his clothes, but other than that he seemed perfectly fine.
Hawkins rolled his eyes at the confused pair of Faunus, but Carla demanded the whole story and was willing to stay up the entire night to hear it. Jaune and Trifa were long asleep, leaving two farmers and a groaning magician to sit at the kitchen table with three steaming cups of tea between them.
"So did you dance?" Sam asked while fighting off another yawn.
"No, but there were other festivities that I participated in."
"Really? Like what?" Carla pressed on.
The blonde's body begged for rest, but he managed a few simple replies, though all were delivered in a deadpanned tone.
"I sang a song, and strolled through the gardens with my temporary date." Hawkins decided to leave out the brutal combat that followed, as he understood the farmers would probably get the wrong impression of his fight. After all, most sensible people assumed that trying to assault your date with your sword and fists was a bad thing.
"You sang?" Carla began, but a swift nudge to the ribs clamped her jaw shut. The old woman shot her husband a glare but grew curious at Sam's bewildered expression.
Rubbing his eyes and pinching his cheeks, the deer Faunus whispered something in his wife's ear and pointed at Hawkins, or more precisely, his face.
Following Sam's pointing finger, Carla also adorned a shocked visage. Her lips spreading to an undecided smile, she nearly jumped across the table as she swiped the magician's cheek with her thumb.
"If there's something on my face you can just tell me instead," Hawkins grumbled.
Retreating to her seat, Carla tucked her hand close to her chest as if she were holding a million lien. Rubbing her index finger against her thumb, a murky red spread across her skin while she raised a nervous smile first at Sam, then one at Hawkins.
Sharing his beloved's enthusiasm, Sam rubbed his chin knowingly and adorned the widest smirk he'd ever conceived.
Curling a brow at the giggling duo, Hawkins requested they tell him their secret but they refused and continued to giggle like carefree children.
His patience shortened by his limited energy, the former pirate bid the giggling duo goodnight and made his way for one final trip to the bathroom before hitting the hay.
The warm pour of the sink's water drowning his thoughts, Hawkins looked in the mirror and raised a second brow at his reflection. On his left cheek, was the long scratch left behind from Glynda's weapon, but on his right was another red blotch. This one, no bigger than his thumb, Hawkins took off his gloves and rubbed the oddity with his index finger.
It had a murky yet creamy texture, and unlike his dried blood, this smudge retained its complexion despite being rubbed. Was this... lipstick? Did he get it from his battle with the snooty witch? Yes, that seemed like the most likely answer as he'd punched her fair visage then rubbed his face after the battle.
But if that were the case, then why did Carla and Sam act so oddly over a messy mark of lipstick?
/-/
"To think..." Sam tucked himself under the bedsheets as Carla blew out the flickering candle on the windowsill.
"That our moody card reader would get his first peck tonight." His wife finished and joined her husband with a pearly smile.
That night, with the moon on full shine and dawn just around the corner, the Acre household and its inhabitants would have their best sleep to date, and most importantly...
Hawkins didn't have a single nightmare.