A/N: Here it is! Chapter 19. A few days ago I received the hardest vibe check in my life in the form of my friend telling me just how much I've written thus far. Like, I understand that this is nothing compared to the likes of Coeur Al'Aran, but still! 200+ pages on a PDF?! I suppose I have to thank you all for the support and patience you've shown to this autistic writing spree of mine. Also, shout out to Coeur Al'Aran, his work inspired me back then. Very cool.
RhoMarck: Yeah... Carmen will play a big part in this story, especially since I'm doing my best to bend and limit test the girls' personalities and Egos.
Here you go, now go see what happens when rampant capitalism wins.
Being awakened by the buzzing coming from the vibrating scroll beneath his pillow, Bemaia opened his eyes and pulled from what he could imagine to be the best night's rest in his life.
"Hrmmrm." He mumbled to himself, leaving the bed and checking if his business partner was awake.
"Hm. Lazy shit..." He cursed in a low tone, his words going unheard. "Imma just, leave, aight?" And with no further preparations aside from donning his only suit and brushing his teeth, he left, leaving Weiss alone in the room.
Upon locking the door behind him, an attendant walked up to him with a plastic menu of sorts. "Good morning sir! Do you wish to see the Breakfast menu?" This attendant was, very clearly, a Faunus. Her face's skin was partially covered with fish scales, with two sets of gills on each side of the neck. If there were any more Faunus traits, they were hidden under the clean brown suit she wore as a uniform.
Bemaia politely accepted the menu. "Here you go!" The girl said.
Absurd meal choices aside, the former librarian couldn't help but notice the constant staring of this attendant. What was she staring at exactly? His unique wing is not normally seen in most Faunus. "Do I know you?" Bemaia asked tipping down the menu to have a clear look at the girl.
As though being brought back from a trance, the girl jumped in place. "Oh... Did I stare too much?" Bemaia nodded his head as her face became flustered. "Oh, brothers... It's just-" Before she could complete her sentence, she quickly checked to see if there was someone near them.
As another assistant -A tall man in a black suit, with his muscles bulging out of his tight shirt- passed by the two, the assistant finished her line of thought.
She approached his face, and in a low tone, she spoke. "It's not often that we have our kind in this train... Not to mention one in a first-class room..."
Bemaia's left eyebrow rose. "Is there a problem with that?" He knew well enough about Remnant's socio-politics that she saw him as a Faunus, though he also knew to play with his cards close to the chest. Withholding information about his true race would make way for more information, perhaps even compassion for the Faunus crewmates.
"Oh-No, no, no... It's just..." The attendant, who had the whole world's confidence to do her job, now shyly stammered her way through this conversation about her race. "This train is owned by SDC... We, as workers, are often looked down upon by the larger community of Menagerie so we don't buy a ticket..."
Bemaia scratched his chin. 'Interesting.' The extent of his knowledge did not encapsulate the fact that the SDC was more than a simple extractor, refinery, and top seller of Dust products. "I didn't know the Schnees offered transport services." So it was safe to assume that the SDC held power over services other than the Dust market.
The girl was shocked. "You... Didn't? They have a finger on almost everything..."
He figured that was all he could extract about his future employer out of the girl. Besides, she still had work to do, so Bemaia decided against holding her more than necessary. "I'll think about what to have for breakfast, but for now, I'll have a dose of Sparkling Water. Make it boneless, if you would."
The girl smiled and nodded. "On it sir! Where would you like to receive it?"
'Oh? I can have breakfast anywhere I want?' A nightmare for the employees responsible for cleaning, but a dream come true for anyone who isn't them. "In the lounges... It's not like you can miss the wing anyway."
The Faunus girl nodded her head, "Very well! Anything else?" And after he shook his head in response, "On it!" she left to get Bemaia's order.
"Wings bless her, she's a tough one." Bemaia, with nothing else to do but wait out the rest of this four-day travel, decided to go out and socialize for a bit. All things considered, since this train was SDC's property, there was a slight chance that he could meet with some of Atlas' higher echelon, maybe even Jacques' close contacts. He could only hope.
Walking to the next wagon, Bemaia found himself standing at the entrance of what he thought to be a bar. "..." He's seen this place yesterday when he first arrived. Instead of nobody being present behind the counter, there was a woman with a clean white shirt, a bow tie, and two dark-brown braces. Her rolled-up sleeves revealed a thick yet muscular forearm. The roots of her short hair were gray due to her age, which became apparent when noticing the skin folds beneath her eyes and cheeks.
Aside from the bartender, Bemaia noticed a few seats with tables here and there, but what caught his attention the most was the luxurious-looking pool table. Its edges seemed to be made from adorned gold, and its legs followed the same flowing gold pattern. "Amazing..." He quietly muttered, "I know some people who would kill for something like this." An entertaining thought, but the table itself would have been completely useless to the general ambiance of his old restaurant.
An endless reservoir of the most diverse drink bottles decorated the walls of the wagon, all neatly organized by age or perhaps brand. Bemaia couldn't tell just by looking from afar.
The varnished wooden floor shone with the ceiling's low lights. 'No windows, huh?'
It was almost unnoticeable, but Bemaia knew that this wagon had a history behind it. Some of the tables had slightly different colored bases when compared to their legs. The metal walls had small dents in a few places, all repaired, but still noticeable for Bemaia's trained eyes.
For a layman, this was a perfect bar with its own environment with no flaws whatsoever. But in fact, and Bemaia knows, this place had seen fights, this place had seen rage. The faint metallic smell that permeated the air gave it away. 'Blood... Maybe on a used cleaning rag? Behind the counter perhaps...' He thought.
Putting that aside and letting himself known to the bartender, Bemaia sat on a table not far from the bar, and relaxed for a moment, while his order had yet to arrive. "I like this place already." However, that still left him with the breakfast. "Hm. I'll skip it, I think."
Not a minute passed, and through the door came the same Faunus girl with Bemaia's sparkling water atop a silver platter, her smile was unwavering.
"Here it is sir!" She spoke, placing a pre-cold glass on the table in front of his seat, and then proceeded to pour the contents of the glass bottle onto the glass.
Bemaia nodded at the waitress and lifted the glass to his mouth. "Hm." Drinking but 10 drams of sparkling water, 'I didn't know what I was expecting.' And so, there he sat, with nothing but his glass of sparkling water, watching the time pass.
"Anything else, sir?" Bemaia shook his head. "Afraid not. But you can leave the bottle here." Leaving the bottle with the huntsman-in-training, the attendant bowed her head to him before exiting the wagon through the same door Bemaia used to enter.
A few minutes came and went, yet, no one, not even one soul entered the wagon. 'Did I arrive too early?' An undisputed possibility. 'I did sleep early yesterday...'
The spacious room seemed to get smaller and smaller with each passing second. The futility of his situation sunk deep into Bemaia's head. 'What am I even doing? I'm a grade 3 fixer dammit.' He needed to get information about his future possible boss, and he was in the best possible place to acquire such information.
With an ever-increasing boredom, Bemaia rose from his seat and approached the bartender. "Good day." The older woman barely acknowledged his presence but kept her eyes on him. "What's the usual?" To which the woman blinked at. "Aren't you too young?"
Bemaia's eyebrow rose with significant speed, but he didn't answer that question, waving it off as a joke or a rhetorical question.
The woman sighed. "Depends. What you're here for?"
Bemaia stood silent for a moment, brainstorming about what exactly she meant by that. 'Depends? I just asked what's the usual drink she makes...' Perhaps she was testing him? But if that's the case, for what purpose? Maybe she's placing him in a category of customer? He didn't know, but he also didn't see any reason to lie to the older woman. "Bussiness. Gonna meet with Jacques himself."
The woman's eyes widened for a split second but returned to the serene normalcy it held before. "Moving up in the world, hm?" She chuckled for a moment. "Only the old guard has business with him, and those people enjoy the good old Martinis or plain beer." She then reached for a bottle outside of Bemaia's sight. "But you? You're young, so probably Gin and tonics? No, you don't look the part." Whatever's that's supposed to mean? Whatever it was, she kept staring dead in his eyes. "Rum and... Antarctic. Yes, that should do it."
'Did this woman just select my order based on my physical appearance?' But he at least recognized the name of some of those things she just spoke, like Rum and Gin, but what's the other one? "Antarctic?"
The bartender nodded as she reached for a small fridge under the balcony. "Founded by Jacques Schnee ten years ago, Antarctic has quickly raised to the number 1 most profitable soda in Remnant, being most popular among teenagers who enjoy the addicting flavor, and the low-income masses also enjoy it due to its low manufacturing and shipping costs." It was a plastic bottle of a sparkling black substance, and a white and blue label written 'ANTARCTIC' circled the bottle.
After mixing the drink, she handed a glass to him. "Add too much Rum, and you lose the flavor. Add too much of the soda and you'll find yourself looking for the rum all day. Add just the right amount of both, and get you a drink that you can keep drinking all night. In moderation, of course."
Add that to the list of businesses owned by Jacques. He's got the transport, the Dust, and now the sodas. 'Thank the wings he's my next boss.'
Taking a sip, Bemaia analyzed the flavor thoroughly.
The drink wasn't all that special, but it did hold its merits. For all intents and purposes, this drink was just Rum and Coke, only Remnant didn't have Coke and instead had this Antarctic thing. It was a drink to be enjoyed with company, not too heavy, not too light, just enough to keep you sociable. Taste-wise? Better than most.
"It's good." He admitted as the older woman nodded her head. "Since you liked it, might as well let you in a little secret, yeah?" The bartender spoke, beckoning him closer with alluring information. "It's one of those secrets, about the 'King'."
Bemaia leaned closer to her, intrigued. "King?" She nodded. "That's what the rich folk call Jacques. He's the king of the system, having a finger in every Lien spent in Atlas, Mistral, and Vale."
'Lien'. A word Bemaia heard a lot of but didn't know very much about. He knew it was a currency, much like Ahn used back in The City. But that was as far as his knowledge went. He had a few comparisons to determine the difference in value between Lien and Ahn, and it seemed that Lien was more valuable. A bottle of water in The City has an average value between two hundred and five hundred Ahn, but the same bottle costs about two to five Lien.
Easy enough to convert, but the numbers went haywire when a higher-valued product was introduced, such as weapons or large quantities of food.
"The King, huh..." He felt very lucky to have the chance to meet someone such as Jacques. Such opportunity he would not let go of. "So, about that secret?"
The bartender hummed, trying uselessly to think of what was Bemaia thinking about. "Antarctic's flavor comes from the coke leaf extract, which gives it a faintly addictive taste."
Bemaia let that information sink in. "The drug then? Cocaine?"
The bartender nodded with a smile on her face. "And yet no one does anything about it." She laughed, pouring one out for herself. "Of course, no one's gonna check what's become a household item. And since It's approved in Atlas, every Kingdom gave it a thumbs up as well, taking it at face value."
Bemaia took another sip of the drink. "So, basically getting the common man addicted to the product without any obvious symptoms of the addiction..." The bartender nodded again, lightly tapping Bemaia's glass with her own. "That's terrible..." He muttered to himself.
The bartender's smile seemed to slowly turn sour at Bemaia's response but perked right back up when she noticed how he didn't seem to care about the drink, continuing to occasionally take a sip from it.
"But terribly profitable! I think I should congratulate the King for this brilliant idea." He said with a smile on his face.
Now all that he was left to wonder was the question of how this woman knew of this secret. 'She doesn't seem the type of making things up... Then again, I don't know her, maybe that's the case.' It was clear to Bemaia that Jacques' connections ran deep in each of the four kingdoms.
Lunchtime came and went and Bemaia ate alone. Why? He couldn't name a single person on the train, aside from the Heiress of course, and she did not once leave her room.
The winged librarian was unbothered by this, however, going as far as to appreciate the chance to explore on his own. Bemaia took a few mental notes about the train's staff and the average passenger.
Exploring the train, he noticed a pattern about the staff. Janitors, Assistants, and Hallway Security; were all composed of Faunus. And to make matters more interesting, every passenger in first class was a human.
He couldn't get into the 'normal' class's seats, security told him it was against company policy. So he could only make stories of who comprised the economy class, but he knew that the answer would be underwhelming.
The dining wagon was nothing to scoff at. Being the main place where the passengers would eat both dinner and lunch, it needed to have something special. Two windows on both sides of the corridor with a beautiful view of the outside wilderness. Each table was ordered one after the other on stalls divided by room number. Bemaia's specific stall had decorative paintings on the wall that divided his table to the next, and on his right was the window.
In truth, he had little interest in the food. What he was actually paying attention to was the outside. Natural trees with natural leaves. Sure, he could see those at Beacon, but not in this volume and beauty.
The outside was completely devoid of any human touch aside from the actual train and rails. A mountain range on the horizon was a scene he would never see in the City. Hell, a normal train experience would not be something he could experience in the City.
So grateful he was for ending up in Remnant.
"Who could have guessed, that a world where an endless army of creatures made of dark wants nothing but to destroy humanity, would be this enjoyable?"
Growing bored of the monotony that was the dining wagon, Bemaia returned to the one place in this train that gave him entertainment; the lounge.
The intoxicating smell of the room filled his nostrils, he could tell there were new people there. A pleasant warmth washed over his body, it seemed that this wagon, in particular, had no refrigeration.
"Oi, boy!"
Bemaia had just stepped inside the room and someone already called out to him.
"Get a tall one for me and my friends 'er."
Bemaia raised an eyebrow at the man's request. The man in question was an elderly man, with a receding hairline he wore a white shirt with a gray necktie hanging loosely from his neck, and the coat of the suit rested on the chair he sat. The other two had varying but similar appearances.
Bemaia sighed. "I'm not a waiter pal."
The old man stopped for a second, then burst into laughter. "Hahaha, sorry, sorry!" He then cleared his throat to push away the need to laugh. "Not every day you see a Faunus 'er."
Bemaia shrugged.
"Why stand there like a pigeon? C'mere!" The man said excitedly, pulling a chair for Bemaia to sit on.
"There he goes again. Aren't you way too friendly, Jo?" One of the elders asked, clearly displeased with his friend. "It's you who's too dense, Bin! Let's give the young lad a chance, yeah?" 'Bin' scuffed and turned his face to the side. "Hmph! Do what you want then." So, with a big smile on his face, 'Jo' beckoned Bemaia to take the seat.
Not one to deny such a formal invitation, Bemaia was quick to accept the old man's offer and sat in the chair with the other three elders.
The last one opened his mouth to say something as the librarian sat, but his eyes grew wider as he noticed the black wing on Bemaia's back extends to make way for the chair."A Faunus? You get me a Faunus?" He said, angry with Jo's decision to make conversation with Bemaia.
"Bah! Don't give me that. If you don't want to I can be his partner, Happy, Tom?"
This 'Tom' had some history with Faunus it seems, enough story to warrant this kind of treatment. But Bemaia did not mind, he was called worse things back in the City.
So he just sat down and observed the three elders get comfortable in their seats, until his supposed partner, Jo, pulled out two fist-sized wooden six-sided die. "You play truc?" Jo asked, as he pulled out a brand-new deck of cards out of his pocket, the plastic wrapper was still on.
"Never heard of it." Upon closer inspection, the dice did not look like normal dice, instead of counting from one to six, instead, both of them had on each side the numbers 0,2,4,6,8, and 10. Odd.
"Never? It's played widely in Menagerie!" Bin asked, incredulous at Bemaia's lack of knowledge. "I've never been to Menagerie, and I don't plan on ever going there." The old man hummed, scratching his chin, and squinting his eyes, observing Bemaia carefully. "So it seems."
After unpacking the deck, Jo began separating the deck's cards. 'These are some odd men.' Bemaia thought to himself.
"Here," Laid in front of him on the table, Jo put the card in a particular order. "Memorize it well." He said.
From left to right, starting at the bottom line the card order goes as follows: Both red fours and the four of spades, all fives, all sixes, and both black sevens. In the line right above them were all of the queens, all of the jacks, all of the kings, then all of the Aces except the ace of spades, all of the twos, and all threes. Then on the top roll were four cards; The Seven of Diamonds, The Ace of Spades, The Seven of Hearts, and lastly, The Four of Clubs. The Eights, Nines, Tens, and Jokers were nowhere to be seen.
"Since you don't know how to play, let's start from the beginning." Jo then pointed the the cards in the bottom row. "Before you can start playing, you'll have to remember these cards well." Bemaia stared at them for ten whole seconds, then looked back at his supposed partner.
"Each of these cards has a value. You beat a card if your card's value is higher than the others." He then pointed at the pile of fours. "These are the cards with the lowest value." And then moved his finger towards the Four of Clubs. "And this is the card with the highest value." Bemaia nodded.
"Think of it like a staircase, each card has more value than the one on its right." Bemaia hummed. "I see, so, for example, my king of diamonds would beat a jack of diamonds, but would lose to anything above, like aces or twos." It was easy to understand the theory behind it, though he had to admit it was a pretty odd order of cards. Like, why was the Four of Clubs the one with the highest value?
Jo smiled. "You got it, good. This game is played two versus two, each team member sitting across from each other." Bemaia already noticed that when Tom exchanged places with Jo, making it so that Bemaia sat in front of Jo, as Tom and Bin sat to his left and right respectively.
"Every round is worth two points, and you win by reaching twelve points," Jo explained, holding up the two over-sized dice and placing one of them on the bottom left corner, and the other on the upper right corner of the table, from Bemaia's perspective of the square table.
Jo then got all of the cards together and gave them to Bemaia. "Here, let's do a practice run, a game worth nothing so you may get used to playing it."
Almost as if guided by instinct, Bemaia shuffled the deck thoroughly. "Once shuffled, the player on your left will cut the deck." The Librarian then gave the deck to Tom, who just took the upper part of the deck and placed it on the bottom, giving it back to Bemaia.
"Then, before you deal three cards to each player, the first player, the one to your right, will tell you how he wants the cards." Bemaia grew confused. "How he wants it?"
Jo then looked at the player to the right of Bemaia, Bin. "Drop it." Bemaia then looked at his partner with confusion. "' Drop it' means to deal it normally from the top of the deck. That's not how most people say it, so don't bother to memorize it."
Bemaia shrugged and simply dealt three cards to Bin. "Now you give me three, then the player on your left, then yourself." And that's what he did. "Now put away the deck."
Bemaia took the three cards dealt to himself and brought them to his eyes, careful not to let anyone see them. A Six of Diamonds, an Ace of Hearts, and a Three of Spades. 'Not bad.' Bemaia thought to himself.
"Now, the player on the right of the dealer will play first." So Bin, being on Bemaia's right, played the first card.
A King of Diamonds.
Before playing Jo asked Bemaia a question with a playful smile on his face. "Can you kill that king?"
"I..."
Small was he as he stood in front of the monster; A cocoon, or perhaps an egg. Inside? His peers say It's a king, only petrified.
The notebook in his hand shook with every stroke of the pencil.
The glamorous amber pattern of the egg fascinated him. Was the king trapped inside? A needless question, one he had no desire for an answer.
"That's enough for now." He spoke.
In his notebook was what his instincts told him to write.
'Many people have secretly wished for a hero.'
Turning his back to the egg, a chill ran down his spine.
'They say there once was something called soul therapy. What does it feel like to have an ill soul? We are all healthy. But maybe all of this is a tragic illusion.'
A golden light engulfed the room. That was the light of the King, shining down upon what he desired. But he ignored it, even as the egg began shaking in place.
'Once, there were people who tried to change the world. We all remember them. We remember how they met their downfall.'
He placed it in a compartment on the containment cell's wall, as per protocol.
'Desires, I know of desires that ruin all things. We no longer believe in something, nor do we entertain a hope for a miracle. We don't think too much about why they've changed. And we don't blame them. For we have realized that endless desire brings despair.'
As he left the room, a red light began flashing in his face. The King was displeased.
Loud sirens bleared loud noises he tried to ignore, but only a command came through.
'I sometimes feel a terrible dejection, but I do not know where the pain comes from... Many people have secretly wished for a hero.'
With no further delay, he obeyed the order and took hold of his weapon.
'Deep is the sorrow of the world. Greed-deeper still than agony. Sadness says:'Begone, pass away!' But greed seeks eternity-seeks deep, deep eternity.'
The golden light from the cell had abruptly vanished. The King was free.
From the very end of the corridor, his peer tasked with the same command, asked him a question as they met halfway through the hallway.
"Think we can kill that King?"
"...I can." With no visible change in his expression, Bemaia answered, prompting a nod on Jo's part, playing his card for the turn. A Queen of Spades.
Tom played Seven of Clubs.
So, during this play round, the King has more value than everything else on the board as of now, therefore, winning.
"Before you kill the King, let me explain another thing," Jo spoke, straightening his posture. "Every play has three rounds. The first round has more value, than the second, and the third. But if we lose two rounds, regardless of which of them they were, we lose the play. This rule exists so that a tie is almost impossible."
Bemaia nodded and played an Ace of Hearts, killing Bin's King.
"There we go! Since you've won the last round, you have to play first."
Bemaia did not want to go first. His minuscule experience with the game told him that this game was about reactions, about you reacting to your opponent. So being forced to be the first one to act was horrible.
But, he and Jo already won the first round, so the most optimal play would be to secure the second round and wrap it up.
So he played his Three of Spades.
Bin took one glance at Bemaia's Three and immediately looked at Jo. "Truco." He said.
Noticing Bemaia's confusion as to why Bin said that Jo explained that as well. "You see, every 'Play' gets us Two points. However, at any time during your turn, you may say 'Truco', and your opponents now have three choices. Forfeit the play, which gains us two points, Accepting the 'Truco', which makes the play worth four points, or double down, saying 'Six'."
Now it all made sense. This game wasn't a reaction game at all, no, this was a charisma game, one where you play mind games with your opponents. Bemaia liked it very much.
And so, as he finished explaining, without Bemaia's input, Jo yelled at the top of his lungs, "SIX YOU SON OF A WHORE!" Then calmly returned to his usual self to explain one last thing to Bemaia. "Then they are faced with that same choice, forfeit, accept, or double down. In this case, they would have to say 'Nine!' at eight points, and then 'Twelve!' at ten points, and finish off at 'Fall', which is worth all the twelve points you need to win. Just know, that if you start the 'truco', you can't make it a six, only your opponent can."
'Just who invented this? Nine to eight then twelve to ten?' Bemaia thought to himself, but what stirred him the most was the fact that Jo decided to double down without his input. He didn't even ask what else Bemaia had.
"We're siblings you shit-face," Bin said, quickly checking his cards, then glancing at Tom, who simply nodded his head. "Nine, you blue-blooded snot!"
Jo looked at Bemaia, searching for a hint about what he had left, only to gain an audible answer from the former librarian. "Don't look at me like that, you're on your own." To which Jo smiled, appearing to read something in between Bemaia's words.
"I trust my partner, so let's wrap things up. Twelve!" He said, leaving Bemaia nothing short of flabbergasted. "Wha-"
And before he could express his discontent, Bin said: "Fall then, you mutt. Let's do this."
Bemaia's head fell on his hands, in complete and utter despair. "What is wrong with you?! I just told you I have nothing!" But he received no answer. With nothing else to do, Bemaia watched as the game unfolded in front of him.
Bin played a Seven of Diamonds, killing his Three. Expected, since Bin was the one who decided to go balls-deep in the first place.
Jo played an Ace of Spades, killing the Seven. Again, expected since Jo was the one who decided to accept Bin's bet.
Though, unexpected was Tom's play, with a Seven of Hearts, killing Jo's Ace of Spades.
Before anyone could open their mouths to say anything, Tom, being the one to win the last round, had to play first.
And he played a Four of Clubs.
No other player played a card that turned, Bin simply gathered the cards in play and their hands and shuffled them back into the deck.
"In a perfect world, we would play this game betting against one another, but I suppose this isn't a perfect world. So we do this to pass the time."
Bemaia sighed. "You're the worst partner I've ever had the displeasure to have." To which Jo laughed. "The feeling is mutual. Why did you say that you had nothing?"
"Because I had nothing?"
Jo scoffed at Bemaia's plain answer. "Bah! Reverse Psychology!"
But Bemaia was not deterred. "Again?" Jo nodded with a smile. "Aye! Let's drink too. Every time someone loses a game, drink whatever the winner decides that the bartender can make!"
And so, the cards started falling, and the drinks started rolling. The quartet went at it for a few minutes without a word spoken outside of the game's context, somehow not growing bored of the card game.
Noticing an odd relationship between the elderly trio, Bemaia decided to break the ice. "So, you're siblings?"
Bin, raising his glass of beer to his mouth, answered. "Aye. Tom's the oldest and I'm the youngest..." He then settled the cup back into the table. "Though I suppose it doesn't matter since we have got a year of difference, and I'm just ninety-seven."
'What?! How in the Wing's name did they manage to live this long? Did Aura have anything to do with it?' Despite Bemaia's bewilderment, he did not show it, instead, he treated them with utmost respect.
The table then fell to silence. Unlike many of the older people Bemaia's met, it seems that these three aren't fond of talking about their lives. Did something happen? "It's rare to see three brothers together, especially at your age." He commented.
This time, Tom opened his mouth to talk. "Perhaps. We're a Team of Huntsmen, after all, we gotta stick together." Huntsmen? Now the trio had Bemaia's undivided attention.
"You still work at your age?" To which Tom nodded. "More or less. 'Shadow Huntsmen', they call it. We just got about aiding other huntsmen teams with strategy and the like. We are not built to fight anymore..." His voice poorly hid a hint of sadness. 'I wonder how you were at your prime.'
"Back then, there wasn't this 'Color' theme the huntsmen teams have nowadays." Another piece of lore Bemaia had no clue of. Why was everything named after a color, element, or fruit? Doctor Oobleck explained the reasoning behind it, but that was before he arrived at Remnant, so Bemaia missed that class. "Are you bothered by the new naming?"
Jo shook his head. "No. Not at all." Jo then took a sip of his cold Martini. "These new names are art, they are what we fought for." He then placed it back on the table with a loud 'Tock'. "A fight against a tyrant who wanted nothing more than to take away what made life worth living. He would go as far as to prohibit his subjects from using color, in an attempt to create a more homogenous society. It backfired badly."
The mood fell heavily. Bemaia however, didn't seem surprised to hear this. 'Almost like the wings... I heard they take away the people's color in District 20, so I suppose humans are the same anywhere they are.' Bemaia sighed and continued listening. "His punishment was complete erasure from documented history. His name is already forgotten by most. His image and ideology, are unrecoverable."
Perhaps the worst thing that could have happened to a dictator.
"So now you go around, helping huntsmen?" Bemaia asked, in an attempt to lift the elder's spirits. "I assume that's why you're on this train to begin with."
Tom nodded, taking another sip of his alcoholic beverage. "Indeed. We're returning home after lending a hand to the Arc's offspring..." Bemaia's eyebrow rose at the mention of the familiar name. "I must say, compared to his grandfather... That boy is a disgrace to the Arc household."
'Ouch,' Bemaia thought to himself. "Oh, come on now, the boy wasn't that bad! He's still green." Jo tried to defend the boy, whilst Bemaia vaguely remembered how his partner sliced his shield in two. "No, I agree with Tom. The Arc I knew fought in the war at that pipsqueak's age. There is no excuse for that talentless mutt." Bin spoke, siding with his older brother.
In a bold attempt to defuse the situation, Bemaia decided to ask about the mission. "So... What was the mission?" The table fell silent. The brothers looked at each other with questioning and unsure looks.
"Erm..." Jo cleared his throat, only to fill it again with his drink. "We had to secure a hill near a destroyed village somewhere in Mistral..."
Bemaia waited for the old man to choose his next words. "It was a request issued by the executives of the SDC... Which is odd, considering that a team from the prestigious Beacon got it."
Jo was at a loss for words, so the youngest picked up where left off. "See, we live in Atlas. So for us, to help a team from Beacon, to do a simple defend the point mission, in Mistral? It's unheard of. I suppose they wanted us to help the champion?" Bemaia was beginning to piece together what happened. "Yup, that sure sounds like a waste of time and resources."
Bin nodded. "Yes, that's what I told them! What's worse is that the mission's main point was deep in Grimm territory! All we did was pull the Grimm's attention into us!" This meant that the hill they had to defend was now infested with Grimm, Bemaia deduced. "So you had to abandon the mission." Bin nodded.
"It's a shame. Their first mission was a failure... One that was completely unavoidable."
Something didn't feel right though. 'Why would the SDC have that request? Taking into account how large the company is, it surely knows that the location was Grimm-infested. Why give that request to a team of Huntsmen in training? They didn't want to randomly kill the team, otherwise, these three wouldn't have been called to help them...' Bemaia could only imagine, but the worst did come to mind.
The air was getting harder and harder to breathe by the second. For how long has he been fighting for? The creatures of the black witch were un-numberable and he was just one man.
With ease, he bludgeoned through horde after horde. But months without proper food or water had left him weakened.
Lucky shot after lucky shot, the wounds only pilled up.
His suit, unique to this world, had no way of being repaired, and at this point, it barely held after unending usage.
He was fine there, dying in an unknown land. He would at least die with his weapon in hand.
But then a light in the form of a man appeared, a man he once mocked for his ways of life. Arthur was his name.
"Are you done?" The man nodded, struggling to catch his breath. Blood dripped from his arms and legs. "Good, then listen."
He was all ears. "My mistress has admitted defeat. You win. Congratulations."
Good news? To him? Impossible. "She has simply accepted the fact that you're more than what her minions can handle, so you will have her undivided attention from now on... Unless you hear my words, Gus."
Gus, battered, beaten, cut, bleeding, and struggling to even stand up without the help of his tar-like hammer, couldn't do much but hear Arthur's request.
"See, I'll be going to Atlas in order to... Straighten things out with my assistant. To get the stage ready. I-"
"Get to the point." Gus interrupted, uncaring for Arthur's motives.
"You're a formidable foe, no doubt, but I can't have you occupying Salem like this. I can get you to Atlas, where you'll be free to do whatever you want. Just don't get in her way anymore."
Gus needn't think to answer him. A shot in life, or death to the hands of the likes of Salem? He took his chances.
"Good. Now follow me, we're leaving immediately."