Chapter Fourteen: Backyard Chats

The celebration sex was indeed great. The news a week afterward, not so great.

Basalin was in his backyard practicing using a pair of sabers inspired from the Fuhrer. He had another set sheathed on his waist, paired with a pair of hooks on his belt for his Khopesh, of whom he'd made them compact into two bricks for storage with mechashift. Silvers was talking to his Grandfather about something before an alert from his Scroll grabbed his attention.

He cracked open the scroll and found a text from Roman and his eyes went wide. "Shit." He muttered.

Roman: I got kicked from Beacon, dad got caught with serious charges and a councilor's making him an example. I'm getting targeted as well. :p RIP Team RBS (rabies).

Bas: Fuck, is beacon doing anything, you scored really fucking high. Nearly edged me out of the #1 on the academics while your combat score isn't anything to scoff at at #5.

Roman: Got a passive aggressive letter telling me that I won't be accepted cause of 'conflicting interests'. The councilor making a fuss wasn't what made me mad, that's just expected. Nah, this shit is what's making me mad. Didn't expect Beacon to just fold like that. Expected better for four years of work.

Yeah, Basalin and Carrow did too. Politics at its finest.

Bas: Shit, I don't know what to do here, man. I'd drop, but Silvers really wants to go to Beacon and be a team with me, and to be honest, so do I.

Roman: Love struck fool. That women's gonna be the death of you.

Bas: Ha! It'll be a death I'll gladly welcome. A death worthy of one as great as me.

Roman: One as great as you... hehe. You and your greatness. You and your greatness...

Bas: What'd you mean by that.

Roman: Think I have to follow my own path from here on out, Bas. Find my own greatness if you will. If I can't be great in the sky, then maybe down here on the streets I'll find a calling.

Bas: Hope you do, maybe if you follow it deeper you'll find your semblance. I'll break the news to Silver. She's gonna be pissed.

Roman: I stole a knife and one of Silvers...collectables by the way. And some shampoo. And some cash.

Bas: Drugs?

Roman: And some drugs.

Bas: What are Silvers' collectables?

Roman: Things she picks up from you and our room and puts in her little shrine. Used alchemical bottles, I saw a pair of crusty panties and underwear, and... other things.

Bas:.... How do I not know this?

Roman: She wards the shrine with a 'Anti-Smell Scrub' and 'Anti-Smell Oil'. Its really hidden as well.

Bas: What'd you take from it?

Roman: One of your necklaces.

Bas: ROMAN! I WAS LOOKING FOR THAT THING FOREVER! AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN ONE!

Roman: Whoa, whoa, calm. I wasn't the one who stole it first. I just stole it from the thief and never gave it back. That's all.

Basalin snarled at the scroll and slammed it close. "Silvers." He growled and dashed over. Towering over the young women of seventeen years and 5 feet 11 inches.

She looked behind her and, smiled, before paling at his eyes staring her down. It didn't stop her thighs from rubbing together. "A little orange bird told me you might have a few of my necklaces." He hissed. Silvers paled further, and narrowed her eyes. She was going to have a talk with Roman.

"Roman's gone. His father got caught and Beacon won't let him come. Stole a few things as a 'goodbye' gift. Loveable rouge that one, also told me a few things. Something about a shrine and my necklaces." He hissed, leaning down and brushing his tongue against her check bone. She shivered, held back a moan, and blushed. "BDSM, tonight, hardcore." He bit out, making the girl turn atomic and nod hurriedly. She skipped back, turning into quicksilver to escape and likely rub one out.

Basalin watched her leave, a hiss in his mouth as he rearranged his belt and pants. "You two have the strangest relationship I've ever seen." Crouch mumbled, smoking on his pipe. The man shook his head at the fleeing girl. "A nymphomaniac, and utterly okay with murdering an entire orphanage if it meant you'd be happy." The old man mumbled. "Some men would say your lucky, others would say your cursed." The man shook his head, "Not about being lucky, just being crazy enough to stick it in, strong enough to survive, and wise enough not to put it elsewhere." The man mumbled wise words. "Less wise men would say something about not getting caught for the last bit, but that girl is anything but unobservant." Bas hummed in agreement.

Basalin crouched next to his grandfather, the old man getting out a bottle of orange juice and vodka. Basalin emptied the plastic jug of juice till half way, before pouring the vodka into the bottle and shaking. "Now that's just a waste of good juice." The old hunter whined. Bas scoffed, sending back his happy mix. The two men drank and smoked, watching the sunset. "She's watching us." Basalin muttered, a bit exasperated.

"Indeed." The old man sighed. "When are you two going to Vale?"

"Week before, maybe a bit earlier to avoid flight delays and other mishaps." The older man nodded. "The Schnee Heir is joining your year." That caused Bas to choke and spit out some of his drink. "What?" He asked hoarsely.

"Ha!" The old man laughed. "That was a better reaction than I'd thought." He shook his head, "The Schnee Heir, Winter Schnee. Everyone thought she was going for a military career, but since Jacques has been diagnosed with terminal cancer, she's decided to become a Huntress at Beacon."

"Karma." Basalin sang, with Crouch nodding in agreement. "Indubitably."

"Any other news drops for your poor grandson?" The old man thought for a bit. "Not really." He shrugged.

"Well, I'm going to go practice my sets again." The snake man muttered, getting up from his squat.

"Why are you learning how to use those things?" Asked the elderly man as he watched his grandson wield the two saber-like blades.

"I'm trying to mimic a completely made-up an fictional fighting style that I only half-remember." The seventeen-year old said. "My Khopesh's are for killing Grimm en-mass, and are a bit easy to telegraph against a more intelligent foe. Already, Silver is becoming able to fight against me more and more. These sabers are for my person-vs-person skills."

His grandfather hummed. "I did once say you'd be able to just pick up any weapon and still qualify for Beacon." The man shrugged. "What's this fighting style your going for anyway?"

"The man who used these blades could wield five of them at once, while also possessing a semblance of precognition and extra-sensory vision." Basalin said, "A master of the blade who could use dagger, sword, and change how he used them on a dime."

Crouch hummed, "You wish to master the sword?"

"Yeah, but doing so with the Khopesh is..."

"Is what?" Asked his grandfather after a few more moment of pause.

"Too complex and incorrect. The Khopesh is less a sword and more an ax turned into a sword. I could use the hook and sickle aspect of the blade, but that takes away from the ax and hack part of the weapon." He shook his head. "It'd be far more reasonable to have two fighting styles for two different enemies. I'm just good with blades to have fighting styles out the ass for two different swords." Basalin shrugged, preforming a few swings and a blitz of thrusts in the air, imagining someone dodging desperately.

Crouch sighed as he watched his strangely indecisive grandson practicing using another type of weapon.