Cholo Tales
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Shards of Reminisce Ch.47
🕑 Added 2025-03-08 23:21:50 +0000 UTCI didn’t leave my home for today.
Torchwick can suck my dick if he wants to bitch about my absence. Not like I give a damn what that orange-haired bastard thinks anymore. Neo will explain the situation since she left to... do whatever the hell she has to do with the body so nobody ever finds out about this.
I haven't even gone back to sleep, but at the same time, I don't feel tired or sleepy, because how the fuck would I? My mind keeps racing, replaying everything in vivid detail. Haven't touched breakfast either. The thought of food makes my stomach turn.
Neither have I eaten breakfast. Not hungry.
For now, I am sitting on my couch, staring at my hands even though I've cleaned the blood off them more than a couple times already.
But at the very least the body's gone now along with the mess that it left. Neo made sure of that. I didn't ask where she took it, and she didn't offer to tell me. And I'm fucking grateful for that sudden arrangement.
My shoulder's been patched up too, and with my aura, it's healed almost completely. Didn't know Neo had any skills in that department. The pain's dulled to an occasional throb that spikes when I move wrong. But physical pain I can handle. Been dealing with that shit my whole life.
It's the other stuff that's harder to shake.
I've never killed anyone before. Sure, I've beaten people to within an inch of their lives. I've broken bones and left those assholes in alleys hoping they wouldn't get up again, they would have done the same if I didn’t and they wanted my food or my shitty bed so I had very good reason to beat them up.
But I guess there is always a first time for everything.
It keeps replaying in my mind - the knife going in, that wet sound, the way his body went rigid. Those green goggles and how they slowly went out.
And then the notification. That fucking level up.
I guess I finally got my answer to that very old question from when I first arrived in this cursed city and fought that bald asshole with a chain.
I momentarily close my eyes and lean back on my couch, but I end up slumping down and staring at the ceiling. My tail twitches restlessly beside me as I try to find anything on the ceiling.
I stare at the ceiling for what feels like hours but is probably just minutes. Every little sound makes my ears twitch—the pipes groaning in the walls, the faint footsteps of my upstairs neighbor, the distant honk of a car horn.
Without really deciding to, I find myself getting up from the couch. I start pacing, my feet silent against the worn floorboards.
What if that bastard had friends who'd come looking for him? It is normal for these assholes to be in some sort of group.
"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. My ears flatten against my skull.
Before I know it, I'm checking the front door. I test the lock once, twice, three times.
It's secure, but suddenly it doesn't feel like enough. I grab one chair and wedge it under the doorknob.
Next, I move to the windows. I draw the blinds completely, then press my face close to peek through the slats. The street looks normal. No suspicious vans, no lurking figures, no cops. But that doesn't mean shit in this part of town. Could be watching from anywhere.
I double-check that the windows are locked, testing each latch with a firm tug. One of them rattles more than I'd like. Maybe I should fix it somehow or reinforce it with duct tape…
I'm being ridiculous. If someone wants to get in badly enough, a flimsy window lock won't stop them. They'll just break the damn glass.
Still, I grab some duct tape from a drawer and start reinforcing it anyway.
But I stop myself midway, the tape dangling from my fingers.
"Get a grip," I hiss at myself. "Neo took care of it. It's done."
I'm just overcomplicating things, just need to relax and get the fuck over it. And what better way to forget pointless shit than to focus my mind on something else?
Like…
Blacksmithing.
Yeah, that's right. I wanted to learn how to craft and repair my own weapons instead of relying on those assholes who overcharge me with bogus fees. That was the only reason I spent that much money on those digital books from the bookstore.
My ears perk up slightly because this could be exactly what I need right now. Something to focus on, something productive, something that has nothing to do with... what happened. And more importantly, I'll increase my potential stats if I start leveling this up. With so many new levels on a new job, I'll become far stronger on my next level up and another step closer to saying fuck you to the bitch of Cinder.
But first I must unlock it.
I toss the duct tape aside. Time to put all my remaining energy into something useful instead of acting like a paranoid idiot.
That's right. The fucking workshop. The whole reason I bought this apartment in the first place.
I grab my scroll and head for the stairs that lead to the basement.
The stairwell is quiet as I descend past the ground floor, my footsteps echoing slightly against the concrete walls. The basement door has a separate key—bulkier than my apartment one. It takes a bit of jiggling before the lock finally gives.
The hinges protest with a low groan as I slowly push the door open. I fumble along the wall until my fingers find the light switch.
Fluorescent bulbs flicker to life, revealing my workshop. My workshop.
However now that I am paying more attention to it, everything's covered in a fine layer of dust. I run a finger across the workbench, leaving a clean streak in its wake.
I head to the desk, dropping into the chair that creaks under my weight. I pull out my scroll and open the first of the blacksmithing texts I purchased. The title glows on the screen: "The Anvil's Echo: First Steps in the Art of Metal".
Exciting stuff.
I start reading, absorbing the basics about different metals, their properties, melting points, and how to work them. It's dense material, but I force myself to focus. Better this than thinking about... other things.
The first book explains the fundamentals: how to tell metals apart by weight and sound, the difference between forging and casting, and how to properly use hammers and tongs. There are sections on preparing your work area, safety procedures, basic techniques for shaping metal and even a small step by step guide to make something extremely simple.
After a couple of hours of reading, I stand up, stretching, and look around the workshop with new eyes now I do understand what these things are and how they should work. So it is time to try something simple and follow the initial guide to craft something from this book.
Rummaging through the things I find an old piece of scrap metal—nothing fancy, just a flat strip about the length of my forearm. According to what I just read, this should be enough to craft the chisel if I follow the steps.
I clean off the workbench, arrange the basic tools I'll need, and get to work. The metal is cold, but I remember reading that some preliminary shaping can be done before heating. I secure it in a vise and begin filing down one end, trying to form a basic edge.
It's tedious work, and my hands start to cramp after a while. But there's something satisfying about it—seeing the metal slowly take shape.
So I keep working letting the time fly along with the spark of metal.
Eventually, I put the finishing touches on my crude attempt at a big chisel, it isn’t perfect and it is really rough looking but it reminds me of when I knitted my very first scarf. I should go back to knitting other things too, I have plenty of yarn.
Hah, it really brings out some memories.
[Blacksmith's job unlocked!]
[Novice Blacksmith increased by 1, 01/50]
Good riddance.
--------------------------------------
-Ozpin-
Ozpin sat at his office desk, both hands planted firmly on the polished surface, his head leaning forward on them. His expression was uncharacteristically severe as Ironwood's face filled the video call screen.
"Specialist Bree has been stabilized. She will be transported to Atlas for more advanced medical attention tomorrow morning."
"I'm relieved to hear she will recover," Ozpin replied, genuine concern softening his typically measured tone. "A rather vicious attack. Has she regained consciousness yet?"
"Briefly, the stab wound pierced her kidney. Vale's hospital managed to stop the internal bleeding, but we're waiting to see if her aura can heal the damage completely or if she'll need a transplant."
Ozpin took a slow sip from his mug. "And the circumstances of the attack?"
"Troubling, to say the least." Ironwood's brow furrowed. "The security cameras went dark precisely during the window of the attack. The gatekeeper was found unconscious—drug overdose. He's been hospitalized as well."
"Where was your other specialist during this time?"
"Specialist Elm was out on routine reconnaissance. The specialists were staying in an apartment in the upper district."
"And Miss Bree hasn't been able to provide any details?"
Ironwood shook his head. "Barely conscious enough to recognize me before the sedatives took effect again."
"Any other evidence?" Ozpin asked, leaning back slightly in his chair.
"We found the building's janitor tied up in the basement. Knocked out before he could see anything useful." Ironwood paused, his jaw tightening. "This was meticulous, Ozpin. Professional. Too many coincidences to be random."
"You believe someone is sending a message?"
"I think we were getting close to something important," Ironwood said, lowering his tone.
Ozpin's fingers tapped thoughtfully against his mug. "The stolen Warhound, perhaps?"
"No, that's already been moved to Mistral." Ironwood dismissed the theory with a wave of his hand. "The White Fang survivors we were able to capture confirmed that much. They have a stronger foothold there."
"Then what?"
"I think our undercover operatives have been compromised," Ironwood said grimly. "Their identities leaked. I'm pulling everyone out as soon as possible."
"A wise precaution," Ozpin agreed. "But troubling that someone could access such classified information."
"You're thinking what I'm thinking."
"A mole."
Ironwood nodded. "High enough in our ranks to access personnel files. Or our systems have been compromised. Either way, we will make an extensive investigation to root them out."
The call ended leaving Ozpin alone as he leaned back in his chair, turning his mug slowly between his hands.
Someone had gone to considerable lengths to target one of Atlas's specialists, yet had stopped short of ensuring her death.
A warning, perhaps?
He rose from his chair and walked to the window, gazing out over Beacon's grounds. Students moved between buildings, blissfully unaware of the shadow games playing out across Remnant.
Were these events connected to the anomalous Grimm that had targeted Miss Arc? It didn't seem likely on the surface—different methods, different targets, different objectives.
He needed more information, and there was only one person he trusted to operate in the shadows effectively enough to gather it.
Qrow.
He pulled out his scroll as he had some messages to send.
--------------------------------------------------------------
-Ma’iq Rak’han-
I lean against the workbench, wiping sweat from my brow as I examine the small collection of crude tools I've managed to create. Basic chisels, a couple of makeshift punches, and even a rudimentary hammer head. Nothing impressive by any professional standard, but each one got easier than the last as expected.
[Novice Blacksmith increased by 1, 11/50]
Ten levels in a single afternoon. Not bad for a total beginner, and I’m pretty sure I will get some strength points when I level up.
Speaking of strength, my shoulders feel lighter somehow, the repetitive work having drained away most of my earlier anxiety, I think.
I set down my tools and stretch, my back protesting after hours hunched over the workbench. The basement workshop is stifling now, the air thick with metal dust. I should have opened the door or used a fan to ventilate the place. Well, I will make a mental note for the next time.
Originally, I'd planned to stay locked inside my apartment all day. But now that my head is clearer than before, staying cooped up isn't going to help anything—might just make me more paranoid.
"Fuck it," I mutter to myself. "Need some fresh air."
With my mind made, I leave the basement and head for a quick shower before changing to clean clothes and head outside before summoning my bike and driving straight to the commercial district.
A relatively short drive but I reach the district and park somewhere before I continue my trek on foot.
The night air is cool against my face as I walk down the main avenue. Shop windows glow with inviting light, illuminating the faces of late-night shoppers and couples on dates.
I find myself staring upward more than ahead, my eyes drawn to the night sky. The stars are barely visible tonight, just faint pinpricks against the darkness. Still better than staring at my ceiling, trying to find cracks or dots.
My ears twitch at every sound, every burst of laughter from restaurant patrons or the passersby who get a little close. Part of me is still on edge, but not as bad as earlier. I just need to keep my guard up for anything.
So I end up noticing that my tail is swaying gently behind me as I walk, hands shoved deep in my pockets.
I continue wandering, letting my feet carry me wherever they want. The neon signs blur together after a while, casting multicolored shadows across the sidewalk. Families and couples pass by, their conversations a meaningless buzz in my ears.
As I turn a corner, I nearly collide with someone.
"Watch where you're—" The voice cuts off abruptly.
I blink, focusing on the figure in front of me. It takes me a second to recognize her without the usual red dress. Miltia Malachite, wearing casual clothes—jeans and a simple black top under a red jacket.
Her initial annoyance quickly morphs into a playful smirk. "Well, well. Look who decided to grace the outside world with his presence." Her eyes scan me up and down. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for your shift, kitten?"
I roll my eyes, before my brow furrows. "I'm not really obligated to work, you know? Had a rather rough day." I pause, glancing at a digital display in a nearby shop window. "Or yesterday, I guess."
I mean everything occurred at night, I didn't check the exact time now that i think about.
My gaze returns to the twin, taking in her unusual attire. "Never seen you in anything but that red dress. Almost didn't recognize you."
"What, you don't like it?” She does a small, teasing twirl. “And here I thought you'd appreciate seeing me in something different." She winks, adjusting the shopping bag hanging from her arm.
"Aren't you supposed to be guarding the club and kicking out drunktards?" I ask, crossing my arms. "Didn't think you guys had days off after that incident with that blondie bitch."
She huffs, but there's no real annoyance behind it. "I have my privileges. Mel's covering for me tonight." A sly smile spreads across her face as she leans in slightly. "I'd do the same for her, if she ever asked. But she owed me a shift first."
Then she suddenly straightens, as if catching herself. "Wait, why am I telling you all this?" She narrows her eyes playfully. "Maybe you should be the one answering questions. What are you doing here, anyway? You looked pretty lost."
I cross my arms over my chest.
"Just needed some air," I say with a shrug. "Didn't realize I needed permission to walk down a public street."
“So dramatic.” Miltia tilts her head. "Air, huh? The kind you can't get around our neighborhood?" She steps closer, examining my face with newfound interest. "You look like hell. More than usual, I mean."
I take a half step back, uncomfortable with her sudden scrutiny. "Thanks for the compliment. Really boosts my self-esteem."
She laughs, the sound lighter than I'm used to hearing at the club. "Just an observation." Her eyes narrow slightly. "Something happened, didn't it?"
My ears flatten reflexively against my head. Damn traitorous things.
"Nothing worth talking about," I mutter, glancing away. "What about you? Big shopping spree?"
She doesn’t reply fast as she keeps her gaze on me but thankfully Miltia allows the subject to change, lifting her shopping bag with a small smirk. "Just some essentials. A girl's gotta look her best, even when she's breaking noses at a nightclub."
"And here I thought you were born in that red dress," I quip.
"Oh please." She rolls her eyes dramatically. "I have a closet full of options. You just didn’t have the chance to appreciate them." She pauses, studying me again. "Which makes me wonder... is this a happy coincidence, or were you looking for something specific out here?"
"Pure coincidence," I reply, though I can't help but feel she doesn't buy it. "Like I said, just need some air and clear my head a bit."
Miltia hums, clearly not convinced. Then, to my surprise, she loops her arm through mine. "Well, since we're both here, you can help me carry my bags. I'm not done shopping yet."
I blink, taken aback by her forwardness. "I didn't volunteer—"
"Consider it making up for missing your shift," she cuts in smoothly, already steering me toward another store. "Besides, you look like you could use the distraction."
I could argue, pull away, tell her to find someone else to be her pack mule. But the truth is, she's right. I do need another distraction. And mindlessly following Miltia around shops sounds marginally better than wandering alone with my thoughts.
"Fine," I concede with a sigh. "But I draw the line at giving fashion advice."
Her smile turns victorious. "Don't worry. I wouldn't trust your fashion sense anyway." She tugs me along, her grip surprisingly firm. "Now come on. If you're good, I promise to reward you."
"Lucky me…”
As Miltia tries to tug me along, something just clicks in me.
I pull my arm free from her grip, causing her to look back with surprise. Before she can protest, I slide my arm around her waist and pull her closer, my hand getting a good hold of her.
"If we're doing this," I say, my voice dropping lower, "it's on my terms."
Her green eyes widen as surprise flashes across her face—before a slow, teasing smile spreads across her lips.
A smile I came to know all too well.
"Oh?" she purrs, leaning into me instead of pulling away. "Someone's feeling bold tonight." She wraps her arms around my neck, the shopping bag dangling behind my back. "Finally decided to finish what we started?"
Her proximity gives me a chance to get the scent of her sweet perfume, fills my senses. It's different from the club, where everything is mostly overwhelmed with alcohol.
I narrow my eyes, accepting the unspoken challenge. I lean in, aiming for her lips, but she quickly turns her head with a teasing giggle.
"Not so fast," she whispers, her breath warm against my cheek. "While I'm not against the idea, I don't want to give people a show."
I glance around, suddenly aware that we've attracted some attention. A few curious onlookers have turned their heads our way, some with raised eyebrows, others quickly looking away when they catch my gaze.
"Afraid of a little audience?" I ask, loosening my grip slightly but not letting her go. "Didn't seem to bother you that night at the club... before we were so rudely interrupted."
Miltia's expression flickers between annoyance and amusement before she gives my chest a playful shove. "Still bitter about that, are we? Poor kitten, left all frustrated…” She pauses before her expression turns into a smirk. “And hard.”
Oh, you really want to play that game?
"Not as frustrated as you were," I counter with a smirk. "If I recall, you were the one who dragged me to that room. I should have charged you for that long massage."
Her eyes narrow, but I can see she's enjoying this back-and-forth as much as I am. "Please. I was doing you a favor. And letting you feel and see all my body should have been more than enough payment, better said you owe me for that view." She flips her hair dramatically. "Besides, there'll be other opportunities... if you play your cards right."
The memory makes my smirk turn into a grin.
"Fine," I concede, releasing her waist but keeping one arm draped casually over her shoulder. "Lead the way. But don't think I've forgotten about our unfinished business."
"So persistent," she teases, but there's no bite to her words. She adjusts her shopping bag and leans into me slightly. "I know a good place."
As we start walking, I find myself surprisingly comfortable with this arrangement. It's strange how normal it feels, how easily I've slipped from paranoid recluse to... whatever this is. Maybe that's what I needed all along—not solitude, but distraction. And Miltia, with all her flirtatious energy and playful banter, is nothing if not distracting.
"You know," I tell her as we navigate through the evening crowd, "this isn't how I expected my night to go."
She glances up at me, curiosity dancing in her eyes. "Disappointed?"
My tail starts swaying gently behind us. "Not yet. It’s pretty early to make an opinion after all."
We find a small café tucked between a bookstore and a boutique. It's cozy inside, with soft lighting and plush chairs. Only a handful of tables were occupied and a few heads turned in our direction. The twin quickly leaves my side to pick one in the corner, somewhat secluded from the others.
She leaves her shoppingbag before going to the counter and she comes back with two cups of black coffee. I haven't actually ever drank that coffee but I don’t mind, new taste and all that. We settle into a comfortable silence. It doesn't last long.
"So," she begins, tapping her perfectly manicured nails against the table, "are you going to tell me what's got you looking like you've seen a ghost?"
I take a sip of my coffee, buying time. "Told you I had a rough night."
"Mmm, with that little ice cream girl of yours?" Miltia raises an eyebrow suggestively.
"Neo and I aren't—" I start automatically, then stop myself. "Nice try. Not gonna fall for that game twice."
Miltia laughs, the sound somehow both delicate and mocking. "Good boy! You're learning." She leans forward, chin resting on her palm. "Though you can't blame a girl for trying. It would be so boring to just sit here and drink coffee in silence."
I stare down at my plastic cup, frowning slightly.
What the hell are we supposed to talk about? Workplace gossip? I just mix drinks and nobody talks to me besides asking for another drink and the tab.
The weather? It's cloudy outside.
I don’t know what to talk about besides telling her more about me or asking about her. Most of our previous interactions involved either me mixing her drinks or us nearly hooking up.
Miltia seems to sense my discomfort, tilting her head as she studies me. "You truly are terrible at small talk, aren't you?"
"What gave it away?" My ears twitch in annoyance.
She laughs, the sound surprisingly genuine. "Everything. Your face looks like you're solving a math problem." She leans forward, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Tell you what—I'll go easy on you this time. Three questions each. You can ask me anything, I can ask you anything. But we both get one pass if a question gets too... personal."
I raise an eyebrow. "That sounds suspiciously like a trap."
"Maybe." She shrugs, a small smile playing on her lips. "But aren't you even a little curious about little old me?"
I consider her offer. It's probably safer than letting the conversation drift wherever her mind wants to take it. At least this way I have some control.
"Fine," I concede. "You first."
Her smile widens. "How generous. Let's see..." She taps her finger against her lips in mock contemplation. "I can’t remember if you actually told me or I’m imagining things but, why did you decide to ask Junior for a job?”
That's safer territory than I expected. "Because I was tied with a shitty contract, without a job my landlord would have kicked me because as you know, jobeless faunus who have money are criminals."
"Honestly people should just focus on making money instead of those dumb hiccups.”
"My turn," I say, considering my options. "Why do you and your sister dress the same way but in different colors? Some twin thing?"
Miltia rolls her eyes. "Boring question. But fine— we went together to Lady’s Browning Academy for Girls, they taught us and taught us how to use the fact we were twins to our advantage in social gatherings. Then it just stuck." She takes a sip of her drink. "My second question: what's with you and that pint sized psycho? And don't say 'nothing' because nobody buys that."
I narrow my eyes. Should I tell her?
But if I don’t she might use it against me just to poke fun at me… and well, I want to see her reaction.
"We fool around, lots of cuddling, groping, massages…. Giving head."
Miltia nearly chokes on her drink, her eyes widening comically. For once, she seems genuinely caught off guard. She recovers quickly, though, a slow smile spreading across her face.
"Well, well, didn't think that bitch had it in her. Thought she was frigid." She takes another sip of her drink, but I can tell she's processing this new information. "Good for you. Getting some action instead of being stabbed."
“Don’t remind me, she is unpredictable.” Especially since I don’t know when she will try the stunt on me again.
"Why does Junior let you and Melanie get away with so much crap around the club?" I ask, genuinely curious.
Her smile turns slightly smug. "I think you know who our mother is, right? Well, she is practically Junior’s boss so her word is law otherwise he would have been replaced a long time ago." She leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Plus, we know where all the bodies are buried. Literally."
So they also crossed the line, cannot say I’m surprised.
"Last question," she continues. "If I asked you to take me to a hotel tonight, what would you say?"
"That's your question?"
"Mmhmm." Her eyes never leave mine, the challenge clear in them.
I take a slow sip of my coffee first. "Obviously yes, but I have the feeling your sister would kick the door again."
Miltia just throw her head in a laughter. "Good answer. Your last question, Ma’iq. Make it count."
I study her for a moment. There's a lot I could ask, but most of it would probably get me a 'pass'. Although, there is something that I do want to know.
"Why me?" I finally ask, leaning forward.
Something flickers across her face. She doesn't answer immediately, taking time with her drink until her cup is empty.
She traces the rim of her cup with one finger. "Maybe I like that you don't fall at my feet like every other idiot. Maybe it’s because of the amazing drinks. Maybe it is because of your amazing massages. Maybe it’s curiosity to cross off my list." She pauses, her eyes meeting mine again. "Or maybe I just like the challenge to steal you away from that midget."
My ears twitch slightly. It's no secret that the Malachite twins don't exactly get along with Neo. They've made that clear the first time we’ve met and how hopeless they are when dealing with her antics.
"Didn't realize I was a prize to be won," I reply, keeping my voice neutral.
"Isn't everyone?" She shrugs, breaking the moment. "Well, too bad. That's more than one question, and our game is over." She stands up, smoothing down her clothes. "Now, are you going to be a gentleman and help me finish my shopping, or do I need to find someone else to carry my bags?"
I roll my eyes but stand up anyway, leaving the cup on the table. "Lead the way. But I'm charging overtime."
"Put it on my newly created tab," she quips with a wink.
As we step outside, the evening air has cooled significantly. Miltia shivers slightly and moves closer to me, linking her arm through mine.
This time, I don't pull away.
"So," she says as we walk, "about that hotel..."
I glance down at her, raising an eyebrow. "Serious?"
Her smile is all mischief. "Maybe. Are you game?"
Part of me—a very loud, insistent part—wants to say yes. It would be a hell of a distraction from everything else. But another part, the one that's been on edge ever since last night, hesitates.
"Let's finish your shopping first," I say, neither committing nor refusing. "Then we'll see."
"Playing hard to get?" She gives my arm a light squeeze. "I like it."
We spend the next couple hours bouncing between shops. Miltia has expensive tastes, not that I'm surprised. And I play the role of carrying her bags, while she tries on clothes she definitely doesn't need. Of course, I tried to send them to my inventory but Miltia didn't like that so I returned to the traditional method.
"What do you think of this one?" she asks, twirling in a red dress that looks suspiciously like the one she uses as her working uniform.
"Looks exactly the same as your dress," I point out.
She rolls her eyes. "It's completely different. This one has a sweetheart neckline. See?" And she points at the cut of the dress, which dips slightly lower than her usual outfit.
"Right. Totally different," I deadpan.
Miltia steps closer, a mischievous glint in her eye. "You're supposed to be looking at how it fits me, not analyzing the design." She turns around slowly. "Does it look good?"
My eyes follow the curve of her figure as she spins, and I can't deny she knows exactly what she's doing. "You know it does," I admit grudgingly.
She stops, facing me with a triumphant smirk. "So you were paying attention."
"Hard not to when you're practically shoving it in my face."
"Oh?" She takes another step closer, close enough that I can smell her sweet perfume again. "And what if I was?"
I set down her bags, meeting her challenge. "Then I'd say you're playing a dangerous game in the middle of a store."
"I like dangerous games." Her finger traces lightly down my chest. "Especially when I'm winning."
I catch her hand, pulling her a bit closer. "Who says you're winning?"
Her breath catches slightly, but her smirk doesn't waver. "The scoreboard says I'm up by at least three points. You're still carrying my bags, after all."
That's a totally made up score. Not like it matters.
"Maybe I'm playing the long game," I counter, leaning in so my lips are near her ear. "You ever think of that?"
I feel rather than see her shiver. "Long games are boring," she whispers back. "I prefer... immediate gratification."
Her free hand slides up my arm, and I'm suddenly very aware we're still in public. But something about her boldness, the way she doesn't give a damn who might see, is undeniably appealing.
"And what would that look like?" I ask, my voice lower than I intended.
She pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes, her smile turning wicked. "Well, there's a fitting room right over—"
"Excuse me."
We both freeze at the stern voice. A middle-aged store employee stands nearby, arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
"If you're not planning to purchase that dress, I'm going to have to ask you to change back into your clothes," she says to Miltia, then turns her disapproving gaze to me. "And sir, this is a boutique, not a nightclub."
Miltia's expression shifts instantly to an innocent look. "I was just asking his opinion on the dress. I'm definitely buying it."
The employee doesn't look convinced, like at all. "Wonderful. The register is this way."
As soon as the woman turns her back, Miltia rolls her eyes dramatically at me.
"Guess I'm buying this one too," she sighs, but there's clear amusement in her voice.
Well, at least they didn’t make a scene.
A few more stores and what feels like a thousand bags later, we find ourselves standing in front of a hotel. Not one of Vale's fancy high-rises, but not a dump either—somewhere in the middle, with a lobby that's trying hard to look more expensive than it is.
Miltia nudges me with her elbow. "Well, what do you say? I think you've earned a reward for this little date." She puts extra emphasis on the last word.
I look at the hotel entrance, then back at her. Part of me, a very insistent part, wants to take her up on the offer. I’ve said it before, she's beautiful, willing, and it would be the perfect way to forget everything else for a while.
But the weight of the past twenty-four hours still sits heavy in my chest. I'm feeling better, sure. Miltia's company has been a surprisingly effective distraction after spending my morning and afternoon leveling up blacksmithing.
But I'm not in the right headspace for this. Not tonight.
"I think I'll pass," I tell her, shifting the weight of her shopping bags in my hands. "And for the record, I wasn't doing this to get in your pants."
I expect disappointment, maybe even anger. Instead, Miltia laughs—a genuine, bright sound that catches me off guard. She reaches up and pinches my cheek, hard enough to sting a little.
"That was the right answer, kitten." I gently remove her offending hand from my face. "If you'd actually said yes, I would have kicked you right between your legs."
I rub my cheek, giving her a skeptical look. "So this was...what? A test?"
"Call it a character assessment." She adjusts her jacket, looking pleased with herself. "There's a reason I like you, you know? Most guys would have jumped at the chance without a second thought or wouldn’t have put up."
"Lucky me," I mutter, but there's no real annoyance behind it. "So all of this was just to see if I'd take advantage of you?"
She shrugs, taking some of her bags from my hands. "Not all of it. I really did need someone to carry my stuff." Her smile turns more genuine. "And as expected the company wasn't bad either."
I snort, shaking my head. "You're something else, you know that?"
"I've been told." She glances at her scroll, checking the time. "I should get back." She gestures toward the hotel. "I'll be staying here tonight, actually. It belongs to the Spider Clan."
"Your mother owns a hotel chain?" I raise an eyebrow, suddenly understanding a bit more about her expensive tastes.
"Among other many, MANY other things," she says with a casual wave of her hand before she takes the rest of her bags. "Besides, I think you could use some alone time. You look better than when I found you, but still..."
She doesn't finish the sentence, but she doesn't need to. I nod, grateful that she's not pushing for details.
"See you at work tomorrow?" she asks, already stepping away.
"Maybe. If I feel like it."
Her laugh follows her as she turns to leave. "Typical. Well, if you do show up, I might let you make me one of those special drinks again."
As she starts to walk away, I make a split-second decision.
"Hey, Miltia." I call out.
She turns, eyebrow raised in question. I quickly close the distance between us, reaching for her hand. Before she can react, I pull her toward me and press my lips against hers.
The kiss is brief but firm, just long enough to feel her initial surprise give way to something else. When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed pink as she just stares at me, wide-eyed.
Then her expression shifts to a scowl before she shoves me away. Although, with no real strength behind it.
"You really are a lucky cat," she mutters, " I would have clawed your eyes if you were anybody else on the spot if they tried that."
I can't help the smirk that spreads across my face. "You owed me the kiss from earlier, remember?."
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the small smile she tries to hide as she turns away. "Don't push your luck."
I watch her go, feeling oddly satisfied with myself.
The weight of what happened isn't gone—not by a long shot. But now it is much better, I can live with it.
And maybe that's enough for now.
[Affection with Miltiades Malachite has been increased by 2, 02/100]
Huh?
--------------------------------------
Bonus Scene: Investigation
-Neo Politan-
Neopolitan perched on the windowsill of some rundown apartment, her eyes fixed on the alley below. Same ragged clothes, same unsettling movements - it couldn't be, but somehow it was—the same bastard from earlier.
Her mind still refused to accept it. She'd been thorough, she always was thorough- dismembered the body herself, submerged the pieces in acid, and watched the weighted barrel sink into the ocean's depths. Nobody came back from that. Nobody.
Yet there he was. So she needed to take his mask off just to be absolutely sure he didn;t come back from the dead somehow.
She'd knocked out the family who lived here without much effort - they barely stirred as she slipped in through their window. But their apartment gave her the perfect vantage point to confirm what every instinct told her was impossible. Also she had her semblance active.
Down below, the weirdo was rummaging through trash, movements jerky and unnatural. She leaned forward slightly as he suddenly hurled the large dumpster aside with ease. Stronger than he looked.
The noise attracted a local thug - big, muscled, probably thought himself intimidating. She almost smirked. The poor idiot had no idea what he was walking into.
What caught her attention was how the weirdo reacted - not with immediate violence, but with a calculated pause. He slowly surveyed his surroundings, probably checking for witnesses or escape routes.
When the thug grabbed him by the collar, Neo watched intently, barely blinking. The screech of pain that followed wasn't surprising, but the speed of the attack was. The weirdo had stabbed the thug in the stomach so quickly that even her experienced eyes nearly missed it.
Then came the killing blow, as he grabbed the head and slit the thug throat - efficient, no wasted movement. Just like she would have done it in his shoes.
As he rifled through the dead man's wallet, pocketing the lien, Neo's lips curved into a predatory smile as a plan formed in her mind.
AN: Something nice for the kitten after that night.
