No offense intended. But there's a sweet spot on the sliding scale of realism, and most of the interest checks I usually see skew too far to the realism end for me.
2
likes
9 yrs ago
Can't describe how quickly I go from excited to sad when a mecha premise turns out to be realism wankery.
"I appreciate the offer." The unaligned mage brushed her brown hair back over her shoulder casually, regarding Angel with a faintly curious expression. She had not anticipated her Plan B to be accepted so quickly as the other mage's apparent Plan A, but she could not say there wasn't something mildly appealing about his offer. Inns of this price range tended to be rather scant on the breakfast options, and she always preferred to leave for her missions on a full stomach. Nevertheless...
"However I would not want to be a bother. I should be present in the hotel for some time yet, however, if you do need to seek me out."
The following entry (obviously) is not a romantic one, focusing instead on a familial relationship. Also somewhat unique in that it is, largely, canon as it is set in the past of the character in question.
The folders hit the table like a ton of bricks, but still not as hard as the words uttered with a disgust usually reserved for unsavory material found under the bed. Ben’s eyes flicked down, a subtle way to get a look at what they contained. Not that he really needed to. He’d hoped to get to the mail before his Dad, but that hadn’t happened.
“Brochures, Dad.”
“I see that. Why are they from Beacon?” The elder Lloyd crossed his arms, looking down at his son already seated on the couch. The brochures rested on the table between them like a thrown gauntlet. “We’ve talked about this, Benjamin. Beacon is a school for Hunters. You aren’t going to be a Hunter.”
“Dad, you’ve talked about this.” Ben took a deep breath, bringing his eyes up to meet his father’s gaze. “You’ve been saying I can’t be a Hunter for years. You never say why.”
“Ben, being a Hunter is dangerous. Even if you got in, even if you graduated, it’s a life of fighting monsters and criminals. Most Hunters don’t get to grow old.” Daniel Lloyd’s frown deepened. “Vale doesn’t keep a military. Hunters are our first and only defense. If this was Atlas, maybe. But I won’t let my son be one of Vale’s human shields.”
“Aren’t we all here because of them?”
“Because they die fighting for people who think it’s better to send kids than soldiers.” The frown became a scowl, and he pointed damningly at the folder. “Being a Hunter isn’t heroic, Benjamin. All that crap about ‘protecting the Kingdom’? Atlas is getting people off the battlefield, and we’re putting them in when they’re too young to buy a drink. We’re letting them die to save us some money. It’s a sick system, and not one you will be a part of!”
“But we can make money off their weapons, right? Guess it’s guaranteed business for us, isn’t it.”
The instant the words were out of his mouth, Benjamin Lloyd regretted saying them. They knocked the room’s temperature down a dozen degrees in an instant, and he could see the muscles in his Dad’s face tightening through the ensuing silence. He wished he could snatch them out of the air like they’d never been there. But this was a long time coming, and he knew it. His father was never going to let him go. And Ben wasn’t going to drop it.
But this wasn’t how he wanted to do it.
“I want to do this, Dad. We used to be something. Lloyds. What happened to your granddad was awful, but he wouldn’t have wanted us all to stop. We didn’t get out of the system, we just got too scared to admit it. We just moved around in it.”
Ben took a deep breath, looking for some kind of reaction. Something behind the stone Daniel had turned to. You could almost see the veins throbbing in his forehead, the only outward sign of what was in his head. He stayed quiet a long, long few minutes before he spoke up again.
“Your great grandmother- my grandmother- lost her husband, after he lost all his siblings in the War. A War they fought in because they were Hunters before Hunters even had a name. An entire generation of our family died one by one because they wanted to be heroes.” The stone stayed, as expressionless as it could be, but it was cracked. And cracking further with each word. “The Lloyds would have been gone, Benjamin, if everything had happened a few years sooner. Your great grandfather, his sisters, his brothers, all of them. War got a few. Grimm killed more. Grandad died at fifty two because he couldn’t fucking tell when to retire. Is that what you want? To waste your life?”
“Do you think they regretted it?”
“What?”
“Do you think they regretted it? Do you think they’d have done anything else if they knew? Do you think your granddad thought it was a waste too?”
“That’s not the fucking point! You’re fifteen, Benjamin! Do you think you know the world well enough to make a choice like that?”
“And what’s the other choice, Dad? Stay here? Take over the family business? Live my entire life in Redwood?” Ben heard the shake in his voice, and cursed it with all the venom he could muster. They made for quite a scene, he knew. The stony facade was shattered, stripping the red-faced elder Lloyd of his calm. His son was trying to keep collected, but the tension was getting to him. He felt angry. He wanted to feel angry, but he couldn’t focus it at his Dad. He was angry at everything else. Whatever fucking twist of fate kept him from having this talk on his own terms, the fear that kept his Dad from seeing. Everything. Everything that pushed what was left of the Lloyd family to this breaking point like it was a fucking game. “I can’t do that. I can do more, I know I can, and I can’t go through life knowing I didn’t do it!”
“Ben, what would your mother think? Think of you throwing your li-”
“Mom’s not here! And you both raised me better than that. You taught me when you can do good, you do it!”
Daniel’s eyes went wide, and he took a single step back like he was struck in the face. The color and indignation faded away in the span of a moment, like someone had gone and yanked out his batteries. Behind the coffee table, out of view, Ben’s hands shook while deep breaths made his shoulders rise and fall. Both seemed to sense a line had been crossed, one neither of them could ever go back on. Invoking his Mom felt wrong, almost sacrilegious, and a shot of shame ran red-hot through him. But he didn’t start it, and he couldn’t take it back. Not anymore.
“... I can’t let you do this, Ben. Your Mom’d never forgive me if I let you.”
“You can’t stop me, Dad. I’ll be seventeen in two years. I’m going to apply to Beacon, with or without your support.”
The ultimatum hung in the air, while both Lloyds drew in deep, heavy breaths. Neither said anything, but Ben held his father’s gaze. He resisted the immense urge to look away and retreat, in the process, while his Dad seemed smaller and smaller by the moment. Diminished, now that he was faced with a decision he couldn’t push away. It wasn’t a discussion, not anymore. It wasn’t how Ben had envisioned it going down. He’d wanted to do his research, make sure he was certain, and then talk it out with his Dad. As calmly and rationally as he could. Not in a confrontation like this. But that vision was gone. It was a confrontation, and now whoever spoke first would lose.
As it turned out, that was Daniel.
“You’re right. I can’t stop you. If I could I’d do it, but in two years you can do whatever you want.” He paused a moment, staring almost listlessly at the brochures on the table. Like he was only now remembering that they were there. “But you don’t know the reality of it. So I’ll make you a deal.”
“What deal?”
“You prove you can do it. Beacon’s got an entrance exam. Use the shop, and make your own weapons. To my standards. You didn’t go to Signal so you don’t know how to fight. Learn to. You do all of that, you pass all your classes in school, and you take the exam.” A longer pause, and he looked back to his son as though reevaluating him for the first time. There was something detached about it, a gaze that was more clinical than affectionate. His voice was even, if quiet, and betrayed little more that what the surface held. There was something unfamiliar about it, something off. “If you pass, you go to Beacon with my permission. You fail, you come back here. To work at the shop.”
“... Deal.”
“Good. Take your brochures. I’m going to bed.” Daniel turned to the stairs, and began to ascend without another word. And as he receded from view the feeling of wrongness clicked, and Ben understood. The divide between them, as real as any wall, had expanded into a vast chasm. The only bridge was burnt to a crisp, and they’d both lit the match. And alone in the living room, Ben wasn’t sure it could ever be-
***
“-repaired.”
“What do you mean?”
“This thing would take forever to get repaired. Look at it.” Daniel adjusted the overhead light illuminating the workbench, and indicated closely with the tip of a screwdriver. “The haft of a polearm needs to be sturdy, but you’ve got it full of all this. Delicate mechanisms. One good hit, they break, and then they take forever to fix. Have to fix the casing, then replace all the small pieces that broke. Trust your life to this thing, and it’ll fail.”
He pushed the axe away from him with a single hand, eyes flicking briefly over the words “B. Lloyd #6/7” etched inside the casing before he ignored it and looked back to the younger, mirror image of himself across the bench. “Not good enough.”
“That’s the sixth one.”
“And it’s not good enough. I told you. My standards.” The point of the screwdriver jabbed at the writing. “And what’s this? Six of seven?”
“Sixth in a series of seven.” Ben’s response was hard and clipped, hands balled up in the pockets of his jacket. “It’s been six months, and nothing’s good enough for you. If it takes any longer, I won’t have enough time to be ready for the exam. If the seventh’s not good enough, that’s it.”
“And where is this seventh weapon?” Irritation and a faint note of sarcasm crept into his father’s voice, and he gestured expansively with a hand. “Where’s this ace up your sleeve?”
“... Go eat dinner.”
“What?”
“I said go eat dinner. It’ll be here when you’re done.” Ben said, then pointed emphatically at the door. For a moment, his Dad didn’t move. When he finally stood and left, closing the workshop door behind him, he didn’t it without a word. Likely for the best. Ben swept the axe off the bench furiously the instant he heard the door latch, ignoring the clang and clatter as it hit the floor hard and components broke off and scattered across the floor. A vicious kick cast it into the scrap pile in the corner, abandoned and disowned.
He took a deep breath in, through the nose. Five seconds. Then a deep exhalation, seven seconds. Something to calm him, if only a little. The anger, the stress, the frustration. It needed to be gone. This was his last chance. It needed to be perfect. He couldn’t make it perfect if his mind was clouded.
When he thought he was as calm as he would get, he grabbed a box off the shelves and set it on the workbench. It wasn’t done; a series of components he hadn’t quite put together, metal that hadn’t quite been cleaned up yet. Two rough-looking cylinders joined the array of parts, once he fished them from his pocket. There was no time to make it pretty. No time for any more tests. It needed to work, and work now.
The cylinders went into a pair of shotgun barrels, first, slid into the back where the stock would normally be. A pair of fitted caps went over next, sliding and latching into designated grooves. Then the blades. Each one was several pieces in its own right, each progressively thinner until the tip. They had to be pieced together, first, into each telescoping segment. Then the segment needed to be carefully melded with a series of complex looking mechanisms. The mechanisms themselves had taken weeks. Machined from the most durable material he could get to a precise fit, and stress tested over, and over, and over. Only to vanish inside the frame of the shotgun barrels, while the blades were made to lay flush at roughly forearm length across their side.
He didn’t pay much attention to the passing of time, he only knew that he needed to hurry. Function, not form. Finishing the shotguns was quick, and a few deft moments let him check all the mechanisms without missing a beat. The handles came last, and while he wasn’t too proud of the quick and dirty job, the repurposed shotgun grips did the trick.
Ben met his Father on the way past the door, pushing past him without a word. Only a jerk of his thumb towards the bench. Whatever he had to say, Ben didn’t want to hear it. This was his last go. He didn’t need the critique.
Only the note in the morning, atop the weapons resting on the dining room table, let him know the outcome. Good enough, then. But they needed refining. And names, if they were going to be the weapons of-
“-Benjamin Lloyd.”
“Amanda Forrester.” He replied, not missing a beat as he leaned back a little too casually in his chair. The guidance officer’s office wasn’t too unfamiliar. Over his past three years of high school, he’d been in and out a few times while he designed his course loads. That wasn’t quite the reason this time.
The counselor looked mildly taken aback, for just a second, but she recovered quickly. “Ben, your teachers have been expressing some concerns. Your grades are slipping. They say you’re skipping assignments.”
“Just the ones that don’t matter.”
“Ben, all your assignments matter.”
“I know that’s the line, Ms. Forrester, but they don’t. They’re busy work. And I don’t have time for it. I’m passing all my classes, aren’t I?”
“... Yes, but Ben, you’ve been an honors student for years. Getting Cs, Ds, it isn’t you. You’re getting a D in History. You’ve never gotten less than an A in it. Mr. Martin can’t understand it. You’ve been his most enthusiastic student for years, and now you can’t even stay awake.”
“If I’m passing, I can graduate.”
“Yes, but what about college? You’re a brilliant kid. How are you going to get accepted with these grades?”
“Doesn’t matter. Beacon doesn’t care how I did in music class. And if that doesn’t work out,” He paused, for the first time, like he was thinking deeply. “... Well. Dad’s shop doesn’t need a degree.”
“... That’s the other thing we’re worried about. Ben, your teachers all say you seem exhausted. You’re showing up with bruises, and cuts. You head out into the woods every day after school, by yourself. All of this is very concerning. Is something wrong at home…?”
“No.” He answered immediately, blinking like he was surprised the question had even come up. “No, nothing’s wrong at home. I just…”
“You’re trying to get into Beacon.” The counselor sighed, quietly, and clasped her hands on her desk. “We talked about it, Freshman year. Your Dad discouraged me from helping you when I mentioned it. He wouldn’t let you transfer to Signal.”
“... Yeah. That’s it.”
“You’re trying to compensate by training.”
“Yeah.”
“... Well, Mr. Lloyd, I called this meeting to make sure you were okay. I’ll see if there are any courses of action I need to follow, but this should be it.” She stood, came out from around her desk, and extended a hand for him to shake. Ben stood and took it but was surprised when she drew him into a brief hug before releasing him again. “You’ve been an excellent student, Ben. We’ll all miss you when you graduate. Don’t forget about us when you’re saving the world, alright?”
“... I won’t, Ms. Forrester.”
“Good. Talk to Mr. Martin, would you? You were his best student, and he doesn’t understand what’s wrong. He’s concerned. Let him know you’re doing okay.”
“I-”
***
“-will arrive by six tonight.” Artorius and Lawnslot brushed lightly against the bag slung over his shoulder, while their owner stepped onto the platform to wait for the train. The bag and the rolling suitcase in his left hand were all he had with him, weapons excluded, but he still set them down to turn and face his companion. Daniel Lloyd watched his son calmly, hands in his pockets while he occasionally nodded his understanding. “I should know the outcome by nine tomorrow. I’ll let you know.”
“Alright.”
The Lloyds regarded each other at arm’s length, like they were sizing each other up. Even now, before he was set to leave for Beacon, the chasm had never felt wider. It had only grown since then, and he realized that even facing a future where he might not return for some time… He didn’t know what to say. Or what to do. But if he didn’t do something-
With a slight, slow motion, Daniel took his hand out of his pocket and held it out. No words, no offer of anything closer than that arm’s length. Ben shook it silently, then both hands retreated back into their pockets. Ben’s emerged a moment later with his boarding pass but his father’s remained still.
“... I’ll talk to you then. Take care of yourself, Daniel.”
<Snipped quote by Crimson Raven> Nero chooses to be annoying with his magic rather than use it to try and be some cliche anime badass. Magic fighting and badassery isn't what he's about. I don't want to just have a fighty badass character. If he were forced to use his magic in self-defense, there are very, very few people who could beat him, but he doesn't. Funnily enough, the guy who's both a dark mage and a mischievous genie is one of the more responsible wizards in the Fairy Tail universe.
"That... Could work." Was Ben's only comment, as he mulled the suggestion over in his head. An odd idea, but he didn't have anything better. And they really needed to do something. So he took one more step back, slid open the breech on Artorius, and slipped in an Ice round before doing the same with Lawnslot. The swarm surged forward, now that the firepower keeping them back was halved, but their advance didn't last long. Two reports reverberated through the air, only preceding the flashes of white light. The first couple of rows of Grimm were, actually, caught in the ice; the rest slid backwards on the rough quarter pipe shape that had been formed, acting as a bottleneck for the number of Grimm that could get up and over to reach BASL.
Ben ejected the spent shells, and used his new-found breathing room to reload with proper rounds. He flashed the other members of his team a quick thumbs up, then settled in to wait for the first wave.
"Think I do. What're you thinking?" BASL's leader answered, watching with some satisfaction as the rodents hit with lightning went down and didn't get back up. It hadn't taken care of them all, but the Dust round had done its job and thinned out a large chunk of the horde. He kept peppering the swarm with shotgun rounds while he retreated inch by inch, casting a glance over towards the team's ax maniac with a questioning gaze. Neither she nor Sangue could do very much about the horde, and despite he and Amy's efforts it was still coming right towards them. They needed some kind of idea, at least.
"Nice as it is to know you think I've got a great ass, it'd be real nice if it wasn't the last thing we all heard."
"No, no, it's okay." Angel slowly stood and, after a few seconds, turned to face Cyare and climbed out of the hot tub. "Kaia's blind, I should probably be helping her around myself. I should probably get going anyway. We're going to need to grab a combat job while we can."
Noting the brief look of surprise on his fellow tub occupant's face, Angel's grin took on the first gleams of ease and confidence it had displayed all morning.
"What? I may get a little tongue tied in a hot tub, but I'm not a complete slouch. Don't have to worry about most monsters showing up to fights half naked. And the ones that do...well, that's why I have a blind friend."
Cyare Staunton
"I suppose the very concept is something unique to humanity. Not exactly a concept the average monster would entertain. Could be a significant disadvantage against another mage, however." The Tactical Mage took this new information in stride, adding and readjusting her perceptions of the other mage as well as his companion. Try though she might, a blind mage being combat-capable was a difficult concept to process. More than likely her chosen magic had some kind of sensory input, something she could use to compensate, but that was still a glaring vulnerability. What if she fought a user of Tactical Magic, like Cyare herself? Knight Form would put her out of commission in an instant. ... Still, it was not her business. Nor was she likely to fight such a mage. "Like I said, most of the combat jobs were gone yesterday. I wish you luck, but I have doubts that any remain."
"I will have to locate my... associate... before I go." She frowned slightly as she secured the robe tightly about her, tucking her sheathed blade under one arm. A thought occurred, but she wasn't sure if it was one she wished to follow through on. But it might be advantageous... And there were not likely to be many jobs left for them given how many mages were in the city. "If you cannot find one, see if I or my associate, Rei, are still on the premises. An additional couple of pairs of hands would not be a disadvantage, I suppose."
Poking my head in momentarily to pose a query. Aside from filling out the form and requesting permission, is there any specific protocol for the formation of a guild?
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