---

The crunch of gravel under heavy tires whispered through the trees. Boots hit the ground outside the cinder-block and corrugated steel building that had once been a warehouse. A chilled whisper of wind crept through the leaves, causing the intrepid news crew to pause. For weeks now, they had received tip after tip, from various anonymous sources all over Remnant, about strange activity. Most of it varied from person to person, but it all lead them here. The majority of these reports, however, had suggested strange Grimm activity spikes in odd places, and this abandoned storehouse was one that was named in particular. It had been quite the trek from Vale- the crew had needed special clearance from the police to go this far, and one had been required to come with them. A tense silence had accompanied their ride, and as they neared the building, a single voice broke that silence.
"Call a Huntsman!"

---

The sound of a hammer striking metal swayed comfortable around the worn wooden walls of Core's Hammer. A burly man with bare arms removed his goggles as he quenched a blade, before striding back into the shop. Dropping his gloves at the counter, the man plucked a white cloth apron from a shelf and tossed it over the rugged leather one he wore. Taking his place at the store's front, he looked out expectantly over the open street as the noon sun began to creep higher into the sky.

Tori walked into Mission. Or, more appropriately, limped into Mission. Her teeth were clenched slightly and she was holding one of her arms, cradling it close to her chest. She was covered in minor scrapes and bruises, and looked quite irritated with just about everything. She winced as her knee jolted with aches and pains. It would be some time before she would be ready to go back out into the field again, at least if she had to keep walking like this. Sigyn was strapped to her back. One of the gauntlets was dented, the entire side caved in.

Of course I would run out right when I needed it, she groused. Of course.

She strayed onto the main street of the town, ignoring the concerned murmurs that her presence garnered, searching for signs of businesses she wanted to go to before she found an inn. Okay, let's see...I need repairs, I need dust. Looking down at her arm, she nodded. Somewhere like this should have them both in the same general area.

Her sharp eyes caught a sign: Core's Hammer. A blacksmith shop, it looked like. She pushed in the door. It was cold out, but she was used to the cold. Upon walking in, though, she was met with a wave of warmth, and unconsciously rolled her shoulders in comfort, despite the aches and pains all over her body. A small smile popped up as she saw a slew of dust crystals and vials underneath the counter, and a big, burly man standing there, white apron signifying his status. She limped up to him, caught his eyes.

"Do you have somewhere I can repair," she slung the damaged gauntlet off of her back and onto the counter in one motion, the heavy metal clanking loudly upon contact, "this thing?"

It was the hardest choice Azu had ever made in her life. On one hand, she was tired from her trip from Atlas, and the inn she was staying at was right there on her left. She could put her bags and suitcase up, stow her fathers sword, and get some rest before she actually had to do anything. On the other hand, there was a Blacksmith's shop on her right, and every familiar strike of hammer on metal pulled at her soul, drawing her closer and closer to her inevitable decision. She supposed that it wasn't actually that much of a choice after all, in the end.

The Huntress-in-training shouldered her way into the Core's Hammer, loaded down with a backpack, messenger bag, her father's sword strapped over her shoulder, and a suitcase trailing behind her like a loyal puppy. She was about to greet the shop owner on instinct when she saw he already had a customer to help, so she held her tongue and turned to look at what wares he had. She longed to own a shop like this one day, to settle down in an out of the way town, make a name for herself among smiths. She wanted this for herself, yet her hunt took priority. Her hunt would always take priority until it was fulfilled. One day, though, She thought to herself, carefully trailing her fingers down a blade. He can't escape me forever, and once I catch him I can have this again.

Stirring herself out of her own thoughts, Azu turned to take in the rest of the store. It was a very nice store, and a familiar place for her in spirit. Perhaps she could do some work here during any downtime she got. She sat back on her heels and patiently waited for her chance to speak.

Trey had been in the "Core's Hammer Forge" for some time now. The irritable clacking of lose parts in his left knee had kept him up all night and as soon as morning hit, he headed over to the forge in order to get it fixed. Although it might have been rude to appear so early, Maroon Awit knew Trey well; afterall he was a regular visitor by this point. Trey's life depended on it quite literally.
"Hmm... curses."
Trey let out a small sigh as he discovered the source of the problem. Several of the joint-bolts that held together the miniature hydraulics were loose and hitting themselves against the other actions. It was a constant problem at this point. For some reason the left leg was always the one that came up with problems. No matter, Trey was good with his mechanicals... well at least ones concerned with prosthetic parts. He got up from the chair and headed over to pick up some metallic components inside the Forge. He proceeded to come back to his seat in order to carve out a few notches for a new joint-bolt for his knee with his bare hands. Trey had to admit, having metal fingers was very useful at times, especially for shaping softer metal such as this.
The work was tedious but well-practiced. There were near 1,000 of the identical joint-bolts throughout his body and over the years, Trey got ludicrously good at making them. First few thousand times required him to use tools and measuring units but soon it became natural to the point where Trey could make them with his bare hands. Speaking of his hands, the synth skin on the fingertips had peeled off, revealing the dull grey metal underneath. Trey sighed and carved out the last few notches before he noticed a girl - tall and well-built - walked in on Maroon, asking for repairs on a pair of large gauntlets.

Mission was a quaint town that had an idyllic atmosphere. Ginto felt tempted to set down here permanently every time she stopped by but always found herself moving on eventually. Besides, she was far too young -- in Hunter years, at least -- to do so, and many adventures await that involved in the killing Grimm. There would be time for rest in the future. For now, she savoured the quiet filled by the chirping of birds as she slowly readied herself for the morning. Well, noon. Her arrival here last night wasn’t the sweetest, considering there was a delay in the air transport regarding a small, but numerous flock of Nevermore. It was a stressful ride, and she only lowered her guard once she settled in the inn.

It didn’t take long before she felt refreshed and cleaned, donning her usual outfit, marvelling at the crispness of her look. Shaking her head at her quiet self-absorption, Ginto finished off her ensemble by strapping two holsters that contained her baton on her belt, one to her left and the other, right; her main baton held in her hand. Satisfied with her look, she pocketed her scroll and wallet before locking the door behind her as she went down to the main floor for food.

After eating a healthy brunch, Ginto languidly walked around town, checking their wares before heading towards the local blacksmith shop. Usually, she didn’t bother with dust and repair shops considering she was one of those few Hunters that didn’t bother with over-complicated fighting machinery and would rather get on to the fighting. Now, though, the prospect of dust grenades was simply too much to pass up, and she wanted to do something novel. Everyone wanted to blow something up once in awhile.

So, here Ginto was, standing in line behind a scratched and bruised Huntress bleeding slightly with an obnoxiously large, damaged gauntlet, and another Huntress carrying many pieces of luggage. Ginto wished that the latter would give up and go to the inn, so she could be the second one in line. She had a feeling that the repair of the first Huntress would take some time before the woman in front of her get tended to. Not looking forward to the wait considering she was just here to pick up the grenades she was told to field test, she steeled herself into waiting, taking out her scroll to play a time-consuming but very satisfying game: Grimm Quash.

Well, Ginto would, if she didn’t spot a familiar man. Before she moved from her line, she checked Team MNGT’s chatroom and found that Trey did mention something about stopping by Mission. Ginto thought that he’d be gone when she came here, but she found herself happy that she was wrong. Feeling that the waiting was going to take a while, she broke from the line and went to her friend, sporting a small smile. “I see that you’re still malfunctioning. How have you been?”

It had been a relatively quiet morning, but that all seemed about to change as he saw a rather battered looking young woman enter his shop. He was about to point out that the inn was across the street- or where a doctor was for that matter, when the severely dented gauntlet was rather unceremoniously plunked onto the counter.
"Bleedin' Bowels o' Grimm, what happened," the smith exclaimed, not having seen such damage to a weapon in a long time.
A moment later, however, and he regained his composure. There was barely a second before he was speaking again.
Maroon pointed a worked thumb towards the back wall, "Work rooms are in the back. Use whatever you need, any room but the third. Reserved."
Having noticed her looking fondly into the case, below him, Maroon opened a small shelf at the bottom, retrieving a single crystal from it. He may have felt generous in the moment, but he was still a business man. The smith raised his hand to reveal a dark Dust crystal with purple accents.
"This," he began, "is Black Pearl Gravity Dust, high quality out put, extremely rare- took me months to get ahold of even this much," he pointed out- the crystal only about the length of his thumb.
Knowing she'd be off and back again, Maroon Awit returned the crystal to its drawer. With a pleasant smile, he was about to serve the next customer, a girl who looked far too soft to be a Huntress, with far too many bags- when a distinct sound caught his ear and stole his attention. Relinquishing his apron, he made his way back to the floor with purpose in his walk.
"Hey," he exclaimed to the young man working on his own knee, "How many times have I told you- no carving in the front. I can't afford to have metal shavings up here. If you want to work metal, you're going to pay Lien like everyone else. End of discussion."
Before another word could be said, he returned to the counter, placing the apron over his shoulders once again. Looking out over the opening of his shop again, he half expected the muscular woman to still be standing at the counter.

"Well," Tori responded dryly, "these gauntlets can put dust into a shield." She tapped one of the dust emitters on the front with an index finger. "I'm a defensive fighter, so it's helpful that they can do so. Makes it a lot easier to end up uninjured."

"Until," she stressed, "you run out of dust. That's what happened. I was fighting an pair of Gryphons. Big guys, hard to fight. Ended up using a lot of dust. Right at the end, one dove at me. I tried to shield, but turns out I was out of dust. I dove hard, but its paw still managed to clip Sigyn." She motioned to the huge dent. "My arm was in it at the time. I'm lucky it's not shattered all to hell."

After taking a moment to continue conversing with him (and to marvel at the incredibly well-crafted dust crystal), she retired into one of the forge rooms that he'd pointed out and laid the gauntlet on the table, picking up a blowtorch and a hammer. As she went on autopilot, she began to wonder at the place she was in. And the people she was with. Unless she was mistaken, there was a guy putting something into his knee with metal hands. She supposed limb prosthetics were a possibility, but damn full prosthetic for one limb was expensive enough.

Once the metal was heated properly, she placed it over the horn of the anvil like a socket, letting the dent rest against the surface. She struck hard, wincing as her hammer-arm pained her, but she'd live with it. It was just bruised, it seemed; repairing Sigyn was more important.

The constant hammer-clang carried far and wide, and also totally deafened her. That's why she didn't turn around when the door opened behind her.

"Just a sec, I'm almost done here... Plus I'm not using the forge or anything, just a little carving on soft metal. I'll pick up the shavings don't worry about that." Trey replied to Maroon. He finished his carving and began to peel off a little more synth skin on his left knee so he could access the offending parts. As soon as he finished unscrewing the faulty joint-bolts, a familiar voice greeted back of Trey's head.

“I see that you’re still malfunctioning. How have you been?”

Trey knew that voice. He knew it very well as a matter of fact. How long has it been... a year or so at least. As much as Trey wished to turn his head to greet his old teammate, Trey couldn't take his eyes off of his knee parts; the delicate job of re-aligning his secondary actions required him to keep his eyes on them. But no matter, Ginto will just have to deal with the unintentional rudeness from Trey.
"Malfunctioning as you have just mentioned. You know, if we didn't go to that bloody beach that one time, I might not be having this problem." Trey smiled as he remembered the good times during his academy years. The beach trip was a particularly fond memory for Trey.
"I got sea water in my systems, I felt... salty for a month. Not to mention the crap ton of sand that crept into my servos. I swear, this knee problem began after I took it apart to wash the sand out." He finished aligning the rods and screwed in the supporting structures to hold it in place. He finished screwing in the new joint-bolts with his bare hands. He flexed his reconstructed leg a few times. He decided that it was satisfactory and patched up the peeled synth-skin before rolling down his pants to cover his legs. He stood up and dusted himself. He turned to face Ginto.
"But you know what? It was worth it. I got to see you guys in silly bikinis and had fun."

@Elle Santiago

---

A sudden bang of the Smithy's door being kicked open would signal the arrival of Silme, his gilded eyes sweeping the inside of the forge before landing on the bulky frame of the Blacksmith, narrowing ever so slightly as he made his approach. One could tell that he was barely holding back a snarl as he slammed a pair of bulky-looking gauntlets on the counter. Clearly, he was irritated about something.

"Oi, your the blacksmith geezer I hear people talkin' about around here, right? You know anything about workin' Atlas tech? These damn gauntlets have been on the fuckin' fritz since I got here, and despite having taken 'em apart a 100 times, I've not a single, fuckin' clue what Maiden'sname is the matter with the damn things." He reached forward to flip one of the gauntlets over, showing off the brace of dust vials stored in them as well as an odd looking bit of circuitry. "I'm convinced there's some sort of issue in both the Aura transference circuits and, more importantly, the dust cartridge system. So once your finished with this ch-"

The wolf Faunus froze as he turned to see a familiar and very unexpected face, though it didn't last. His glare deepened as he addressed Azu, his distaste for the situation keenly displayed by the way his ears pressed themselves flat against his head.

"Well well. . . if it isn't Azu. Heh, Small world. . . ain't it?

Nimmie Zinschmidt trekked out of the forest surrounding Mission looking much the same as she had walking into it. It was a common sight to see contract Huntsman and Huntresses returning from the forest severely banged up at the beginning and end of each and every working day, so the first time the girl had emerged from the forest without so much as a scratch or a bruise, it had called attention to her. She was seen as weird by some, shifty and suspicious for her conspicuous cleanliness. The children loved her and thought she must be some sort of superhero or ultra-Huntress, but she’d had a harder time convincing most of the locals old enough to drink that she wasn’t some sort of ghost or a spy, or worse, a coward or a liar. Clearly, one coming in and out of that forest doing Huntress work could ever remain untouched for that long. She had to be either making it up, or she was up to something else out there...

None of those things were true, obviously. Well, maybe they were a little. But eventually Nimmie had won over the townspeople, who now begrudgingly allowed her presence in their village without complaint. Best of all, she’d managed it without ever having to explain her secret. Which was good, because the truth was-

“Oof!”

She got hurt a lot.

An alpha Ursa’s powerful spiked forearm slammed into Nimmie’s chest like a tree-trunk swung by the hands of an angry giant, knocking her breath out of her and her feet from out under her. She flew, though not as far as she looked like she should have, and skidded to a stop against the soft dirt of the forest floor. She blinked, dazed. The alpha seemed like it had turned into ten smaller Ursa. That wasn’t good.

Nimmie shook her head, blinked, then looked again. Oh, nevermind. The alpha had just called in the rest of its pack. Well... darn. That really wasn’t good. She staggered to her feet.

“Ten against one, huh?” she said, gripping her axe. “Well now I just feel insulted.”

Thumbing the trigger on Chopfyt’s handle, she activated the weapon’s rocket-boosters and swung hard, releasing the lock on the head of the axe. The gruesome blade shot out ahead of her in arc, tethered to the handle by a thin-string of carbon fibre wire as it collided with the pack of Grimm one at a time, knocking them into each other like dominos. The pack was blown away by the momentum and mass of Chopfyt’s rocket-assisted flail attack, scattered the nine smaller Ursa across the clearing. Even the alpha stumbled.

Nimmie didn’t bother waiting for Chopfyt’s head to retract. Instead, she clicked her heels together and shot into the air, her sneakers ejecting their own bright blue plumes of fire. Rocket-powered axe? Cool. Rocket-powered sneakers? Come on, what kid didn’t want a pair?

The two met at the height of her jump, Chopfyt reuniting with her and locking into place in its handle. She gripped onto it tightly, and began to lean into her fall with all her weight. The alpha Ursa received it, catching Chopfyt by the handle in a crossguard. Nimmie struggled with it.

“Why,” she grunted, “won’t you die?!”

The Ursa lunged unexpectedly, clamping its enormous jaws down on her arm. It didn’t find the purchase it was looking for. The arm, it was too stiff. Too rigid. And it bent beneath the Grimm’s fangs instead of yielding fresh blood. The red-headed Huntress cursed.

“Oh that’s how you want it, huh? Well then fine! You can just take the bloody arm!”

She thumbed the rocket-boosters one more time, igniting a bright plume behind her that pushed the axe-head closer to the alpha. It roared, shaking its head vigorously as it tried to rip off her arm. Nimmie screamed. Something broke, and there was a sound like squealing metal in a car crash.

“That’s enough! Just... fricking... diiie!”

The rockets flared even brighter, and the Grimm lost all ability to resist. The axe fell as inevitably as a shooting star, freeing the Grimm’s head from its body, and Nimmie’s arm from her shoulder. It clung to Chopfyt’s handle like a boody trophy, the axe embedded in the ground a fitting headstone for a Grimm. Except it wasn’t a normal arm. There was no blood gushing out of it. Only oil and a clear lubricant fluid that dripped from various tubes surrounding a complex array of wires and motors. This arm didn’t belong to anyone human.

It belonged to Nimmie Zinschmidt, Remnant’s first (as far as she knew), gynoid Huntress.

Nimmie collapsed to the ground, more tired than she’d been in a long while. She gasped, trying to get her breath back, then looked at her arm.

“Aw dammit...”

---

Nimmie hid her injury the way many Huntsmen and Huntresses did. That is to say, not well. The arm had been hastily shoved in her backpack, and the gushing, sparking stump was covered by a loose-fitting poncho she’d been given as a gift by one of the townsmen she’d helped save. Even though no one could actually see the disturbing mechanical mutilation of her left arm, she felt everyone staring at her regardless. She’d had a reputation in this town for being the only Huntress to return from the forest unhurt every time. Now she’d broken her pattern. It was as good of an excuse as any for people to be suspicious. Even, she noted with some chagrin, the children.

Clinging tightly to the parka with her good arm, Nimmie gave everyone a quick nod which did absolutely nothing to make her look less suspicious and hurried to Mission’s local smithy, Core’s Hammer. They had parts there, and machine shops. Little private rooms you could rent out to do your own repairs. Her arm was a fairly simple piece of tech... she thought. She could be wrong. Anyway, she could fix it. If she could just have some time alone, she could use her good arm to, I dunno, solder it back on.

And who’s gonna hold it in place while you do? she thought. Actually, no. Don’t think about it. Just fix it. Before anyone sees.

Greeting the owner with a brusque grunt, she made her excuses and headed into the back, clinging even tighter to her stump in the hopes that nobody would see it or ask questions. Nimmie made haste, and threw open the door to the first room she saw. But...

“O-Oh, I’m sorry!” she stammered when she saw the bulging back muscles hunched over a pair of heavy gauntlets with a welding torch. “I didn’t realize...”

Nimmie blinked as she recognized the swole girl, almost taken aback.

“Tori?”

"Urghh," grunted Tori, burning out a huge chunk of metal with a cutting torch and tossing it aside for later reattachment, exposing the dust conveyance system inside, "why...won't...you...fix??" The fire from the various blowtorches had begun to extract sweat from her skin, and she'd stripped her vest jacket off and hung it on the door, exposing her bulging shoulders and all the scars that festooned them. She'd been working for a good few hours, and her limited Lien had begun to rapidly tick down. She could feel all the blowtorches burning a massive metaphorical hole in her pocket.

It wasn't the metal gauntlet surface that was hard to fix; that was an easy enough repair. Just heat, hammer, repeat, done. Belying the simple outward appearance, though, Sigyn was a finely-tuned, intricate system of emitters, tubes and receptacles, all designed to funnel extra-fine Dust powder into her trademark shields. It took extremely specialized tools that this shop didn't seem to have access to to fix it quickly and easily, and she was a long way from Atlas. Instead, she was making do with a pair of needle-nosed pliers and a tiny jeweler's hammer, attempting with dubious success to knock the tubes and pins back into place.

And that only covered the alignment issues. Several small, delicate and integral parts had been damaged, and she'd sorted them into a small pile to be worked on later. Some, she doubted she could fix at all. If she couldn't, she would have to find them in a specialist shop, which was definitely not to be found out here in Mission. Traveling all the way back to Atlas without Sigyn to keep her safe didn't sound especially appealing to Tori, and so the day wore on, finding her still shut up in the small workroom.

With a tense grin, she slotted a final piece in and clicked the newly-installed button. To her great relief, the injector seemed to work fine, carrying the confectioner's sugar that she'd substituted for Dust in her tests into the system. One part of the system down, only a few left to go. The injector was the most complicated part anyway.

She put down the pliers and took a long draught from a water bottle beside her when she heard a voice behind her, coming from the now-open door:

"Tori?"

"Hey, Nimmie," she replied absently, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow and bending over the table once more.

Then she looked up, blinked, and looked behind her. Her mouth dropped open slightly. That, plus her wide golden eyes and the damp hair falling out from behind her ears, made her look almost half as surprised as she was. She stood shakily, stumbling slightly from an amalgamation of stiffness, pain and astonishment, and looked at Nimmie for about five seconds.

Then her eyes began to water, and she flung herself forward in a flying hug at the smaller girl. "Nimmie!"

"Oh my God," she ramble/sobbed near incoherently, pressing her face into Nimmie's shoulder, "I've missed you so much!"

"Aye," he remarked as he waved the Dust admirer towards the private rooms, "Sounds a right bit o' bad luck there. An' no one was with ya? Now this is a Huntress I'd give me back to."
The smithy's hands then planted firmly on the counter as he shot Trey a glare. His backtalk was definitely not appreciated.
"Listen boy'o, I've half a mind to lift you off your stool and plant you on the street. I know you come in here a lot, and by the gods you're good business, but we have standards for a reason. Most Dust crystals can't take that kind of noise. And you're right next to the finished pieces. I have t' sell those ya' know?" the man fumed.
"Now you," he continued, gesturing towards the Faunus boy, "Open work shop's just back here," he thumbed gruffly towards the back wall and the curtain over the passage behind his left shoulder, "Private rooms cost more. Two are in use. Third room's reserved."
However, his demeanor shifted almost instantly as another familiar face walked it.
"How ya doin' lass?" he greeted jovially, "Back to sharpen the ol' ax I see. Take your time. I'll pick up the Lien on your way out. Good ta see ya."
The large man then used his considerable forearm to wipe his brow of some emotional sweat. After letting out a breath to cool his head, he looked back out over the yard and the street beyond it.

---

The entirety of the morning and afternoon had been taken by meticulous work. Dust working, in fact. Powdering, shaping, and combining Dust crystals into her own unique blends. She hadn't minded when another Huntsman or Huntress took up shop next door, and began hammering out some metal of some sort- and the relative quiet that followed wasn't bad either. However, as she turned to reach for a case in which to load her mixed Dust, the sounds of somewhat hysterical speech cut her concentration.
A woman wearing a wide hood, her mouth covered in a dark blue scarf, strode out of her claimed compartment and gave a look that drifted somewhere between quizzical and judgemental to the two girls. The woman in blues and greens stepped forward with a purposeful stride, peeking at them over a multi-lensed Dust examination glass.
"I hate to be a bother, but could you maybe keep it down?" her tone than immediately shifted, becoming far more friendly, "Oh, I'm sorry. I can see I'm inturupting something. I'll just be on my way."

Azu turned to face Silme, her mouth already twisting into a scowl. "Small world indeed Sli- I mean, Silme. Have you ever considered that people would be more interested in helping you if you didn't start the conversation by insulting them?" Any was having a tough time keeping herself from physically throwing her younger classmate out of the building, like she would if she owned this shop, not the least because he wasn't a pushover, and throwing him out of anywhere would likely incur some damage. Instead she sighed and took the most expedient course to getting him out of her hair.

"Let me have a look at it," she said to Silme. "I can probably get it back to working order, free of charge."

Ginto looked on amusedly as Trey was told off by the blacksmith, and he reasoned back. She had no idea why Trey just didn’t do as the blacksmith said considering he was swimming in Lien, but this was Trey she was talking about here. He could just be doing it for the kicks, or he was just doing it to be as efficient as possible. It could be both.

She watched as he continued with the tinkering of his own body--she mentally backtracked and replaced ‘tinkering’ with ‘repairing’ as it sounded just a tad scandalous, and she most definitely did not want to imagine him ‘tinkering’ with himself--, his hands expertly handling the metal parts of his knee. She was used to him not meeting her gaze when talking. It happened from time to time, and she’d rather have him have his knee operational for whatever happens on his journey.

“Malfunctioning as you have just mentioned. You know, if we didn’t go to that bloody beach that one time, I might not be having this problem,” Ah, yes, the beach. Memories of that time flitted in the forefront of her mind helped by Trey’s words. “I got sea water in my systems, I felt… salty for a month. Not to mention the crap ton of sand that crept into my servos. I swear, this knee problem began after I took it apart to wash the sand out.”

Ginto snickered at his complaints. “In my defence, I disagreed with Mitter when she decided that, but you and Nuvola insisted. I think they regretted that, too, when our room smelled like metal and sea, and there was sand on the carpet and laundry.”

There was still a sense of wonder upon watching him work on his prosthetics, a kind of black curiosity similar to how someone would want to see how the inner structure of the human body worked. More so, when she watched him patch up his synthetic skin. That line of thought ended, however, when he rolled down his pants, and he stood up to face her. “But you know what? It was worth it. I got to see you guys in silly bikinis and had fun.”

Ginto gave him a nod, smiling still. Her cheeks felt weird at the sensation. “Those were good times,” she mock-sighed and did her best impression of staring back at the past with the expression of longing. She didn’t know if she succeeded, or if she looked like an idiot. “I’d tell you off, but those were good bikinis. If only you wore one, too…”

At this, a grin formed on her lips. The image was undesirable in a way that it brought horror because bikinis were not meant for a masculine body; but, she thought, it was a good joke. “It really is good to see you again, Trey.” She straightened up, her arms awkwardly at her sides, not knowing whether to extend a hand in greeting for a handshake or a fist bump, or a hug. “It’s been far too long since I saw a familiar face. What are you doing here, anyway? A job or a particular favouritism to this shop?”

~~Whoops~~

Old man Maroon was irritable as usual. No matter, Trey was done at this point, the old man was doing his business and Trey had the money to pay the master of the forge. Plus he was talking to Ginto now; a far more pleasant task than exchanging verbal disagreements with Maroon. Dressed smartly in the two-piece suit as always, Ginto looked well. Well... enough for a Huntsman at least. Trey had to admit, the decision to replace all her clothes overnight with her current style was a fairly brilliant idea.

“I’d tell you off, but those were good bikinis. If only you wore one, too…” Trey weakly laughed at her note. She always was terrible at making comebacks or telling jokes. He supposed some things never changed. “It really is good to see you again, Trey. It’s been far too long since I saw a familiar face. What are you doing here, anyway? A job or a particular favouritism to this shop?” Ginto looked awkward. Trey swore she was almost fidgeting in that suit of hers. Clearly she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with her arms. He sighed a little and put on a pair of gloves he pulled out from his pockets. They'd serve to keep his exposed prosthetic fingers covered in the presence of others.

"Been done with my last job. Didn't have too much to do afterwards so I figured I'd visit the town to get a general diagnostics. Had a few ideas for some upgrades, had to take apart my right arm... again, Coil Gun as usual was half ruined, you know... the usual." Trey finished sliding his hands into the gloves. And before Ginto could object, he stepped in to hug his friend. "Good to see you too."

For a moment, Nimmie was overwhelmed. Choked by grief, by sadness, by guilt. Even her joy seemed to paralyze her, crushing her even tighter than Tori’s embrace. She felt afraid. After everything that had happened, what could she possibly say that wouldn’t sound insincere? After all, she’d left Tori.

Though she hadn’t thought about it in those terms at the time, the dissolution of their team, the death and despair that had surrounded them... they’d broken Nimmie. And she’d needed time to repair herself. But that was time she couldn’t have been there for Tori. And by the time she went looking, it seemed like Tori had moved on without her. She’d been too late. Now she had a chance to make amends. And she was blowing it.

How could she fix it? What could she say that would undo the damage wrought by time, and patch the hole in their hearts where their teammates... where their friends had been? She couldn’t think of anything. She had to act. But she couldn’t think of anything!

Then Tori, caught between incoherent sobs, said the words that made everything seem to fall into place. Nimmie closed her eyes and returned the hug with her one good arm, wrapping it around Tori with just as much strength and warmth as she had.

“I missed you too!” she said, her voice choked with emotion. Even though she couldn’t cry, wasn’t able to cry, those words seemed to carry all the meaning she’d ever need. I missed you too.

“I’m sorry,” Nimmie sobbed dryly, her cheeks wet with nothing but the steam inside the small workshop. “I’m sor-r-r-y! I shouldn’t have left! I shouldn’t! Tori-I missed you! I miss everyone!”

The world wasn’t right. Nothing would ever be alright again after what had happened to them. But right then, the world seemed to contract and fit into just that one room, if only for a little bit. And everything in that tiny world the size of a garage was good. Not right. But good.

Tori stood there plastered against Nimmie for a long enough time that she couldn't remember, crying harder than she had in living memory. Slowly, she could feel some of the negative spiral she'd plummeted into, the pain that she'd refused to let herself feel, pulling away. The hurtful, painful emotions that she'd buried deep within her bubbled up and popped, dissipating into open air.

Loneliness was the first to go, the loneliness she had felt ever since WNTR's fracturing. Her teammates, her friends, had been stripped away from her in one fell swoop. The utter desolation that had stripped her of everything she'd valued, everyone she'd valued, and tossed her into a team with people she didn't know, nor care about about. Team Abbot. ABOT. And she? She was the last letter. The remainder. An afterthought tacked on because she had no team of her own. She'd known she didn't fit in, didn't fill the void that their old member had left just as they could never fill the gaps that hers had. And so her graduation that year was a somber affair, not the joyous occasion that it might have been. She didn't belong anywhere. She'd lost her friends—her family. Forever.

And yet, it wasn't forever anymore because one of them had returned. Nimmie. She clung to the word like it was the only thing tying her to life. She clung also the words that she'd said: I'm sorry. I missed you. Five words. Five little words to begin warming the chilly fountain that her heart had become. Ultimately, it came down to the fact that she wasn't alone.

After loneliness came anger, the inevitable, long-buried vindictiveness that came with Nimmie's absence. The festering wound in her psyche that had polluted her thoughts for so many years. Standing there, desperately clutching Nimmie like the last life raft of a sinking ship and smelling the familiar scent of motor oil and sobbing brokenly into her shoulder, the anger just faded off into nothingness. It had been born of the loneliness, had been a parasite upon it; with its host gone, it could no longer exist.

And finally, at the root of it all, the most important emotion loosened its hold: fear. Fear of being alone, of being forgotten, of being nothing to anybody. As she shakily stood up, she opened her mouth, faltering for a moment before speaking in a voice still hoarse with tears.

"Come on, Nim. It's not your fault. I could've been there for you too."

Only then, as she stood marveling at the girl in front of her with blurred, watery eyes, did she notice the...malfunction that was currently affecting her. She coughed out a rough, lame laugh, gesturing at the stump.

"Technical difficulties?"

Ginto tensed as she was brought into a hug, but she relaxed, taking in as much warmth as she could. Team Midnight was a team she honestly considered to be her family. With the death of her mother and father all those years ago, vengeance was the only thing that gave her purpose, but it was unhealthy and couldn’t sustain her forever. It was Midnight that helped give her another purpose -- people to care and live for. Even though Trey was half-cyborg, maybe more, he had a warmth with him that just spelled family -- a brother. She basked on the attention, wrapping her own arm around him and squeezing him slightly, before tapping his back twice and let go.

“Well, it’s good to know that you’re taking care of yourself considering you’re pretty high-maintenance.” She eyed him, still impressed that she couldn’t see where the synthetic skin began and the natural one ended. “What kind of upgrades are you talking about? Rockets? Lasers? A built-in gun?” She made a face of distaste. “This is why I just stick with a baton. I can just buy another one if I lose or destroy it. I don’t see why everyone has to make it complicated. I mean, my latest upgrade, if it can even be called that, is dust grenades…” she paused before her eyes widened, and her head turned to the now-mostly empty front desk, “that I’m meant to get in this shop.”

Ginto turned her gaze back to her Trey. “Are you done?” It was a redundant question considering he was up and about and covered, but it was good to be sure. “I’ll get my grenades, and we can catch up while we walk? Or maybe hunt some Grimm as a field test for the grenades? A friend of ours back in Beacon offered me a discount if I test them.”

"You think I'm desperate enough to let some two-bit amateur touch my gear? Nobody asked you for help, so keep your neb to yourself!"

Azu huffed and muttered under her breath, things about ingrates and horses bearing gifts, then turned away from her annoying classmate. She had wanted to talk to the shop owner, maybe convince him to let her do some work for him, but now she had lost the fire to create. Still, it would be rude to simply walk into the man's shop, touch his merchandise and leave, so she walked towards him anyway.

"Excuse me," She said, pulling her suitcase a little closer to her, "Do you have any spare materials for sale? I brought extra crystals with me for trade."