[IC] RWBY: Chasing Shadows

[The Irish Tree]

Turq Beaufort

---

"Tch. As if I'm going to let the rabble spitting at me stop me from proving anything. You're almost sounding concerned there, Sir," Turq would say, smirking a bit at the bit of sentimentality in the old man's words. He didn't really care all that much if Caramelle didn't have a strong reason to be a huntress, or Jet having a simple one. The reason for it didn't matter so long as they were pulling their weight in Turq's eyes. If they failed or passed, that wasn't really his problem as long as he wasn't dragged down with them.

As the junkyard workers began digging through the junk at a rapid pace and the windows grew darker, two thoughts ran through his mind. Or rather, two possibilities.

They'd been here the entire time and he'd gotten a few glances at them. They seemed...ordinary enough. Maybe they were just here for the fight and were getting back to work after seeing the upstart students best their handicapped teacher.

...But then, there was option two. And option two was-

"Something's giving me the distinct feeling the gong hasn't rung yet," Turq said, reaching for his weapon and letting the chain hang, once again holding the handles of his picks. "This because you didn't get any good reasons?" He was under the assumption this was the part where they got jumped to teach them some humility or weed out those without motivation...but Turq wasn't going to start swinging until shots were fired. After all, being smart is one thing, being paranoid was another.

And Turq was very not smart.

[Cello]

---

Jet turns away from the group while Auron preaches on the weight of the kids' decisions to become Hunters. The lecture had him feeling somewhat guilty for offering such a blasé response. The fact that it wasn’t true was of little comfort when he recalls how equally uninspiring and thoughtless the actual reason was. He briefly wonders if Caramelle feels the same, but the blunt assuredness of her answer didn’t suggest as much.
And people reckon I’m cocky.

He reaches down to pick up a handful of coarse, desert sand while Auron continues by reminding the quartet of how Shade Hunters are generally received around these parts. He let’s the sand sift through his fingers, watching the streams in quiet contemplation. His old mentor Diesel was once a Shade hunter and he had often heard as much in one of his caregiver’s ramblings. Honestly he’d usually chalk it up to the old geezer just enjoying a good whine about almost anything.

Bleedin’ Vacuans got no respect for us Hunters! Jet holds back a snicker, mimicking Diesel’s voice in his head. He claps his hands free of any remaining dust and dirt, turning back to see the group's attention had shifted to something about tinted windows?
Crap, he really ought to be paying more attention.

Jet’s teammates were convinced that Auron’s test had not truly ended. Go figures. He could tell gramps was the type of sly bastard to pull a stunt like that. The stragglers in the junkyard caught his eye, shifting around the trash as if they were looking for something a little too specific to be found in a pile of crap. He slides his visor back over his eyes, scoping in to get a clearer view of them.

Closer inspection revealed that they weren’t in fact searching for something, but rather unearthing a peculiar structure embedded into the ground itself. It was white and jutted from the earth like some sort of rod.
“Awfully clean hands for junkers.” He muses aloud, reminiscing on the many evenings spent scrubbing dirt and grime from his hands after a long day in the junkyard. He scans the remainder of the gathering, keeping an eye out for any other details of note. A few of them have flecks of what he thinks to be dried blood scattered about their garbs.

The same uneasiness and suspicion that gripped Veloce and Turq now churns within Jet’s own gut. He rises to his feet, slinging Obsidian End back into his grip. An accusing glare meets Auron’s eye.
“What game are you playin’ at Gramps?” He said, keeping his rifle at the ready. A younger, more naïve Jet would have hoped this to be some sort of misunderstanding.
But this was Vacuo; where hopes come to die.