The Wary Man's Refuge

"...Beg pardon, but have we met?" A rookie amnesiac with a good sword arm and real knack for tidying.

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A reunion, of sorts

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freedrobin:

Robin had been having a pretty productive day at the library. He had put away around ten books that had been returned via the book drop-off, for one, and he had helped a couple of early birds find what they needed. Even though his job was mostly just those two tasks, it was oddly fulfilling to do. He was actually putting away some books he had checked out himself when someone approached.

He was surprised, to say the least, and turned to see who had called his name. Who he was met with was a man he didn’t know… or at least he thought he didn’t know. Memory loss wasn’t helping with remembering others, of course.

All he could assume was that this was a visitor of the library, which made some sense. He still didn’t know how he knew his name, but he wasn’t about to cause a fuss in a normally quiet place.

“Alright. What do you need?”

“Necessity forces my hand, I'm afraid— here, I must be forward.”

Frederick's brow furrowed a little deeper; what he said now could very well lose him the one solid lead he'd found thus far. Though his memories had fled him, Frederick was reasonably convinced that honeyed words were not a strength of his.

“Roughly one week ago, an event displaced a large number of people and beasts across the world, as I'm sure you're aware. Am I correct in understanding you are among those displaced?” He paused, giving Robin a steady appraising look before pressing on.

“If so, I've a collaboration to propose. Ahem... if such things interest you, of course.”

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Troubled Teens [Frederick and Elanor]

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nohnohs:

“Please take care out there, dear. These are troubling times - what with monsters afoot and ruffians terrorizing the unsuspecting.” Mrs. Leilani, a elderly woman who was a regular client of the Holmes’, told Elanor with a worried sigh. “You really shouldn’t be wandering these streets alone. At least bring your father with you the next time you come, alright?”

Elanor simply smiled in a placating manner, gaze slightly downcast as she took a step closer to the door. “Yes, Mrs. Leilani. I’ll be sure to have him accompany me next time. But you needn’t worry so much; I have Scout with me today.”

Said pup let out a cheery bark as if to remind the elder woman of his presence, wagging his tail happily as she sent him a soft - albeit strained - smile.

“Ah, that’s right. How could I have forgotten?” 

The two exchanged a few more words before Elanor excused herself with the promise to return in a few weeks with a fresh bouquet. Mrs. Leilani saw the girl and her companion out, watching them worriedly for a few moments before retreating back into her home - securely locking the door behind her.

“That was the only thing we had to do today,” Elanor noted quietly to Scout as they leisurely made their way down the sidewalk. “Shall we stop for a bite to eat before heading home?”

Scout, always eager for a snack, barked excitedly in response. It was one of the reasons he loved coming to the city. Every time he and his human visited, she always treated him to something yummy. Not that she didn’t feed him yummy things often; but for some reason, getting a treat in the city seemed special somehow.

The blonde giggled at the pup’s instant reaction. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then. Let’s go to that cafe by the beachfront; I heard that they started serving a new pastry recent- oomph!”

She cried out weakly when something roughly slammed against her side, causing her to stumble unsteadily and drop the tote bag hanging off her shoulder. Before she could regain her balance, something else roughly pushed past her - causing her to fall forward on her hands and knees.

She vaguely registered the indignant shout of ‘Out o’ the way, bitch!’ from her scattering assailants, too preoccupied with the painful stinging on her palms and knees.

“Ow … what the heck?” Gingerly, she pushed herself up - holding out her hands to inspect the damage. The concrete had apparently rubbed them raw where she had tried to catch herself, and she could just make out a faint bubbling of blood from some of the deeper cuts. Glancing down to her knees, she sighed when she noticed they were in a similar state as her hands.

Scout hovered at her side, whining worriedly. It had all happened so fast that he hadn’t had the chance to protect her; the thought causing him to hang his head in shame as if he were the sole cause of her pain.

But Elanor, although still worrying over her wounds, was quick to notice his distress; and with a kind smile, gently patted the top of his head with the tips of her fingers.

“Don’t worry, I’m alright. See? Just a few scratches is all.” As if to prove it to him, she held out a hand for him to inspect. The pup reluctantly sniffed at the offered appendage, licking her finger tips as if to say ‘sorry’. “Thank you for checking on me. But I feel fine now! Let’s get going before anything else happens, okay?”

Unfortunately for Elanor, that something else found her in the form of another bolting individual. He darted out from the alleyway slightly behind her, stumbling over her abandoned bag before tripped face first into the concrete. The girl gasped, reaching out a hand as if to help him up - put hesitated, not sure whether it was a good idea or not.

The man didn’t give her time decide, however; just as quickly as he had tripped he was back on his feet, dashing away as if his life depended on it without so much as a glance in her direction.

“U-uhm …?”

“…Who goes?”

Elanor ‘eep’ed as a deep, stern voice called out from the shadow’s of the alley. So startled was she that she completely froze; but Scout, her ever diligent guardian, was quick to go on the defensive. Jumping between her and the alley, the pup snarled in warning at the stranger - bracing himself for an attack. There was no way he was going to let ruffians get the jump on his human for a second time!

‘W-why …?’ Stiffly, she turned towards the alley - dread clearly etched on her face. 

‘Why did things have to turn out like this!?’

The small, snarling beast immediately caught his eye, and Frederick noticeably bristled with apprehension. He'd fought back scores of monsters just like this one, and he knew them to be quite capable of biting through armor, given the opportunity... then, presumably, flesh and bone. His gaze lingered, as if staring firmly could affix the beast in place. Eventually though, with obvious reluctance, he turned his attention to its master: an admittedly... less than ferocious specimen, to be sure.

Oh gods. He was terrorizing a little girl.

“Ah...! Calm, my lady, I mean you no harm!” He sheathed his sword hastily, prompting an unmistakable tinkling laugh from Shepard. Ignoring her, he held his hands up, palms open. Appeasing.

“I'd just shaken off a pack of those ruffians plaguing the area, you see... It grieves me to admit that I thought you might be one of them.”

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Troubled Teens [Frederick and Elanor]

“Chill out, freak, I told ya, I don't know what the hell you're talkin' about!”

“Your leader,” Frederick repeated, teeth clenched in frustration. “No gang of brigands simply materializes, organized and uniformed, out of nothing for gods' sake!” He held the panicking youth up, one armed, by the collar of his shirt, Shepard held firmly in the other. His remaining would-be-assailants— dispatched swiftly with the blunt face of his sword— now scrambled horrified to their feet, fleeing the deranged swordsman as soon as they could (more or less) stand. The trapped thug swallowed, hard.

“L-listen, man, I don't... I-I'm not high up enough, alright?! I got my crew, sure, but we all just got— there's always somebody above us, okay? Nobody knows who's at the top, nobody's ever— MNF!”

Frederick's sword hand jerked, unbidden, as Shepard's sash extended. The thug was cut off mid-sentence, the fabric wrapping itself around his mouth and squeezing— hard. Frederick frowned; he couldn't very well ruin the effect he created, but gods, she always liked to operate a step too far. The young man's eyelids fluttered for a moment as Frederick felt a buzz of energy travel through the sash and into his weapon, vibrating prickly under his sword hand. She was tasting him, he knew, just as she had tasted Frederick, not too long ago.

He forced his expression stony, unreadable. “Well?” Shepard loosened her hold on the young man, the long, arm-like sash fluttering back to inanimate. She considered, briefly, before replying to her partner with a soft chime. Truth.

“Wh-what the fuck...”

Frederick let go of the man's collar, holding back bitter disappointment. He supposed it would have been a little too easy for a lead to just fall into his lap like this, but... well. At the very least, he could try to see that Alola had one less gang terrorizing its streets.

“Do you have a family?” The question came out sounding more foreboding than Frederick really meant, judging by the youth's terrified, emphatic nod. “Get back to them, then. And tell your fellows they'll not find any easy targets from here on out. Understood?” The young man nodded again, though by Frederick's estimation, he seemed too scared to move— certainly not without Frederick's say so. He sighed as he Shepard back into her sheath, and gave the thug a small, curt nod. That was permission enough, it seemed, and the young man bolted out of the alley as fast as his shaky legs would carry him.

“That was... appreciated,” Frederick said, as soon as he was satisfied the thug was out of earshot. “But unbecoming of you.” Shepard rolled her single eye at her wielder, tinkling back an annoyed reply. “No, milady, I am most certainly not scolding you, but fear is a blunt instrument which must be wielded with care, and— beg pardon! I'll thank you not to compare me to a nursemaid!”

The two may very well have bickered into the day, had a sudden presence not caught Shepard's attention. She let out a low warning chime, and (with a touch of embarrassment), Frederick noticed it too. They were being watched. Reflexively, his hand went to Shepard's hilt, drawing her up so that a glimpse of steel was visible to their “guest.”

“...Who goes?”

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A reunion, of sorts

It was early morning when Frederick pushed his way into the library— exactly to the minute at opening, had anyone cared to time him. He had dressed in plainclothes; a clean white button down, tasteful black trousers, and the tie he'd arrived in Unova with. As much as it disquieted him to be out of his armor, he knew he would have stuck out like a sore, well-protected thumb. Even so, the blindingly well-polished living sword at his side retracted somewhat from whatever subtlety he'd created... a glaring oversight Frederick chose curtly to ignore. After all, he needed some protection.

He walked through the library with purpose, brushing off the occasional, slightly baffled “can I help you?” as he scanned the building for a silver-haired young... aha!

“Robin?” he prompted, politely but firmly drawing the youth's attention away from his work. He matched the description perfectly of course, but even so, Frederick was oddly, fiercely certain he had the right man. “A moment of your time, please.”

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Arrival

Fittingly, the first thing he woke to was a battle.

Frederick allowed himself a moment of panic— a hasty inventory of himself, where he was, and even his identity dredged up frighteningly little— but he willed this moment to pass. A battlefield opened around him, familiar in its chaos but alien in its trappings. People flooded out of monstrous buildings in various states of damage and disrepair, lights flickering and burning garishly around him like so much spellfire. Had his armor not made him a rather imposing, trippable object sprawled out on the pavement, he most definitely would have been trampled by the throngs of panicked, running footfalls.

Groaning, he pulled himself to staggering feet, taking in the chaos all around him. Portals opened like awful, gaping maws across the cityscape, spitting monsters of all shapes howling into the panicked populace. His gaze flitted around the scene, desperately surveying for any resource to make use of, when he spotted a blade, discarded nearby on the street in an unceremonious heap. He needed a weapon— that much he knew— and he stumbled forward under the disastrous assumption that perhaps this blade had been his.

His guess was wrong.

As his hand groped for and grasped the hilt, the blade gave an awful shutter. What he'd taken to be a gem embedded near the sword's guard was in fact a single, horrible eye which stared at him in outrage. A painful, metallic scream filled his ears at once. Horrified, he attempted to throw the sword far away, but immediately found that the thing gripped him back. A long, blue sash extended from the pommel and wrapped itself vicelike up and around his arm. Its touch had an unnatural, unmistakably magical coldness to it; even through his thick armor, it burned, made his head reel and his whole being feel less substantial. A cursed blade, he thought to himself, a soul eater.

Like a thick veil being placed over his eyes, his vision of the bizarre city faltered. Dimly he was aware of bodies pushing past him, of screams both  human and bestial surrounding him at all sides. Would he die here? Alone and uncertain and... of no use to anyone? Anger prickled inside him at the thought.

No. Not like this, not while a city and her people burned. Teeth gritted, he drove the living blade hard into the ground, sending a hard shiver up his arm. Its screeching stopped and for a moment, it looked genuinely surprised.

“Firstly, how dare you!” he bellowed reproachfully. “Siphoning my life-force like a common swamp water leech...! Have you any pride as a warrior?!” The sword's grip on his arm remained but loosened, and the sash made a faint up and down sort of motion. A shrug.

“Hmph,” he murmured in quiet, vague approval. “From your... initial response, I imagine startled you. So I shan't begrudge you for the reaction. Perhaps you find yourself equally confused by these circumstances. However,” he turned, motioning with a slight nod of his head to the portals intermittently spitting out their strange beasts.

“Someone needs to see these people safely evacuated. As things are, they are little more than frightened sheep rushing the pen. I'd be a fool to face those beasts unarmed, of course, so... might we combine our strength, for the time being?”

The sword stared up at him, unblinking. After a brief deliberation, its grip on the man's arm went slack. It chirruped— its chime-like voice infinitely more pleasant than before— and gave his hand a sort of consolatory pat with the end of its sash. He cleared his throat, loudly and unnecessarily.

“Erm. Right. Let us... away, I suppose.” On that less-than-inspiring note, he drew the willing blade from the earth, finding its weight reassuring and familiar in his hand. Before he knew what he was doing, he was running full tilt against the crowd, off into the dangerous unknown.