My Soul Ablaze (Patreon)

"You know,” I gasped, “There are moments in life...”

“You don't say?”  The teen opposite asked me, dryly, his voice strained.

“In my life, at least,” I qualified, huffing a bit of laughter, “where I have to ask myself how it came to this.”

“Mmm...probably bad luck,” my friend admitted candidly.

“'Bad luck,'” I echoed mockingly, my hand reaching for another crevice of rock.  “Bad Luck?!”

“Well what else could it be?”

“Well usually, I just blame it on you,” I explained bluntly.

Neither of us spoke for a moment, breathing in the thin air and listening to the desert wind whistling in our ears.

“I really don't see how it's fair to blame me.”

There was a beat.

“This time.”

I snorted.  “The fact you even have to qualify that statement...”

“My point stands,” he argued, “that it is in no way fair to blame me for this particular predicament we find ourselves in.”

“I seem to recall,” I breathed, heaving myself up another three feet, “someone saying, and I quote, 'Don't listen, Baster, there's no way they'll actually send us to the other end of Remnant.'  Do you remember that?”

“Maybe?”  My friend asked lightly with the air he could spare from his lungs.  “At the moment, certain scenes of my life appear to be taking precedence as they flash before my eyes.”

“No shit?”  I asked with a faux-curiosity.  “You happen to remember what you did with that book I loaned you a few months ago?  You see that in your little vision quest?”

“Sorry, it looks like I'm being limited to important life-altering events here.”

“Balt, I swear to shattered moon, that was a first edition!”  I growled.

“Relax, relax!  Jeez,” my friend sighed, “can't take a friggin' joke!  I pack the damn thing alright?  I found it under my bed when I was loading up, okay?”

A few moments passed, with only the sound of the wind and our own steady breathing to stave off the silence around us.

“Hey, Baster?”

“Yes, Balt?”

“I'm sorry.”

The confession caught me so off guard I nearly slipped.  Feeling my heart speed, I took a moment to center myself before reaching upward again as I contemplated what my friend had said.

“It's not actually your fault, you know.”

I let that sink in before I spoke again.

“Well, I take that back.  It's as much your fault as it is mine.”

He gave a desperate, huffing laughter.

“Yeah,” Balt sighed, “We really screwed the pooch this time, didn't we?”

“I'm pretty sure we did, in fact, fuck an entire kennel with that last stunt, my dear friend,” I agreed.

We shared a chuckle.

“Hey Baster?”

“Yeah?”

“The looks on the Atlas Council Members' faces were still worth it,” Balt stated with a grin.

“Completely, utterly, worth it,” I concurred, then winced.  “I'm still glad my mom was in Mistral, though.  That...would not have been pretty.”

“I don't know man,” Balt speculated, “We killed a lot of grim in that bullhead.”

“We killed a lot of grimm withthat bullhead,” I corrected.  “Which means it doesn't count.  Even if the eastern half of the mountain did look really cool on fire.”

“Eh, whiners,” Balt dismissed.  “I mean, it isn't like we saved the lives of three dozen hunters-in-training or anything.”

“In the council's defense,” I noted as I swiped my forehead clean of sweat, “we did steal the bullhead before we ever knew they were in trouble and take it for a joyride around the city.”

“And hey!”  Balt objected.  “The military birds trailing us?  Totally perfect for evac-ing those stranded students!”

“But we didn't know that,” I pointed out.  “More importantly, the council knew we didn't know it, so yeah.”

“I'm still surprised we actually managed to land ourselves in deep enough shit my parents couldn't pull us out of it,” Balt chuckled.  “Shit man, we got away with that massive fire-fight with that gang in front of the Atlas council building.  Hell, they even managed to catch  that asshole who was targeting faunus civil rights leaders!”

“Yes, yes we did,” I nodded.  “In hindsight, though, that might have contributed to their decision on our punishment this time.”

“You might be right,” Balt conceded.  “What was it that one bitch said?  The one with the hair...thing?”

“I think that was supposed to be a hat,” I stated, slipping a hand down to grab at my canteen.

“...really?”  Balt asked dubiously.

“The woman who said that the whole of Atlas would fall to ruin if we saved one more life?”  I asked for clarification, watching as my friend nodded.  “Then, yeah, that was a hat.”

As the memory of the woman played across our minds, both I and my bosom buddy made disgusted faces at each other.

“Some people,” Balt grunted in exertion, “just have no sense of fashion.”

“We can't all appreciate the value of tasteful cross-dressing,” I consoled him.

“I like the extra air circulation,” Balt shook his head, then sighed as he looked down at his decidedly masculine pants.  “I think this is the worst part of this whole mess.  I mean, honestly!  They wouldn't even let me wear a skirt!  They let you keep your stupid shirts!”

“Leave my shirts out of this!”  I replied without any real heat.  This was a conversation we'd had before.  “Do you know how hard it is to get these things shipped in from Mistral?”

“I don't know why you bother.  I mean, you're the only person I know who wears shirts that have neon green, yellow, blue, and pink on them!”  Balt snarked, then cocked his head, “actually, you know what?  The worst part of this whole thing is that we've nearly died a dozen times in the last two weeks and you still won't tell me who your father is.”

I groaned, shaking my head.  “Dude, this again?  Really?  I don't fucking know, alright?  My mom's not the type to talk about that kind of stuff, and I don't really give two shits to ask.  The guy sends money every six months, I've gotten gifts for every birthday and winter solstice, and whenever I get in super-deep shit because of you-”

Balt barked out a loud, 'Hah!'

“-he can usually pull some strings.”  I sighed, sweeping the sweat off my forehead again.  “I don't know.  I don't care.  Either he'll call me up one day or I'll never know and...I'm okay with that.”

“Suuuu~uure ya' are,” Balt shook his head.

I sighed.  I supposed if I hadn't convinced him by now, there wasn't much hope.

“...hey, Baster?”  My friend's question brought me back from my musings.  “How far do you reckon we have left to climb?”

I looked up, squinting against the sun as I considered.  “Probably another day's climb...at least, why?”

“Ugh, fuck!  Really?!”  Balt asked, incredulously.

“Well, it's supposed to be an academy for gifted hunters and huntresses,” I sighed as I leveraged myself up another foot.  “A trek through grimm-infested wilderness is a pretty good entrance exam, I think.”  I paused, considering things.  “Admittedly, the Atlas council probably thought this was going to be more of a punishment than it really is.”

“It's not exactly boring,” Balt sighed, shaking his head, “it's just so. fucking. tedious.  I just want a fucking bath and a hot meal.  I swear, if one more beowolf interrupts our dinner...”

I craned my head as I caught something out of the corner of my eye, then frowned, considering the problem.

“Hey Balt?  What if I said I knew a shortcut?”  I asked hypothetically.

“A shortcut.”  His tone was deadpan and, even though I was looking back down behind us, I knew the exact look he was giving me.  “How the fuck do you take a shortcut up a sheer fucking cliff face?!”

“...I've got an idea,” I admitted, pulling out a rope and beginning to tie myself off so I could have my hands free.

“Dude,” Balt stated, his tone shifting to wary alarm, “when I say I've got an idea?  They call the cops.  When you have an idea?  They call the fucking military.”

“Very funny.”  I snorted.  “Now, how many dust-shells for that shotgun do you have left?”

“Ten?”  Balt shrugged.  “Why?”

“There's a nevermore circling below us,”  I stated, rearranging my equipment.  “I want you to piss it off.”

Balt turned his head slowly to look below us.  “Baster...I know we've done some insane shit before, but...”

“Look, it's either spend another day climbing this asshole of a mountain, or we catch a ride on the nevermore express.  Which one would you rather do?”  I asked pointedly.

Balt was silent for a moment, then reached for the pocket where I knew he was keeping the remains of our ammo.

“You know?  I think we're both insane.  Like, really, certifiably batshit crazy.”  Balt stated firmly.  “Also?  The mythical terror-boner?  Fact really is stranger than fiction.”

“That's the spirit.”  I applauded.  “Now let's fuck this fear-turkey.”