A/N: Nothing really to say here. Take it away, Michael-I mean, Summer!

Chapter 5 - The Start of... Something

"NO, GOD! NO! God, please, no! No! No! NOOOOOOO!" is what Summer wanted to scream at the top of her tiny lungs.

Turns out, she had.

The team placement couldn't have gone worse. Summer could have been put on a team with anyone, anyone at all, and it had to be her. The red-eyed b-word. Her partner's stupid freaking sister. Or, since she had to call her by her given name, Raven.

"Nooohohoo..." her voice was muffled as she fell, face-first into her pillow.

"Oh, come on," Taiyang said, focused more on unpacking his bags. "Raven can't be as bad as you're making her out to be."

"Tai's right," Qrow piped up, startling both of them, as he'd looked like he was already asleep on his new bed. Without even opening his eyes or letting the other boy acknowledge his agreement, he continued, "She's way worse than you think."

"Not helping, Qrow," Summer whined.

The subject of their discussion was out at the moment. As such, the three other members of the newly-formed Team STRQ were free to gossip at their leisure. Where she was, not one of them had a clue. Honestly, Summer could care less, so long as she was gone.

"I don't even understand what your problem is with her? She gets along fine with me." Taiyang also didn't seem to understand that wasn't winning him any brownie points. It had also only been a few hours since he'd met her. She probably hadn't shown her true colors to him yet. "Aside from your little... episode in the woods, what happened between you two?"

Summer rolled onto her back and faced Taiyang. "I didn't have anything against her before then," she explained. "Sure, we didn't have the best introductions yesterday, but I thought she was just in a bad mood." Seeing that he was confused, she elaborated, "I tried to say 'hi' before the headmaster's welcoming speech. People were avoiding her, and I thought she might like someone to talk to."

Hearing this, Summer's amazing partner exploded into laughter. He continued on for several moments until he was gasping for breath. Both Summer and Taiyang raised their brow; was it really that funny?

Summer rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I go up and introduce myself, thinking it might start a conversation."

"Hehe, I can see where this is going," Qrow chuckled.

She ignored him. "Her response? Not telling me her name, not saying 'hello.' No, why would it make sense to do that? Raven doesn't even look at me and just tells me to f... frick off."

"Yep, that's my bitch sister, alright. Only, I'm guessing that she didn't say 'frick'?"

Again, his snickers went unheeded. "Then, there was the whole... thing in the forest, and now we're here."

Taiyang just looked at her for a few seconds like he was soaking in all she'd said. He didn't laugh like Qrow or get upset on her behalf, just contemplated. Finally, after what seemed like minutes of silence, he shrugged. "Okay, so you had a rocky start. The only thing you can do is get over it and try again. If Raven doesn't feel the same, well, all I can say is... frick her." His final remark earned Taiyang a chuckle from her as well as Qrow.

What he said, however, was actually helpful. It was the kind of advice that Summer would expect from her father.

Speaking of which...

"Took you long enough," the grizzled huntsman complained through her scroll. "Was beginnin' to think you'd already grown out of needing me."

Summer snorted as she sat against a tree outside the dormitory building. "No, dad, I didn't forget you. Things have just been a little... crazy today. I have a lot on my mind." That was putting it lightly - or at least, she thought so.

"Well, my big girl on campus, it just so happens that daddy dearest moonlights as an amateur shrink. Lay it on me, I've got a couple hours to kill."

Summer sighed and blew a tuft of red-streaked hair out of her face. Where to begin? That her partner was an insufferable prick? That his sister was a bitch who clearly had a massive superiority complex? Or maybe the fact that her only real friend so far was partnered with said bitch and she was stuck on a team with all three of them for the next four years?!

"Whoa, whoa, slow down Short Stack," her dad cut into her thoughts, holding his hand up before the screen and gesturing for her to calm down. "That's a lot to unpack. Take a breath and give me one thing at a time."

"What? What are you talking about? I haven't even said..." she trailed off into a groan. Damn it. "I said all that out loud, didn't I?" Dad didn't say anything; he didn't need to. His silence and knowing smirk confirmed her question.

"Ugh... It's been a long day."

"I can tell. Just start from the beginning. I'm listening."

And so she vented all the frustrations the day had placed upon her. True to his nature, her father just provided an ear and the occasional witty interjection. But he never criticized her. He knew now was not the time to stress Summer out, she needed a release.

She told him about her meeting with Taiyang, and how he'd been kind to her the day before. The only person at Beacon that she seemed to have any sort of connection with. The rather curt and offensive first experience with Raven had his brow furrowing. He nodded and told her she made the right call when she'd explained her stealthy run through the Emerald forest, and the initiates she heard and ignored.

"I wish we could help everyone who needed it, but some people are beyond saving."

Summer piqued his interest when she began retelling her partnering up with Qrow. She went through the fight against the Deathstalker, however short it was, hoping to garner some praise. She found very little, though. His face lost all expression entirely when she mentioned her teammate's name.

"What?" Summer asked. Very rarely did she see dad's "stone face," even fewer were the times when it meant something good. "What did I say?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Don't worry about it." Waving a hand dismissively, he said, "You mentioned this kid had a sister, and that she didn't like you?"

Okay, this was a little weird. "Y-yeah, she was the one who told me to eff-off during the headmaster's speech." Summer said. "Then we killed the Deathstalker, she came out of the woods and just started talking about me like I wasn't even there. Then, when she finally did acknowledge me, it was to basically tell me I wasn't worth being her brother's partner."

She waited for his response. Maybe some advice on how to deal with Raven; but found none. When he finally spoke, it a simple question.

"What's her name?"

/-/

Let it never be said that Ashur Rose didn't love his daughter. In fact, if anything, he would say he loved her too much. He loved her enough to let her go off and study at Beacon, a dangerous school where an old man taught children to brutally slay monsters. Even though she would be put in mortal danger nigh on every day, Ashur had granted Summer's wish and trained her to become a huntress. She didn't know the pure cruelty of the world she was born into, but he was doing his best to shield her and prepare her for it every day.

Juggling all that and working as a huntsman full time and doing whatever Ozpin needed him for... well, it was taxing, to say the least. He was by no means a young man, having had Summer very late into his life, and fatherhood was doing nothing to prolong his life. Since she was born, the girl had been gradually turning his already graying hair white. Not a minute went by in which he didn't agonize over her safety.

And finding out that she had been placed on a team with two people who had made Oz's "Oh, Shit List" had just about given him a heart attack.

It had also given him a little more motivation to find just who the Branwens were and what they were doing at Beacon. Which was why he was currently stood out in front of a suspicious bar located in a shady part of downtown Vale. He checked the watch on his wrist. It was eight in the evening, still early by night people's standards. Hopefully, early enough that there wouldn't be very many patrons inside to see him. Those that entered the establishment known as "the Castle" tended to be put on some form of federal watchlist or other.

Two human planets stood on each side of the red-painted door. The cheap black suits they wore strained against the mounds of muscle that covered them. If Ashur was honest, and if he didn't know any better, he probably would've been intimidated. But he'd been around long enough and been in more fights than most huntsmen his age to know that brawn didn't guarantee victory.

The one on the right, whom he'd designated as Meatshield #1, held out an enormous hand as Ashur approach the entryway. "Afraid we're gonna need to search you before you can go inside, sir." Standing a head taller than himself, the guard donned pitch-black sunglasses, despite the sun having already set. "Can't let a guy in if he's armed to the teeth."

If he'd really wanted to, Ashur was reasonably confident he could have made it past them without much effort. But he wasn't here to cause trouble. He needed information, and it was hard to interrogate corpses. "No problem," he said with feigned friendliness. As Meatshield #2 patted him down in search of weapons that he'd left behind for this very reason, he went on. "Actually, I'm glad to see you fellas take security so seriously. Can't say I'd be too happy if some lunatic pulled a gun while I'm enjoying a few rounds."

Once the groping was done, #2 nodded to #1 and returned to his post on the left. "Everything seems to be in order. You can head on inside. Enjoy your evening, sir."

As soon as he stepped down the entryway stairs, his senses were nearly overwhelmed. Smoke and the stink of booze - cheap and elegant alike - made the air thick and unpleasant to breathe. The light, what little there was, was an intense red and bathed everything in a bloody hue. A jazz band played off in the back corner, the heavy bass tones resonating through the room.

Scattered around were several red leather couches, occupied mostly by fat, balding men with cigars and glasses of liquor. They laughed obnoxiously back and forth at one another and squeezed the women the red dresses that seemed to be stuck to each of their arms. Whoever ran this place definitely knew what their favorite color was, and what kind of image they wanted to cultivate.

"What can I get you, sir?" asked a slender bartender in a crimson vest as he sat down at the bar.

Ashur wasn't really a drinking man, but he knew what he needed tonight. "Something strong enough to erase a memory," he said, precisely laying one hundred lien on the bar. The money itself was enough to buy a bottle of bottom-shelf whiskey; however, that wasn't what he'd ordered.

The friendly smile that the tender wore instantly shifted. With a nod, he replied, "Wait here, please." He then disappeared behind a curtain into a back room. When he returned, about a minute and a half later, he was flanked by two more Meatshields. "Follow me, sir," he said as the goons each took their places beside Ashur.

Understanding this was all part of the process, the huntsman nodded. He was led down a dark corridor to another door guarded by yet another bodybuilder. "Now," the bartender explained, "You are about to meet the King. If you want to walk out of here on your own, you'll do exactly as I say. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good. Once you're inside, you will speak only when spoken to. You will address the King as such, and you will keep your hands where they can be seen at all times." Fairly standard ground rules for when one was meeting with a member of the criminal underworld, particularly one that ran a speakeasy of sorts. The man rattled off a few more terms, and, if only to make him happy, Ashur made use of the age-old art of smiling and nodding.

When the door to King's office was finally opened, his shoulders were gripped by #3 and #4, and he was guided into a chair in front of an immaculate wooden desk. Compared to the main area outside, the office was much more palatable in terms of decor. Paintings of beautiful landscapes decorated the walls, along with an expensive-looking liquor cabinet. There were no windows to speak of, and instead, all the light came from the massive stone fireplace along the back wall.

On the other side of the desk was a black leather chair, over the back of which, the top of the head of the man he'd come to see was visible.

"So," came a voice, grumbling from the chair. "You want to disappear, do you?"

Following the instructions he'd been given, Ashur answered, "I was told that you could do that."

"Well, you see that all depends," The seat spun around, revealing the man known around the streets of Vale as "King." Out of all the men he'd seen since entering the Castle, he was the only one who would give Ashur a hard time in a fight. Even sat down and leaned back in his chair as he was, the mob boss still struck an imposing figure. Likely as tall as all his goons, he carried just as much muscle and even more scars. His knuckles were calloused and marked, indicating they'ed been used quite a bit over King's life. Ashur knew he would have been able to take him, but it wouldn't have been easy. Besides that, he wasn't here to start a melee. "Depends on how much you're willing to shell out, and how well you want to disappear."

Ashur nodded right along, not wanting to antagonize the brute just yet. "Let's say I wanted to acquire some false documentation that would get me access to a school... Beacon, perhaps?"

King chuckled quietly, which by itself sounded like it could have shaken the foundations of the building. "Well, yes, I can certainly do that, but if you don't mind my saying, Mister... umm."

"Dustin."

"Mister Dustin..." he said the fake moniker slowly like he was tasting it. "If you don't mind me saying so, you look a little old to be applying to a huntsman academy."

Ashur smirked. "You got me," he held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm actually here on behalf of someone else. He heard you hooked some of his friends up with fake transcripts, and was hoping to get in next time around."

King nodded. "Ah, well, in that case, I'm afraid I can't help you. See, I only do business face to face. Never trust a proxy."

"I understand. Although, maybe you could meet me halfway? A ballpark estimate of what a couple transcripts go for?"

The boss shook his massive head. "As I said, I can't help you if I don't know who I'm dealing with. Now, if that was all, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave. I've got quite a few important meetings ahead of me tonight, Mister Dustin. Have a nice night." With a curt wave of his ringed hand, he spun his throne back around to face the fireplace.

Shit. This wasn't what he was hoping for. But with how quickly King shut down the meeting as soon as he mentioned Beacon and transcripts, there was likely something there. He just needed to ask a little friendlier.

"Qrow and Raven Branwen!" The second the words left his mouth, the air around him cooled, and dead silence enveloped the room. This wasn't how Ashur wanted things to go down either. However, no plan survived the first contact.

King turned to face him, all levity drained from his eyes. "What was that?"

"The Branwen twins, I know you got them false documents. They used them to get into Beacon."

"And how do you know this? You work for the school?"

Ashur gave an internal sigh of relief but retained a face of stone outside. Thank the gods. He'd gotten him talking again. King was his only solid lead to the twins so far, he couldn't afford to fuck this up. "Not directly. Let's just say their arrival raised some flags." King raised an eyebrow. "Beacon runs background checks on all its applicants. When Raven and Qrow's came up, it was obvious they were forged," Ashur clarified.

The mountain of a man then nodded and stood up. Walking over to the cabinet, he retrieved two whiskey tumblers and a crystal decanter of bourbon. "I'm not in the habit of discussing my clients' business with strangers, Mister Dustin," he said as he poured the amber liquid. "Especially not for free."

Taking the glass offered to him, Ashur said, "I'm willing to pay. So long as you can tell what I want to know."

"Well, if you're offering to lighten your purse a little in exchange for information... I don't see any problem with that. Information is a commodity that I do deal in from time to time."

He watched as King sat back down and sipped his drink. Neither one said anything for a few minutes. Ashur had a feeling that he was being sized up. Like they were trying to see if he was worth dealing with.

"Fine," King finally said with a shrug. "I'll give the info I have on the brats. It won't come cheap, though. You're asking me to betray a client, after all."

Ashur's silver eyes narrowed. "How much?"

A sinister grin peeled at the King's lips. "Twenty thousand."

The graying huntsman choked on his bourbon. "Twenty thousand lien?! For intel on two-"

"Each." King finished.

Forty?! Forty thousand lien for some phony records and background info. Motherfucker, he must really value his work. "You're shitting me, right? Two bandit kids can't be worth that much."

King shook his head and sipped from his glass. "As I said, I'm giving up a customer. This might cause me to lose business in the future if word gets out. I've got to make a profit here."

Yeah, wouldn't that be a shame? Some child molester won't come to you to help get rid of his van. "I can't do forty," Ashur proclaimed honestly. While he did have a sizable nest egg set aside for Oz's assignments, he wasn't rolling in dough. "Thirty is the highest I'll be able to go."

The mod boss closed his eyes and pondered his offer a moment. He probably would haggle, people like him usually did. However, Ashur was honest when he said thirty was all he had. If he wanted anything more than that, he would most likely need to get what he wanted the hard way.

Much to his surprise, King placed his tumbler on a coaster and extended a large hand across the desk. "Thirty it is, then."

Ashur blinked. It appeared like he wouldn't need to get his hands dirty after all. That was a refreshing change of pace. "A-alright, then." The man's grip was stronger than his size suggested - and that was saying something.

King then reached down into a drawer and pulled out a manila file folder. Sliding it across the table, he said, "It's honestly surprising the little shits got into the academy at all."

"Why's that?"

"Well, first off, if you've met them, they aren't exactly good at hiding who they are. They also didn't even change their names. Just wanted their transcripts to say they attended a prep school in Mistral."

He had wondered about that. If they'd wanted to stay hidden, why not go with whole new identities? Unless they were running from the actual Branwen tribe and were trying to lead different lives. In that case, why fake the papers at all? According to Ozpin, they could have passed initiation without documents. "Any idea why?" he asked as he took the folder and slid it into his pack.

"My guess is that they wanted to fly under the radar." A fair assumption. The higher-ups did tend to look more closely at those skilled enough to apply to Beacon without records. With a sneer, King added, "Obviously, that didn't happen."

"Do you have anything on them before they arrived in Vale?" That was, after all, the very core of what Ozpin had assigned him to find out.

King groaned. "Much to my chagrin, I do. An associate of mine in Mistral acted as a broker between the leader of the Branwen tribe and myself. She smuggled the twins into the city, and it was up to me to give them new documents."

Bingo! So the bandits are involved in some way. But what use would they have in sending two of their kids halfway across Remnant, to a combat school?

"After that, though, it was out of my hands. I gave them the papers and sent them on their way. That, along with the files I just gave you, is all I've got on the kids." Meaning, he wasn't going to be discussing the matter further.

"Fair enough," Ashur nodded as he stood. "You've been a great help, sir, thank you."

King waved off the thanks with his hand. "So long as you pay," he said. "The bartender will tell you where you can leave the money on your way out. It all better be there... for your sake."

Ashur nodded. As much as he hated to admit it, it would be a mistake to piss off a powerful information broker/mob boss.

"Oh, one more thing," King called as he was stepping out the door. "Who told you how to find me? I'd like to have a word with him, if at all possible."

Silence the rat, more like. "You don't have to worry," Ashur said plainly. "I already handled it." It wouldn't do for his identity to be spread around the criminal underworld of Vale. Whatever the public chose to think about huntsmen, in his line of work, one couldn't afford the luxury of a strong moral compass. Thus, he'd been forced to plug the leak in King's operation for him.

Here's hoping all this trouble and money was worth it, Oz.

A/N: So... a little more focus on Ashur's work, this chapter. Don't worry, we'll get back on track with Team STRQ next time. We're starting to get into it now. Pieces are being moved into place, things are happening behind the scenes. And we're creeping ever closer to the dreaded first day of classes.

Hope you enyoyed.