Remnant's Calling

3x6: Breaking Down

"What the fuck did I just watch?"

Fritz stared in utter confusion at the screen as he took a drink. Of all fights he caught, this one was by far the weirdest.

"They're either the luckiest or dumbest assholes I've had the chance to watch." Johnny turns from the TV to the pair. Qrow throws back the bronze liquid with a frozen expression while Fritz takes it slow and steady, his face puckering as the bitter liquor burns his throat.

"Thanks for the drinks, Johnny boy! I owe you one," Qrow says. Both Fritz and the drinkslinger snap to the doorway. The two glanced at one another and then back at him, but he wasn't there.

Johnny shakes his head and takes a long breath through his nose. "Guess that's something else going on the tab." He gestures to the door. "You're free to leave, bud. Not going to make you pay for him."

Fritz nods in gratitude and rises from the stool, nearly tripping over his feet, and then steadied himself a moment later. His eyes constrict from the burning horizon sun. As he adjusts, he steadily lowers his arm and pauses at the sight of the sunset. He emanates a soft hum and then turns, leaving for the Vytal Festive grounds.

⋯

A ghost town. The empty streets and barren sidewalks, casting his thoughts to back to every mission he carried out. Despite how lively Miami could be, it always seemed so empty as he drove to his deal out death. 

"You don't look too well. Perhaps you should rest and let that weight off your shoulders."

 Next he knew, he was sitting, like a jump cut in a movie or show, just him and a cold black bench.

"Do you remember what I told you?" The gray face of a horse slid into his peripheral. "Bearing too much weight could lead to the inevitable collapse of everything." The words hung in the air mockingly. "But I suppose things already have, haven't they?"

"They fell a long time ago." 

She leans into him, and whispers, "and yet here you are, fighting a war you know is lost. Why?" 

A beat. "It can still change. There's still hope."

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

He chuckled, then reached in his jacket, pulling a cigarette and beaten up lighter, "sometimes it's hard to see in the dark." 

"But how do you know there's light at the end of all this?"

A cloud of smoke shoots from his nose like a bull. "I don't."

She scoffs, black eyes shooting daggers. "He was right. There is no point in helping someone who doesn't want to be helped." She pulls away harshly, voice thick with disgust. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Sarah.

⋯

Mary eyed the screen, her eyes gleaming with wonder. She witnessed dozens of tournaments, and yet they always find a way to steal her attention.

"Hey, miss, your noodles are getting cold." Mary perks up and glances at the massive bowl, side-long.

"Sorry about that," She stammers, picking up a pair of chopsticks.

"You don't have to apologize," says a gravelly voice.

Mary snaps toward the direction, and a soft smile stretches across her face.

"Hope I didn't take too long," says Fritz. He's walking down the dirt path six feet from her, his hands stuffed deep in his jacket's pockets. The off-duty waitress eyes him while he walks up, taking the seat beside her. "Did I miss anything while I was gone?"

"Oh, not much, darling," Mary tells him with a vibrant smile, "other than front seats to the fight."

Fritz chuckled. "I suppose you're right." His head tilts up to the moon while he lets out a short sigh. 

Mary stirs the massive bowl for a few moments, then turns to him. Yet she pauses upon seeing his pale expression. This is different; she can't point out how, but it is. 

"Are you okay?" Her voice tugs at his heart and mind.

He pauses, and his head gradually tilts down until, eventually, he's staring into the nothingness in front of him, and it stares back intently. And then, something weighs on his left shoulder and then tampers off to his right. Jacket glances down, seeing Mary's arm wrapped around him.

"Come on, handsome, it's getting late. I know a place you can stay."