As he walked back from the firing range to his dorm, Smokey was feeling a bit restless. He’s got a lot going on in his head right now, and no matter what he does to try and distract himself, his mind always wonders back to one of those topics.
That doesn’t sit well with Smokey. He’s not the thinking type. If he had it his way, he’d just let the Serins of the world deal with the complicated issues, while he’d just beat the ever-living snot outta some Grimm. Yup, if Smokey was in charge, the world would be a lot simpler.
But no, the world doesn’t conform for anyone, and Smokey’s left to deal with his personal problems on his own. And they are personal problems. Monetary problems, to be precise. He fired the Good News once in the Vytal Festival, and that alone took a chunk out of his wallet. Sure, since his Dad was nearby, the replacement didn’t take long to make, but if he has to replace a bullet while he’s in Beacon or as a fully-fledged huntsman out in the field, he may not be able to afford the time or the money.
What’s worse, that one bullet he used amounted to pretty much nothing. To be honest, he was pinning his hopes on scoring a sponsor to fund the Good News. But who in their right mind would fund something that doesn’t provide effective results? In the match he used it in, Smokey lost in an absolute blow-out, only dealing damage when the fight was effectively already over.
Oh, there’s also that. Smokey got spanked in that bout, no doubt about it. He had no answer for Prism in terms of combat, and that stung. It stung hard. He doesn’t think he’s the type to go down without a fight, but he couldn’t even get a single shot off on her. Is she really just that much better than him? Between that and his loss in the first round of the 2v2 bracket, Smokey’s confidence has taken a pretty hefty hit.
What he really wants right now is a chance to prove his worth, to show that he isn’t just “compensating for something” by carrying around massive weaponry. Maybe that’s why his feet took him to the notice board, hoping something there would give him the opportunity to show his stuff.
And, as fate would have it, there was something.
He read the briefing once, twice, three times, wondering if he should pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. This mission was practically made for him. Those were the exact types of Grimm he had signed on to fight: he wanted to take on the biggest and the baddest. He had to take them on. And, before he even realized he was doing it, Smokey had pressed the “Accept” button to take the mission. Unfortunately…
A red dialog box appeared after he punched in his credentials. ”’Denied’, huh? Figures,” the gunlugger said dejectedly. What did he expect? The mission had a danger rating of five stars, no way a first year would be allowed to take on something of that magnitude.