Chapter 1: Penny Polendina

I stand at the end of the grocery store snack aisle, a bag of crunchy pretzels in my left hand and a small shopping basket hanging from the crook of my right elbow. The pretzels are coated in a rich honey-mustard glaze - my favorite - a sensational blend of salty, tangy, and sweet in every bite-sized piece. They call out to me like a magnet to a robot, and in much the same way it is a fatal attraction, for I'm not actually allowed to eat them.

Dr. Ironwood said to cut back on sodium, or else it will disrupt the electrolyte balance my medication is meant to regulate.

I look back at the bag of pretzels forlornly, then down at my basket of strawberries, cranberries, and unsalted almonds - all tasty and undeniably heart-healthy, but none quite as satisfying. I chew my bottom lip, my eyes flicking back to the bag with its inviting splashes of sunshine yellow, a transparent square of plastic giving me an alluring view of the knotted snacks inside. My physician's warnings fail to smother the wave of rebelliousness rising in my chest.

Treating myself to one thing won't kill me, I tell myself as I place the bag gently on top of the fruit so as not to crush any of the delicate morsels.

With a beaming smile, I turn and freeze in my tracks as a great clattering sound rounds the corner of the aisle. I flatten against a rack of assorted nuts as the nose of a partially-filled shopping cart nudges into view, pushed one-handed by a young woman struggling to drag a second cart behind her. This one appears to be the source of the clamor, one of its wheels spinning wildly a centimeter off the ground while the other three struggle to turn as though rusted in place. The cage of thin metal bars rattles so violently under the stress of carrying such a weight of goods that I jump well clear of its path, expecting imminent structural failure. Every second that the overburdened cart holds up is a testament to its engineering.

I watch this spectacle wide-eyed. Not a small amount of grunting can be heard on the other side of the mountainous cartload as the girl wrestles it shuddering and squeaking into the aisle. In the end, she gives up and leaves it parked crookedly in the middle of the way, blocking my path. I consider excusing myself politely, but the thought of calling out turns my breath into a wispy breeze incapable of carrying audible sound. Eying the small gap and deciding that squeezing through would be rude - not to mention highly unlikely - I opt to wait. Awkwardness prickles my skin just sharing space with the stranger obliviously responsible for the impromptu blockade, but I have infinite patience and negligible understanding of social interaction. Just the thought of ringing up my purchases at a cashier used to fill me with dread, until they put in kiosks that let you do it yourself.

With nothing better to do, I observe from as much distance as the aisle allows while the girl scrutinizes an entire wall of potato chip brands. People-watching like this became a favorite pastime of mine during the long hospital stays of my childhood; watching visitors file in one after another to see the other long-term patients had given me plenty of training in the craft, such that I could accurately read a stranger's personality from their behavior but wouldn't have a clue how to strike up a conversation.

This girl, I note with no effort required, has quite a thing for red and black.

Red-accented jet black lace-up boots give way to dark pantyhose and a layered black-and-red petticoat. A soot-colored hooded sweatshirt with an inner lining of deep crimson tops off the ensemble and cements the monochromatic color scheme. Her black hair is cropped short and rough, the fringes hanging in choppy, uneven lengths to her shoulders and swaying gently when she moves.

As she scans the shelves, the girl frequently glances back at a long shopping list in her hands. She paces down the aisle, stops, turns back, brushes a lock of hair out of her face as she bends to inspect a lower shelf, straightens, continues pacing, some part of her always in motion. I decide that she is a whirlwind made up entirely of small but rapid movements. Every action is deliberate and performed to its fullest with little consideration or concern for error. Although this does ultimately make her look clumsy, it also lends a certain level of sincerity and even earnestness to her manner.

At length, the girl selects three bags from the shelf and drops them on top of the lighter cart. I can only guess that the swiftly approaching new year has something to do with this excessive display of consumerism, and I idly wonder what kinds of plans might require not one, but two full shopping carts to haul the necessary supplies. Whoever she is, she must have tons of friends - or a few friends with gargantuan appetites.

"Oh, sorry! Was I in your way?"

I snap out of my thoughts to see the girl stalled in the act of moving her carts. In the space of a blink, she's standing in front of me with the most apologetic silver eyes - Silver eyes? - and her hands up in supplication.

"I was in your way! Sorry, it's just my friends and my sister - well, she's really my half sister, but that's not important - they sent me to get all this stuff for our new year party," she holds up what looks like Santa's entire naughty and nice list, "And Weiss said - Weiss is one of my friends, she's usually kinda grumpy and anyway, she said, 'Be sure to get the off brands, they taste the same but cost less,' not that it matters to her since she's paying for all this and her family is unbelievably rich-" The girl cuts off to take her first breath since launching into her long-winded apology. "So yeah, I was really preoccupied and didn't notice you and like I'm really sorry… uh?"

"Penny. Penny Polendina."

"Right, sorry Penny. I'm Ruby Rose, but you can just call me Ruby."

I'm so disoriented by Ruby's rapidly changing conversation topics that I can only stare dumbly at the hand she offers me. My gaze flickers back to the other girl's silver-dollar irises, unsure of how a simple apology had turned into this. The concern is gone from Ruby's face, only an indomitable smile in its place.

Yes, earnest was a good word choice.

"Um, this is getting awkward…" Ruby says through her grin, her hand still outstretched.

I squeak a surprised, "Oh!" and reciprocate the gesture, my mind going into overdrive. How hard should I shake hands with a stranger? I don't want to come off as aggressive and make her think I'm angry about what just happened. But if I'm too gentle, will she think I'm still upset and haven't accepted her apology? Panicking, I pump Ruby's hand vigorously, expecting more resistance and overdoing the motion. When I realize this, I hastily stop and shift my shopping basket from one hand to the other to keep them occupied.

"Well, it was really nice meeting you, Penny. I, uh, I guess I better finish my shopping."

"R-Right," I reply. Convinced I had imagined them, I'm still replaying the past two minutes in my mind. Had I met someone just as awkward as myself, but who is also warm and friendly and confident? And whose hair, I only now realize, is actually dyed a very dark red. I'm still frozen in place when several boxes of disposable silverware and abundant glittery party favors clatter to the floor as Ruby tries in vain to maneuver both carts on her own.

Without thinking, I stoop down beside Ruby to help her collect the dislodged items. The other girl gives a quick smile of thanks and chases after the plastic-wrapped cheese ball rolling away down the aisle. There's a curious quirk to her lips when she returns, ball of cheese in hand - not simply gratitude, not plain joy and not quite humor. It resists my assessment, further baffling me and possibly influencing my next impulsive action.

"Let me help you, Ruby."

"I- What?"

"With the shopping carts, I mean. I'll push one."

Comprehension blossoms in Ruby's eyes.

"Oh, no, that's okay! You have your own stuff to take care of - I'll manage."

"It's no trouble. I'd really like to help." Perhaps most surprising of all the things I feel in this moment is how genuine my words are.

Ruby opens her mouth to respond, then closes it, defeated. That strange quirk of her lips only grows more pronounced and the corners of her eyes join in.

"Okay, but on one condition," she says, and there's a hint of playfulness to her tone.

"Yes?" I follow up apprehensively.

"You have to come to our new year party."

Hello hello! I've been scrambling to write a fluffy, healing Nuts and Dolts story since Saturday. I really wanted to do something to help the fandom handle the events of episode nine, and if it brings just a few minutes of joy to even a few people who were as devastated as I was, I'll be incredibly pleased.

Thanks go to JDRIZZLE for making the icon and the members of The Mechanical Flowershop group for being encouraging and supportive.

Lots of love and happiness to the RWBY community~

-yurImperial