Indecisive Soul
By wildstraydog
Chapter One: Listlessness
So guys, Blake's Mistake's next chapter is almost finished, but in the mean time I thought I would post something a little different. This is an experimental story, and I'm curious to think what you all will think of it. This won't affect the release of Dating the Professor's Son, which will take the place of Blake's Mistake once it finishes. If anyone missed, the next chapter of The Heat and Not Even Aura can Heal All Wounds released, which I don't think people saw because of a glitch in the site.
I'm starting this story out on an M-rating, which is rare for me, and silly enough, I don't know why. My original stories are usually pretty graphic in comparison to my stuff on here, perhaps I should change that? Again, let know what you guys think of this little kernel.
A mechanical pencil scraped against the blue notepad that Jaune held up, the outlines of the bird that rested atop a cracked boulder coming together. He used the kneaded eraser and brushed away some of the fingerprint smudges that were left on the coarse paper, the white crumbs spilling into the patch of grass he sat on. The sketch only took about ten minutes to complete, but he found the final product satisfactory. The amount of detail he put in the jagged lines of the boulder really showed, and he couldn't help but smile.
Some of the passersby and merchants that were headed for the massive gates that led into the capital of Vacuo shot him queer looks. He might have been strange to some, but his hobby brought him an unlimited amount of pleasure – just the act of creating something from scratch using your hands, was magnificent. Jaune gathered his notebook and drawing utensils, placing the latter in his small matte gray bag that he slung over his shoulder. The afternoon was still young, but there was no telling how packed the hotels were.
There was also the problem of money, and the few Lien he managed to scrape together was starting to weigh thin in his pocket. Any money he needed was outweighed by the heavy sword on his back, the golden metal hilt jabbing his exposed neck – Crocea Mors, a family heirloom that he had no right to carry because of his recent actions. But what did his family expect him to do, just accept being forced to enroll in some prestigious academy for huntsman and huntresses? Jaune held no desire to fight the Grimm ever.
Yet he took the sword, but only as a means for protection in the wilds. The first couple of nights in the jungles of Vacuo weren't a cake-walk, and he half expected to die a couple of times from fright. Somehow he lived by hiding in the trees or staying in the nearby villages along the way... Jaune was beginning to think that taking the sword was a mistake, given he couldn't even properly handle it. The first time he lifted the blade, he almost fell backwards, and the hilt jammed into the side of his shoulder. The nasty bruise it left the next day still ached with every step he took.
Large plains surrounded the border to the capital, and the towering gate reached unbelievable heights. Jaune was accompanied by folks of all backgrounds on the makeshift gravel trail the city made. He tried to imagine the lines that started from the decorated doors that served as an entrance to the city, with around ten or so guards armed with top of the line rifles supplied by the Schnee Dust Company. Jaune found the creative sights aligned on top of the fore stock impressive; dyed in teal with flakes on the edges. Yes, he could even find some artistic quality in a weapon meant for killing.
He was lucky to have reached the gates in the middle of the day, before traffic got much worse. Sounds from city that were foreign to him could be heard from the other side, and the distant wail of a siren caught his ears. This would be the first time he entered such a large social environment, only hearing tales form other kids back in his village. Sure he was invited to tag along with his parents or sisters, but the horror stories they told made him avoid any such journey. Jaune was seventeen now, and he couldn't be afraid of silly thoughts – it was time he grew up properly.
Although his sisters would laugh at him for putting on a charade, Jaune was no by means reclusive – but only a tad shy when engaging with others, especially womenfolk. He could hold conversations easily, although whether they were very productive was another story. That was why he let his art do the talking, one of the only mediums he found that allowed him to express himself without shame or embarrassment. His family loved his work, but that didn't dissuade his Father from encouraging him to enroll in Beacon. Just thinking about home made him sometimes regret running away.
"Hurry up kid," an agitated man grumbled, pushing him forward. Jaune let out a sigh and made some room for the decrepit-looking old man, disregarding his rudeness on account of his old age. Everyone needed a place to feel safe, and these gigantic walls before him provided that. He still didn't know what to expect on the other side, nor where to find lodging. Where was he supposed to find some money? The citizens in the capital probably didn't appreciate outsiders begging for work – maybe he could draw a few pictures for some strangers?
To be honest, Jaune, had no idea what he was doing. He was motivated simply by the fact that he loathed the idea of becoming a huntsman, a profession that nearly killed his Father dozens of times. He could still remember the solemn look on his mother's face whenever he was gone for extended periods of time. Jaune didn't want to raise a family questioning if their own father would ever make it back alive. Maybe it was selfish thinking, but he needed time to explore what the world offered before being forced away to fight a war he wanted no part of. There were people born to slaughter the Grimm with their mighty prowess, and he wasn't one of them.
The line was moving at a steady pace, and he was only one person away from talking with the guards. He stared at the doors they were guarding, admiring the intricate designs; metal surfaces adorned with golden nails that lined the polished alloy, while the handles were painted in crimson. Atop the door was the symbol of Vacuo, three swords with wings on the edges – funny that a desert wasn't in the background. The plains that were around the city were actually rare, and the heat that Jaune usually encountered felt tame in comparison.
Whoever was before him entered through the doors, and the obnoxious creaking noise from the rusted hinges echoed. "Next in line," One of the soldier's called out, directing his gaze at Jaune. He stepped forward with caution, a gulp sounding in his throat as he let the guards inspect him. They took Crocea Mors and flipped it over, studying the collapsible shield and making sure it met all safety requirements.
"Are you a huntsman in-training or some vagabond?" one of the guards briskly asked, holding up the sword with interest. It would be hard not to recognize the insignia on the shield.
"A wanderer," Jaune answered with a low mumble, "just curious to see the city is all." The guard nodded, handing him back the blade and taking out a piece of paper that he stamped with red ink.
"Welcome to the capital." The guards moved aside and opened the doors, the glimpse of the city only several feet in front of him. Jaune almost couldn't believe how easy it was – then again he wasn't a large black creature with fangs intent on wiping out mankind.
Jaune felt a sense of anticipation as he walked through the doors, a brief moment of darkness as he stepped into a room that led out into street. Thousands of sounds rushed his senses at once, as he came upon the main street, hundreds of rushing cars driving by - the experience was almost too surreal. As he looked around, Jaune noticed the trash that littered the sidewalks, and the pungent smell that filled his nostrils. He looked for the closest kiosk that was usually by the entrances to such big cities, and found a display by some fast-food restaurant. Maybe he could find a cheap hotel downtown.
The kiosk was situated next to a bench and flashed in different colors to attract tourists. Jaune flipped through the screens and spotted a reasonable price for a hotel next to a local park that was popular. Sounded like a hospitable place, and a good spot to catch some scenery and do some sketches, maybe even of some people who would be willing to pay some Lien. That in of itself was hard to do, especially when his social skills weren't top notched. Jaune was desperate however, and a nice hot shower sounded marvelous – even a day under a roof would be welcoming by now.
The park wasn't the biggest in the city according to kiosk he read only fifteen minutes ago, but the scenery was breathtaking enough. The wide open grassy area was circled by sculptures of famous huntsman and huntresses of the ages, while in the center stood an oddly shaped fountain that was packed with children throwing coins into the water. Green benches were scattered across the area with couples laughing, as they sat under the cover of planted trees. The park was covered with a concrete trail that looped back into the street. The location was a prime spot for business as far as he was concerned, and he wasn't alone in that thought, spotting food vendors near the fences.
Jaune's money was short, and not near enough what the hotel was offering even for him. He found an empty bench next to the fountain and pulled out his notebook and utensils, hoping that someone would be willing to step forward and let him attempt to capture their image.
Minutes passed, and while he sketched out the fountain and its continuous flowing water, people walked by without a thought of his makeshift caricature skills. He would admit that he wasn't really advertising, but people had to have seen him drawing right? He let out a sigh and examined his current drawing, satisfied by the contour lines. Jaune really wished he possessed a scroll, the convenience of such a device undeniable in Vacuo's largest city. He was about to give up and take a break for some early dinner, when he noticed girl begin to approach from the other side of the park.
A girl with olive skin and curly black hair that was pulled back into tiny ringlets came into view. She had soft brown eyes and thin lips that were placid. The girl wore a black corset with a dark gray front, and on her skirt was a purple hem with laces on the back. The top part of her dress had a high collar and elbow length sleeves accompanied by small black cuffs around her tiny muscle-toned arms. The belt she wore looked to be some storage device that carried different shaped knives. There was no denying that she was huntress from one of the schools, probably Shade academy.
"Excuse me," she almost whispered, "are you doing portraits?" Jaune sprung to life, almost dropping his pencil as he leveled the notebook in his hand.
"Uh, yeah, please have a seat, Ms-?"
"Gwen, my name is Gwen Darcy."
A beautiful name for an equally cute girl. Jaune blushed at the thought, and invited her to sit down on the fountain across from the bench. "I, hope you don't mind, you're my first customer for the day." What a pathetic line, Jaune wanted to smack himself and redo the entire conversation.
"I don't know mind, I usually walk through the park for some tranquility, but I've never gotten my portrait done before." Gwen remark with a bashful smile, pulling back a stand of hair behind her ear.
Jaune lifted the book and studied her frame, putting down the outlines of her skeletal structure while acknowledging the architecture behind her. When he sketched, Jaune often drew in soft lines, using the motion of his hands to guide across the paper with few pauses as possible. He fell into the momentum and his hand etched some of the meticulous details in her clothing, filling out the shadows in the fabric and muscle she earned from years of training. A smile usually pervaded his expression when taken over by his creative muse, a timid melody from a violin playing – his oldest sister used to play the violin.
Emilia Arc, his mother, often labeled Olive and him the artistic ones of the bunch. Jaune tried his hand with several musical instruments, including his favorite, the piano. Once he began to pursue art he didn't have much time to play, and the hobby fell to the wayside. The skill never disappeared, and whenever he saw the instrument, Jaune would take a moment to sit down and play a small number. There he went again, reminiscing about life back in the village; were his parents already looking for him? Knowing his mother, she probably had the police canvassing the entire continent.
He brushed aside the lingering thoughts and focused on the picture, finishing off the highlights in her dark hair. Gwen maintained her relaxed smile, her patience outstanding considering how little movement was required to be a proper model. Jaune's only fear was that she would be dissatisfied with the final product. He lacked any real supplies to paint with, leaving the caricature bereft of some life, but it wasn't rushed - Jaune made sure of that. A sigh left his mouth, and he flipped the notepad so that Gwen could see.
"I hope you like it, I would have painted it but..." Jaune scratched the back of his neck, anxiety taking over as silence dominated the atmosphere.
Gwen stood up from the fountain and blinked a few times before ripping the drawing from the notepad. A smile tugged her pursed lips and her dark brown eyes lit up. "I love it, you're very talent...," Gwen lifted her head in thought, and blushed. "Sorry, I never asked your name."
"Oh, its ok, my name is Jaune, Jaune Arc." He extended his arm and took in her frail hand, shaking it with enthusiasm.
"So, Jaune, are you also attending Shade?" Gwen asked as she peeked behind him, her gaze directed at Crocea Mors leaning against the bench. The question didn't bother him, it was right of her to assume as much because of his age.
"Uh, no, I'm actually just visiting the city," he mumbled, "that sword's really only used for protection, though I'm not that good." Jaune finished with a chuckle, lifting the blade onto his shoulder with a struggled grunt.
"That's too bad, I'm sure my friend would like to meet you. Are you here to become an artist then?" Gwen stood up and walked over to one of the trees to lean against, folding her arms; her ample bosom came into Jaune's view. He averted his gaze and maintained eye contact.
"Yeah, something like that I suppose – to be honest I don't really know what I plan on doing next," Jaune hesitated to answer. He didn't know what to expect after running away – Remnant was huge, and there were so many places to explore. But again his predicament circled back to money, and he couldn't travel if he was penny-less.
"Well, I hope you find what you're looking for Jaune," Gwen giggled, flipping her dark hair, "I really appreciate this picture, here you go." In her hand was about fifteen Lien, a good amount for the service he provided.
"If you ever change your mind, Shade is always holding tests for students." Jaune nodded, and waved back at the first gorgeous woman he met outside of his village. He never disliked hunters, Jaune respected their line of work, but he still found the act of any violence barbaric. Sure he was a hypocrite, but he accepted the label graciously. It was comical that someone recommended a huntsman test when the very reason he left was to avoid taking one.
A few more customers dropped by within several hours, and by the end of the day he made a total of two-hundred thirty Lien; not counting the fifty in his wallet. He was surprised by how many people flocked to his station after Gwen Darcy left. Jaune thought of the day as a success, with enough money for dinner and one night at a cheap hotel – he didn't expect anything grand. He thought the upcoming night would be more perilous, with him hunkering down in some shelter to seek warmth with other homeless people. Tomorrow might not be as lucky, and there was always a chance he would have to seek employment in the city.
Downtown was livelier than the previous streets he visited, and with the sun coming down, lights of all colors sprung to life across the city. The sidewalks were packed and the late-night businesses and restaurants were flourishing with patrons. Music replaced the usual quiet night that Jaune was accustomed to, the soothing rhythms pleasing to his ears. There was so much for one person to take in, he couldn't decide on where to eat with all the flashing neon colored signs. Each restaurant appeared to specialize in a particular kingdom's style, and he felt intimidated by the urgency of everyone around him. Perhaps he should have picked a hotel first before going out?
Jaune was about to give up, overwhelmed by the choices, and settled on entering one of the little restaurants on the east side of the street. The establishment was still big even when compared to some of the larger restaurants that surrounded it, and he still found himself waiting to be seated. He would have been nervous about the prices based on the fancy décor, but as he drew closer to the entrance he spotted a menu on display and found it reasonable. The average rate for a hotel was usually about one hundred fifty Lien, so he could spare enough for a good meal, especially after camping for days.
The hostess at the front door whisked him away to a nice little booth near the windows. Jaune found himself unsure of what to do, never having been pampered to such a degree. The variety of choices on the menu was astounding, though it was embarrassing that he couldn't pronounce some of the names. He relaxed into the velvet cushions and observed the rest of the restaurant; low hanging purple lights were propped on the walls, and the kitchen could be seen in plain view near the back. In the center of the restaurant was an oval stage with an unoccupied red piano, and on the walls were paintings of famous dignitaries and huntsman from across the land.
There were four pillars scattered in the restaurant, and around the columns were the insignias of the different kingdoms in Remnant. The atmosphere was enjoyable, and the keen choice in art brought a smile to his face which the waitress noticed. He fumbled for the menu with a red hue on his cheeks, quickly deciding to order a simple breast of chicken dipped in marinara sauce with spices. As the waitress left him, he looked over to the window and noticed the sun abating, the skyscrapers blocking the cloudy orange sky. He became somber, the doubt of his actions beginning to weigh upon him again – the lethargic wave he felt often taking over any thoughts of the future.
Reality had a way of stabbing you in the back, the truth of the world coming out of nowhere in the blink of an eye. What was he going to do, keep running away? How long would this momentary journey even last... one of his sisters would eventually find him. He peered over at the sword at the opposite side of the booth, a symbol of his reluctance to accept fate. Jaune refused to accept it, that he would have to raise this sword and fight the Grimm in blinded honor. The pen was mightier than the sword, at least he liked to think so.
"I should just enjoy my meal," Jaune sighed.
Any pretense of normalcy was interrupted as bullets sprayed into the air, the lights in the chandeliers above shattering. Glass shards fell onto the table mats below, and patrons ducked onto the ground in a panic. "Everyone down on the floor!" one of the masked assailants shouted, kicking aside some of the fine wood polished chairs. Jaune remained under the table, anxiously watching the events unfold. There were about five men wielding assault rifles clad in white vests and black clothing, but what he instantly recognized were the Grimm masks they wore - They were White Fang members.
The methods of the terrorist organization were quite known, even in his small village - but why would they target some restaurant in Vacuo? Jaune peeked from beneath the table and scanned the room, the footfalls of the White Fang members drawing closer as they walked by. Near the other side of the restaurant, he saw two bodies dressed in black suits hunched over on the ground, their chests riddled with bullet holes. At the table was an older gentleman with a large white mustache in a purple jacket, trembling as the Faunus approached him. One of the members leveled his gun to the man's face and cocked a smile, removing his mask to reveal a jagged scar down his left cheek.
"Are you Treasurer Haldeman?"
"Y-yes, what do you want?" Haldeman blubbered, covering his wife and children with both hands.
"I'm surprised you don't know," the Faunus said before backhanding him. "On your knees – you're going to tell everyone here what you did." The White Fang member finished snarling, pointing the barrel of the rifle against Haldeman's cheek.
"W-what did I do," Haldeman stuttered, "I've done nothing to you people!" a grimace popped up on the Faunus, and he kicked Haldeman in the stomach. No one in the restaurant said a word as the family protested, the prevailing silence almost eerie – yet Jaune could do nothing but watch in horror.
"Do you not own the Haldeman mines outside the city!?" The Faunus yelled, pushing the barrel of the rifle deeper into his round cheeks.
"Yes, yes I do, now what is it you want!?" the Faunus huffed at his brazen remark. He pushed Haldeman down and walked toward the center of the restaurant onto the stage where the piano was located.
Jaune was able to discern the ragged appearance of the terrorist now, his clothing more modified then the others. The left side of the Faunus' face was hidden by ragged black hair that trailed down to his shoulder. He bent over the piano and played a few keys, a brief melody echoing in the restaurant. The notes weren't random, and it was obvious by his hand work that he was familiar with playing the instrument. The pleasurable song did little to sway the fears of everyone in the room, rifles still trained on anyone who dared to move. Jaune made sure that Crocea Mors remained hidden under the table with him.
"Now, Treasurer Haldeman, I want you to tell everyone here about the job cuts you made in your factories these past five months," The Faunus ordered, while stealing a bottle of wine and pouring himself a glass. "Specifically how all of those workers were Faunus... that all the human employees with the same occupation remained untouched." Jaune could see the White Fang leader's hands shake in fury, the red wine in the glass he held swirling in circles.
"That's preposterous," Haldeman replied to the speech, "the factory was losing money, cutbacks had to be made – I'm sorry that majority of the workers in the mines are Faunus!" the ragged hair Faunus tilted the glass up to his lips and swallowed the remainder of the wine, letting out a brief sigh. Jaune knew nothing of politics or the dealings of Faunus unions, but if the White Fang were targeting this individual, they must have had their grievances. Although the organization was known for their radical demonstrations.
The Faunus stepped down from the stage, his boots echoing against the wooden floor as he made his way back over to Haldeman with an expression of anger. "You will address me as Saren, is that understood?" Haldeman nodded, his eyes twitching as sweat poured down from his neck.
"The police should be arriving soon now, just as we planned. We can't begin the demonstration until we have an audience – the blood of the Faunus that you killed will be repaid." Saren preached, waving his rifle around, his anger gone and replaced with glee. Jaune was becoming nervous, knowing full well how hostage situations often turned out.
"Uh, boss, should we make someone an example?" one of the members asked from across the room. Saren tilted his head and placed the rifle down onto one of the broken tables, cupping his chin in thought.
"We might as well," Saren drawled, "grab that man." The member nodded and hefted a middle-aged man in a black suit up to his shoulders, pushing him toward the middle of the stage with Saren following.
The man struggled in the grasp of the White Fang soldiers and pleaded, "Please don't hurt me - I've nothing against the Faunus or your cause!" They forced him onto his knees and bound his arms.
"In war... they often said the Faunus were foreseeable sacrifices," Saren muttered, pulling out a revolver and placing it at the back of the man's head. "The same can be said about you people." Saren squeezed the trigger, brain matter and pools of blood spilling onto the restaurant floor. The man's body collapsed, and left on the back of his head was a gaping hole with sear marks on the edges.
Children began to cry, and people shuddered in horror at the gruesome scene. Jaune twisted his face back in revulsion, and he felt a sudden urge to vomit... he couldn't believe he just watched a man get executed. Did the White Fang really operate this way, by killing innocent civilians? The man known as Saren blew the smoke from the barrel out of his face, his finger hovering over the crowds to pick another victim. This was all too crazy for him to absorb, surely he didn't plan on needlessly killing someone else?
"The radio's going crazy boss," one of the men laughed.
A sigh left Saren, "Killing just one man isn't going to make a difference... Treasurer Haldeman, I want you to make available employment opportunities for the Faunus – you'll also pay monthly settlements to the families of the men that died in the unsavory conditions of your mines." Jaune heard a gulp from the large man, as Haldeman attempted to formulate a sentence.
"That could take weeks – I would have to talk to the board of directors-" Another gunshot rang out as Haldeman cried out in pain. Half of his left ear was blown away; blood and tears dripped onto his fat cheeks as he hunched over in pain.
"For every hour you disagree to our terms, someone else dies," Saren's eyes widened, and he craned his neck to the side to pick another victim. "Ah, how about that lovely young woman there?" his index finger pointed to a corner.
Again, Jaune looked on as the White Fang members hoisted the woman onto the stage, her constant tears causing the makeup on her eyes to run. Saren, an obvious moniker for the merciless terrorist, lifted the revolver, spinning the chamber until he was satisfied. Jaune found himself shaking in anger, his fingernails digging into his palms – he didn't understand how someone could be so cruel. The woman was about to die, someone he didn't know, and yet he felt compelled to act. Jaune was many things; weak, socially awkward, a failure, but he was never a coward. His hand impulsively reached for the hilt of Crocea Mors, tightening his grip on the grooves.
Saren's finger wrapped around the trigger of the revolver, and before he could fully squeeze it, Jaune ran out into the open with his shield lifted and blocked the gunshot. He found himself panting, the adrenaline pumping through his system. Jaune's arm was numb from the vibration of the shield, and his legs wouldn't stop quivering. He only now realized how heavy the Arc shield was, the golden insignia planted on the middle now in plain view. Jaune wanted to smile at the terrorist's reaction, his right eye twitching in brief anger.
Any confidence he felt diminished as he was pushed back.
"Who the hell are you?" Saren hissed.
"Uh... nobody special," Jaune struggled to answer, scooting back from the intimidating figure.
Another one of the men laughed at his pathetic answer. "He must be one of those students from the academy here, boss." Saren glowered at him, pulling out a curved blade attached to his back.
"Ah, of course, one of those schools - I'll enjoy killing him." Jaune stood back up and hefted the blade above his head, waiting to cross swords for the first time in his life – something he never planned to do.
They were brought out of their brief standoff when a large explosion erupted from the back of the restaurant. Debris and kitchen ware flew past Jaune and the customers, and smoke rose in the room, blinding the terrorists. Jaune could hardly see in front of him, covering his mouth to not inhale the smoke. Gunfire rang out in the background, and the grunts of the White Fang members sounded off. Saren twirled around, looking for whoever caused the sudden commotion, his expression that of fear and anxiety – the tables had been turned. While his back was exposed, Jaune ran forward with his shield, bringing down the bottom edge of his shield onto the back of Saren's neck.
Saren's head jolted forward, and he collapsed onto the floor, his eyes rolling back as the smoke began to clear. Jaune sat on the ground beside Saren's unconscious body and wiped the sweat from his forehead, taking a moment to catch his breath. He looked around and saw the carnage left after the explosion and winced at the dead bodies. The four White Fang members were dispatched without mercy; arms and legs were strewn across the floor, while one of the member's heads was twisted all the way around - another body was punctured, guts dangling from the wound. The wooden floors of the restaurant were now stained in blood, and Jaune finally lost control of his stomach, vomiting next to Saren's body. He wiped his mouth and stood up, putting away his shield so he could leave the carnage.
"Where are you going boy?" Jaune froze, a shiver running up his spine as a strong calloused hand gripped his right shoulder. Jaune looked up to see the menacing stare of a man burning into his soul.
"I... I don't know." Jaune barely answered in fright.
"Jaune... is that you?" a familiar voice called out. He looked near the gaping hole in the restaurant where pieces of rebar stuck out, and a wooden plank fell from above. Stepping over the debris, was Gwen Darcy, the girl he drew earlier in the park, and his first customer. She dusted her skirt and approached Jaune with her arms folded and an amused expression.
"You know this boy, Gwen?" The man's hold on his shoulder lightened.
"Sort of," Gwen dryly remarked, "he's the boy who drew my picture." Jaune felt the man's glare intensify, like a thousand daggers piercing him in the back.
"Oh really..."
"Calm down Cornelius, I paid him to do so." The malice induced aura dissipated, and the man known as Cornelius flashed an innocent smile.
"My apologies, you know I worry about you."
Jaune averted his eyes from the bodies on the floor, "Um, Gwen, do you mind if we talk outside?" Gwen wore a confused expression, but nodded.
"I supposed we should, I don't want blood on my new heels." Gwen and Cornelius escorted Jaune past the sprinting policemen who ran inside. Shaken men and women were escorted by the droves, while some of the children continued to bawl their eyes out in confusion. For such a welcome meeting with Gwen, the scene couldn't be more chaotic.
"So Gwen, what are you doing here?" She giggled at the question.
"Visiting my favorite restaurant," she curtly responded, "My Uncle and I often eat here, they have some of the finest cuisine, and at good prices too." Jaune scratched his cheek, questioning if the coincidence was fate, or just that - pure luck.
"I'm surprised he was here, given his disheveled appearance." Gwen's uncle, Cornelius scoffed.
"Is this place, like fancy?"
Gwen let out an amused hum. "You really don't know who I am then? At first I thought you were just being courteous."
Based on her surprise, Gwen must have been somewhat famous. He racked his brain, thinking back to anything he ever heard on the news about the last name Darcy, but nothing concrete came up. Sure he wasn't the most news savvy person ever, but it was embarrassing nonetheless. The looks her uncle were giving only caused him more anxiety – he was on edge ever since his arrival, and the results of his power were quite obvious by the corpses in the restaurant. Jaune decided to shake his head, slumping his shoulders in defeat.
"Sorry, I don't know."
"My niece is Gwen Darcy," Cornelius flatly answered, "heiress to the Gwen Darcy Foundation – the largest manufacturer of electronics in Remnant." Jaune was still drawing a blank, though the importance of it didn't go unnoticed.
"Do you own a scroll by chance?" She asked.
"Uh... no, my family never got me one before I left." Gwen pulled out her customized scroll from her pocket, the back covered in bright red stripes and diamonds. She turned it over and showed Jaune a symbol above the glass screen; a circle with wings, and in the middle the letters DF in bold.
"You mean – wait, your family created the scroll?"
"That's our most well-known creation, yes, but we also do hundreds of other electronics you probably have used – I don't really like to brag about it." Gwen explained with a sigh.
"It seems the boy had no idea how popular this restaurant is." Cornelius commented, flicking a bit of earwax off his fingertip.
"The food looked good, so I went in."
"I really should thank you for saving Treasurer Haldeman, he's a very important business partner of my family. Without you, Cornelius, wouldn't have had the opportunity to flank them." So he was a distraction?
"To be honest... I don't know why I jumped in like that," Jaune mumbled, a frown replacing his usual smile. What he did was foolish – if Gwen's uncle hadn't interfered, he would be one of those bodies decaying on the floor.
"I assume because you're a decent human," Gwen complimented, "Jaune, where are you staying for the night by chance?" Jaune lifted his head, the thought of searching for a hotel forgotten after being taken hostage.
"I got some money for a hotel tonight." Gwen appeared disappointed, tilting her head. She looked lost in thought, until a smile tugged at her thin lips.
"Forget about the hotel, I'll give you some accommodations as thanks for your bravery – it's a shame my family we'll have to pay for the repairs to the restaurant, but I was always told not to leave a debt unpaid." Jaune's demeanor brightened. He was amazed by her generosity.
"I – I don't know what to say, thank you," Jaune sputtered, "I'll do my best not to inconvenience you!" Gwen let out a fluttery laugh.
"Oh you won't be staying with me," She continue to giggle, "you'll be staying with Cornelius." Jaune slowly looked at her intimidating uncle, the man directing a malicious smile in his direction. He was beginning to regret accepting Gwen's offer, but it beat sleeping on a lumpy cot.
It's a different story, but one I hope you enjoy. The ramifications of what Jaune witnessed will be explored in the second chapter, including where his journey is going to take him. For those who are concerned that RWBY or the others haven't shown up, don't be, they will show up in the story, but I want it to be natural and not forced. Gwen Darcy is on team NDGO if any of you forget, but since we don't know much about them other than their fight in volume 3, I decided to have some fun and expand the girl's backgrounds.
No pairing has been decided yet on this story, and I think that's a good think, it doesn't limit me to persuade Jaune's decision one way or the other, although don't expect a harem out of this. Please review and let know what you think!