Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY, or in this case, its characters.
A/N: This is a plot that I have been toying around with for a number of years, wondering where it would best fit. As a story it could technically fit anywhere, in almost any fandom, with the right kind of plot and characters. Hell, it could even be its own romance fiction. But to make this story work the way I want it to, a certain pair of characters are needed to drive the plot forward. And after thinking about it, I decided that this would really work as a Whiterose fic (like there aren't already enough of those. Hah~)
Anyway, I wanted to get this short prologue/teaser out to get a taste for everyone's thoughts and opinions on it before I get too far and figure out that people just aren't interested in this kind of thing, or POV. Not everyone will be, and I understand that. *shrugs*
Please note: This will be rated for language, adult themes, and eventual sexual content. Adults (and by extension college-age students) get up to really weird things when living away from their home countries. It's like… Borg being removed from their hive mind and operating on their own.
Or something. Anyway.
Enjoy.
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Lost in Translation
Prologue
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It's always the most obvious things you notice at first.
In most cases it was sight; colors, shapes, and symbols that you aren't used to.
A giant red flag fluttering in the nearly non-existent breeze of the terminal when you are used to the red, white and blue of your own country's flag. Gold stars instead of white? That would take some getting used to, and you aren't quite sure you ever would.
Or the giant dragon statue in the middle of the lobby. That was weird. Dragons were cool and everything, but did they deserve a place in the middle of an airport?
Well, why the hell not?
And let's not even get started on the weird letters symbols printed everywhere. Thank God for small favors that English was printed on everything important.
Like the toilet. See? Important things.
Sounds were usually next. The people talking around you in foreign tongues, some more rapidly than others, and some slowly, deliberately, as if talking down to another. As you walk by different people you pick out different languages, some you can vaguely recognize as ones you grew up with the bare knowledge of; Spanish, German or French, even Japanese to an extent because you watched way too much Sailor Moon and Dragonball Z as a kid and you're kind of an anime junky, but the majority you have no idea about.
A loud beep echoes through the airport as the intercom clicks to life, blaring out some sort of announcement in whatever they were speaking, and then again in English – but it is so broken and halting you have no way of understanding it at all.
And then in a third language – probably just as understandable – just for good measure.
Smells are also a big hint you are somewhere you haven't been before. When you step into a new place and take a whiff of something and aren't quite sure if what you are smelling is food or not. It could be something delicious, or it could be something absolutely rank. You don't know. You have no way of knowing because you haven't been exposed to such things before.
In looking over and seeing the familiar sign for Kentucky Fried Chicken right next to another restaurant you have never seen before, its symbols glowing brightly in some unrecognizable letters, you feel your lips quirk up into a pleased smile with the knowledge that they at least have fried chicken in this country if all else goes to shit.
As you try to make your way from the customs check to the next gate, trying your best to ignore the fact that you are actually in another fucking country for the first time without anybody else, your boarding pass clenched in your fingers like it was Willy Wonka's Golden Ticket, you thank your lucky stars that there were clear directions in English of where to go.
You did your research, of course, before even buying your plane tickets and therefore know your luck with English written on signs wouldn't last long once you get to the smaller, less-developed cities. But damn it, you were determined to enjoy the luxury while you have it.
As you board your next flight and settle in, you notice that there are significantly less Caucasians than on your transpacific flight, and from their slightly furtive stares towards you, it was obvious that they realized this too. You sink slightly into your seat, tucking your shoulder-length brown hair behind your ear and, in a conscious effort to hide your pale visage from any gawkers, you reach down to pull out a magazine from the pouch by your feet.
Unsurprisingly, not one bit of it is in English. You huff slightly, but instead try to occupy yourself with focusing on the pictures and attempt to piece together the articles from what little context you can derive from them.
The cabin buzzes with an announcement from the captain, again in a language you don't understand. The only different in this time from your previous flight was that there was no English interpretation after, forcing you to assume what they were talking about mirrored every other safety check and weather details for your destination city.
In this case, cold. Really, really cold. Or, what the internet said, at least.
Who the hell lived in negative forty degrees weather, anyway? You never knew before that Celsius and Fahrenheit met at negative forty until you researched this city. Could anyone live in that kind of place? And who would be crazy enough to go there, let alone agree to reside there for half a year?
You, apparently.
The trip was much shorter – only three hours compared to the previous one's twelve – and by the time you land and disembark, you can feel your nerves kicking your gut into submission.
There is still English written on signs, but only barely. Any large presence of English was replaced by Russian and unrecognizable symbols; proof of how far north, and how far from home, you are. There are no glaring hints that this was anything close to where you came from, and you are beginning to wonder if this was one of your better ideas.
There was absolutely nothing that reminded of you of home. Except for your luggage; your backpack slung across your back, your rolling bag still making its way from the bowels of the plane, and the clothes on your back, everything else was new, and different.
Again, it's always the most obvious things you notice at first. Then again, wouldn't you? You brain is trained from a young age to skip over the obvious, most common things and pick out the new and outstanding, the weird. Well, maybe 'weird' is a relative term. To you, weird would be considered everything you weren't used to and had never seen before. Which, aside from on television, had to be just about everything.
Some people lived for it, the weird and outstanding, and some people had no idea how to handle such a drastic change from the norm.
Like diving into the deep end of a pool when you only just learned how to swim. Or crashing an advanced science course when you only passed the introductory one. For some people it might have been too much, and certainly, not everyone would admit to secretly wanting to try such things.
And some people, like you, had no idea of what they wanted, simply wanting to try something new and exciting while they were young and still could.
Nevertheless, you were legally an adult now, and needed to act as such. You begged your family to let you do this, to let you try something that would teach you just as well as any semester in school could, to prove yourself as independent and grown up. And now it was time to prove that you could take the first step.
It was with trepidation and weak legs you walked out into the airport lobby looked around. It was much smaller – and shabbier, truth be told – than the first airport you saw earlier that day. That much was obvious, as the first one was the country's capitol airport; one of the busiest in the world. It was practically the central hub for aircraft in all of Asia.
And this, this single-runway airport in the far corner of the country, was not.
People milled around the area, some gathering their checked bags and wandering away towards their destination, some waiting by the baggage claim, their heads whipping around as they looked for whoever it was that was supposed to greet them.
Knowing someone was supposed to meet you by the gate, you joined the rest in looking around in hopes of finding some sort of clue – a recognizable face or something similar.
Finally, with a short exhale, you see a woman standing not far from you, holding up a simple sign.
Ruby Rose
Feeling your stomach somersault with what you knew to be relief, you step forward and address the older woman.
"H-hi. I'm Ruby Rose." You say softly, but loudly enough to be heard above the din of the other people.
She's wearing a heavy cream-colored jacket, unzipped, and a warm-looking cap covering her black hair. She could have been your mother's age, give or take a few years, and smiled down at you with a warm expression tugging at her lips. The woman's kind face makes you smile in return, and you straighten, already feeling a little better now that someone was there with you.
"Hello Ruby. It's nice to meet you. My name is Cindy." She says in slow, practiced English, holding out her hand for you to shake. You take it, and she smiles again. "Welcome to China."
"Thanks." You reply, the fact that you had actually arrived – that you actually did it – settling in your heart, and you hold your hand to your breast, trying to clasp onto the feeling of accomplishment, for nothing but some semblance of luck. You have no way of knowing – truly knowing – if this was the best idea you could have had, or even a good idea. But you know in your heart that you will make the best of your six months here in another country.
This was the only chance you would ever get, after all.
"I'm glad to meet you, too."
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End of Prologue
A/N: This is a story about something I have a lot of personal experience with. Travelling abroad for the first time, living in a new country and learning the culture and language, and firsthand understanding how difficult such a thing could be once you're there… and finally, the importance of having some sort of companionship with a fellow like-minded traveler. Or in this case, anyone who even SPEAKS your language and can understand your situation and feelings, regardless of their personality *cough cough*.
As I said before, many of you will probably be put off by the plot, or the writing style (I mean… 2nd person? Who does that?), and I understand that. That's fine. I wanted a certain type of immersion with this fic and if I manage to interest at least once other person with this, then I will be happy.
This will likely go upwards of 80k words at its end. I hope to regularly update this, but might be pushed in line with my other long-term fics. It really depends on my time, and my muse and where it takes me.
Anyway, please Comment/Follow/Favorite!
***Will Work for Glomps***