At three years old, Blake realises the stupidity of the world.
Why would they - the men she reads about in thick history books - claim that colour was an act of defiance? How did they know what colour was when everything was in different shades of black and white?
She figures it out: they are a group of crazy people that made up the idea of colour just so they can pick fights with her mom and her dad and the rest of the world. They probably even made up the tradition of naming children based on colour just to gain some kind of moral ground. The books said something about a Mantle (she doesn't really know what that is) and bullies and something else. She closes the book after three lines because there's just too many words blurring together.
But at three years old, Blake wonders why they - the people of Menagerie and apparently all of Remnant - still continue it.
At five years old, she learns that not everyone sees the world in black and white.
Her mom and dad don't, and she feels a whole lot of pride whenever she talks about them to anyone who wants to listen. And they do want to listen because their life is dull and bland and definitely not like her mom and dad. They're what she now terms as: extraordinarily special. She learned that phrase from her mom.
She scrambles up her dad's tree trunk of a leg, gaining small footholds on the creases of his baggy pants. She feels his big hands hook under her arms and lets out a loud woohoo as she's hoisted onto his lap. She grins up at him, "Dad, what does yellow look like?"
"Yellow, huh? Hmm."
She watches as her dad scrunches up his forehead and feels the rhythmic tapping of his thumb, telling her that he's thinking. So she waits and waits and waits and finally, he begins, "It's a bright and beautiful colour, Blake. It's the colour of the sun when it shines in the sky so we can see during the day. It's the colour of lemons and bananas. It's also warm and happy, like how your mom and I felt when she gave birth to you."
She giggles at that. "Tell me more."
"It's energy. It's the feeling of confidence to win your fights, or even just that happy feeling when you finish a good book."
"I finished one earlier today!"
She feels a yellow feeling right now when her dad grins so widely the sides of his eyes crinkle. She holds her head up high that whole afternoon, proud of the small victory.
"What about purple?"
She looks at the light-gray blotch on the paper and compares it with the other spots. By now, she has her own palette of grays: red-gray, blue-gray and yellow-gray, so maybe she can pretend to see colour. But when she asked about purple, her dad used two paint bottles then mixed it. He's never done that before, and it mesmerises her.
"Purple is a mix of red and blue. It feels like a calm breeze in a meadow full of flowers. It's the colour of grapes and the sky during a sunrise and a sunset. Your mom wears it, see that armband?"
"Yeah!"
"Purple would suit you, too. It's an unusual colour, but it's very pretty. Like you."
She giggles, then decides then and there to have a purple and red and yellow outfit when she grows up.
At seven, she's confident she knows the most about colours among her peers. She wields this knowledge like a weapon, and sometimes - when she's feeling extra nice - she shares it, telling others about what emotion ties with what colour.
"I love your lunchbox."
"Thanks! It's brand new."
"Can I borrow it?"
"No? It's new, Laverne. Why would I–"
"I just want to see it!"
"You're seeing it! Hey! Get your hands off it!"
She's looking at the commotion across the playground when a third party spots her and calls her over.
"Hey! Hey, Blake, what colour is jealousy?"
"It's green," she says confidently.
The one with the lunchbox, now engulfed in long protective arms and tail, raises an eyebrow. "You said trees were green, like, yesterday. Are you saying trees are jealous?"
She falters for a second before blurting out, "Well, yeah. We're the dominant species. Everybody - everything - wants to be like us."
This gets her more than a few admirers, and she can see why the men in the thick history books used colour as a way of gaining power.
"I'm so sorry, June."
At fifteen, she discovers the effects of losing colour.
"He was my soulmate. He—I—we were suppose to be together."
"I'm sorry," she repeats, because she doesn't know what else to say. She rubs useless circles on her friend's back. "I'm so sorry."
"Everything is so dark. It's not supposed to be like this." June twists in her chair to face Blake's dad and holds up the folded cloth that came with the tragic news. "I'm supposed to know what colour this is. I'm–I'm supposed to know. What colour is this?"
Ghira, face sombre, lowers himself onto his knees and holds the girl's trembling hands in his. Blake feels a selfish sense of relief that she doesn't have to do the comforting - she's never really been good at that. She rises from her chair and lays a hand on her dad's shoulder. She's given a small nod, and she walks away as he tells June, "It's the colour red. For courage. For bravery. You should be proud of him, June. Don't let the world around you think otherwise."
"It's so hard."
It's at fifteen years old that Blake promises herself to walk away when - if - she ever finds her soulmate. She promises to never put herself through that suffering, that regret of choosing to love. Because that's what she's taught, that love is a choice. And she'll be damned if she'll let destiny or fate or something higher-up decide that for her. So she'll walk away. She'll walk away and never look back because really, what can a soulmate give in a relationship that someone else cannot?
She hears a sob force itself through June's throat and she struggles to bank down her instinct to run away. Deliberately, she moves to the kitchen and sees her mom fixing four cups of tea on a tray. She stays by the doorway, and she catches her breath when her mom's hands trembles hard, and a splatter of hot tea hits the floor.
"Shoot."
Blake stays where she is until Kali notices her. When she does, her ears lower, and her hand nervously grips the crook of her elbow.
Kali breaks the silence. "How is June?"
They both know the answer, but Blake says it anyway, "Not good."
Her mom sighs and picks up a cleaning cloth to wipe the mess. She would offer to help, but Blake knows it's her way of getting her thoughts together. She walks forward and leans against the counter, waiting.
Finally, she stands and Kali speaks again, her voice quiet. "Blake."
She says her name in that tone, that tone that meant it's going to be a serious talk. She feels her shoulders hunching - she hates serious talks. She remembers her first one vividly: right after her playdate with a friend, her parents sat her down in the parlour. She could tell something was up - or maybe she did something wrong - and she had asked what it was. She remembers her parents looking at each other, the way parents do when they have a telepathic conversation, before her mom spoke. She said that dad was going to take over as the High Leader of the White Fang.
At first, she was ecstatic. A yellowredorangepurple kind of happy. The organisation of the White Fang was huge, so her dad being a leader must mean they might move into a bigger house and attend cool parties and be called sir and ma'm.
But, her parents shut down that assumption almost immediately.
Her dad is going to be more busy than ever with meetings and conferences with important people. He said that he'll need her help, too. He said that they were to hold peaceful protests to fight for equal rights between Humans and Faunus. She nodded eagerly, instantly ready to serve her people.
So she was there, in the forefront of every protest, every rally. A time came when others looked to her for guidance, a child, but she readily gave it.
But now, as her mom looks at her with trembling eyes, she wonders why anyone ever listens to what she says.
"Your father's stepping down as leader of the White Fang."
She jolts out of a hazy fog. "What?"
"He—we, think that it's best if he is no longer the head of the organisation. But, his leadership didn't go unnoticed, so he was assigned as the new Chieftain of Menagerie."
The latter news flies over her head, unheard. "Is this because of June and Kyran?" A foul taste fills her mouth at the mention of her dead friend, but she ignores it.
"No," her mother answers immediately. "This was decided a few days ago, but we wanted to hold off on telling you until all papers were finalised."
She isn't sure why, but anger spears through the shock. "And you didn't think to include me in the conversation?"
Kali busies herself with the tea cups, which had gotten cold. She's emptying them down the sink before she murmurs, "We thought you would agree with us."
"That wasn't your call to make!" Her raised tone makes her mom jump.
"Blake." Her mother mumbles her name quietly, patiently, and she begins to feel specks of shame. Damn it. "I'm sorry. But you have to understand our position in the White Fang only puts targets on our backs. Targets that can set very bad people down our path, and the only way to get rid of them is to leave entirely."
The specks of shame go up in smoke. "En-entirely?"
"Yes. We'll be turning over our membership masks. We're leaving. Completely.
She can imagine a video camera zooming into her brain, slowly transitioning to a film reel of her childhood. The protest signs. The shouting. The time when she tended to a stab wound. Her training to fight for her people because that's what her parents had told her to do. Because she was taught to fight for what was right.
Fast forward to now; they're telling her that they're stepping down - no. Leaving. They're leaving the White Fang. What, because some sort of enlightenment that they're actually important people? If someone had wanted them dead, they would've—
That's it!
"What's the real reason?"
Kali looks up, confused. "What?"
"Our family has been in the White Fang for decades." She gains momentum, spitting every word like an accusation. She pushes away from the counter and clenches her fists. "Dad has been the leader nearly all my life. Why didn't you leave earlier? Why now? What happened, Mom?"
"Nothing happened, Blake." For the first time, annoyance and exasperation leaks through Kali's voice. It makes Blake's fists tighten. "This wasn't a decision we made overnight. Ever since your dad was offered the position, we always weighed the pros and cons for the safety of our family. For your safety. At the time, we thought we had a chance to make a change. And we did. We started small, then that piled up, like a snowball effect. Then the Faunus thought it's wise to take even bigger strides. They began to get more aggressive with the protests, even some without your father's consent. So, overtime, they became less and less receptive to your father's demands. So, we thought it best to step down, and let someone else bring back the peace."
Blake's breathing is heavy, uncertain. She watches as her mother, still holding an empty cup, turn towards the window. She wonders what she sees. Is the sky still blue? Are the trees still green? Even after Kyran's untimely death, is the sun still bright yellow? Because to her, even the hues of gray and black and white seem washed out.
Then Kali turns around again, and Blake sees her eyes are damp. They hold hers, unmoving. As seconds tick by, they remain silent. She knows what her mom isn't asking: to leave with them.
It's not an impossible choice, she knows that. She can choose to live a life without rallys, without fights. She can put away Gambol Shroud like an old memory, a reminder of a childhood she's grown proud of. But she can also choose to stay, to keep fighting. To stand up against the inequality and unwarranted hatred that she's been taught - by her parents - to fight against.
She suppose this fits into a gray area, that middle ground between black and white. She doesn't like it, but she knows herself, and she knows her mind has already made a decision.
"I'm sorry." It seems she's full of apologies lately.
Kali looks up. She looks afraid to ask, but she does anyway, "For what, honey?"
"I can't go with you." She delivers the blow with a wet voice. "I...I can't leave the White Fang. Not yet."
"Blake—"
"I'm sorry, Mom."
And as she boards the air shuttle that would take her to the mainland, she can blame nobody but herself when the world seem to get a whole lot dimmer.
To solidify her promise, she chooses black and white as her main colour scheme. The tailor asks why, when there're other colours that would suit her better. She doesn't answer, only staring at him until he shrugs and goes about his work with the sewing machine. After a few minutes of the quiet whirring of the needle, she gives in and tells him to use a bit of purple.
She also buys one long, black ribbon. Then she ties it around her ears like a bow and already feels like she's betraying everything she is.
But she wears her outfit with pride, because it opposes the men in the thick history books. Because at fifteen, she decisively declares that they didn't know what the hell they were talking about.
She finds a new home in Adam Taurus, but her world remains the same, colourless. So is his, but they're both okay with it. He doesn't want to look for his soulmate. Apparently, things are easier when they're in black and white. More straight-forward. He said if anything, colours would only distract him from what needed to be done, and he cared very little about distractions.
Blake agrees wholeheartedly.
She remembers her dad saying red is the hardest colour to describe. He said red was the colour of love, his heart as it beats for his wife, his daughter and even his people. It's the colour of happiness he feels when all three of them are together. It's the colour of healthy apples and lovely rose petals.
But it's also the colour of blood, as it glows menacingly in the eyes of Grimm. It's what her dad sees when someone disrespects his family, and what drips down his knuckles when he loses control. He pointed out that the word danger is in red, because it's a bold colour and people notice it immediately.
"Does...does that mean you're red, Dad? People notice you all the time. Are you dangerous?"
"No, honey, I'm not red. I can be dangerous if I need to be. But never around you. I promise."
"Okay."
Silently, red is the colour she associates with Adam. Dangerous, but loving. She sometimes forget the first part, but as they tear through their first cargo train from the Schnee Dust Company, she is sharply reminded of it. The confident swipes and cuts across the air and sometimes...much to her protest, even through bodies. She sees what little care he shows towards his men. She sees him ordering them to start unloading, and nonchalantly shouts at them when they show even a minuscule sign of fatigue. But afterwards, when it's only the two of them and the black night sky peppered with white, glowing dots, she forgets it again.
Adam tells her of his hopes and ambitions. "I want our people to experience equality at work. It's why we robbed that train. The Schnee Company's been using Faunus as cheap labour. Sometimes, they don't even get paid!" Blake feels Adam's fist clench and she holds her breath, but releases it when he relaxes, then continues. "So, we're not stealing. We're only taking back what's rightfully ours. You get that, right?"
"I do." She's trying to.
"Okay. I'm doing this for you too, my love. For us. Your parents held you back from your true skills in battle. And just a few weeks ago, you were still keeping your weapon in check. Remember what I said?"
"Slice and shoot without looking back."
"Exactly. I'm just trying to free you from their oppression."
She doesn't argue, doesn't say that she doesn't feel oppressed. She misses her parents, dearly. She misses the quiet talks they'd have about their day, then her day, before delving into many conversations about colour. She sometimes begins to write them a letter, telling her that she's alive and she's okay. She wants to tell them that she's gotten better with fighting, and that they should be proud of what she's achieved. But she knows that if she tells them of her actions, especially if it's in the name of the now-notorious White Fang, they'll be so disappointed. And that's what will hurt her the most.
So she crumples the paper and burns it before anyone notices.
She's tired.
"I'll set the charges."
She wants to stop.
"What about the crew members?"
She wants to leave.
"What about them?"
Before she can respond, a metallic spider charges towards them and she's forced to fight. She's forced to fight again and again and again until Adam glows a really bright white and slices the machine into dust. She runs ahead, the wind threading through her hair and jumps onto the other car. She turns, waits and tries to find the impending regret that she's sure will come.
When Adam runs towards the connector, she's surprised it doesn't.
"Goodbye."
She slashes the cars apart, and she looks up to see the black trees framing Adam's shrinking figure, with the white, broken moon above him. For a second, she thinks of the moon's glow as a spotlight, as if saying look. look at what you left behind. But then she makes out Adam's horns, and instead the glow says look. now you're free.
She doesn't know why she does it at first, but she soon finds herself filling an application for Beacon Academy. It's after she submits it that she lets her mind think.
If she couldn't fight the humans for her species, then she can at least fight the Grimm. As a huntress, she knows that she'll have the job of protecting both Faunus and humans, who she has learned to accept. Obviously, the divide between the two species had narrowed over the years. But for Blake, it wasn't the segregation that troubles her. It was the fact that she did nothing to alleviate it and she actually made it worse.
Blankly, as she wanders the streets of the kingdom she swears to protect, she wonders what colour represents shame.
She doesn't really care where she sleeps, but it bothers Blake just a little when she's told she'll be sleeping with her entire year group in one big room. She doesn't show it though, nodding her head and carting her single piece of 'carry-on' luggage: a flimsy briefcase. Everyone else apparently has the money for suitcases. She even spots a bellboy pushing a hotel luggage cart. She shakes her head and begins to make her way to the door.
As she walks down the hallway, she lets her eyes roam around, picking out the students that walked against the throng of first years. She notices a girl with tall and floppy bunny ears, eyes big and apologetic as she bumps and weaves around suitcases and bodies.
"Excuse me. Sorry. Yatsuhashi! Wait!"
Blake lets her lips curve into a wry smile and continues forward. She walks with the traffic, veering left into the Main Hall, already buzzing with excited conversations and action. She makes a beeline for a spot against the wall, passing male students preening and posing for whatever stupid reason. She's in the middle of an eye roll when she bumps into one of them, except this one feels more fluffy and soft rather than hard muscles.
"S-s-sorry!" He chokes out and immediately bends to pick up her case. "I—um. That was my fault. I wasn't looking. Here, let me get your bag."
Face placid, Blake says nothing and makes a grab for her case before walking away, ignoring the way the boy's hands stilled mid-action. That was the first ever interaction she's had with a student and she doesn't really know why she thought it'd go differently. Shaking her head, she finally finds a spot, and settles in by unpacking her candlestick, a matchbox, and a book.
The lights in the hall dim, and the chattering magpies lowered to hushed crickets. She doesn't really need the candle to read, but she lights it anyway. The bright white glow stings her eyes for a moment before they adjust. Opening her book to a memorised page, she sits down on the floor, her back against the wall.
She hears the scuffle rather than see it.
"Wait! What are you doing—Yang—"
"Hellooooo—"
The obnoxious greeting stops midway, and she's forced to look up. At first, she thinks it's the whitest white she's ever seen. In fact, the girl - the one that didn't cross her arms and didn't look like someone had stolen the last cookie from the jar - looks almost like she's glowing (and it wasn't just her smile), like the candle she lit just a few moments ago. But the glow expands across her field of vision, and her book falls out of her limp fingers.
"Yang! You're embarrassing me, let me go!"
Colour. Colour. This is the world in colour.
The girl's wide eyes are locked onto hers, and she's sure her expression is pretty much the same. The smile drops and morphs into a big 'O' of wordless surprise. Blake immediately identifies her hair as yellow - what other colour can match the sun in her hair? She thinks that the girl's eyes are pretty, just so damn pretty she can stare at them all day. She might've, if she didn't catch herself ogling like some ten year old boy. So trepidation sets in, a deep drop of the stomach, and before she knows it, she's made a shadow clone and she's running and running, out of the Ballroom, and doesn't stop until she reaches the big statue outside the school.
Finally, she lets herself breathe and discovers fear and panic is the colour gray slowly seeping in, like a spreading stain on a cloth.
She fights to control her breathing, her vision wavering at the seams. Everything is so different, so much more...well, colourful. Bracing her hands on her knees, she bends at the waist and looks down. She sees purple for the first time. Willing to take her mind off everything, she decides she'll have to give that tailor a tip because that purple looks great. Then she notices the green grass overlayed with a blue (maybe?) colour. Is that because it's night? Then she notices...red trees? Are they dangerous trees? She'll have to read up on that one. Then she sees purple and a light red colour on the flowers floating on the blue water.
Her breathing evens out, but she's too afraid (or too hypnotised) to stop, so she names all the colours she can.
When she finally finds steady ground, she calmly makes her way towards Glynda Goodwitch's office - which takes twice as long because of all the blue and green and red- and knocks. The door eases open, and she crosses the threshold. She takes a moment to take it all in, the different hues and shades and gradients of colour she never would've imagined. She makes a mental note to borrow at least ten books about it.
Glynda herself stood behind a glass table, her weapon loyally attached to her hip. She has her eyebrow raised, her head tilted in question before she speaks.
"What can I help you with?"
"I'm Blake Belladonna," she begins. She wants to tell her she has yellow hair and a purple cape, but she doesn't. "I need you to put in a transfer to Haven Academy."
The last part sounds more like an order rather than a request, and Blake can tell her tone had irked the older woman. She has a second to imagine what she will do if she gets kicked out. However, to her relief, Glynda simply scoffs and sits back down, booting up her computer. Blake wonders what kind of green the screen is.
"We don't do transfers, Ms. Belladonna. We don't just ship students around just because the student says so. That is not how the academies work."
"But—"
"There will be no exceptions to this." Glynda looks up at this and sees Blake's expression. Her eyes narrow, "But do humour me. Why do you want to transfer?"
Because my soulmate is here and it only took half a second - maybe even less - to fall in love with her. But she doesn't say that.
"Just wanted a change," she murmurs.
"A change? A new room?"
A new continent entirely. But she doesn't say that, either.
"No..just..." She can't think of anything else.
"Ms. Belladonna. You have been here for less than a day. I can't tell you much, but you have my word that you won't be staying in the Ballroom for the duration of your time here at Beacon. That would just be...unethical."
Blake fights back a sigh and resigned, she nods, turns around and walks out. Behind her, she hears Glynda pick up her Scroll and murmurs, "Professor Ozpin? Yes, tomorrow's weather indicates clear skies..."
She continues walking until she reaches the entrance to the library. It's still open, so she walks in and heads to a computer to search for books about history and colour. She passes aisles of tall bookshelves - who knew book covers were so many colours?! - and eventually finds a book about the entire spectrum.
She's amazed by everything, and for a brief moment, considers herself lucky. She learns the colour blue and its variants, remembering how her dad told her about the sky and the fresh feeling of a shower. She sees red for the first time, and her heart gives one solid thud before she forces herself to turn the page.
She powers through four other books before her head lolls to the side as she sleeps.
"Hey!"
It comes out as a greeting, not an accusation, but Blake jumps anyway when she hears it. Instinctively, she hides the green leaf she was admiring behind her back (because what normal person would look at leaves?) and fixes a bored expression on her face. This changes into shock and a trickle of fear when she recognises the girl from last night. She might've seen her during launch, but she makes it a point to arrive after the girl was released from the cliff.
Her first thought is how majestic she looks with her ready-to-kick-butt outfit and her flowing mane of bright yellow. Then her next thought is how her eyes - lilac, if she remembers correctly - are now officially her favourite colour. It sparkles of promises and fun and she would love nothing more than to get to know the person that owns it.
Instead, she runs. Or, at least, tries to. Before she takes three steps, she's pinned down by the girl and her Favourite Colour is suddenly very close to her face. She struggles to breathe, to move, but the locks on her wrists are tight.
"Hey," Favourite Colour Girl repeats. "Calm down, okay? Why do you keep running?"
Blake doesn't answer, but she stops moving. Her assailant cautiously eases back and she sits up. She tries for venom, "Maybe because you attacked me?!"
Favourite Colour Girl simply wags a finger. "Nope. Didn't attack you last night, so that reason doesn't go. Name's Yang, by the way."
Yang. Yang with her Favourite Colour and pretty hair and pretty weapons and pretty everything else. She works for a nonchalant tone, but she doesn't trust herself to say much, so she mumbles, "Blake."
"Blake. That nearly sounds like black. Is that why you look monochrome?"
She notices Yang doesn't mention the other colour on her outfit. "No."
"Hmm." Yang pulls her up, and traitorously, Blake's body immediately misses her close proximity. "So, why run?"
She's acting like the world didn't just do a full-360 on her the night before. Shouldn't she be in awe as she is? Can this soulmate thing just be one-sided? She feels the gray seeping in again, but she fights through it to answer her.
"I like to run," Blake berates herself for that dumb statement. I like to run. I like to breathe, too.
"Oh, yeah?" Yang crosses her arms. "You any good at it?"
She thinks back to her childhood, and even just a year ago. "One of the best."
Then Yang laughs. She laughs, and Blake frantically tries and associates it with a pinkyellowscarletorangegoldpurple type of colour. "You should meet my sister, Ruby. She's mega fast. That's her semblance, actually. Speed and a florist's paradise right behind her. You don't leave rose petals behind you too, do you?"
Blake shakes her head. She doesn't point out that she meant something different, and she feels a dark navy blue colour settle in, and Yang hasn't mentioned anything. Maybe but she doesn't need to, but it would be nice to know she wasn't the only one freaking out about all this. So she keeps quiet.
"Jeez, a woman of less than five words, huh? That's fine, but we better get moving if we wanna grab a relic."
Soulmate. Relic. Partners. Fear and more gray panic creeps up her throat, and she tenses up to run away again when Yang grabs her wrists. She wants to get angry - can she read her mind too? - but doesn't quite make it. Instead, she lets herself be pulled and she walks, wrist-in-hand, across the browngreen forest floor.
"Oh, by the way," Yang turns and shoots her a grin that might've outshined the sun and the moon combined, "I like the purple."