It felt to Yang as if some great fire within her had been extinguished. As if it had flickered, died out, yet left behind a thick veil; One of smoke, despair, which clouded and dulled the senses. It left her stumbling within her own head, unable to focus and drained, so drained, of energy, almost as if it had been sapped from her very soul.
As many did, Yang elected to find comfort in a drink- just one, of course. To drown herself in liquor and regress into some blissful, if brief, ignorance was… disrespectful, in her eyes, to the man she- They- mourned.
Gone, but not forgotten.
There was still an air of hostility at Junior's club, but the feeling was muted, pushed aside in the face of shared tragedy. The bar, even devoid of energy as it was now, brought fonder memories to the forefront of Yang's mind- of brighter times, where the only thing that had mattered was the adrenaline rush and the feel of something New, something Exciting. Back before Beacon, before Roman. Better days.
Though she hadn't seen Ruby since the news hit- her younger sister had been away with Weiss on some errand, though it had undoubtedly reached her ears by now- she felt confident that her sister was handling it far better than she was; not hiding behind forced confidence or going to some sketchy bar in the middle of Vale, certainly.
Nah, Yang thought, she's probably organizing some big tribute. Being the leader we know she can be.
The swell of pride managed to, albeit momentarily, break through the thickening despair that had clouded the Blonde's mind, and she became aware of the people, the sounds, that surrounded her. Lights were set to low, and few had gathered here, of all places, but Yang recognised some that had.
Junior's presence was a constant at the bar, and though he was still gruff as usual, his eyes held some tinge of apathy, or perpetual sadness. He felt it, just as they all did. The Twins, too, kept up their façades of stoicism and professional integrity, but seemed far closer to the breaking point than their boss ever would, if the cracking frowns and downcast eyes were anything to go by.
As Yang approached the bar, gaining Junior's suspicious glare as she did so, the brawler spared one more glance across the room, settling upon a flash of pink nestled deep into a shadowed corner, two white eyes staring back into lilac ones.
The friction between Yang and Neo remained, but two sets of eyes, one bitter loser and another smug illusionist, merely watched, seeking movement, and a chance to spring into action and relieve their bitterness, their repressed rage. Yet neither did.
The time would come for combat, it was true. But not on this day, when all were united by grief and memory.
They turned back to their respective goals, Yang the bar and Neo her endless thinking; always thinking, but never making a sound. A ghost, almost. Perhaps sharing in grief was better than this endless, lonely brooding? The short girl wondered, slumped in her dark corner, if that would even be possible with the blonde, her enemy.
Without a sound, Neo slid from her seat, bypassed those who lingered near the bar, and sat, wordlessly, besides Yang. For once, the brawler said nothing, merely raising a surprised brow. In response, Neo merely shrugged, but her eyes spoke differently; they expressed a desire for companionship, for understanding.
And Yang did understand.
"Strawberry Sunrise. No ice."
Junior looked to Neo for a moment, yet the parasol-user merely waved her hand, dismissively. I'll have what she's having.
Having the girl, who had once so casually defeated her on the train, share her favorite drink was somewhat of a novelty to Yang- any other time, she may have even enjoyed it, basked in the new feeling. That, or punched Neo in the face. Either one could work, she supposed.
For now, however, Yang was content to sit and think, the silence for once a comfort rather than its usual awkward presence. She considered filling the silence with a pun or a joke, something to break the ice, maybe start a conversation or-
You're not on a date, Yang, she mentally chastised, remember why you're here.
Come to think of it, why was she here? The scenery was nostalgic, true, and the drink might help, but it didn't achieve anything, and if she wasn't here to get drunk and forget, what was its purpose? She recalled that He had been a creator, one with spark, one who could inspire others to be better than what they already were, to bring something new. Sitting here, brooding and drowning in their own grief? That's not what he would have wanted.
Two drinks slid across the counter, just as she'd asked; only one of them had a little umbrella sticking out over its rim. Huntress in training she may be, but Yang couldn't remain stone-faced and brittle forever- a brief chuckle, and a small smile, escaped before her subconscious could properly reel them in. Neo was about to sip when she heard it, deciding instead to swivel in Yang's direction. The blonde was studying her drink, seemingly intent, and Neo realised with an internal sigh that she was about to open her Big Mou-
"I was here a few months ago, y'see" Yang started, smiling fully now at the memories, "and this is exactly the drink I ordered. Umbrella and all". Neo glanced conspiratorially at her own drink, which lacked any kind of parasol-related decoration, and pouted, suddenly disappointed. Yang actually had the audacity to laugh- the pout became a full on frown, and Yang gave her a friendly punch to the shoulder; it didn't hurt, but Neo wasn't sure it was meant to.
"Hey. Don't be like that, scoops" Yang somehow found enough enthusiasm to grin. Perhaps if she couldn't beat Neo physically, she could at least provide her with a stupid nickname. That would make it suck less if she ever lost again. Not that that was ever going to happen, "I'm sure you could just as- uh, sign for one."
Yang's lack of subtlety was, surprisingly, not all that irritating. Neo felt that she should be snapping at the taller girl, telling her to wipe off that smug grin because they were supposed to be sad and grieving, but couldn't find it within herself. Maybe listening to this idiot for a while might ease her spirits somewhat; it certainly wouldn't hurt. Beside her, Yang sighed.
"This isn't what he'd want for us, y'know" Yang stared at nothing, apparently speaking her thoughts aloud, "To be lonely and sad like we are right now. Sure, we can grieve and keep his memory alive, but to live like zombies just… doesn't fit right with me".
Neo made no sound, realizing that, somehow, Yang might actually be getting somewhere. It wasn't right to be moping like this, and Neo knew it.
"What he'd want would be for us to keep going. To keep writing our own stories. Making new ones" Yang turned to her compatriot, her forced grin now a genuine, wistful smile.
"I don't know about you, but I think I can manage that"
Damn it, but the optimism, the wishful thinking, was infectious; the crushing darkness was broken and light speared through the ceiling, illuminating and refreshing all at once. Neo, abruptly, felt that life wasn't so cloying anymore, that there was more to look forward to.
Yang was right. They had to keep moving forward. Neo raised her drink to parched lips, having drunk nothing ever since early morning when she'd first heard the terrible news. It had crushed her, then, but now she knew that, to properly mourn, she had to live up to the expectations set by herself, by Him. Resolve filled her petite frame; it was time to face tomorrow, no matter what it brought.
Yang Xiao Long reached out, giving Neo pause an inch before the drink met her tongue. The blonde, her enemy turned drinking partner -A somewhat unexpected but not entirely unwelcome change, admittedly- smiled, raising her glass. Neopolitan did the same without hesitation and the glasses chimed together, their contents almost spilling.
They both smiled, genuine smiles that promised to always keep moving and remember those that came before them, carrying the memory in their hearts. If that was all they could do, then they would gladly do so.
"To Monty" Yang toasted, basking in a new warmth.
To Monty.
AN:
As most have probably heard, the great Monty Oum has passed away. This is my first piece of writing on the site, yet I felt obligated to write it; in honor of Monty and his memory, as well as the fans that preyed for him before his passing.
Yet this piece isn't just about grief and losing those close to you. It's about moving on, about forging ahead in respect of those left behind. That, I believe, is the greatest respect we can pay to Monty and others like him; as Yang said, "To write our own stories", to live up to his examples.
We have lost a legend, but we will remember him for decades to come. RWBY's future is uncertain, but it's up to us to keep it up. The FNDM. I hope I was able to do justice to the characters created by Monty and RT, and while I did not know him personally and will now never meet him, I'll try to strive for the example he set for all of us.
Thank you for reading,
The Walrus of Eden.