I think I've just entered the world of OCs. And, wow. It's amazing. I hope you enjoy my characters-especially Aracion-and my story. Thanks!
Aracion's POV
The impact of the bullet that knocked me off my feet and backward into Troy was expected. The choice to step into the path of the tiny ball of buckshot was conscious, just as I was always conscious to protect said boy. It wasn't that I was obsessed with him, but he was my partner, and I was entitled to protect him. He would have done the same thing for me.
"Oof!" Troy hit the ground, and I tumbled down on top of him, skittering to my feet with a litheness only faunus possessed.
Another reason why I needed to defend him. I was faunus-equine-eared, if I'm specific-and he was human. My exceptional senses had saved his stupid ass four times in the three months we'd been partnered.
My next job was returning my mind to my body and figuring out where the bullet had come from. It hadn't hurt me-save for a huge bruise-thanks to the steel bones in my corset. Now, I flicked my pitch-black ears while my eyes-a super-obnoxious lime-green-swept across the deserted street, documenting any escape routes if it became necessary. Sometimes, I hated being a huntress-in-training. In my hand, Fayodale's-a double-bladed disk attached to a steel cable with a broadsword form-dust was running short, and I sighed. This entire dust thing was sucking up the majority of my bank account. Whatever. I'd worry about that later.
A flash of movement caught my eye, and not even a second later, Fayodale had left my hand, buried the windowsill of a nearby building, and I had slung myself onto the same windowsill. My eyesight didn't need any time to adjust to the darkness as I pulled my weapon from the window and found myself nose-to-nose with a black-masked man.
Wow. Talk about cliche.
Cliche or not, I slammed the heel of my hand into his nose, driving the cartilage into his brain like a pin through fleece. I'd killed before, and, wrong as it was, it had never really disturbed me. I was indifferent. I was defending Troy, and ultimately, all of Mistral Academy's students by killing this man.
In the time it had taken me to cover all this, the man slumped to the ground, looking pathetic and dead. Yes, especially the dead part.
. . .
Aracion's POV
"Aracion, what was that?" Troy asked when I landed next to him, unfazed by me jumping out of a two-story window.
"Ugh, do you expect me to let us be picked off by whatever bastard has a gun?" I replied, a little hurt and a little disgruntled. Not because I cared about his opinion or anything like that. I flicked back my hair-which I was proud of, because it was fabulous. It was as black as a raven's wing-except for the white stripe on the left-and reached the tops of my thighs. Unfortunately, my bangs-which resembled a horse's forelock-were another story. They refused to grow out, and hung over my eyes in a perpetually emo way. My hair was only one of my stunning features that inflated my ego to a planet-sized mass.
"No. I just don't want you running around and killing everyone." Troy was always the voice of reason, and he ran a hand through his dark hair, the tips of which were as red as dying embers.
"In case you hadn't noticed, he was the one who tried to kill you. I did you a favor!" I did my best not to pout, and the result was an expression that made me look like I just killed somebody. Oh, wait…
"I'm not disputing-" Troy started again, much to my dismay.
"LALALALALA, I CAN'T HEAR YOUR BULLSHIT! I'M DONE TALKING ABOUT THIS!" I interrupted, shoving my fingers into my ears and singing over him.
"You're awfully stubborn for someone so tiny." Troy's blue eyes were dancing with laughter, and I scowled. It was true, I was five-foot-nothing and under seventy-five pounds, and it was probably also true that my attitude made up for my diminutive stature. One of my favorite things about him was how he could deal with my…sins and let them lay.
"Whatever." I snorted and rolled my eyes as I fell into step beside him. "Really, though. I don't think the grimm are the real danger out here." The students from Mistral in Haven had been sent to Vale to clean out the grimm that still dwelled around the abandoned academy, Beacon. I wasn't really surprised that the beasts had continued to thrive, despite the time lapse of forty years. Negative feelings tend to linger. But though any area within a ten-mile radius of Beacon was overrun with grimm, people still roamed the area. When I say people, I realize that the majority of them are monsters wearing a human skin. Despite the blood that is on my hands-both literal and metaphorical-my ideals set me above what they were. While that may sound narcissistic, I have no choice to believe that it's true.
It's that, or find myself as a monster.
. . .
Troy's POV
There was something odd about Aracion. She was stunning, no doubt about it-milk-white skin, curly black hair, the silver rings along her left equine ear-but her eyes held an intensity. She was calculating, and cold. She was irritable and explosive. Yet, she was kind to me. I wondered why that was. I couldn't help but be a little disturbed by the casualness of which she dismissed the death of our assailer, even though blood stained her palm. But, in all honesty, I was used to it. She was insane, but she was my friend, and she had stepped in the way of a bullet for me.
That. The realization she had willingly impeded death for me hit me harder than I had expected. I hadn't been paying attention, just enjoying her company, when she had veered in front of me.
It might sound like a bland description, but it wasn't anything remarkable. It wasn't as if we had been in the heat of battle-which we had been before-but she had been so casual about it. It had almost made me dismiss the action.
Guilt filled me. How could I ever think anything nasty about her? She'd prevented my death many times-she'd saved me from two grimm, poison, and, oddly enough, a bus-and I hadn't spared her a thanks.
"Er, Aracion?" My voice cracked pathetically, and I wanted to smack myself. But she didn't seem to notice, only tipping her sharp-featured face my way, her unnerving eyes fixed on me with a half-smile on her lips.
"Hmm?"
"I…I just wanted to thank you for stepping in the way of that bullet." The words that fell from my mouth were startling. "You weren't hurt, were you?" She was shot. She was hit by a fucking bullet.
"Oh, um." She reddened slightly. "I wasn't hurt, no." It was then I realized the tear in her grey steampunk-style tailed jacket, a rip in the skin-tight white shirt she wore under it, and spotted the silver metal of…armor? She was a strange girl. Now, she tipped her head up to the sky, her ears twitching on her head. It was cute in a weird way. "It's getting late. I think we should head back."
She was right. Our shadows had lengthened, and, though her faunus eyes had no problem with the dark, it was growing harder for me to see by the minute.
"Okay." Maybe one day, I'd be able to be half the friend she was.
. . .
Aracion's POV
Chatter filled my ears as I hunched over my bowl, which was filled with what smelled like a concoction of chicken, garlic, and rice. I may be a horse faunus, and share equine preferences, but what set me apart from entire horse-yness was my love for meat. So, of course, living up to my stereotype, I ate…like a horse.
When I managed to pull my face out of my bowl-now empty-I set the dish beside me and leaned against the wall of the abandoned building the Mistral pairs had decided to occupy. I was set apart from the other students, but my eyes were fixed on Troy. While I usually played the part of a wallflower, I was considering leaving my comfort zone and going to sit with the group of people he was with. There were three: Reyna Yalt-a brunette beauty with an outgoing personality-Korn Pitt-a boy with a military haircut and wrapped in muscle-and another girl called Angeline Exciss-a girl with inexplicably turquoise hair and dark blue eyes. Troy's face lit up as he talked to these people.
His friends. The thought sent a lance of pain through my heart. Of course, it wasn't jealousy-I didn't give half a damn about him as long as he wasn't dying, clearly. It must just have been an impending heart attack. It must have been heartburn. Yes, that was a viable explanation.
I immediately disliked both Reyna and Angeline. Never mind why. I stood. As Troy's partner, it had been made incredibly clear to me by Headmaster Arc that defending the other half of your pair was imperative. I'd keep him from getting himself hurt by making a move on one of these girls. They'd shatter his heart like a glass plate used as target practice for a dude with a Remington. That would hinder his ability to protect our world.
Right? I wasn't doing this because I cared if he got involved with someone else. Hell, I didn't want to be involved with him. I lifted my chin, and my fingers instinctively flitted to the rings set into my left equine ear. Two were skinny silver rings with black beads ornamenting them. The other two were also silver, but the tiny twists suggested they were made of barbed wire.
Hot blood seeped over my fingers, almost as scalding as the tears that flowed down my cheeks. The body beneath my tiny hands was growing cold. Panic built in my chest, and as I-
NO. I wasn't revisiting this. At least, not here in public. I blocked the memories with my go-to thought-one that never failed to make me blush. It was a scene from my favorite book, called Quadruple Satan, a burning romance-no smut, I promise, but still…
Troy looked surprised when I materialized beside him, which wasn't exactly flattering. I would have preferred a smile. My shadow flickered, and I stifled my scowl. Sometimes, the temptation to use my semblance-which was super-awesome and overpowered-was incredibly overwhelming. It was, predictably, the influence over shadows. Not only my own, but other's, as well. I could make them do whatever I pleased-at the expense of my aura, and eventually, my life-even climb inside their owners and kill them from the inside out.
That could be fun, actually. I'd have to try that sometime. Too bad I was under restriction of the law to use my semblance against anything that wasn't inanimate or wasn't a grimm. That didn't exactly warm me to the government, but even I had to admit, it was probably a good idea to install some damage control.
"Aracion?" Troy's voice was tentative, and held a hint of laughter.
Damn my runaway imagination. I refocused. "Is it a sin to come and socialize?" I didn't mean to come off as defensive…
"Uh, no." Troy was bewildered, backpedaling to see what he'd done to offend me. "It's just that you've never…" He trailed off when he found himself on the receiving end of my death-glare, which, if I must say, was a very intimidating thing.
"There's always a first time, eh?" Oh, this was going to make for a very long night. Damn me and my sentiments.
. . .
Aracion's POV
I hated it when I wasn't on night-watch duty. Okay, so maybe I should sleep enough to get rid of those bruise-like shadows under my eyes, but sleep always brought the nightmares, which brought the memories, which brought a very poorly-started day for me. So, I lay wrapped in my blanket, trying not to shiver even though I was wearing my coat-which was really a marvel, with its sophisticated tail and intricate buttons and chains. My legs-clad in black-and-brown striped leggings-were twisted together, and I had neglected to remove my black, knee-length lace-up boots. It was only about fifty-five degrees, and though most everyone was comfortable, I was freezing. Some might call me wimpy. I prefer to think of it as sensitive. Besides, I'm quiet about it. I'm not into flaunting my weaknesses. Just like how I'm not into flaunting the blood on my hands. Nobody-besides Troy-knows about what I've done, and not even said boy knows about most of it. Hell, I was too swallowed by panic to remember half of it.
A warm hand touched my cheek, and I flinched, startled. "What." I snapped, not really questioning, but demanding.
"Sorry." The tensity in my shoulders relaxed when I heard Troy's voice, and I rolled over, sitting up, despite being tangled in my blanket. "I thought that was your shoulder."
"Sure." I rolled my eyes and warded off a shiver. "What do you want?" When the words left her mouth, she could feel a strange vibe in the air…was Troy nervous? Why? What? I'm so confused.
"Is it okay if I sleep here?" He patted an area a few feet away from me, and my heart leaped into my throat.
"It's your decision." I kept my voice nonchalant while I suppressed any emotion-emotions like rage, fury, all those fun things. Definitely nothing like joy or anything positive. Right. Troy, like the sloth he was, collapsed to the ground beside me and wrapped himself in his blanket. I huffed quietly before I buried myself back into my woolen cocoon of itchy blanket material. Oh, well. It was something, and I was grateful.