Chapter 1: A Morning Coffee
Coco fluffed her soft brown hair, admiring her new cut-she'd gotten a blunt bob for the occasion. She wondered what Beacon Academy would be like as she curled her eyelashes, swiping on just a touch of mascara. Her younger sister sighed softly behind her. Coco glanced at Mocha's reflection in the vanity mirror, unscrewing a tube of lip color.
"What's up?" she prodded.
Mocha lifted her head from the large leather-bound book she'd been reading. She was sprawled out on her stomach on Coco's plush comforter. "Someday I'll be seventeen, won't I?"
"Well, yeah." Coco carefully applied the nude shade to her freshly-exfoliated lips. "In a few years, you'll be old enough to apply to Beacon. Then you can come to school with me."
The girl responded with a soft "Hmm" and returned to her book. Coco listened to the dry crackling of each turned page as she filled in her brows, mindful to swipe on just a tint of pigment instead of using the pencil like a jumbo DustHue-brand crayon, like so many poor, unknowing trend-followers did. As she started on her highlight, Mocha puffed out another thoughtful sigh. Coco pursed her lips, setting the makeup brush down on the vanity with a dull tap. She spun around, rising from her cushioned stool and plopping down on the bed next to her sister.
Mocha closed her book gently, glancing around at her older sister's bedroom. The walls were pasted over with candy-stripe wallpaper in soft pinks, browns, and creams, but the tasteful pattern was mostly obscured by posters, sketches, and swatches tacked up about the space. Almost everything in the room was the product of Coco's sewing machine: the comforter and bed sheets, the curtains, the cushions on the chairs and bed, the rugs and mats, and half the clothes in the spacious walk-in closet.
Sketches of stylish dresses, crisp suits, baubly accessories and the occasional modified machine gun were sprinkled about: on the walls, on the desk, pouring out of drawing books and binders and portfolios, tucked into the frame of the vanity mirror. Mocha was the model in most of them. Weapons catalogues and fashion magazines alike coated the desk, different pages taped and marked and tagged and torn.
Coco tapped a tastefully-manicured nail gently on Mocha's temple. "What's going on in there?"
Mocha shrugged, poker-faced as usual. "I was just thinking."
"Aw, you're always thinking!" Coco nudged her with her elbow. "Thinking, thinking, day and night. Little thoughts, big thoughts, deep thoughts. And when you're not thinking-" Coco drummed her fingers on the cover of the book. "-you're reading. And when you're not reading, you're writing your poems."
Mocha nodded absently. Now it was Coco's turn to sigh.
"I'm gonna miss you when you leave," Mocha pondered aloud.
Coco's pursed lips pulled tighter; she ran a finger through her sister's long brown hair, and then her own. "I'll miss you, too."
Fox Alistair stood quietly aloof in the airship as it drifted slowly toward a sheaf of cliffs in the distance. As they drew nearer, he could hear the conversation around him swell as other passengers made out the tiny speck that was Beacon Academy. He wondered how Beacon would compare to his primary combat school.
The people around him were noisy and irritating, like a flock of chickens: composed of clucking hens, crowing roosters, and cheeping chicks. Some were stuttery and nervous; he heard a small group of young women huddled together, two of them calming a tittery, anxious youngster with hushed whispers. From the snippets he could gather of their conversation, added to their accents, they were Faunus, likely Deer or maybe Rabbits.
Others were boisterous; gruff boys and the occasional gung-ho girl ran amuck, shouting and shoving and boasting and arguing. Most were sentimental; pockets of pals distraught over the idea of not being placed on the same team as their friends hugged and gabbed and even, from the sniffles and voice-cracks he picked up on, teared up a bit. Sappy, thought Fox with what could be described as a disapproving sniff.
And a select few hung back, like him, cool and collected. Every now and then a peer or acquaintance might pop by to greet them, and they'd engage in a few minutes of reserved small talk, but always they would retreat back, comfortable to wait and watch.
Fox liked to wait and watch, too. At least, as well as he could, what with the cataracts.
He stared blankly out the large windows of the craft once more, knuckles pressed to the cool glass. Beacon was closer by now. Fox had thought about the transition from combat school to battle school a lot lately. He'd worked so hard for six long years at Sanctum to be able to get into Beacon, and he allowed himself a moment of pride as the intercom popped to life, informing the students-to-be of the fast-approaching campus.
They would be landing within a few minutes, and the students would all be released onto the grounds of their new school, where they'd be learning, competing, and fighting together for the next four years. And, good as he was at hiding it, Fox was incomparably excited to step foot in his new home.
Velvet tugged ever harder on her chocolate-brown ears as the aircraft landed, the monitors that were scattered throughout the space instructing the passengers toward the exit. She wasn't wearing her cap, not around her family, they'd just make her take it off. But even this exposure of bunny appendages added to her anxiety. The girl turned jerkily to face her two companions.
"Mum? Ovalt?" she stuttered, reaching out to grasp their hands tightly. Ovaltine patted her shoulder.
"Ah, don't worry, sis! It's just like sleepaway camp, when we were kits."
"But you were with me during those summers," Velvet countered, biting her lip. Her mother squeezed her hand.
"I'm sorry, bun, but we've got to stay on board and fly back. You can call us right after Initiation and tell us all about it, okay?"
Velvet shifted rapidly from foot to foot. The crowd of students was receding now, and she'd have to go with them or risk being flown back to the airport.
"Got everything?" Her mother expertly distracted. "Boots, jumper, cap, socks, books, Scroll, toiletries, underclothes?"
"Mum!" Velvet blushed, her eyes fluttering around to see if anyone had heard.
"Honestly, sis, they're closing the bay doors in a minute!"
Velvet let out a forlorn sob, ears twitching as she gripped her family's hands desperately.
"Go on, bun, it'll be fine!" her mother nudged her forward, insistent and firm now. "You've worked so hard to get here, I'll not have you miss your chance just because you couldn't get off the craft! I'll call you tonight, I promise-"
A beep sounded as the doors the craft began to shut with a mechanical whir.
"-Go! Go, go!" Ovalt grabbed her younger sister and deftly flung her through the narrowing exit to the cobblestone on the other side.
Velvet broke into full-on tears as the doors locked shut, and she was swept forward with the crowd as they emerged onto the campus, eyes wide with wonder.
Yatsuhashi stood in the back of the entrance hall of Beacon Academy as the last few stragglers trickled in. The orientation speech would presumably begin momentarily. He took a moment to glance around at his fellow students; the idea that any one of them could be his teammate for the next four years was intriguing to say the least. His eyes were really drawn, however, to his back-row companions, the few people who had settled in the rear of the crowd, like him.
The first he noticed was a snappily dressed brunette. A simple clip kept her fluffy hair, which just nearly brushed the short, cream-white puffed sleeves of her collared shirt, out of her face. A necklace of baubles matching her delicately-patterned waistcoat hung almost to her stomach. Brown slacks creased to a faultless point were concluded with 3-inch stilettos that looked both extremely impractical and very usable as weaponry. Yatsuhashi was intrigued even deeper-could this girl possibly use her shoes as weapons? No, he berated himself, that would be silly. She'd cut up her feet if she didn't wear them while fighting. Unless…
A few feet away from the fashionista glowered a dark-skinned boy, a few pale scars decorating his bare arms. A simple patterned shirt and cargo pants suited him fine, and Yatsuhashi was relieved to see he wore unassuming, sturdy combat boots. Reddish hair framed basic black aviators that masked his eyes, and the boy looked decidedly grouchy. Yatsuhashi hoped he didn't get grouped with teammates of foul temperament-it would be very inefficient and, frankly, quite trying to his well-reserved patience.
The next figure, or rather, figures, who caught his attention were a boy and girl standing together. They conversed in bursts, apparently already familiar with one another, though they could be among the few who had made fast friends. The blonde girl laughed at something her companion had said, and Yatsuhashi moved on in his observations, not wanting anyone to think he was staring.
Huddled in the door frame, and farthest from him, was a lithe, relatively short girl, a beret atop her long, chocolate brown pigtail braids. A battered pair of denim coveralls complimented a butter-yellow blouse, and worn leather boots with just a touch of decorative stitching. The combination of the hat with the outfit was unorthodox, but look quite nice. This student also looked extremely unhappy, and just a bit terrified, decided Yatsuhashi after a moment's observation of her pouting lips and twitching shoulders. She seemed rather lonely, as well, pressed against the wall like a mop leaning against a cupboard. Yatsuhashi toyed with the idea of walking up to her and introducing himself, but the crackling of microphone feedback over the loudspeakers captured his attention.
Professor Ozpin, headmaster of Beacon Academy, had stepped up to the podium in the very front of the room.
"I'll keep small talk to a minimum." He cleared his throat. "You are all here for the very same reason: to attend battle school at Beacon Academy and graduate as fully-trained Huntsmen and Huntresses. You will emerge from this school only a few brief years from now as adults, warriors, ready to defend your world and its people from the evil that seeks to devour it. But I look amongst you now, and all I see is untapped fuel, sloshing in a hidden reservoir and spoiling the longer it sits. A resource requiring direction and instruction to fulfill a great need.
"You came to this school with the expectation that we would provide you with that instruction, but you will soon learn that knowledge will only take you so far. The rest of your mission, fulfilling the ultimate need, is up to you."
With that, he strode silently off to the side, and a new professor took his place at the microphone. Yatsuhashi remembered the young woman as Professor Goodwitch-she had appeared on the monitors in the aircraft and introduced herself.
"You will gather in the ballroom tonight. Your Initiation will begin first thing tomorrow. Be prepared. You are dismissed."
Yatsuhashi ran a hand through his close-cut hair, taking a deep breath. And he was prepared.