Chapter 1 – A Chance Meeting

A/N: Welcome, one and all, to a fic that I've been planning basically since I started watching RWBY.

Few things to set out before we get into it.

First, this is a no Grimm, no Aura AU, but it's still set in Remnant. Dust still exists and has its similar pseudo-magic properties to canon, it just can't be used in any ways that would involve the use of aura. So, we still have slightly futuristic technology. More details will abound late in the story.

Second, for the purposes of character development and alterations, the characters are all two to three years older than in canon. This is NOT, I repeat, NOT so that I can write smut without it being underage. There won't be any smut in this story. It is because a) a 20-year-old tattoo artist who is absolutely amazing at their job strikes me as slightly more believable than a 17-year-old one (no offense intended to any 17-year-old tattoo art prodigies that may be reading this); and b) it partly involves me projecting how I feel the characters would have developed over the extra years. Weiss in particular has already had a lot of canon character development and I want to explore where I think that could lead her.

Third, this story will have fluff, but it will also deal with some pretty heavy topics. Homophobia, transphobia and both physical and emotional abuse will be mentioned and discussed and in some cases shown, and that's just what I have already written. Content warnings will be provided on a chapter-by-chapter basis, and if you have to skip a chapter based on them let me know and I can provide summaries of the chapter's contents minus the stuff you aren't okay with. If there's any kind of content you need a CW for that I haven't specified before, let me know in comments/reviews/PMs/asks on my tumblr (URL is my username dot tumblr dot com) and I'll sort it.

Fourth, this story has quite a few trans and nonbinary headcanons, including agender Blake, genderfluid Scarlet (both they/them) and trans girl Nora (she/her). If that's not your thing then fair enough, I guess, just don't read it.

I have a backlog of six chapters at present, so readers can enjoy a regular updating schedule whilst giving me plenty of time to write more. That being said, I am in my third and final year at university, so when the backlog is empty, don't be surprised if updates come slower.

Right, I think that's all that jazz out of the way. I hope you enjoy!

Classic rock wheezed out of dying speakers in a dive no respectable individual would ever be caught dead in.

Guess that made the former heiress to the largest mining company on Remnant unrespectable, then.

After the argument she had thrown some clothes in a small backpack and fled, once she made it clear that no billion-Lien company was worth supressing her identity for.

"I am not a thing! I am not a corporate asset, born to marry some conniving backstabber and produce an heir! I am myself before anything else, and no-one can take that away from me!"

While Father respected her courage in standing up to him, the disobedience was simply unacceptable to him.

"If you will not do your duty to this family then you no longer deserve a place within it!"

A bluff, some might assume.

One the heiress was all too happy to call.

"I understand perfectly, Mr Schnee."

The last words he ever heard from her were impersonal, and cold as his name, the ancestral icy fury she inherited being put to effective use.

Though most of the Schnee Dust Company's operations took place in the bitter northern kingdom of Atlas, the family had been staying at their residence in the more temperate kingdom of Vale for the annual Vytal Festival, and so it was to downtown Vale that Weiss Schnee, former heiress, took a cab.

Wandering from street to unfamiliar street she searched studiously for a place to stay. But to no avail – with the Festival in full swing, hotels left right and centre were all fully booked as tourists flooded into this year's host kingdom.

Lacking anything else to do she had wandered the foreign streets until she stumbled across a small bar. Even from the outside it was obviously not a place a classy lady would be caught dead in.

The perfect hiding place.

And maybe she could learn about some out-of-the-way motel while she was there. Bartenders were legendary fountains of information, after all.

Well, they were in the movies, anyway.

Only in the movies.

When she had asked the barkeep, a short, bearded, scruffy-looking man, for directions to the nearest motel, all she got was a glare and a cutting response of, "They don't pay me to run tours. They pay me to serve drinks."

She had cursed internally, then relented and ordered a whisky double. Maybe it'll encourage him to open up, she reasoned.

It wasn't like she had sorrows to drown, or anything like that.

And that was how the now-former heiress to the largest Dust mining corporation on Remnant found herself perched on a barstool in a dive no respectable person would be caught dead in, listening to classic rock being butchered by aged speakers.

Swirling the swill in her glass, she took a sip, barely managing not to gag at the burn. Gazing over the bar, she examined the bottles behind it, wondering how much she'd have to get through to get herself hospitalised.

Hey, at least she'd have a bed for the night.

Dust, am I really that desperate?

Well, it's that or a street corner.

Then again, that barkeep would probably just throw me out of the door if I got that drunk.

Continuing her descent into inebriation, Weiss swigged again from her glass, gradually desensitising herself to the harsh edge of the spirit, not even noticing the stool to her right gaining a new occupant.

"Get me a tequila slammer," the stranger requested, the dusky tones of their voice piquing the former heiress' interest.

As the bartender poured the shot and handed the stranger a slice of lemon, Weiss drank in the sight before her.

The stranger was a little taller than Weiss. Both sides of their head were shaved bald, with intricate purple and black tendrils of ink adorning the otherwise-pale skin. Between two black cat ears was a veritable mane of midnight, that tumbled elegantly to the small of their back. A tank top left toned shoulders open to view, and arms garbed in sleeves of beautiful ink patterns, again in a flowing, almost tribal style so popular with modern Faunus. Frayed black jeans and combat boots completed the look.

As the former heiress greedily took in the view, amber eyes met hers with a questioning gaze, causing Weiss to realise her foolish lack of subtlety and return her eyes to the drink in front of her, glimpsing in the corner of her eye as the stranger licked their hand, before knocking back a shot of clear colourless liquid and biting into the lemon slice.

At that, Weiss winced. Why would she just…

"You look like you've never seen someone drink tequila before," the stranger teased, forcing Weiss to turn and meet those almost golden orbs once again.

"Umm…" Weiss floundered, brain paralyzed by the gorgeous stranger's apparent interest.

"Here, I'll show you. Dude," they redirected towards the grizzled bartender, "two more of those. And get me a bottle of house rum and a glass." At this the stranger tossed quite a few Lien in his direction and retrieved a salt shaker.

"Hold out your hand," they ordered, to which Weiss obeyed wordlessly, still stupefied by their attention. She almost pulled back when they held up the salt shaker but they established a gentle but firm grip upon her wrist, calloused fingers rubbing gently against her comparatively soft skin.

"First, you lick the salt off your hand. Then, you do the shot, and then bite the lemon slice," they explained, as the white crystals fell onto her hand.

Finding her voice, Weiss asked, "What exactly is the appeal of this… process?"

The stranger chuckled. "Man, with talk like that you won't last long round here. You do a tequila slammer when you're looking to get wasted. And from the look on your face when I walked into this dump," their voice took on a wistful, almost lonely lilt, "you have as many sorrows to drown as I do."

Weiss chuckled dryly. "You're not wrong there." With her free hand, she reached into her pocket for some Lien, but when she offered it the stranger refused.

"It's alright, princess." Weiss glared at the epithet, before turning her attention to her challenge. While they had talked, the bartender had presented two more shots of tequila and two more slices of lemon.

This is a really bad idea.

But we both know you're still going through with it.

Steeling herself, she swept the salt off her hand with one smooth motion of her tongue, wincing at the tang. Quickly she threw back the spirit and then immediately bit into the slice, the lemon surprisingly pleasant as it took the edge off the liquor.

The stranger quirked an eyebrow. "Not bad, princess," they complemented before repeating the process themselves, easily handling the strong substance.

Weiss, meanwhile, was scowling again. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"What, princess?" They asked, and when Weiss nodded they answered, "Well, it's obvious you're from a high-class background. Your accent, your dialect, your fancy outfit and finally your complete lack of understanding of how normal people drink. Hence, princess."

The former heiress glared into the distance, refusing to meet the stranger's gaze. "Not anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Weiss fixed the stranger with a glare. "You were right. I do come from a privileged background. But as of today, that life is no longer mine. The price was too high." She took another sip of her whisky.

"Again with the vagueness. You ever gonna spill?"

"Why do you care?"

The stranger frowned. "I figured if I wasn't the only person with time and bad thoughts to kill tonight, some company might be nice. But if you'd rather drink yourself to death alone in a corner that's fine by me."

They made to stand before Weiss hesitantly reached out and laid a hand on their shoulder. "Wait, I… I'm sorry. I've just not been having the best day today."

Their expression softened. "Yeah, we established that already. Now do you want me to stick around or not?"

"I-" She hesitated, then relented. "I suppose some company might be nice. I'll try not to be so rude."

The stranger settled back into their seat with a grin. "I was hoping you'd say that. Normally, I wouldn't be so thin-skinned but…"

Weiss nodded sympathetically. "As you say, neither of us started tonight on hard liquor for good reasons."

"Yeah, you could say that," the stranger replied, opening the bottle of rum they had bought and filling their small glass almost to the brim.

Weiss raised her eyebrows at the copious quantity.

The stranger replied with a grimace. "Like you said."

The former heiress shrugged, and raised her glass. "To bad ideas?" She offered as a toast.

"Sounds about right to me, cheers," they replied, clinking their glass against Weiss' and taking a mighty draught.

They sat quietly for a few moments, taking a drink now and then, until Weiss asked, "I don't believe I caught your name?"

The stranger smiled. "Blake. You?"

"I'm Weiss."

"Nice to meet you, Weiss."

"The same to you, Blake."

Once again silence reigned as they took up their drinks. Eventually, Weiss' curiosity got the better of her. "So what brought you here tonight?"

Blake sighed. "Douchebag date who stood me up. You?"

"Ouch," Weiss winced sympathetically. "I'm hiding here after being disowned by my father."

"Damn, that's rough. What happened?"

The former heiress pinched the bridge of her nose. "I came out to him. He's not exactly the most liberal of individuals, and demanded that I keep it a secret. He didn't exactly give me a choice in the matter, since he expects – expected – me to marry some businessman to secure a takeover. So when I walked out, I packed some clothes and Lien, and left."

"Damn, that's rough. But hey, you were brave to be honest with him, even if he took it horribly. And at least now you're free to be yourself, right?"

Weiss laughed without humour, a bitter chuckle of derision. "Yeah, right. I have hardly any money and nowhere to stay thanks to this Dust-damned Festival, but at least no-one's stopping me from getting laid, right?"

Blake shrugged. "Fair point. But would you really prefer to be stuck back there, with him?"

"I suppose not," Weiss sighed. "But anyway," she redirected, "enough about me. Tell me more about this douchebag who stood you up."

"Ha. Not much to say, really. Some hot client who actually managed to find her spine and ask me out. Not enough to actually show up, apparently."

"Client?"

"Yeah, client. Don't worry," they added, "nothing illegal. I'm a tattoo artist. I own a little parlour not too far from here. All this ink here," they gestured at the side of their head and their arms, "I did it."

Weiss was stunned. The intricacy of the patterns was remarkable, and to think this strange person had done all the work themselves suggested immense talent. Before she was quite aware of what she was doing, her fingers found their way to Blake's left arm and began to softly trace over the flowing lines. "Incredible…" she breathed, before coming to her senses and snatching her hand back with a blush.

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I don't know what came over me, I just… They're gorgeous, and when you said you did them all yourself, I…"

Blake chuckled softly. "It's alright. Granted, I wasn't expecting to be touched by a hot girl after I got stood up, but I'm not complaining," they teased, eliciting further embarrassment.

"I wasn't… trying to, uh, you know…"

The artist held up a hand. "Relax, princess, I know. Though it is nice that even now you can't keep your hands off me."

Head buried in her arms, Weiss' response was almost imperceptible through the aforementioned limbs. "Shut up."

Blake held up their hands, still chuckling. "Alright, alright, I'll stop. For now, anyway."

"What have I gotten myself into?"

=x=

Apparently, what Weiss had gotten herself into was an evening of increasingly incoherent conversation, mixed with a healthy dose of sexual tension and a splash of flirtation, for spice.

Somehow, they had made it through about half of the rum Blake had bought over the course of a few hours, landing them resolutely into outright drunkenness, dancing on the edge of excess.

Over those few hours they had both waxed eloquent about various things; Blake about some of the more… interesting work they had done on certain clients, and Weiss on the joys of the closet when interacting with other corporate heiresses. At one point they had even observed a rambunctious blonde lady get into an argument that looked to be turning into a full-blown fight, before the bartender had intervened and thrown her out. Needless to say, the whole scene had them in hysterics.

It was nearing one o'clock in the morning, and as such the two still-giggling drunkards found themselves overshadowed by the grizzled barkeep.

"You can take it outside, you two. We're closing."

Weiss let out an exaggerated sigh, intensifying Blake's giggles.

"C'moooon, princess, let's get out of this dump," they slurred, unsteadily rising before taking the former heiress' hands and tugging her to her feet.

The twain departed the dive, stumbling down the grubby street with no apparent destination in mind.

"Heeeeey, Blakey, lemme tell you a seeeecret," Weiss attempted to murmur dramatically, the effect somewhat ruined by the involuntary syllabic elongation, and the fact that the sentence was not, in fact, murmured, but rather announced boldly to the entirety of the (admittedly rather empty) street.

"When I was a tiny little girl, I used to sing a looooot. My dad always got me to do these, like, opera things? Said they were, I dunno, more respectable than what I used to like."

"I gotta bit of a reputation when he started makin' me perform. But whenever I could get away with it…" At this she leaned in conspiratorially. "I liked to put on those cheesy old rock songs and sing thooooose instead!"

Blake burst out laughing. "Oh wow, such an awl-, af-, such a baaaad secret! How couuuuld you, Weiss?" They slurred between chuckles and hiccups.

The heiress pouted. "Hey, don't laugh! This is so serious. Look at me. This is my serious face." She attempted to reshape her features into a stern visage, but for whatever reason her usual icy persona simply refused to show itself before the now-graceless artist. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe there was something… something about this mysterious body artist? Something that put her at ease, made her want this enigmatic individual to see the real her, not the corporate heiress?

…Probably just the alcohol.

But the artist was rather charming, it had to be said.

So much so Weiss had managed not to pay attention to their location for the past… how long had they been walking?

"Wher' we going, anyway?"

At this Blake hesitated. "Well, I thought, since you don't *hic* have anywhere to stay right now *hic* you could, I dunno, crash on my couch for the night? If you *hic* wanted?"

"Blake… that's…" Weiss whispered. "That's the sweetest thing…" At that she promptly burst into tears and threw her arms around the Faunus, head nuzzling into their neck.

Gingerly at first, Blake returned the embrace, struggling to contain their hiccups lest they ruin the moment. After a few minutes it became apparent that not moving would not do Weiss any favours in the remaining conscious department, and so they gently extricated themselves from their companion's grip.

"C'mon, princess. Let's get you home."

Pulling back, Weiss clumsily wiped her face, scowling at the mess it had become when the waterworks had let loose.

As they continued their journey, somewhat slower but a tad more stable for it, Blake couldn't resist one more passing tease.

"You little *hic* lightweight."

"Hey, you're drunk too!"

"Yeahhhh, but I had twice as much as youuuuuu, and I'm pretty sure you're still *hic* worse than me."

=x=

It took five separate attempts before Blake managed to puzzle out the devastatingly complex mechanism that was a lock and key. With each miss, Weiss snorted in a very unladylike manner (as if any of her inebriate conduct was anything else) and eventually burst out laughing at the now somewhat embarrassed Blake.

"We both know it'd *hic* take you all morning," they cut back, though without any real venom.

Eventually the door swung open, triggering the ringing of a series of what sounded like wind chimes. As Blake once again floundered with the locking mechanism, Weiss peered around the room, barely lit by the glare of streetlights filtering through the gaps in some sort of decoration in the windows.

Obviously this meant that she had no idea what the interior of this room was like whatsoever.

After finally locking the door behind them, Blake took the heiress' hand and guided her through the room, their familiarity with it apparently enough to allow them to navigate it with no difficulty even while drunk in the dark.

At the far end of the room they stumbled through another door and up some stairs, into a slightly cramped living space. Blake flicked on a switch and they both flinched at the sudden blaze of light from above.

In reality it wasn't particularly bright at all, the change appearing more intense due to their inebriation.

This appeared to be Blake's apartment. The room was longer than it was wide. The half they emerged into contained a corner-shaped couch in the centre, the back forming a makeshift corridor into the further half, which looked to be a kitchen/diner. At the far wall, to the left of the refrigerator was a door. On the left wall there were two other doors, as well as a variety of decorations, including posters for some sort of metal band Weiss couldn't read the name of, the stylised writing defeating her addled brain. There were also a series of photos taped to the wall, each showcasing a tattoo.

In the time it took for Weiss to observe this, Blake had stumbled to the kitchen and retrieved a pair of glasses, which they took to the sink and filled. They returned and clumsily shoved one of the glasses into Weiss' hand. "Drink up. Hangover's gonna suck as it is, might as well make it a little less crappy."

Weiss chugged the water with cheery indifference, before letting out a tremendous yawn.

"Alright, couch is right there, and I'll just go fetch you a spare blanket. We'll *hic* we can talk more in the morning."

"But Blake," Weiss began, stifling giggles. "It's already morning!" Apparently drunk Weiss was very easily amused as this simple awful line had her in hysterics.

The Faunus rolled their eyes before slipping into the door on the far side of the room. The heiress, still giggling, settled down onto the soft couch. The cushions were thick but soft, and she sank right into them. It was long enough for her to lay down almost completely straight, and the abundance of extra cushions meant for no lack of padding for her head.

When Blake returned, the heiress was already snoring softly, arm underneath a cushion. They let out a gentle smile at the sight, and softly draped the blanket they had been carrying over Weiss' sleeping form. Their hand rested on her shoulder for a moment, thumb stroking a little, before they rose, and made their way into their own room, where they collapsed in bed immediately, without bothering to change or even remove their boots.

They, too, were asleep the instant they hit the bed.

A/N: Any constructive criticism is welcome. Comments are awesome :D

I really shouldn't be starting another multi-chapter fic. Oh well.

Love you folks, and see you all next time 3