A/N: So how about that season finale?
I thought it was compelling, and though it did introduce elements we've never seen before in the show, it definitely gave me things I've been wanting to see—Taiyang and Qrow together, the Arkos shipping moment, etc.
Also, I'm in firm denial that Pyrrha is dead. THERE IS NO BODY. AND THERE WAS THAT ALTERNATE UNIVERSE PLACE WITH THE CREEPY WOMAN. PYRRHA AND OZPIN COULD HAVE BEEN TRANSPORTED THERE. OR SOMETHING.
Anyway, have some Blake/Sun modern!au in light of this. Actually, also in light of this, I'm with midwestern-duchess in that Blake and Sun are hunting down Adam. Well, after Sun finds Blake. Read her stuff, it's really good.
Please review because it makes me happy.
November was a cruel month.
At least, that's what Blake thought. November was gray and sullen, a cold slushy thing in between the crisp cool of October and the snowy, spicy cheer of December. When the sun shone, it was chilly; when it didn't, it was worse. It was dark in the mornings and dark at night. People she passed on the streets looked haggard and stretched thin. Most of the time, Blake avoided them by staying inside, curled up with a good book and a hot cup of chai tea.
Except when she had to go out.
She glared up at the umbrella over her head and blew out a breath as she strode against the wind. Even bundled up in a wool coat and scarf, she was cold. And to make matters worse, it was raining. Cold and wet, the worst kind of day. Beacon was cleaner than the slums outside of the other cities, and it didn't have Adam, which was even better, but that didn't mean she missed some of the things she'd left behind. The weather, for example, was less—gloomy.
But she glanced at the gym bag tossed over her arm—thinking of the smooth wooden floor of the studio, the familiar feel of satin ribbons around her ankles, the fleeting triumph she felt when she executed a perfect, graceful move—and resolved not to turn back. Ballet was one of the things she actually cared about anymore, ever since she'd moved.
In the late afternoon, there was no one on the rain-slick streets. Blake was almost glad for it, because she didn't have very good social skills. She was the one that stood in the corners, the introvert in a room of chatterboxes and party-stars, watching people while they weren't looking. Once she knew someone, it was easier, but she hated introductions because they always seemed to be awkward.
The windows at the studio were dark as she approached. That wasn't very common, but Blake knew she was a little early.
"Hey, are you here for martial arts?"
The voice startled her so much that she nearly dropped her bag. Slowly, Blake turned to see a guy leaning against a car door with an umbrella over his head. He had a mess of blonde hair and dark eyes. Across his shoulder was slung a gym bad not unlike hers, except his was red where hers was deep purple.
"Well?" he prompted, and Blake realized she hadn't answered his question.
"No," she said, glancing down at the ground. "No, I take ballet at the studio."
He grinned for no good reason. It lit up his eyes. "A dancer, huh?" he asked. "That's cool." He switched the umbrella to his other hand, so he could scratch the back of his neck. "Doesn't look like the place is open, though."
He was right. The martial arts dojo that was next to the ballet studio had the lights off, too. "Well," Blake said, feeling uncomfortable as usual, "I'm going to take a look around."
She walked to the door of the studio. Sorry, students, the note pasted on the glass scribbled out, no classes this week. Instructor is feeling under the weather.
Blake didn't blame her. The flu was going around this time of year, and the weather certainly wasn't helping. And now she would have to walk all the way back home in the cold and the rain. This day was just getting better and better.
As an afterthought, she checked the dojo, too. It had a similar note, this one in large spiky letters instead of Madame Goodwitch's neat, looping cursive.
She walked back to the boy. "They're both closed," she told him.
His face fell in a split second of disappointment. "That's a shame," he said. "I was looking forward to beating Xiao Long today." He sighed, and gave her a kind smile. "Sorry your class got cancelled."
"Oh," Blake muttered, unused to sympathy. "It's not important." She avoided his gaze and looked down the street. Another twenty minutes till she was home.
"Are you walking?" the blonde guy asked.
She mustered a smile in return, lackluster in the wake of his own blinding grin. "Yes," she replied, a little regretfully. "I live ten blocks from here."
He straightened from where he was leaning against his car. It was bright cherry red. "Why don't I give you a ride?" he offered. "It'll take a lot less time if you're driving, right?"
"Oh," she stammered, awkward again, "that's okay, um, I don't—"
"Hey," he said. "Just this once. I'll buy you coffee?"
Blake grit her teeth and tried not to think too hard. On one hand, he was some guy she'd never met—albeit a cute one, but still. She'd lived long enough in the slums to understand that guys who offered you nice things weren't always the good kind.
On the other hand—he'd smiled at her, talked to her without seeming bored or uncomfortable like others had. And he'd offered her coffee. Blake could've used some kind of chocolate drink on a day like this.
(Plus, there was the pepper spray in her bag. If anything went wrong, she could just uncap the canister and give him a face-full of capsaicin.)
She blew out a breath. "Okay," she said, and he brightened. "But I want to know your name first."
He grinned again. "Sun Wukong," he introduced himself, stretching out a hand. Blake took it. His grip was warm and firm, palm a little rough and calloused.
"I'm Blake," she said. "Blake Belladonna."