This is my debut piece, mainly to see if I was able to sit down and actually write something coherent and presentable. I understand that Jaune leaving his friends is quite out of character for him but, as mentioned, I came up with a quick plot and wrote whatever came to mind. I would like any criticisms that would help improve my work. I do not own any characters mentioned in this script.
The foliage covered the brook, only ever being seen with gaps in the bushes and the barren skeletons of trees. The best evidence for the meandering brook was the ever-present chuckle to the right of a dishevelled Jaune shuffling on an eroded dirt path, in which nature retaliates by populating the left of the path with some of the most hated plants. Weeds. These weeds being a surprising plethora of shapes and sizes, ranging from pigweed to dandelions. Of course, Jaune knew this. Of course, he would know the most useless of information that, in no possible way, would be useful or needed in any sense.
What made these weeds noticeable to the distraught figure of Jaune, despite their rather hideous countenance, was how they rose from the figurative millions of auburn leaves that were everywhere in sight. How they grew and thrived like poppies in a sea of bodies. Fortunately, weeds have never been adopted as a symbol of respect for the dead, and for obvious reasons, but the idea was there. They, strangely enough, provided Jaune with imagery so powerful it begged him to halt. Jaune noticed how the weeds were devout of any greenery and were a fair distance from any grass, Jaune guessed around a couple of feet, and weirdly, the leaves seemed to keep their distance, as though they were afraid. This isolation of the weeds somehow connects to Jaune by some small miracle, as if he saw himself isolated from not only the world, as he was technically in this obscurely secluded forest, but on some deeper level with his oh-so-far away friends. Well, after all, he was weak when compared to them, pathetic even, as that was his purgatory. To be weak. Worthless.
Nevertheless, to his right was that damned chuckling brook, seemingly laughing to his expense, what separated him from it was a small cliff shaped into a 'c' shape. Jaune edged his way to it, God knows why because he didn't. An excuse of wanting to see his probable ramshackle appearance came to mind quickly.
He was good at that, creating excuses and lies out of thin air. To him, it may of well be his semblance, a machination of his soul and lacking physical power. Then, he saw a blond and seemingly miserable young man that appeared sickened at Jaune. Jaune could barely recognise him, but it was his reflection alright, he could recognise those deplorable features anywhere.
The overhang on which he stood obviously had little to no strength, barely holding itself, so when Jaune rather stupidly went an inch too far, it collapsed; taking him with it. The stinging pain that came after the rather unmanly shriek his full and backpack doing little to cushion the, was, well, painful but manageable, he is… Was a huntsman. In his mind, he was quick to correct his mistake.
He sat there in the rushing water, ignoring the roots of trees poking him like fingers, thinking of what to tell his family when he returned. He certainly wasn't going to tell them the truth, instead, he must use his 'semblance' to lie to them.
He couldn't help it, but he thought about telling them the truth, about him lying about being accepted into Beacon, about becoming a huntsman-in-training, about him running away from his friends. Actually, that was one of the few useful things Jaune was good at; running. He must've taken a page out of Blake's book…
It wasn't the disappointing look of his mother or the thunderous rage of his father that he worried about but his sisters' reaction. Those wonderful sisters who would never look down on him, who would never raise their voices to him, and, most importantly in Jaune's mind, never gave their stupid, younger brother a well-earned slap after all his failed pranks. But it those wonderful sisters that taught him to dance, to work the garden, to sew. Who effectively sealed his fate to be an effeminate trophy husband. Fantastic, he had dug another grave for himself, blaming his family for his own stupidity
Thankfully, he had a figurative eternity to think about his lies before he would even be in the same area of his family.
Before he left his friends, he managed to prepare himself, got other pieces of clothing, a decent collection of food that would do him a month or two if he rationed it, hell even a small whetstone for his sword, not that it'll be his if he does tell the truth to his family. At this time, Jaune can barely remember what the room looked like, that, like him, was an insignificant factor in what would seem like an epic ballad of a group of friends fighting against a tsunami-like force of darkness. To Jaune, he had no place in such a tale, and if he did it would be the role of the fool or clown or whatever title suits him.
The inn they were in, which went by as 'white orchard' or something of a similar nature. The inn was warm and cosy enough, looking like an undersized lodge with a meagre handful of rooms for both the weary and inexperienced travellers and passers-by, it was certainly a beacon of warmth on a night of downpours of endless rain. The innkeeper was a grumpy old fart, who looked between Ren and Nora and openly said to 'keep it down tonight' producing the rare sight of Ren blushing, even the stoic Qrow gave a cheeky smirk in which was hidden with his flask on his lips. In all honesty, it didn't help how Nora was hanging off Ren's shoulder like most days. Regardless of the homely feeling of the inn and the feeling of family with his friends, Jaune was leaving, leaving with the intent to never tell Ruby, Ren or Nora. Guilt only truly becoming present when he was leaving the village and his friends shouting for his name, pleading for him to come out say that 'him disappearing from his room with everything he owns wasn't what it looked like'.
Jaune sneezed, it sounded effeminate. Out of Cardin's bullying, the small quips he received from Yang and Weiss about his masculinity, Pyrrha leaving him with a heartfelt kiss for an unwinnable fight and Qrow stating that it was Pyrrha's choice to become that maiden or whatever when they probably appealed to her caring side, the goddamned bastards. He had reached his breaking point long ago. He loved Pyrrha, and it hurt to think about Pyrrha. In Jaune's mind, it should never hurt to think of loved ones.
He thrashed in the water, producing any and all curses he could produce, this childish display being the creation of Jaune's frustrations, his self-loathing. His Pumpkin Pete hoodie ripping from the grasp of the roots around him. This tantrum making all parts of Jaune's being wet, ultimately making this outlet of emotions not worth the price of being dank for hours on one of those autumn days where the sky was perfectly clear, but the wind roared with horrid ferocity, which would dance upon causing hypothermia which would be a dangerous hindrance. Upon realising this, he ceased, putting his raised hands by his side.
As if on cue, Jaune began to shiver profusely as uncomfortable gooseflesh uprose on his body. That would be Jaune alright, he imagined reaching whatever heaven that was for Pyrrha to ask him, 'Why are you here?' only for him to say something about freezing to death and her probably hitting him for dying; only for him to be dragged to hell for his lies and sins. Heartbreak stuck him, that hurt more than the shivering ever could. Pyrrha…
He rose from his small recess and felt water rush down his body as a reaction to gravity. He took one step but only to step on some moss and slip. He swung his arms in wild circles to balance himself from falling and managed to reach equilibrium once again. He took another step, instead of taking it agonisingly slow, placing weight on each step slowly to try and maintain the required grip for the horrendous surface.
After moving to a more stable location in the river at a snail's pace, while keeping his legs static, he moved his torso looking for any embankments in the meanders path, it was hard to see a small deposition of small stones and gravel on one of the river's outer bends as it appeared to be some length away but, nonetheless, he moved. To his dismay, not only was he moving against the flow of the water, it was getting deeper, rising from his shins to his thighs after taking a few steps.
With every other step, he quickly shot his arms outwards to keep balance, and after becoming convinced of his security, he continued to move. He made terribly slow progress, his already tired eyes only open as a reaction to the freezing water and to the sound of teeth clattering in time with the shivers that continuously ran throughout his body, the weight of his wet clothes being of little help in supporting him in his endeavour.
To continue from earlier, he tried to erupt into cursing his existence and the world, only for it to come out in the form of awkward and uncomfortable stutters. This only helps to allow for the water to jump into his mouth in response to clashing against his tall figure, helping to add to his already intolerable situation.
Believing himself to be out of the large agony of moss, he lifted his head from concentration and looked at the serene beauty of the forest around him, his eyes moving from the birch skeletons of the trees, devout of the fire, auburn leaves that rained from the canopy. It truly made up for a majestic scene of natural beauty, plus he imagined that if he wasn't in that infernal river, he could truly appreciate the scene, but to Jaune, it was one step at a time, quite literally as he made it closer to the embankment.
He blinked, in the constant fall of leaves, he was sure he saw her, Pyrrha just standing there, not in not that sublime armour she wore but in a blouse in a pinkish-purple colour, blue ripped jeans and her hair down, she was beautiful, edging towards the kind of beauty that was told in fairy tales and folklore. However, Jaune cared less about that as he focused on that smile that often made his day, although he often didn't the message of that smile. He was sorry she loved him or liked or whatever she did, but to him, after the kiss and after her death, she was everything he needed. He wouldn't admit that to anyone other than her though.
Oh God above it hurt so much to look at her.
Before he knew it, he was looking down. He knew he was hallucinating to the cold. He wasn't a total idiot, as much as Weiss would 'joke', but he knew it was terribly dangerous if his brain was getting affected by the temperature, it was turning into a fatal kind of territory. He made more a conscious effort to move, he may have thought terribly of himself but that didn't go into suicidal thoughts.
However, he looked back to where she was, but she's gone. Nevermind his worthlessness, how could he continue without that foundation, as much as he knew Ruby, Ren and Nora meant well, it wouldn't fill that gap, and that is a danger to not only himself and others. Especially when that gap in the team couldn't be filled logically speaking, God knows he would try and try but only fail in an impossible task for Jaune.
He wilfully collapsed onto the bank, finally breathing in rest, it was well deserved as when Jaune will stand, he will be attacked by the crisp wind that pierced through the canopy and past the trees with little effort. Jaune's mind raced with chores of which to do to ensure survival, start a fire, dry clothes, find… but he cut himself off with a small smile as he sat up and looked at that the brook that caused such a terrible problem, but it was peaceful, untouched, what he needs from his turbulent life.