Standing Too Close
Jus' gotta... make it across….
Even stripped down to a thin pair of boy shorts and a tank top she still sweated buckets; it left her muggy, disoriented, and near tears. Her hair, the short strands plastered to her head, felt heavy and utterly disgusting. The fan that whirred somewhere to her left did little to help. She regretted leaving the wet cloth back at her bed. All she could feel was the trails of sweat as they rolled down her nose, her neck, her legs.
But her mother was here, she was home, right in the room across, she had heard the shouts… a few minutes—an hour ago? Her breath hitched in her throat.
Whimpers left her throat, but she straightened determinedly, if slowly. This stupid little fever wouldn't, couldn't stop her from going to her mother.
Her legs staggered. She lurched forward; dizzy again—she managed to catch herself on the door knob. It felt… she didn't know how it felt because her palms were so sticky, but with both tingling hands she managed to open her bedroom door. She lent her forehead against the frame for, for just a second before continuing. She swallowed and nearly chocked on her saliva.
There wasn't really any rush, but she really wanted to see Mother. The last visit had been… had been… a while ago. But now she was here—she was sure she'd heard her voice.
Leaden arms hoisted her up again; she resumed her quest to reach Mother.
An eternity later, another door swam across her vision.
Mother's… on… the other… side.
Just a few inches away; her hands missed and scrabbled against the door. This close, she could hear voices. Was her mother okay already? That was, that was good. She just had to open the door and… gosh it was awfully hot, but that didn't matter!
Everything spun for a moment—her ears registered cries of "Yang!" as she fell to her knees, wheezing, face inflamed, but all that mattered was—
"Mother," she shouted, but it came out as a rasp. Her hands braced against the static-y carpet while she struggled to rise to one knee and beyond. Blood throbbed in her head; her heartbeat drummed loudly.
Someone picked her up. Panic lanced through her and she struggled feebly. Smudges of color, objects barely discernible… stern resistance, then she was… sitting on someone's lap? The heat suffocated her, but she only wiped at her eyes distractedly because she realized that they hadn't shooed her away.
Lying on the bed, a startling amount of dark red, her mother's hair a flowing mane of brown.
Mother was frowning, her lips moved, but then she smiled at her. She smiled back even as her hands burned and acute pain seared her head and everything blurred together again. Someone shook her, the din echoing in her head, but her mother smiled.
The person holding her actually moved her closer to Mother, though she couldn't tell if she was still on their lap or on the bed now.
All she needed was—
A hug—she leant forward, willing her heavy limbs—
.
.
.
"Ngh." Her hand twitched as her head moved away from the annoying beeping.
Brightness assaulted her closed eyes, sparking a collage of orange and red under her eyelids. She wished it would go away. Unfortunately, even though she didn't feel like moving, she couldn't seem to go back to sleep anymore. It felt weird, like she'd slept but gotten no rest and couldn't do anything about it.
Maybe she should call Daddy in to close the curtains and get rid of the noise. Her stomach grumbled. Heh, breakfast sounded nice… or she could stay in bed a little longer….
"Yang? Are you awake?"
She groaned, instinctively rolling over and pulling the covers further over her head. Hopefully that would earn her some time, but since Summer Rose was already there, she doubted it. She must have slept through Daddy's calls… ugh. Getting up was always such a chore.
"It's okay if you want to sleep in longer…"
What? She sat up at that (she couldn't sleep anyway, something felt wrong), eyes squinting against the too-bright light.
Summer Rose smiled in that weird way Mother and Daddy sometimes did, her hands restlessly flattening her already-flat skirt. She also looked weirdly small. It worsened the bad feeling that twinged somewhere in her stomach.
They stared at each other before she glanced at the clock—that wasn't there. Completely distracted, she looked wide-eyed around the foreign place that wasn't her room. There were big machines all around, and it smelled differently, and it beeped, and she turned back to Summer Rose.
"Yang," Summer said quickly, "there's something you need to know."
At five years old, Yang Xiao Long lost her mother.
.
.
.
"Do you want to go outside?" She dragged herself out and sat slumped on the back porch where Mother had sometimes watched the forest when she visited. When Ruby toddled outside, Summer quickly scooped her up and asked Yang if she needed anything. She shook her head.
Mother's never coming back.
Sometime later, Daddy came home. Although she hadn't let Summer Rose comfort her, she allowed him to wrap her in his arms.
.
.
"How about a movie?" She was already on the couch, so she didn't bother answering. Summer set Ruby down next to her, the toddler squealing, "Yay! Yay!"
She let her sister latch on to her arm as the movie played—she wanted to shove the kid away from her, bitter because Ruby still had her mom while Yang didn't. But she knew she couldn't begrudge others their good luck. She couldn't blame her little sister for something she had no control over.
Tears streamed down her face again but she still shrugged off Summer Rose's hand.
(She just wanted to die.)
.
.
Mother left her all of her possessions. She couldn't really use her inheritance yet, though Daddy promised to teach her how to use her mother's motorcycle as soon as her legs could reach the pedals.
She sat like a sack of potatoes in the seat, feet dangling awkwardly, and her whole body felt heavy. Her stiff fingers lifted the helmet; it was too big for her head.
Daddy had tears in his eyes when he helped her off the black motorcycle.
.
.
"Here." A packet of oil pastels on top of a stack of black paper slid into her range of vision.
One heavy hand pushed away her half-eaten breakfast to entertain this latest attempt. Summer sat next to her, offering her random colors. She rejected all except the yellows, oranges, and reds.
Blearily, she chose a red from the collection and dragged it across the paper, a thick, heavy streak left behind. Summer pushed an orange towards her. Another meaningless mark joined the first. It looked like a triangle without a base… stark and lonely against the black void. She went back to the red pastel, scribbling with more energy this time.
Red like blood.
Dark red like the stains on Mother's blanket.
Summer nudged a white pastel towards her before letting her continue on her own, for which she was grateful. Across from them, Daddy sipped at his coffee and watched them both. She ignored him, too; she didn't like looking at his tired face. When she pushed her bangs away from her eyes, however, he spoke up.
"Hm… maybe it's time for a hair trim, Yang?"
White highlights joined the yellow and red and orange smears on the paper before she stopped. "No. I wanna let it get longer." Her voice was raspy and she didn't meet their eager gazes, but she shook her head for emphasis.
Longer, like how Mother had her hair.
On the table, a fire drawn in smearing oil pastels stood out against the black paper.
"A fire, huh?" Summer commented cheerily, "A nice work of art! Let's find a frame for it and we can put it up on your wall, yeah?"
Part of her would always wish her mother was next to her instead of Summer. She nodded anyway, mumbling, "But no haircut."
Daddy nodded slowly. "Maybe it'll help you control your Semblance," he mused. 'Like Mother had done' was left unsaid.
She stared at the fire she'd drawn.
This time, when she cried, she didn't push Summer Rose away.
Maybe one day the heavy emptiness would go away instead.
X – S – C
'Dad will be home soon, okay? Just stay here with Ruby—Uncle Qrow's number is on the fridge—don't get into any trouble while I'm gone, okay? I'll be back as soon as possible, I promise.'
It wasn't unusual for Summer to disappear for days when she was out on a mission.
Most Hunters and Huntresses worked solo, though some were known to pair up or form teams; Summer was something of a loner, a source of many whispered arguments.
The calendar on the kitchen wall marked three days since Summer had gone on her latest hunt. Yang kept count.
Ruby tugged at her arm, whining, "I wan' more cookies, Yang! An' where's Mommy?" The only one not aware of the life-or-death risk that Summer ran was Ruby, who only knew that her mother disappeared sometimes and left her bored with Yang and their father.
School days passed quickly enough, but in the summer everything took a different turn. When both Dad and Summer worked, each moment encompassed an eternity that forced her to remember.
"She's not home yet—" Ruby's face fell, prompting her to hastily add, "Tell ya what, Rubes! We'll read a story together and then you can have more cookies, yeah? And we can have milk with 'em if you let me read two stories!" She ruffled her little sister's hair as she spoke. Ruby's hair looked rather comical in its short bob, which she'd had ever since some boy stuck gum in her previously long black locks (Yang glared at the arrogant kid whenever she could).
Ruby drew her eyebrows together in an exaggerated "thinking face," considering Yang's suggestion. She hoped Ruby would agree, because there weren't a lot of cookies left, and she didn't want to deal with an upset Ruby without Summer around. Besides, her hand was somewhat cramped from the mountain of drawings she'd made the past three days.
Just as the little girl opened her mouth, someone cleared their throat pointedly.
Both girls jumped, whirling around to see Summer Rose waiting merrily with her arms spread out. Squealing, Ruby launched herself into her mother's embrace, shouting, "MOMMY! I missed you but Yang read stories an' we had cookies an'—"
Ducking from Ruby's flailing arms, Yang retreated to the kitchen table. Her tense jaw loosened as she watched mother and daughter interact, even though the sight sent a pang to her heart.
"Whoa there, slow down," Summer laughed, hoisting Ruby on her hip properly. "Oof, someone's grown a lot!" She pretended to sag under her tiny daughter's weight.
Ruby giggled, saying proudly, "I drink lots'a milk! An' cookies!"
"You eat us outta house an' home on top of talking our ears off," Yang interjected jokingly. Her lilac eyes, however, narrowed at noticing Summer's disheveled appearance. Dark stains marred her normally pristine white cloak, her hair was tangled, and there were scratches on her face.
Summer gently pried Ruby off her. "Behave a little longer while Mommy changes into some nicer clothes, okay?" The little girl pouted but nodded. She skipped back to Yang as Summer shot a grateful smile to the blonde before leaving.
Ruby clambered onto a seat next to her sister, looking curiously at the pictures scattered around the table. Yang smiled. Her sister really had a one-track mind—not that I'm any better, she thought bitterly.
"I have a present for a certain someone whose sixth birthday is tomorrow!" Summer cried as she slid back into the kitchen in padded socks, wearing a fresh cloak. Clutched in her hands was a fancily-wrapped box.
Almost immediately, Ruby jumped back up. "Me?! Can I open it now?!"
Laughing, her mother nodded, handing her the present. The silver-eyed girl tore into the wrapping paper with gusto, plopping down in the middle of the floor to examine it. Her little hands pulled out a mass of red cloth.
Confused, Ruby looked back in the box, then at her mother. Yang scooted closer, also curious. Summer Rose only winked back at them. Pouting, Ruby spread out the cloth in front of her.
Her mouth opened as her eyes widened comically. Her mother had gotten her a cloak, practically identical to her own but vibrant red in color. She hugged it close, somehow simultaneously managing to jump so high it looked like she was floating in midair.
"YAY—thankyouthankyou!" she cried happily.
Yang watched them silently, managing to smile at her little sister's exuberance. Even though they were only two years apart, the age gap often felt even wider than it really was.
"C'mon," Summer scooped her daughter into her arms, "let's try it on—but in the backyard, so we won't break anything inside and make Daddy mad." Ruby giggled at that, still nodding ardently.
Summer paused, looking back at Yang. "You too, Yang! We can mess around with our auras while we're outside, maybe play a game of tag."
The blonde perked up at the challenge. Summer Rose's Semblance gave her the upper hand in terms of speed, but her own aura boosted her endurance, even if she couldn't control anything else. Ruby had inherited her mom's Semblance, but she also had lesser control and was easily distracted.
(Secretly, she thought Summer Rose's aura was cooler—safer—and even envied Ruby a little, making her almost desperate to prove to herself her Semblance's worth.)
"Okay," she finally agreed, leaving her oil pastels and black paper behind.
.
.
.
Floorboards creaking marked Dad's pacing in the kitchen. Every so often a particularly loud creak had her little sister burrowing further into her side, her arm squeezed in a vice grip.
They shouldn't be up so late, but the news had predicted that the blizzard would last a few more days in the eastern outskirts of Vale and some areas of Forever Fall.
Summer was still somewhere in Forever Fall.
Six days—winter break ended today and they would have class tomorrow, barring further snowfall. If they didn't sleep soon school would be a drag.
Too many days had passed without word from Summer.
Her sister slipped out from under her and off the bed. She flinched when she left the warmth of Yang's ever-present aura, but it didn't deter the younger girl from moving the curtains and pressing her nose against the freezing glass.
A blanket of snow covered everything, barely distinguishable under the darkness of the new moon.
"Do you want me to read another story?" Yang whispered, not looking at Ruby. Her too-big hands fumbled awkwardly with their newest storybook, a present from Dad.
She could just make out Ruby shaking her head. "Why don't the stories talk about the people left behind?" Her small form nearly blended into the dark curtains and window. She probably clutched the sides of her cloak as tightly as she had Yang's arm. "They lied."
Yang opened the book to a random page; her fingers traced over unseen words and pictures. The recent cuts on the inside of her thigh twinged, reminding her of her dependence.
Of course they lied. Who wouldn't lie to see a kid like Ruby keep smiling and laughing freely? But Summer Rose isn't a liar—she's going to come back and she'll wrap Ruby in her arms and this'll be forgotten.
(She's going to come back and save me from myself.)
"Everyone else," she tried to persuade Ruby, "the ones who get left behind… they move forward with their lives. Stories are about heroes because it gives them hope." Or short relief.
Ruby was suddenly next to her, crawling back into the bed. Yang put aside the book.
"I want to be a hero. Then I won't ever be left behind," her little sister declared.
.
.
Dad took them out of school early the third day back. His ashen face ignited a surge of panic in her—"She's okay, right?" she demanded as soon as they were out of the classroom.
His hands weighed heavily on her shoulders. "No," said his hoarse voice. They stared at each other, and she knew what he was going to say next. "She—she's dead."
When she punched him and singed his crisp white shirt, he only cradled her in his arms and wept with her, oblivious to the painfully quiet class that bore witness.
At thirteen years old, Yang Xiao Long lost her stepmother.
.
.
Everything settled quickly—just like when Mother had died.
The few items in her will were soon disbursed, leaving them with an even bigger hole in their hearts. She got a couple thousand lien and a letter.
Not even her Semblance had saved her. That Semblance, the one Yang had so admired, had failed her. Ashes were left in her wake, meager shadows of former lives.
'If you're reading this letter—I wish things had worked out differently.'
'I'm sorry. I know I said I'd be back… I've made myself a liar.'
'I'm sorry, but I have faith in you. Take care of Ruby.'
'I'm sorry. I couldn't ever give you more than empty words.'
'I'm sorry, Yang. It was my fault that your mother died.'
What didn't settle was the fire she accidentally started in her bedroom. She nearly burnt the house down, forcing them to live with Uncle Qrow for a spell.
How could she live without someone to save everyone from herself?
.
.
She didn't dwell much on Summer's death. She put away her oil pastels and the stacks of black paper. She went to the gym more often.
The only thing she kept in her thoughts was the letter. She made herself her little sister's pillar, just as Summer asked, and she started looking for answers.
Grief.
Unrelenting emptiness in her very being.
Anger.
Betrayal, too. She didn't care for it though. She was going to be a Huntress and she would be unbeatable.
X – S – C
"Ahh, fuck, that one really did a number…."
She gingerly tested her knee—ouch. Definitely busted, but at least I got something out of it this time.
Eh, it's not dislocated too badly; I can make it to the air docks on Bumbleby. I just gotta avoid aggravating it while my aura contains the damage. Who the fuck hangs around in a dilapidated warehouse anyway?
Hopping on her right leg as much as possible, she continued making her way out of the ruined building. Her back was awfully exposed, but her aura still smoldered beneath her skin, so she ignored her surroundings in favor of retrieving her hidden motorcycle.
"No, no, slowly and easy does it," she muttered. Her weight rested on her right leg as she eased the left over in a painful and slow process. Various aches made themselves known, but they quickly softened into mild irritation.
Eventually she succeeded in straddling her motorcycle, though the painful twinges from her knee hinted that she might damage it further by the time she made it back to the docks. She rolled her shoulders as she put on her helmet.
Maybe I should just stop at a hotel for the night… Ruby and the others will want to know how I messed up my knee. Not to brag—heh, bragging to myself?—but blows rarely affect me.
Except I was stupid and blanked out for a second, she snarled to herself. Setting off at a moderately fast speed back to the main city, she replayed the moment of her blunder in her mind.
The contact that the Malachite twins had reluctantly given her had proved sadistic in his choice of weapon. She could adapt to almost any style of physical combat, but the psychological attack had thrown her off balance—a lot.
She had charged confidently, only to stumble when he called out her mother's name, and he sent a barrage of bullets that her aura only just parried. He asked if she visited Summer Rose's grave, sounding almost concerned, as he dodged past a glancing blow.
Then the building started collapsing and her divided attention between the man and the chunks of rotten wood and concrete enabled him to kick the back of her knee just as she pivoted on one leg.
Cunning tactics held out for a while; however, incensed by the blow she overpowered him with brute force. Brawn won over brain this time.
Next time I mightn't be so lucky. The person she was looking for would no doubt try to use her bull's temper and focus to ensnare her.
The low growl that escaped her remained unheard over the whistling of the wind.
Once she arrived at the city, she further slowed until she was going at ten below the speed limit. She liked being reckless with her injuries, but the reminder she'd gotten provoked melancholy instead of anger.
I'm really tired. She slouched on her bike, brooding for once instead of giving into the urge to burn something beautiful.
She checked her scroll at a stoplight, noting the late hour. The last air ship left in just over half an hour, but she hadn't eaten since breakfast, and she honestly didn't feel like going back to Beacon tonight.
The lights changed and she continued forward.
Ah, fuck it. I'll stay at a hotel.
She changed lanes, pulling over in a parking lot near a deli shop that she knew would still be open despite the evening nearing nine o' clock. She would have to walk a bit, but she wanted to eat while she still felt hungry, before her gloom took even that away.
"Yang?"
Startled, she instinctively pointed a loaded Ember Celica at Blake. Her partner cocked an eyebrow, though her lips were set in a concerned line as she retreated back a step.
"Grimm be damned, why do I never sense you sneaking up on me?" Yang laughed, hastily retracting her weapon.
"…We've both missed the airship back to Beacon," Blake noted, glancing at her scroll.
The blonde shrugged at that. "I wasn't gonna head back anyway," she said cheerily. Forging forward, she asked, "Tell ya what—let's make the most of our impromptu night out and hang at a club, yeah? You need to liven up after spending all day with books."
Blake frowned at her. She examined her partner critically. "I'm not sure that's the best idea. One, it's not legal for us to drink. Two, you just pointed a weapon at me, so something's wrong."
Yang ran a hand through her hair, a sheepish grin on her face, but an explanation was not forthcoming.
When Blake continued to glare at her, she sighed. She didn't have much patience left to put up a good front. Giving in, she motioned her partner to come closer.
"Give me a hand here. My left knee's busted," she admitted, undertones of laughter still lightening her voice. Immediately, Blake was on her other side, examining the aforementioned joint.
Shaking her head, the stoic girl silently helped the other dismount from the motorcycle, thankfully holding off on the inquisition for the moment.
As soon as her left leg hit the pavement, however, she lurched sideways and had to grab onto Blake's arm. The latter tugged Yang's arm over her shoulders, acting as a prop to keep the blonde's weight off her left leg.
With Blake waiting for her to continue, the brawler debated whether or not it really was a good idea to go to the club in her off-kilter state. She didn't really want to eat anymore.
Best to keep things light today, even if her knee hurt like a bastard and her heart kept weeping. Blake prooobably wouldn't appreciate having to lug her drunken partner around while looking for a hotel.
Also she didn't want to become an alcoholic at sixteen. That'd put a dent in her plans.
Then again, Blake had to stop worrying about stuff like rules and consequences. Eh, whatever; she'd play the night by the ear.
"There's a bar just down the street. A friend of mine runs the place, so don't worry about us not being legal." She could feel her partner's frown even if she couldn't see her face. "Humor me for a while," she sighed, letting Blake hear the weariness that plagued her.
Silence reigned while they made their way to the club, broken only when they entered.
At the counter, Yang ordered two Strawberry Sunrises—light drinks to compromise with Blake.
When their drinks came she led her partner to a secluded booth, suddenly conscious of Blake's Faunus traits. The music and crowd around the counter probably hurt the unaccustomed ears. A relatively tame evening was in order for her kitty cat.
Still, she enjoyed absorbing the pulsing beat of the music, feeling it galvanize her depleted energy.
"Well?" Blake asked impatiently.
Startled out of her thoughts, she met the other's gaze across from her.
"You're being rather impatient today," she affably avoided, toying with her drink as she propped her chin up on her left fist. Blake ignored her own drink, those bright amber eyes focused entirely on Yang.
Her foot tapped against the floor to the rhythm of the song. Nothing stopped her boundless energy.
"Come at me and you'll see I'm more than meets the eye," she finally murmured in response.
'Yellow beauty burns gold.' She had added the caption to the back of that first drawing she'd made. The flames soothed her wounded soul—maybe one day she'd burn so bright her wick would be used up. Call it… a different type of passive suicide.
Blake merely blinked, her ears twitching under her bow the only sign of her confusion.
I really don't want to get into this shit tonight. But Blake was her partner. She would find out eventually, especially if Yang kept losing it every time she went out on her self-imposed mission.
"Sorry, I'm just… kinda addled, I guess." She fought the urge to slap her palm against the table. Instead, she took a reserved sip from her glass and launched into her story.
"The Malachite twins—remind me to thank them later—set up a meeting for me down by the abandoned warehouses. The guy realized who I was and tried to do me in, but I got what I wanted in the end. He just fought dirty; that's why my knee's dislocated."
An in medias res explanation would only raise more questions, she knew, but could she bring herself to reveal the heart of the matter?
Now she had a name, though. A name to put to the still-faceless silhouette: Cinder Fall.
With a name, my investigation will be much more fruitful… and dangerous.
"My mother died when I was five. Eight years later, my stepmother Summer Rose died," she continued, not meeting Blake's gaze because she didn't want her to see the tears. The rise in temperature, however, gave away her agitation.
"Police reports said there'd been an altercation between some criminals and Mother had accidentally been caught in the crossfire. All I cared about, though, was the fact that Mother was dead."
Her fingers rubbed restlessly at the worn surface of the table. For a moment, neither spoke, but then Yang went on, bitter laughter darkening the atmosphere.
"Summer Rose was always kind of a reckless loner when it came to being a Huntress, and that worked for her, but would things have been different if she'd had a partner with her when she went out to Forever Fall?
"…When she died, it wrecked Ruby and Dad. I added another layer to my previous levels of broken and fucked up. She had written a letter for me—a letter! What do you do to a heartbroken pyromaniac? Leave behind a letter saying 'it's my fault your mother died and I'm a thousand kinds of sorry but also could you take care of Ruby?'"
Mocking vitriol colored her tightly regulated voice. A fist rested on the table, just itching to smash something.
Blake cautiously took it into both her hands, prying the fingers apart and soothing the indented flesh of Yang's palm.
Shuddering, the Herculean blonde let her partner hold her hand as she tried to tamp down on the wave of rage that threatened to ignite her Semblance. Already she could tell that Blake was sweating, so she forced herself to focus on Blake's soft fingers caressing her palm.
"I've been suicidal for so long," she confessed. Her partner tightened her grip. "Summer helped me with that. I'd draw, pouring out my frustrations in smears of oil pastels on black paper. Then she died and I couldn't do something so closely associated with her, y'know? But she left behind that letter, giving me two things: responsibility for Ruby and a need to find out the truth.
"So I burn. I just burn brighter and brighter the more I get hit, as you saw at the battle with Torchwick a month ago. I'll work out for hours on end when I'm frustrated, I'll power through battles, I'll be the life of the party…"
Her voice dwindled. "If I burn bright enough, maybe I'll wear myself out… for the last time."
Blake, easily the second dearest person in her heart, slipped out of her side of the booth to join Yang.
Gentle breaths ruffled the locks of golden hair near her ear, tickling her. She wrapped Blake in a one-armed hug. Her cheek pressed against her partner's own silky black hair.
"Oh, Blake," she said mournfully. "I'm fighting my life away."
.
.
.
"Emergency team meeting in five minutes!"
Weiss rolled her eyes from her bed. "Everyone's already here, you dunce. Where have you been all day?"
Ruby bounced up and down elatedly, apparently too excited to talk yet.
Across the room, Blake and Yang shared a bed, the former reclining against the latter as they read together. Ruby's enthusiasm, however, forced them to put aside the book to look expectantly at their hyperactive leader.
"Ruby?" Weiss prompted her partner.
"Ahhhhh! Okay, okay. Blake, I know you've been on edge because we haven't heard from Torchwick or the White Fang for a couple months now, and we've been busy with school work, but I went to pick up some rounds and guess what Torchwick'sworkingformffgh—"
Patting Ruby's back as she choked on a random cookie, Weiss scolded her, "Slowly, dolt! How are we supposed to decipher your nonsense if you talk too fast?"
Yang piped up, "She was saying something about Torchwick working for someone, but then you stuffed a cookie in her mouth. Talk about a mouthful." Her lilac eyes danced with mirth, but she could already feel adrenaline pumping her up.
"Cinder Fall," Ruby finally wheezed out.
Both Blake and Yang froze.
.
.
Cinder Fall's eyes burned.
Miniature flames, dancing as she moved, hypnotized her—uncontrollable like that first fire she had caused one bitter afternoon.
Win against her?
Impossible.
Prowess as nothing they had ever seen—her wide eyes, immune to the smoke, watched the meticulous manipulation of her fellow pyromaniac's aura. Her own scintillating Semblance flared up further in response, seeking to assert itself.
We're doomed.
"Another burning heart?" Cinder Fall watched her curiously, licking her lips.
Her heart stuttered.
In her arms, Ruby struggled to sit up, wheezing, "Leave my sister alone!"
"Oh, Ruby, darling," the older woman countered, "I would have left you and your merry band alone, but you decided to interfere."
Yang cradled her sister close, refusing to let go. Blood coated the younger girl's torso already, and who knew how Weiss and Blake were doing on their own; they needed to conserve their strength.
They simply couldn't lose someone else to Cinder Fall.
But that aura.
Hers wasn't anywhere near that level.
"Pyromagic," she told her, summoning a fireball and dissipating it before Yang could even bring Ember Celica up to parry.
"One of the most underdeveloped magicks in Remnant," she elaborated. "Something you will not learn at Beacon, or anywhere, because pyromaniacs often either kill themselves in losing control or they become too afraid of their aura to use it at all."
She shuddered, remembering an out-of-control fever and stifling fire.
Cinder Fall nodded, her smirk gone.
She paced before the prostrated girls, heels clacking loudly—ominously?
"I killed Summer Rose," she abruptly admitted, her eyes fading to a burnt grey. Ashes that accompanied the smoke and fire that inevitably flourished wherever pyromaniacs went.
Her hands jerked, the heat poured off her in waves, and Ruby gasped, but all she could focus on was Cinder Fall.
This, this bitch—
Yang's breath came in short heaves, wanting so badly to rend her face black and blue, but still cowed by the sheer presence of the older woman.
"Your mother, however… I did not mean for her to die."
A low keen, composure torn asunder. Flames licked at her yellow locks, flickering soundlessly.
"Didn't mean—" she chocked on her words.
Quivering, eyes also flickering, her lips moved but no further words came out.
"She gave her life so that Summer Rose could live a little longer, and told me that I owed the Xiao Long successor for taking her mother away."
Her face took on a half-mocking smile. "Successor—the audacity! I had no intention of honoring a promise I did not make… until I spoke to Summer." Those grey eyes still smoldered, subtle where Yang was not.
Cinder Fall shook her head. "You're surprisingly good for lacking training, but you lack finesse and knowledge. I can teach you," she offered.
"Is that—is that supposed to be an apology?" Yang's throat burned and her chest tightened painfully as she forced out the words.
I'm not going to cry. Not in front of her.
A derisive snort was her answer. "Not an apology, not compensation, not anything other than acknowledgement," the villainess clarified, taking a step forward, her chin held up high.
You know what—
You're standing too close to a flame that's burning.
"Don't bother and just watch me burn," she snarled, punctuating her declaration with a point-blank shot to Cinder Fall, letting her aura supercharge.
But Cinder Fall merely raised a hand and the bullet deflected into the rubble beside her. She shook her head, that mocking smirk twisting her lips once more. She deliberately turned her back on the blazing pyromaniac.
"You are further injuring your unconscious sister."
She looked down, and, to her horror, Ruby had indeed lost conscious and was sweating profusely. She hadn't noticed the dead weight in her arms or the dangerous rise in temperature.
Panicked, she struggled to contain her Semblance, barely registering Cinder Fall's farewell.
"You lack finesse, Miss Xiao Long."
.
.
Newly-laundered, crisp white sheets had replaced the hospital ones at Weiss's insistence. They were comfortingly soft.
She wondered if the heiress had also arranged for her and Ruby to share a room. The team's self-appointed "best teammate" had a commandeering will even when confined to a hospital bed.
Idle fingers continued to brush against the bed sheets.
Guilt gnawed at her insides, leaving a cold trail across her inner arms and twisting in her chest, but Blake had latched onto her left arm and by Dust, that soothed her like no one else ever could.
Security, however, would only be wrested from long hours training. They all had to make up for the deficiencies that Cinder Fall had exploited.
Cinder Fall…
What a fucking mess she's involved us in—and on top of that, we're practically hopeless against her.
Familiar anger stirred in her gut.
But we're the good guys, the heroes.
And one thing heroes don't do is give up.
Xiao Long - Summer Rose - Cinder Fall
A/N: Well, well, well! Look what we have here - something that isn't Madoka Magica, haha.
I hope you guys recognized the lyrics I took from "I Burn" and "Red Like Roses Part II." As for formatting, well... three dots are a big gap in time, two dots mean the sections are more closely related, and then there are page breaks that mark each arc.
Creative license for the win. If Summer Rose is Ruby's mom, then it's plausible that Yang took her own mother's last name. That is assuming that Yang and Ruby are half-sisters. Volume 2 seriously needs to elaborate on Yang's backstory, else you end up with people like me who fill in the emptiness with headcanons and canon deviations.
The gist of the story: Cinder has this grudge against Summer - jealous ex-gf maybe, who knows - which occupied Cinder while Summer still lived. Once Summer Rose died, Cinder could progress with her other nefarious schemes.
Convoluted stories are fun to write.
That last arc, with Cinder Fall, gave me a surprising amount of trouble. A "Circus Monster" cover, by Aya_me, really helped me get into the mood. I honestly didn't expect for "Standing Too Close" to have so many darker themes, but here we are.
Please review! I appreciate all constructive criticism. -Teddy.