Revised - Nov. 18, 2014

Author's Note: Now to kick this story into gear with the first chapter. And I'm pleasantly surprised that the prologue has such a positive reception from so many people. Thanks, you guys. :)

On some of the points mentioned in the comments, like I said in the prologue, while the general premise is the same, the characters won't be direct analogs of Ciaphas Cain characters. And since Jaune doesn't nearly have as much life experience to draw upon as Cain, his approach will naturally be a bit different. For one, Cain wants to preseve his reputation for heroism and professional competence while trying to manipulate people into putting him out of harm's way. Jaune from the get-go wants to be dismissed as willing to help but too inept to be safely allowed to do so in the hope that he'll be safely dismissed. His plans will also be less thought-out and refined than Cain's.

Chapter 1 - First Impressions

"Enter as you should exit: with a bang, not a whimper" —quote unattributed

When the airship finally took off for Beacon, Jaune had to admit that it wasn't quite as bad as he'd thought it would be. The flight was actually quite smooth; the sheer bulk of the enormous aircraft didn't shake anywhere near as much in level flight as smaller vehicles since there was more mass to dampen the vibrations. It was also much, much smoother than being on a boat bobbing up and down at the mercy of the waves. The flight actually seemed like it could be tolerable, if not exactly pleasant.

That should have been his first clue.

Sadly, in a serious lapse of his better judgment he listened to the part of him that had almost been—and wanted to be—convinced that maybe it was going to be that smooth the whole way.

As usual, that glimmer of optimism had cheerfully lied to him; pessimism, at least, had the good grace to settle for a knowing smirk.

The airship turned, causing it to bank. When it leveled out again, it swayed a bit in the other direction. On a ship its size, "a bit" meant it was more than enough to feel significantly. It wouldn't have been so bad if the banking and turning only happened once or twice, but for some reason the chosen flight path seemed to meander every which-way. Even that was mostly tolerable … until they hit "a bit" of turbulence.

On the abstract level, Jaune liked it when things lived down to his expectations. It was nice to be right. On the more concrete level …

He hated feeling nauseous. It made him unable to move steadily, which would get in the way of the all-important task of keeping himself alive and well in the event things went horribly wrong. Being preoccupied with the unholy rumbling in his stomach and the building disorientation also made it increasingly impossible to think straight. His thoughts dissolved into a miserable haze of way too many vibrant colors and far too loud noises, demoting him further from sitting duck to plucked, headless chicken, first class. He was only vaguely aware of settling into an extremely uncomfortable and often painful struggle to keep the contents of his stomach firmly in the right direction even as he fought to maintain his footing.

And a mighty struggle it was, probably the closest thing to a truly valiant battle he'd ever been in. If only his family could see him now. They'd be so proud.

Unfortunately, as with the vast majority of brave, heroic stands—the ones historians and storytellers tended to gloss over—this ended in ignominious defeat. He began vomit. Not in one neat, theatrical disgorgement, no, but instead in a series of bad hics and heaves, each one accompanied by bursts of foul, awful-smelling chunky wetness. Then, as abruptly as it started, the heaving stopped. He spat, trying hard not to think about the taste too much.

Breakfast, circa early morning—a good vintage.

He braced himself against the window sill as he tried mightily not to barf again. Part of him dully noted the reactions of the students that he could see reflected in the window's glass. Most seemed to be pointedly ignoring him, some were trying (or not bothering) to hide amusement at his ordeal, and a few looked vaguely sympathetic in the ultimately self-centered "poor guy, glad he's not me" sort of way.

He was dimly aware of wobbling over to a pair of girls, a tall, long-haired blonde and a short, shorter-haired brunette. He heard one of them say "Vomit Boy" or something to that effect as he teetered by. He supposed that this was all pretty undignified, but that didn't really bother Jaune. Having been put down as a coward for years had mostly inured him to mockery.

He'd learned long ago that dignity was just pride trying to be self-important, and pride was just the way people convinced themselves that their own flaws and shortcomings weren't really that bad (or were actually good things in the first place), making them feel better about their own inadequacies by treating them as their own oh so special set of virtues. Of course, that all just made them bone-headed, grudging, and combative whenever they felt that challenged.

Whenever he had let such people goad him in the past and he fought back, they just ganged up on him, beat him up, and mocked him even further. Considering that he was being mocked for the perfectly sane idea of not getting hurt in the first place, getting into a fight to defend that decision ... well, a point or two may have been missed. Jaune later realized it was much smarter to turn their own attitudes and expectations to his advantage, however poorly they thought of him be damned.

Besides, being known as the loser who got airsick and vomited all over the place would only help reinforce the image of hapless incompetence he was trying to nurture. He could work with this.

The two girls were edging way from a pool of vomit he'd inadvertently smeared on the floor near them when an inopportune tilt of the airship had sent it flowing slowly toward them. They started shrieking their disgust and moved further, one of them yelling something about shoes.

He supposed he might've found that vindictively funny—nothing wrong with holding a bit of a grudge as long as you didn't let it make you act stupid—had he felt better. As it was, he felt like a bad hangover without the preceding fun part aside. Or so he assumed was what a hangover felt, anyway. He only really knew about hangovers from hearsay. The creative, and sometimes amusing, ways drunk people managed to hurt themselves and others had been more than enough incentive to make sure he had never gotten drunk himself, and where his safety was concerned self-control came easy.

At any rate, he spent the rest of the flight keeping whatever remained of his breakfast down. And toward the end, he'd lost that fight too.

When the airship finally settled to a stop and began unloading passengers, Jaune all but barreled out of the exit, looking for the nearest receptacle. Conveniently, it—a barrel, appropriately enough—was right outside the exit, probably placed there precisely for what he was about to use it for. He wasted no time fulfilling its quietly noble purpose in life.

A few life-affirming heaves later, and it was finally over. He would've breathed a sigh of relief, but he'd retasted breakfast enough already, and his breath was still pretty vile. He leaned on one arm against the barrel, using the other to wipe his mouth, and regarded the other students leaving the airship.

Jaune's eyes were drawn to the pair of girls he'd probably indirectly barfed on earlier. Now that he was less disorientated and thinking much more clearly, he could focus on more than vague impressions. With a quick scan, he took in their details.

The short brunette had short hair with red highlights, a long hooded red cloak, red-frilled black combat boots, and black clothing that flared out in a wide and also red-frilled skirt. Clipped onto the back of her belt was a large collapsible weapon of some sort, unsurprisingly also colored mostly red. The tall blonde girl was more muscular and wore mostly shades of tan, had long and messy hair, an orange scarf, a gold-piped vest with short puffed sleeves, and what looked like mechanized combat gauntlets worn over gloves. She also wore some sort of open asymmetrical skirt belted over her short shorts, and knee-high platform boots.

At the sight of the boots, he grimaced.

Being publicly known as Vomit Boy was one thing, actually vomiting on someone else was quite another. That was the kind of thing that could build some real resentment from the barfed-upon, and the last thing he wanted was to encourage hostility among people who were likely 1) better at fighting than he was, 2) more actually willing to fight than he was in the first place, and 3) armed with who knew what sort of Dust-powered killing machine.

Better safe than sorry—or in this case, safe through a "Sorry." Provided that they weren't in an unreceptive mood or just inherently had a hostile personality, a sufficiently sincere-sounding apology could build some goodwill. And it couldn't hurt to build it among the armed and potentially dangerous.

It was also useful to start making connections. They could be potential allies, maybe even teammates, after all, and the more people were well-disposed toward him, the more there'd be between him and the Grimm. Well, theoretically anyway. People were damnably unpredictable, after all.

Unbidden, he suddenly recalled something his mother had taught him as a child, "Remember, Jaune, strangers are friends you haven't met yet." Despite himself, he smirked, wondering what his poor mother would think if she knew what he'd been thinking. Ah, well, it wasn't his fault. He loved his parents dearly, but he'd learned to take what they said with a grain of salt. Besides, just what kind of thing was that to teach an overly trusting child anyway? After all, strangers could also be awful people you haven't been victimized by yet.

He shook his head, dismissing his musings.

After a quick check to make sure he hadn't gotten any vomit on himself as well, he moved after them. With practiced ease, his face took on a slightly hesitant and somewhat sheepish cast. He'd found that a pretty safe expression to default to over the years.

Ruby Rose was nervous. The fifteen-year-old had been since it had really sunk in that she was not only going to Beacon Academy, one of the best Hunting academies in Vytal—in the world!—she was going a full two years earlier than she dreamed she could. And to think that it was only because she'd managed to meet one of the school's renowned Huntresses and professors (who later introduced her to the famous Professor Ozpin himself!) after a bunch of goons had tried to rob the Dust store she'd been in. Even better, she'd only been there because she'd been a bit bummed about being separated from her older sister, Yang, when her enrollment had been accepted; she had just wanted to be alone for a while to mope. If only all robberies could end so well!

But after the glow from the fact that, instead of being left alone, she was now going with Yang to the place of her dreams had faded, it had slowly dawned on her that she'd be two years younger than everyone else in her year, with most of those people being complete strangers. She had always had difficultly being around people without coming off like a goober, and it had been bad enough in Signal where the strangers were at least familiar to some extent. Yang's friends had been nice enough, but distant from the fact that, to them, she was just Yang's kid sister.

Beacon would be the first day of school all over again. Worse now because she was only here due to some unusual circumstances, and if there was one thing she'd learned it was that "unusual" usually got a lot of attention. Between the two of them, her sister was the one who had gotten the attention-handling skills. Ruby preferred handling weapons.

Yang's attempts to reassure her hadn't been all that helpful either since she'd just emphasized the attention she was going to get. And what exactly did "bee's knees" mean anyway? Did bees even have knees?

That one guy who vomited had managed to make her forget about her anxiety for a bit, but only because she'd been grossed out and didn't want his puke to end up on her shoes like they had on Yang's. A part of her had almost hoped that maybe that would mean that guy would have most of the attention on him for a while, but she had immediately felt guilty and disgusted with herself at the thought. The thought that he probably heard Yang casually call him Vomit Boy while he was feeling sick made her feel worse since she knew that while her sister had meant no real malice; she'd only done it in an attempt to distract her from her nervousness.

If she bumped into him again, she'd apologize. Or try to, anyway. Being bad with people meant she was bad at approaching them in the first place.

She tried to still the butterflies in her stomach as she and her sister walked in companionable silence out the airship. Silver eyes widened as they took in the sight before them. She felt the apprehension she'd been feeling melt away as she gazed at the truly massive academy, taking in the graceful, swooping lines that seemed designed to draw the eyes to the impressive-looking central tower bearing the beacon the school itself was named for. Everyone always said it had been designed like that to inspire hope. At night it was the light people could turn to in the dark, and in the day its beauty, amid other buildings of equal craftsmanship, was a statement that even in the harsh world of Remnant people not only survived but thrived.

She'd heard that sentiment since childhood, but she never really understood the feeling until right now, when she was here herself.

"Wow …" was all she could whisper.

Beside her Yang folded her arms and nodded. "The view from Vale's got nothing on this!"

Ruby opened her mouth to agree when she saw something that tore her attention from the majesty of the palatial Beacon: weaponry. She loved weapons, an appreciation that had been developed and nurtured in Signal, where you were expected to design and build your own weapon. Consequently, it had an excellently detailed weapons design class, which had been the one class that had always held her undivided attention. Being trained by Uncle Qrow in the use of a scythe—something that required intense concentration and mastery—had only stoked the flames further.

She hadn't really noticed the weapons earlier since she had been too distracted and antsy. But now that she could take them all in with their sheer variety …

"Ohmygosh, Sis! That kid's got a collapsible staff!" she suddenly blurted out, waving her arms excitedly. She whipped around to another person. "And she's got a fire sword!"

In her excitement, she began unwittingly moving toward the girl in question to get a closer look at her sword. She had even begun to reach out and touch it when she suddenly felt a painful tug at her neck.

"Ow! Ooww!" She staggered backward as Yang dragged her by the hood of her cloak. She turned to see the older girl's lavender eyes shooting her a look.

"Easy there, Little Sister. They're just weapons!" her sister admonished gently.

The younger girl looked at her incredulously. She gestured in front of her with both arms. "'Just weapons'? They're an extension of ourselves! They're a part of us!"—her voice rose and quickened into almost a squeal—"Oh, they're so cool!"

"Well, why can't you swoon over your own weapon? Aren't you happy with it?" The blonde wore a lightly indulgent smile.

In one smooth motion Ruby unclipped her collapsible scythe from behind, unfolded it, and began cradling it over her shoulder like a child. And as far as Ruby was concerned, the weapon was her little baby. Her beautiful, lethal little baby. She had lovingly given life to it and nurtured it, after all. She'd even given it her surname!

"Of course I'm happy with Crescent Rose! I just really like seeing new ones. It's like meeting new people, but better ..."

Especially since weapons are much easier to understand than people, she thought as she placed Crescent Rose back on her belt.

Once you put some thought into the design, knew where everything fit, used it right, and kept it well maintained, a weapon will work for you every time. Simple and reliable. People were frustrating to figure out and sometimes did things she couldn't anticipate, or understand even when she could. And she couldn't really break them apart to see what was wrong.

Yang responded by playfully pulling her hood over her eyes. "Ruby, come on, why don't you go try and make some friends of your own?"

"But why would I need friends if I have you?" The younger girl smiled up at her as she drew back her hood.

A slightly exasperated look came to the blonde's face, but whatever she'd been about to say was interrupted when a voice suddenly called out behind them.

"E-excuse me! Wait up!"

The duo turned and saw a blond boy running to catch up to them, panting lightly. He wore some white armor, mostly just a chest plate and pauldrons, over a back hoodie and had a sword on his belt. The patch on his faded jeans and the messiness of his hair lent him an overall scraggly appearance. He smiled hesitantly as he stopped before them. The girls stared at him for a moment before it clicked.

"Oh, hey! Aren't you Vomit Boy?" Yang asked pleasantly.

The sheepish expression on the boy's face turned a bit pained, and he began to rub the back of his head.

"Yeah, I'm not living that down for a while, am I?"

Ruby had to stifle a grin. Truth be told, she'd thought the same thing and probably would've blurted out something similar had Yang not beat her to the punch. Remembering that she had basically hoped that the guy's embarrassment would distract people from scrutinizing her, however, turned the amusement into a pang of guilt. Plus, she had wanted to apologize if given the chance, and it was clear she'd been given one.

She mildly elbowed her older sister in the ribs. "Yang!"

"No, it's okay. I get it," the boy said, waving a hand dismissively. "Motion sickness, you know? It's a much more common problem than people let on."

"So how can we help you—" Yang, seeing Ruby's warning glare and readied elbow, paused before she could bestow on him the nickname again.

"Oh! Uh, it's Jaune, Jaune Arc!" the boy supplied. Then, flashing them an awkward smile, he added, "Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue—ladies love it!"

Yang replied with a mildly amused smirk and a roll of the eyes. Ruby raised an eyebrow. "Do they?"

As abruptly as the false bravado had come, the boy, Jaune, deflated. "They will! Well, I-I hope they will. My mom always says that … Er, never mind, that's not the point."

"Eh … heh." Ruby smiled in awkward politeness herself, watching Jaune flail before them. Wow, and I thought I was bad at talking to people.

"Get to the point, Lady Killer," her sister said, giving the boy a friendly smile to take the sting out of the impatient comment.

"Ah, right. Anyway, ah"—he faced Yang squarely, if a bit stiffly— "I just wanted to apologize."

Both girls blinked. Yang raised an eyebrow. "Apologize? For what?"

"For earlier. You know," His eyes flicked downward. "Me, Vomit Boy … your shoes."

Ruby gawked at him for a second. Then she suddenly broke out giggling. She couldn't help it. Now that she really thought about it, the whole thing was insane. She'd wanted to apologize for her selfishness in being thankful for some other guy's misfortune, and he turns around and apologizes to her first because his misfortune just happened to involve getting puke on her sister's boots. The twisted logic of it all almost seemed like something out of a cheap comedy.

For her part, her sister just beamed at Jaune and waved away his apology. "No harm done, Jaune. Heck, pretty much forgot about it 'til you brought it up."

Jaune's shoulders slumped as he gave out a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. That's good. I was afraid you'd be mad or hate me for it or something."

"'Cause I'm a girl, and girls are obsessed with their shoes?" Yang asked playfully, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"A-wha?" Jaune looked at her blankly before his eyes suddenly widened, and he began shaking his head frantically. "N-no, that's not what I … I didn't mean to imply … I, uh …"

Shaking her head, Yang gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. Thanks to her natural strength, the clap clanged loudly against Jaune's shoulder armor and put him off balance.

"Relax, Jaune-Jaune. Geez, no wonder you were barfing up a storm. You're way too high-strung."

Ruby, who'd been quietly observing the exchange, finally decided to speak up. Jaune might be about as bad with people as she was, and he'd so far had a much worse day than she'd had. Yet he'd still approached them, two complete strangers who had kinda made fun of him earlier, because he felt that need to make things right. She'd have been way too nervous in that situation, and would probably have messed it up even more somehow. Suddenly, her worries about just wanting to have "normal knees" didn't seem so big in comparison.

"Well … while we're all apologizing," she ventured, "I guess I owe you one too."

"Huh?" Jaune cocked his head to the side, and Ruby felt like giggling again at the overly expressive confusion on his face. It seemed that state came naturally to Jaune.

"I mean, I never called you Vomit Boy—that was all Yang." She pointed at the other girl with her thumb, which the blonde replied to by sticking her tongue out at her. Ruby gave Jaune a lopsided, sheepish smile. "But I kinda thought earlier that, well, 'I'm glad I'm not that guy. I hope he gets the unwanted attention, not me.' Kind of a crappy thing to wish on anyone. So, eh heh, sorry 'bout that."

"Oh, no. No need for that." Jaune shook his head. With a self-effacing smile, he added, "That's perfectly understandable. Who wants to be Jaune the Amazing Vomit Boy when they can be the Astounding—"

Jaune suddenly stopped, apparently realizing that he hadn't gotten around to asking for her name.

Talking to someone as awkward as she was had made her feel more comfortable than she otherwise would've been, so she playfully decided to imitate his earlier introduction.

"Ruby, Ruby Rose. Short, petite, sticks out her tongue—" She turned to Yang and did just that. Then she turned back to Jaune, took on a theatrically overconfident posture, and added, "Ladies love it."

Jaune stared at her for a moment, and the smile froze on Ruby's face. She wondered if maybe her attempt at a joke might've insulted him instead. It wouldn't have been her first social faux pas. It didn't help that she could hear Yang muttering beside her, "Oh god, it's dork at first sight …"

But then Jaune smiled at her and said, "Okay, I change my mind, you make a better Jaune than I do. Tell you what, on the next flight you bring the barf, I bring the bucket."

Ruby laughed and gave him a shove. "Oh, shut up."

Then she caught sight of Yang smiling at the two of them, saying nothing. Ruby looked at her quizzically when she suddenly recognized that the smile her sister now wore was familiar. All too terrifyingly familiar. It was the one she got every time she got it into her head to encourage her to be more sociable, which never ended well. Her eyes widened, and she opened to her mouth to say something.

She never got the chance. Out of nowhere a gaggle of people suddenly ran past her and gathered around Yang, who waved at her cheerily and said, "Well, looks like you two are having fun. And my friends are here. Gotta go catch up. 'Kay, c'ya, bye."

As quickly as her friends had arrived, Yang and the group left, sending her spinning and nearly bowling her over. Jaune had been more alert and had managed to step out of the way.

"Wait, where are you going?!" she demanded as she tried to maintain her balance. "Are we supposed to go to our dorms? Where are our dorms? Do we have dorms?"

She wobbled to a stop. "Ugh … I can't believe her," she muttered.

She toppled over backward, more disorientated from the spinning than she had thought. However, she felt someone catch her from behind before she hit the ground. She looked up and saw Jaune looking down at her with a concerned look on his face.

"You okay?" he asked.

Despite feeling put off by her sister's sudden but inevitable betrayal, she smiled she gently pushed away from to stand on her own. "Yeah. Older sisters, what're you gonna do?"

Jaune stared at her like she'd grown a second head. He looked in the direction Yang had run off too, then looked back at her. Having seen that reaction many times before, Ruby just rolled her eyes slightly and waited for the question, smiling patiently.

"Wait … older sister?"

Ruby's smile widened. Maybe she was just happy that at least she hadn't been left completely alone, but the question didn't seem as annoying as it usually was.

Jaune looked sidelong at Ruby as they headed down the cobblestone path toward entrance of the academy. After his question had prompted a surprisingly detailed elaboration of her exact familial relation with Yang, their conversion had petered to a halt, like it tended to do between socially maladjusted strangers like they both were (or, at least, like he pretended to be). Now they'd settled into an awkward silence, and he took the opportunity to consider what to do next.

He had been a bit disappointed when Yang—who was apparently Ruby's actual older sister—had left. Part of that was because the girl had been very easy on the eyes and had even been friendly enough once he'd broken the ice. Her lavender eyes also made her look quite striking up close. Mostly, though, it was because he'd been left alone with Ruby. Given the blonde's earlier "dork at first sight" comment, he'd been worried that Yang leaving in a hurry had been some sort of misguided attempt to set the younger (by a full two years, apparently) girl up with him. Experience had proven to him that older siblings playing matchmaker rarely ended well.

It wasn't that he was more interested in Yang over Ruby; nor was he nervous about being alone with the latter (in the more hormonal sense of "nervous"). True, Yang was very developed and beautiful, and Ruby was quite cute and had silver eyes as distracting as her sister's lavender ones were striking. Personality-wise, however, neither were his type. Yang struck him as someone who charged headlong at an enemy, grinning all the way; if he had his way, he'd have preferred to charge in the opposite direction, screaming all the way. Ruby, meanwhile, seemed nervously eager about being Beacon while he was more along the lines of nervously terrified.

Still, like many healthy boys his age, he quite found the company of pretty female peers quite enjoyable. However, he also liked to think that he was a bit more pragmatic about such things.

Growing up as a shunned "loser" meant that girls had tended to avoid him, and everyone knew sisters didn't count. He hadn't really minded that when he was younger. When he was old enough to mind, he'd also become old enough to be a bit more calculating. He'd come to the conclusion that while at that point his cowardly reputation had begun to fade, the reputation for being a well-meaning but useless idiot that he'd been trying to cultivate was incompatible with the experimental attempts at relationships that preoccupied his peers and older siblings.

His father liked to say that all women looked for was confidence, and from what Jaune had observed among teenage girls and older women, that was true to an extent. Confidence was also the last thing someone expected from a harmlessly inept nitwit, so he'd contrived to avoid being seen as such, instead preferring a transparently false veneer of it. So while he might've gotten some attention for his looks, few girls considered him a "serious" (as laughably as that adjective could apply to most fickle teenage flings) prospect in the romance department. He'd liked how that added to his overall air of unreliability, so he'd done nothing to dissuade the view, much to the dismay of his mother and some of his sisters who'd gotten it into their heads to play matchmaker a few times (much to his horror and embarrassment).

Sure, he'd also disappointed his venal hormone-driven side in the process, but he figured that he'd have plenty of time to indulge it once people wised up, took his ineptitude at face value, and stopped trying to force him into the role of a subpar Hunter or warrior. Then he could find some other much safer lot in life, grow into it, and let his public confidence level "develop" naturally from there. After all, butchers, bakers, candlestick makers, and all sorts of people with quietly overlooked mundane roles in society still got girlfriends and, if so inclined, wives. A number even found happiness in their decisions. He could see no reason that shouldn't apply to him.

The few girls who didn't dismiss him as ultimately harmless friendzone-able material often had some confidence issues themselves. Well, that, or they were the type who figured that he'd be easily led on, wrapped around their fingers, and duly dumped at their convenience. He already had enough on plate trying to build his ideal, safely comfortable life without dealing with the inherent minefields of either possibility.

Since Ruby seemed to fit the first type, he really hoped he was a wrong about Yang trying to play matchmaker. He really didn't want to have to deal with that so soon after arriving at Beacon; not when he was still trying to figure out exactly how to play it to come out of the academy with life and limb not too seriously damaged.

Then again, another possibility was that she'd just been trying to get her younger sister to make new friends. He knew all too well how unsubtle and meddlesome people could be when they thought they making another person do something they thought was good for them. At the thought of all the hard training and "live exercises" against Grimm that his family had put him through over the years, his face involuntarily twisted in discomfort.

Not wanting to give the girl beside him the idea that it was directed at her—it wouldn't do to alienate one of his first potential allies so soon—he immediately squelched it.

He clearly hadn't been quick enough since Ruby, in an almost desperate attempt to find something to talk about, suddenly said, "So … I got this thing," before whipping out her collapsible weapon and unfolding it into the largest, most wicked-looking scythe he had ever seen, which she then slammed point-first into the cobblestones.

"Whoa!" he cried out, not expecting that. He wanted to berate the girl not only for her carelessness with a ginormous live blade, but also for said carelessness being done while he was within accidental maiming distance.

He said instead, "Is that a scythe?"

She cradled the weapon proudly, placing one hand on what looked like a bolt handle on one side. Jaune saw that the body of the weapon apparently had what looked like a magazine, ejection port, and scope, leading him to realize that …

"It's also a customizable high-impact sniper rifle!" she finished the thought for him cheerfully.

He gaped at the incongruity of the design. "A-wha?"

"It's also a gun." She cocked the weapon, her expression eagerly fishing for his opinion.

Jaune had several. He always failed to understand how weapon-makers always seemed to one-up each other in attempting to come up with the most convoluted designs imaginable. This one particularly annoyed him. Who in their right mind would take a weapon sensibly designed to engage at a very safe distance and mate it to a close-range weapon? Especially a close-range weapon that negated the advantage the welcome extra reach its long handle would have lent it by curving the blade inward (toward the user!), making it harder to handle while pulling the enemy toward the wielder instead of pushing said enemy out. It boggled the mind! If he was blessed with a sniper rifle, the only thing he'd put on it would be an even better scope so that he could shoot from even farther out.

Of course, he said none of this. He settled for a lame, "Oh, that's cool."

"So what've you got?" She leaned in expectantly.

"Oh! I, uh ..." He fumbled, a bit nonplussed. He'd never really been asked to show off in such a manner before. Mostly because his reputation had meant that he never had that many friends, and none of them were really that close. That hadn't changed when his reputation had started to "improve." He wouldn't have been inclined to had he been asked anyway. Like most things that were potentially lethal to him, Jaune preferred to be careful around weapons.

But as he looked at Ruby's eager face, he knew there was no excuse he could make not to show her Crocea Mors. Not without ruining the continued atmosphere of goodwill toward him that he was trying to maintain.

"I got this sword." Carefully, he drew out his weapon and showed it to her.

Her silver eyes ran up the length of its blade appreciatively. He mouth formed an O as she went, "Ooooohh!"

Jaune's mind started to take that exchange down an entirely different road, but he ruthlessly quashed it. He flicked the activation switch on his scabbard, and it snapped open into a white heater shield with gold trim. On it was proudly displayed the golden double crescent of the Arc family crest.

"Yeah, and I've got a shield, too!"

"So, what do they do?" Ruby asked, apparently expecting him to show off some integrated function of the pair.

He was about to make a wry comment regarding Crocea Mors's mundane simplicity, when the girl suddenly reached out to touch the shield. Jaune wasn't quick enough to warn her, and she inadvertently touched off the retraction system. The sudden retraction into scabbard form caused him to lose hold of it, only for the impact on the ground to snap it back open again and send it flying. Jaune suppressed the urge to cuss as he fumbled with the shield. It was exactly things like this that made him avoid showing off with his weapons.

"Jaune, watch out!" Ruby suddenly cried out.

The warning had come too late. In his fumbling, Jaune had failed to see he was stumbling into a pushcart full of luggage until it was too late. He toppled, and somehow the shield met his right foot at the apex of its upswing, sending it flying again. The impact opened several of the large cases, spilling their contents. Jaune heard tinkling sounds all around him as he slammed into the ground. The cases had actually slowed down his fall enough that it didn't actually hurt that much, and the sword had clattered safely away from him when he'd inadvertently lost his grip on it.

Still, the force had been sufficient enough to wind him a bit, and for a moment he gaped, dazed, at colorful glass bottles all around him. The moment quickly passed, however, and he realized to his horror that he was lying in a pile of bottles full Dust—several of them he recognized as dangerously volatile.

In a burst of panic, he jumped upright, cursing himself upon belatedly realizing that such a sudden movement could have accidentally set off one of the jars. The suddenness also caused him to trip forward as he stood, and he fell face-first in a heap atop a pale white-haired girl in a white dress.

"What are you doing?!" the girl shrieked in outrage. "Get off me, you—"

Whatever the girl had been about to say, Jaune never heard it. At that moment, his shield came crashing down onto several of the spilled Dust bottles. Hard.

The world ended.