Chapter 1
2028
The morning mantras play with a jarring volume, snapping Blake out of a nightmarish sleep. She stares out of her bedroom window, which looms adjacent her bed, peering out at the megaphone which hangs a meter away from her. She flirts with the idea of chancing the SJP's rage, wondering how hard one might need to strike in order to knock the blasted thing off the side of the brick wall entirely. Or shatter it, even - just so long as it shuts up!
The lady who speaks through the megaphone every morning rambles on and on a full minute, and the world stops to listen to her. Many stories below, people stand in ceremony on the sidewalks and cars halt in their rush to their next destination. Only when she utters, "United in Independence," does the world unpause. Cars blast off with furious speed, pedestrians attempt to dodge mad drivers who have no care to differentiate sidewalk and streetway.
A little sigh escapes Blake's lips. She rolls over to the other side of her bed, sliding her bare legs out into the morning chill. She cringes when her feet touch the floor, a little hiss whistling between her teeth. The glazed-over look melts away to frigid focus, golden eyes sharpening as she searches the garden of haphazardly strewn out clothes cast across her hardwood floor. She wonders why that particular habit won't die. All she's got are a plethora of black and white, beauty as dictated by the SJP.
Blake is twenty-eight years old now, a cautious woman nearly all the way through. Every now and then, there's a little remnant of the teen in her that drives her to do something mental. She hasn't been a part of the Grey Fang now since the incident, when the State ferociously levelled blocks upon blocks of buildings in an attempt to eradicate them. She'd found herself trapped without a place to run to herself, and in her despair, gave up hope of escape. Instead, she hides in view every day, a half-human half-faunus legally entitled to all the rights and freedoms as a human. It was very well, she decided, that half was less than three-fifths, or the compromise would not have worked in her favour. Even if she despairs her humanity.
She dresses herself with fatigue. Monotony is dangerously tiresome, she decides, realizing she's been in a funk lately. If she really wanted, she could go out and cure it. There was a cure for everything, nowadays. Anything that ails you, the State could take away, and all could be happy ever on!
What a sham.
Her bachelor apartment is simplistic and normal. There are no posters, nothing that stands out at all, except for a little pile of books that stack up at the foot of her bed.
For an English major working towards a Master's, not an uncommon sight. For a citizen of the State, particularly smutty.
But she didn't care, which was exactly why she had committed another smutty scandal just a week before.
A giddy little smirk plays at the corner of her lips as she leaves her apartment, clad in a loose black blouse with a white tank top underneath, black slacks and shoes. It's a forty minute walk to the university from her building, and twenty minutes in between lies her scandal. A rundown shop beneath a dojo in the middle of downtown, hygienically aged, in the beginnings of looking tired. Blake loves it; as, for some reason, she loves all old and beaten-down atmospheres. The kicker, it's a bookstore.
She hardly minds the travel, retreating to the entertainment of her thoughts as she wanders down the starkly-coloured city streets. It's the first day in a long while that's sunny, she realizes, the constant rain breaking this morning for a lapse of sunshine. The temperature is almost too warm for a blouse – she's thankful it's so airy. As she walks, the exhaustion of many nights' worth of poor sleeping habits slowly morphs into waking energy.
When she arrives, there's a well-kept man waiting outside at the door for her. He must be the bank's man, arriving to hand her the keys she'd agreed to meet with a representative for. She's only a minute or two late, she realizes when her gaze flicks to one of the many propaganda screens hanging from the buildings all around. There's nothing but the ordinary morning mantras scrolling across the screen except for the time, faithfully set in the upper right-hand corner of every single screen. Nonetheless, the man looks frightfully annoyed when he notices her approach. Blake sees his dark eyes flick up at her ears, lingering a second longer than acceptable, a sneer etching into his lips.
"Hello," she greets, unbothered by his reaction. She's used to it now. Many humans and faunus alike are quite apprehensive of her, if not overtly insulting. "I'm Blake Belladonna."
"Yes," the man replies, straightening his coat. He plucks a jingling ring of keys from his pocket, holding them out to her. When she outstretches her palm, he drops them to her hand. Dark eyes glare at her sharply as he warns, "I'm surprised the State let you buy anything."
"The three-fifths compromise dictat-"
"Yes, yes," he interrupts rudely, waving her off and walking away.
Blake narrows her eyes at his retreating back. Asshole.
Shaking her head, the half-faunus turns to her store, smirk returning. She steps towards it, trying a key in the lock and realizing she doesn't need to, the door swinging out a bit as she fiddles with the lock. She'll have to have it checked, she decides, turning the lever on the other side to confirm that the deadbolt does work.
When she walks inside, she realizes instantly why it was left open. Thunderous banging of people seemingly hopping and throwing themselves about maniacally fills the store with hubbub, shaking the ceiling dangerous. Her eyes widen at the ruckus, at how the chandeliers that light the store swing around with every new bang. Maybe it was unwise to buy a bookstore beneath a dojo, she tells herself, cursing her lack of forethought.
She goes about her opening duties with a sigh.
It's really not too bad. Directly in front of the door are rows upon rows of bookshelves chock full of books of all different kinds, a sight that elicits a real smile from her. She used to pass this store every day on her way to school, and when she'd heard that the old shop keep was selling it due to political discourse, she had to sweep in to save it. There were some people even in her own courses that would come here from time to time to buy or read books, which she thinks is encouraging. It'll pay for itself, she says to herself. And for her degree.
Going to the front counter, all she has to do is turn on the till, which isn't hard to figure out. It's just a simple computer with an old POS system. As she fiddles with it, she realizes that it takes catalogue of everything in the store that comes in and out as long as she scans it once.
That's easy, she decides, looking around at the front desk. It's really just a desk, comfortable enough to work at and sit at, which is really all she cares about.
The store is a little dusty, though.
Before she settles in, she uses her morning energy to clean. There's a small room in the far back of the store that's locked when she finds it, and she fiddles with the keys a short time before figuring out which one opens the door. A mop, a broom and a couple of clothes accompanied by some clear lurk inside. She takes out all of them, and sets about her task: cleaning the small book store.
She finishes dusting the shelves after a good forty minutes, putting a little elbow grease into making the wooden bookcase's brown finish really shine. Afterwards, she decides to sweep. She gets about half-way through when she hears the door open at the front.
"Hello?" she calls, coming around a bookcase to see a woman dressing mostly in white. The woman's frozen blue eyes flick away from the stairs to the side of the store and to Blake. The half-breed feels a little jolt go through her, a hint of intrigue sparking in her when she notices the woman's clean white coat has a rebellious crimson lining on the inside that flares around her neck. The woman blinks slowly at her and Blake realizes she was staring. "Er, uh, how can I help you?"
"You must be the new store owner," the woman before her replies slowly, seemingly not taking notice of her question. Crystalline cerulean orbs with strands of frozen white behold Blake coldly, analyzing her for a moment. Blake suddenly feels like she's being scrutinized, withholding a flush of insecurity. She's thankful when the white-haired woman continues, "How do you find business is?"
"Slow today," Blake answers with a sheepish smile.
"It'll pick up," the woman returns, an attempt at being comforting evident in the soft way she speaks. "I'm actually here to see a friend of mine. She runs the dojo upstairs."
"Oh."
"But," the white-haired woman pauses, realizing her faux pas. "But I wouldn't mind looking at one book you might have. "It's 'To Kill a Mockingbird', by… " She trails off in search of answers.
"Harper Lee," Blake provides, knowing the book well. Thankfully, she had noticed during her dusting that the shelves were all organized by last name, without any tedious sub-sections for fiction or fantasy. She was able to bring the woman straight to the book on the shelf, the only copy left. It had a nice hard cover with some sort of black, velvet material. She plucks it from the shelf and holds it to the woman beside her. "Here."
Blake's eyes widen a fraction when she sees a dark look flit across the woman's face. Her florid lips pull down into a small, sad frown and her brow crinkles in the middle of her face. The frozen pools of blue that are her eyes melt for an instant, expressing a sorrow and solitude so deeply rooted that Blake's heart breaks for the human. Her long pianist fingers gingerly withdraw the book from the half-breed's hand, thumb trembling as she brushes the pad of the digit along the soft material. Blake's golden eyes fall upon her left ring finger, the golden band resting their dark in contrast to her skin. How had she not noticed before?
"It's a good book," the half-breed states, eager to dispel the awkwardness in the moment.
An eruption of noise by the stairs jolts them both, however, saving them any more embarrassment. Many feet stomp down the rickety old stairs on their way out of the store - not one of them staying to look through her shelves or buy something, Blake notices with a twinge of annoyance. One last human comes charging down the stairs, vaulting from the fifth floor by pushing off of the rails and landing with a heavy thunk! on the grey hardwood floor.
"This is a book store," Blake grumbles, glaring at the offending woman.
If Blake was surprised by the color on Weiss's coat, she was absolutely stupefied in comparison to the woman that straightens to height now. Her hair is a cascading, twisting and flipping unruly mess of yellow fire that flows like a cloak down the length of her back. Ferocious violet eyes meet her golden ones, familiar passion igniting in the strands of darker purples and burning pinks that pierce her collected façade. She rises to her full height, and Blake is made to witness this Amazon before her, a bronze-skinned testament to physical supremacy – no doubt chiselled from stone by some great artist many hundreds of years before. She dresses in light blue jean with white tears along the thighs and a loose yellow muscle shirt with a black heart emblazoning her left breast.
Blake shuts her mouth, for she had been gawking. "You don't have to be so noisy."
A look of realization melts the steel of her expression, and Blake wants to cry out when there's regret twisting the features of the blonde.
"My bad!" she exclaims, her voice loud in itself. Her voice has a note of song, her tone low and overtly feminine, not unpleasantly nasal. "Are you the new owner?"
"Obviously," the white-haired woman jabs, moving towards the blonde. "Buffoon. You really ought to adjust your manners."
Blake's brow rises at the change in the white-haired girl's demeanor, who looks instantly affronted by the blonde.
The blonde is untouchable, though, beaming a sweet lopsided grin at the woman. "If I did that, who would you have to lecture?"
"Hmph," the woman snorts derisively but a little smile melts into her cold expression.
Blake feels like she's intruding, casting her gaze helplessly out one of the front windows. Can't she just meet someone today who isn't overly emotionally expressive?
"What's your name?"
The half-breed jumps at the sudden question, noticing the amazon's closeness. She feels a rush of victory when she realizes she doesn't have to look up at the blonde, exalted vainly by her own physique. Instead, the blonde is on eye-level with her. Wide violet eyes look into hers, and she suddenly feels much larger, much grander than she really is.
"Blake," she answers softly, mindful of the fluttering in her belly.
The blonde is unperturbed by her aloofness, striking an open hand out at her and cheerfully exclaiming, "Well, Blake, I'm Yang!"
Blake can't help but smile lightly at the blonde's childlike cheer. She takes the hand, squeezing the strong, fingerless-gloved appendage. Yang squeezes back, though Blake assumes unintentionally, noticing the power in the firm muscles of her fingers.
"I'll try to keep it down from now on," she promises, winking at her. "Sorry 'bout that."
"Thank you," Blake sighs, releasing Yang's hand after a moment. "The very nature of a book store is violated by clamor."
Yang's eyebrows rise and Blake kicks herself internally for the way she spoke. "That was poetic! Do you write?"
"I do," Blake admits, flushing. Blunders like this could get her in trouble if she'd done it in front of the wrong person. "Actually I'm working on a book right now."
Why did I tell her that? Her face is burning now.
That lopsided grin of Yang's flashes her way, and Blake's heart thumps powerfully.
"You should show us sometime," the blonde says, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the white-haired woman. Blake had nearly forgotten about her. "We like a good book from time to time. By the way, that's Weiss."
"Nice to meet you," Weiss says politely. She shoots a sorry look towards Yang, admitting, "We really ought to go, though, Yang. Your bike was due out of the shop an hour ago…"
"Oh yeah!" Yang cries, as though she'd completely forgotten. She shoots an apologetic look to Blake, "She's right, gotta go! It was nice meeting you, though. I think you and I will get along just fine!"
Her kindness is touching.
Blake accepts a bill of lien from Weiss without really noticing it, and they rush out the door. The half-breed stands in the middle of the front section of the store, watching where they'd left with satisfaction. They were nice people, she decides. She hadn't even noticed them looking at her ears – and surely they must've!
Blake's ears twitch when she thinks about them. She heads back to the front counter, opening the till to put Weiss's offering inside. When she realizes it's a hundred-lien bill, her eyes nearly pop from her skull.