Chapter 5

When Glynda's lecture is wrapped up and the students have left, she walks around the desk on her stage and sits heavily into her chair. Patiently, Blake watches as the woman winds down, fascinating herself to observe this newer side of her old professor. Whether she has entirely forgotten Blake's presence or not, she gives no hint. Glynda's cool eyes close a moment as she resets. A moment passes by.

"Blake Belladonna," the professor utters softly.

Blake's ears twitch. She raises her head, golden eyes gleaming. "Yes."

Goodwitch's eyes slide open to look up at her. She pushes back from her desk, crosses her legs and clasps her hands in her lap. Gone was any hint of the exhaustion that had plagued her just seconds before, and she smiles.

"If I remember correctly, you switched your minor to philosophy," the professor recalls, impressing Blake. "And yet, here you are. Attending a political science lecture."

"That should be hardly surprising," Blake points out, standing up from the stairs. "Students come from all over the world to see you. I can't imagine it'd be easy to get approval for a student visa in this country, either."

Glynda's response is a hum, her brow quirking in acknowledgement of that. "Well, why have you come? Shouldn't you be working on your master's thesis?"

It was moments like these that Glynda's true personality really shone through. The woman had dozens of things that she could be doing and certainly thousands of things more worth a space in her memory. Yet, Glynda had troubled herself to remember her students. Blake flushes a little, her ears swivelling back in embarrassment. She hadn't expected the professor to remember, let alone know that she had decided to pursue a master's with Beacon. Beneath the cool, collected exterior is a woman who cares absolutely for the well-being of her students.

"I'm actually here for that very reason," Blake informs her, recovering from her sheepishness. "I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in being my supervisor?"

Glynda's gaze becomes analytical. "I'm not part of the Graduate Committee."

"No, you're not."

"Neither am I an English professor."

Blake nods. "No, you're not."

Glynda leans forward in her chair a little bit as Blake approaches her, studying the half-faunus before her a moment longer before murmuring, "Interesting. What is the English thesis again? A literature study?"

"Something of the sort," the dark-haired woman explains, fidgeting with her bag a little. "I was going to do mine on the concept of gendered discipline, but I decided to go with something a little bit more… Well, not many people would approve."

The professor smiles. "Show me."

Obediently pulling her laptop from her bag, she opens it and sets it on Glynda's desk. The blonde wheels herself in to her desk, straightening as she uses the mouse pad to scroll to the top of the document. She pushes her glasses up to over the ridge of her nose, her eyes flicking back and forth as she reads. Blake looks down at her feet subconsciously as she waits, leaning her weight mostly to one side.

Glynda hums every so often as the minutes pass. Her face betrays no opinion one way or another as she goes on. Blake feels her ears flatten slowly against her head.

"It reads like you put this together just last night," Glynda states, glancing at the half-faunus over the brim of her glasses. "You did just put this together last night, didn't you?"

Guiltily, she murmurs, "Yeah… I mean, it's not nearly done yet."

"Clearly," the professor replies. Her eyes soften reassuringly after a moment. "Don't worry, Ms. Belladonna. It's not bad, but it certainly needs refinement. It's definitely more…narrative than how I'd write a thesis."

Blake nods, moving closer towards the desk. "Yeah. I thought I'd try something new and interesting."

Smirking, Goodwitch reclines back into her chair and crosses her arms over her chest, commenting, "Well, it is that. I can't wait to read it when it's finished. Are you submitting this as your proposal to the committee today?"

"Yes."

"You could be watch-listed for this, you realize?"

Wryly, Blake answers, "I'd be disappointed if I wasn't."

In that moment, Glynda's face changes. Something flashes in the green of her eyes that shines through the humor of a rebellious thesis – it was respect. She studies the dark-haired woman standing before her. For the first time that day, the professor isn't scrutinizing her. Blake feels a rush of pride in herself at the thought of being treated like a peer.

Closing Blake's laptop, Glynda hands the device back to her. She tucks it back into her bag, meeting the professor's gaze evenly, inquiring, "Will you help me?"

"Of course I will," Glynda responds without hesitation. "You'll never be able to get a thesis about censorship accepted by the board without faculty support. And, I don't know who else would be willing to help you in our selection of professors. Even the English ones."

Blake frowns. "That's why I have to do this."

"Hmm?"

There's a hollow pit in her chest that has been filling with despair for years. Despair at the past. Despair for the people. Despair for the government. Despair for the world in which they were living. There wasn't a single person who would speak out and be heard. Surely, the SJP snuffs out anyone with a voice as soon as they come into existence. But, maybe with enough help, Blake's voice will be heard. And maybe more people than Glynda will hear her.

"I met someone who inspires me," Blake says softly, flushing a little bit as her minds turns to Yang. "She's probably the bravest person I've met. She wears tie-dye shirts – you know how colourful those are? – and doesn't bother to stop and listen to the morning mantras. Even in public. She speaks to the reckless side of me. And now…"

"Now it's speaking back?"

"Something like that."

Glynda gives her a small, nostalgic smile. "We all have one of those in our lives. Hold onto that one. Maybe she'll help you with your thesis."

"Maybe," Blake muses, eyebrows rising a bit at the idea.

When silence falls between them, Blake senses it's time for her to go. She says a thank you and a good bye, turning to head out when Glynda suddenly asks her, "Do you know which color they started to censor first?"

Blake pauses on a step to look back at the woman. "No. Which?"

"It was red."

As she leaves, Blake wonders why that might've been.

Hours later, she walks away from the school. Today was a hard-fought battle. Glynda was correct – the committee had been very opposed to the idea of Blake's thesis being about censorship. One of the members had even said that the school wouldn't want to bring undue attention to itself from the government, and Blake would've been at a loss for words if she didn't have Glynda to back her up. The woman had appealed to their academic natures, her natural aptitude for talking serving Blake very well.

As she walks, a chilly gust of air picks up. She crosses her arms over her chest, glancing up at the darkening sky. At some point, it had gotten overcast. The day had been so busy for her that she hadn't noticed the clouds setting in overhead. The grey and the cold make her altogether too aware of the weariness in her body, and she sucks in a yawn as her mind dwells on not having slept in…a day or two? When did she last sleep?

She walks past her bookstore, chancing a glance on the inside. Weiss is standing in one of the rows of books – but Blake doesn't mind, the woman could have at least three or four more books if she wanted. What really catches her eye is on her desk – it's another cup of tea. Blake bites her lip, tearing her gaze away, a stab of guilt in her heart. Pressing onward, she hurries her step.

And slams right into someone.

A few someones, in fact. Three men who she'd heard walking through the alley but hadn't been really conscious enough of her own actions to avoid. The one in the middle caught her by the arms before she could pull away, ignoring her utterance of an apology.

"Hey boys, look what we've got here!"

The two others chuckle. "Is that a faunus?"

Blake furrows her eyebrows, looking up at the man who was still holding onto her. He has light hazel eyes and longish dark hair. Glancing around at the rest of them, they don't all look particularly different from each other – all wearing the same fad shaggy hair and dark clothes. The one holding onto her is the tallest of them, standing a full head taller than her. He leers down at her, and Blake feels uncomfortable down to the core. She tries to pry herself away but his fingers tighten around her arms.

"Let me go!" she demands, steel in her voice.

"What's a faunus bitch doing out here in the middle of the day?" the one to the left inquisitions upon her, jabbing at her side with his index finger.

Wincing, she snaps, "Don't touch me."

"Whatcha gonna do?" the same one laughs.

Blake wriggles hard enough to loosen the tall one's hold just slightly, giving herself enough distance to knee him. She misses his balls but gets a good shot in at his pelvis, and he lurches forward with a grunt. His fingers don't loosen. Instead, her fighting only worsens things. He slams her against the wall of the building next to them. An unintelligible yell tears out of her lungs. The man that had been on the right slams his hand over her lips, silencing her as well as smacking her head back against the wall.

Her vision blurs for a second, a groan slipping from her lips as pain radiates out from the back of her skull. Faintly, she hears the little ring of a bell open and a gasp.

"She's got some spunk," the tall one growls, his eyes roaming over her hungrily.

A faint "Yang!" is yelled in the distance.

Dread fills her stomach with lead, her heart pumping faster as fear-induced adrenaline rips through her. She tries to struggle again but her limbs don't listen to her, her muscles weak and her movements uncoordinated.

"Do you think she's a cat?" the one on the right asks the others. "You ever wonder if, you know, they've got fur in other places?"

"Why don't we check?" the tall one suggests, "Hold her, boys."

They grab at her flailing arms and pin them behind her, eliciting a scream from the half-breed. The tall one's fingers curl into the fabric of her white blouse, and closes her eyes tightly when he rips the shirt open. Buttons pop off as her chest is forcefully exposed. Biting hard down on the hand over her mouth, she manages to give herself enough time to shriek, "Help me!"

"Bitch!" the man cries out, slapping her with his now bleeding palm, splattering red across her face.

Heavy footfalls catch Blake's attention. She opens her eyes to see the blonde Amazon sprinting towards them at full tilt.

"Get away from her!" is the only warning the guy who slapped her had before one of her fists slams into the side of his head. The blow sends him crashing into the man holding her, and his hold is shaken. Loose, she drops like a sack, reflexes too affected by the blows to the head. She can only look up in shock as Yang faces off with the one who'd been on the left, the only one who had been able to react to her in time.

He swings for her face, but Yang tilts her head and his fist sails past her ear. She steps into him, her arm snaking behind his neck while she throws a kick into his legs. His legs fly out from under him as she simultaneously pushes him forward, her force slamming his face into the cement sidewalk. He lets out a loud gurgling shriek, blood spurting from his nose.

The tall one, recovering from being knocked into, throws a punch into her face. Yang doesn't have the time to avoid, taking the blow to the chin. Her head snaps to the side but the blow is hardly enough to stop her. She catches his next one with her left hand, stepping forward and throwing all of her weight into a right haymaker to the cheek. The blows spins him around and right off his feet – he tumbles to the ground, holding his face.

Yang stands between the three men on the ground, two of them crying and the other – the first one she'd struck – completely unconscious, and herself, too fearful to even have the sense to cover her chest. The blonde's shoulders flex as her chest heaves; she looks so ferocious that she might've even breathed fire. Wide golden eyes fix on her back as Blake struggles to stop herself from trembling all over.

"Get the fuck out of here," Yang orders, letting the two still-conscious ones pick up their friend. They don't give her the time of day to finish her sentence, so she yells after them as they run off, "If I see any of you here ever again, I'll do worse!"

Blake realizes she's hyperventilating. She can't stop panicking. She's never been…something like this has never…!

Yang strips her leather jacket off of herself, crouching down to her level.

Blake's gaze darts everywhere. Her lungs burn as she heaves for breath. Her head goes fuzzy, light, and her eyes start to ache.

"Blake," Yang says evenly, her voice soft. "Blake, look at me."

Tears well up in the half-faunus's eyes, and Blake wants to do nothing more than run away from this whole situation. It isn't until Yang's jacket rests over her torso that she can focus at all.

"See me?" the woman asks tenderly, violet eyes full of concern.

Blake does see her. Her blonde hair shimmers and flows down her back brighter than ever, despite the darkness of the day. Plump cheeks are rosy with the exercise of the moment before, her breathing even but swift. Yang beholds her with lavender orbs filling to the brim with care and a silent promise that everything would be okay. Slowly, the panic seeps out of the dark-haired woman, the screams inside silencing as she stares back at the blonde.

"Yeah," she breathes, her brow relaxing.

"Good," Yang whispers, smiling gently at her. "I'm going to touch you now, okay?"

When she doesn't move, Blake dumbly realizes she was waiting for permission. She nods her consent. Yang's fingers lightly feel around at the base of her jaw, her thumb brushing lightly over the blood smear across her face.

A crash of relief passes visibly through the blonde, who lets out a deep breath. "Thank god, that's not your's. I thought they might have cut you."

Her fingers move delicately in behind her head, careful not to move or press hard. Blake drinks in the scent of Yang, allowing the citrusy scent of her to bring her comfort. She's suddenly aware of her exhaustion, allowing her eyes to slide shut as Yang feels for any other injuries.

"Don't fall asleep," Yang sternly orders, drawing Blake from her reverie.

"Hmm…"

"Is she okay?"

Blake opens her eyes to gaze over at Weiss, who stands just a few meters away. Her arms are crossed over chest, her icy blue eyes fixing on her with concern. Her golden eyes fall to the gleaming band on her dainty ring finger.

"She has a concussion but I don't think she has any other head injuries," Yang replies, her hands sliding down onto Blake's shoulders. To Blake, she says, "You shouldn't be alone for at least twenty four hours. Can I take you somewhere? Your home?"

At the very least, the half-breed has the sense to feel a little embarrassment over her tiny apartment and shakes her head, whispering, "I'd prefer your playsche-"

She pauses, realizing her slur with a blush.

"You might be speaking funny for a little while," Yang informs her, reading her mind. "It's normal, especially if you are concussed."

"Shouldn't she go to a hospital?"

"No hoshpitalsh," Blake grumbles.

Yang gives a pointed look to Weiss. "You heard the lady."

The white-haired woman rolls her eyes, muttering, "Excuse me for thinking a professional ought to look at her."

"Ish okay."

"Right," Weiss mutters, quirking an eyebrow at her.

Blake and Yang look back towards one another at the same time. The blonde gives a wink and a small smile, offering a hand to her. Taking her hand, Yang pulls her carefully up onto her feet.

"It's only a twenty minute walk," Yang informs her, holding her forearm and leading her down the street. "But I'm not going to carry you, because you'll fall asleep."

Dopey Blake thinks it's appropriate to pout, so she does.

Smirking, Yang yells over her shoulder, "See you later Weiss! I'll call you sometime tonight."

"Yeah, yeah. Just take care of her."