Chapter 6: Let's Talk Business

20 November 2014, Thursday

3:06PM

"Don't you think you were too harsh on her? Once upon a time, you were as hopeful as she, my dear."

Weiss sighed, staring blankly at the whiteboard upfront as her mind looped for the nth time her manager's words from yesterday afternoon. The current major shareholder in Beacon Records and one of the executive producers of Luminos Studio, Roman Torchwick, stood next to it and blathered on while motioning to the almost illegible words and images he probably had some poor, underpaid lackey scribble on the board.

'It's not as if I did it out of spite,' Weiss thought, her fingers playing mindlessly with the pen in hand. 'I genuinely think someone as soft as her is better off with other endeavours.' She frowned. 'And it's never bothered me before, being honest. Yet…'

Unwanted images flitted through the idol's mind; those of the newbie's fearful, heartbroken expression moments before Weiss passed her in the lobby and delivered the final blow. The line of sight of her ice-blue eyes drifted down to trace the table's fibres as an unfamiliar emotion bubbled in her chest.

Forcibly shaking away those thoughts, and the negative feelings that accompanied them, her eyes moved to appraise those present at the meeting. Across the table from her sat an uncomfortable Jaune Arc, whose shoulders were hunched inwards slightly, indicating his unease. Weiss noted that although they all had been here for the better part of an hour, Jaune, despite being the director, had never once thrown in his input; or rather, hadn't been able to, with Roman constantly cutting him off or speaking over him. She pitied the blonde for having to deal with such a difficult man his first time doing a major shoot, but the feeling didn't linger for long. Weiss honestly did believe that Jaune should develop more of a spine; she knew from experience Roman was far from the only haughty, abrasive, holier-than-thou person in the industry, and this would help determine whether or not Jaune was capable – or could grow capable – of handling their type and thus flourish in the business.

A seat away apart from the tense blonde were two members of Luminos Studio's heavily acclaimed boy band, The Cardinals. Weiss racked her brain for their names. She vaguely recalled the scrawny one with a garish lime green mohawk being introduced as Russel, and his leaner, more 'generic boy band'-looking light brunette friend as Dove.

Weiss wondered if that was his stage persona, or if his parents actually were that quirky; in any case, despite appearances, Weiss knew enough of the man that she could safely say he was far from the tranquil, peace-bringing bird he was named after.

Directly ahead of them were the remaining two members; sat next to her manager – who wasn't facing anybody – was a man with handsome, chiseled features, which provided a contrast to his long, slicked-back blue hair. Sky was his name, if Weiss remembered right.

And finally, next to him was the most condescending, baselessly arrogant man Weiss ever had the displeasure of meeting: Cardin Winchester.

Their first encounter was long before The Cardinals were conceived and Cardin was made their leader. Weiss had been a relatively successful idol by that point, while Cardin was a new entry under another label that later flopped and was absorbed into the then-obscure, now ridiculously successful, Luminos Studio.

They certainly got off to the wrong foot when – after being left alone in a room together to 'get along' – Cardin's contentious and chauvinistic nature proved itself too irksome for even the professional Weiss Schnee to handle.

That day, Cardin left the Beacon Records headquarters with a bruised pride and substantially injured family jewels.

Judging from the glares he shot Weiss when he entered the meeting room, the artiste thought it wasn't too far a stretch to assume Cardin still held a grudge.

'What a child.'

Thinking he wasn't worth the time, Weiss directed her attention to the male commanding the meeting.

Of course, their band was helmed by someone who could only feed their pompousness; the bright orange-haired man in a white suit giving the presentation.

'That suit itself probably employed the use of dozens of child labourers,' Weiss snarked internally.

Weiss found it difficult to fathom how someone as sleazy and unscrupulous as Roman Torchwick amassed so much power over the past four years. Granted, the man was a relatively skilled wordsmith gifted with an absurd amount of charisma – that even had taken Weiss in for a few days – but his personality was bogged down by his hubris.

Then again, Weiss pondered over of how easy it was to butter up the wealthy, egotistical investors in this city, especially if you helped lined their pockets; at that thought, Roman's ever-growing enterprise suddenly seemed reasonable, if not terribly suspicious.

However, all of his paperwork checked out as legitimate, and so Roman was free to do as he pleased.

Not that Weiss cared. She still thought he was an absolute scumbag, albeit a well-educated one.

"–Moreover, if we consider how large the fan base for both parties either already are, or are anticipated to become with respect to The Cardinals, I believe it would be beneficial for us if they collaborate on this piece."

Peter Port kept his arms folded. "But this is my charge's song. Throwing in additional vocals into the mix is unnecessary. The audience would see right through this gimmick as the promotional stunt it is; if anything, I predict this move would prove more detrimental for us than anything else."

Roman smirked. "Which is why this music video won't be for Miss Schnee's new single. Rather, it's a new song created by the best in the industry for our companies' joint Christmas venture. Originally crafted for The Cardinals in mind, we decided it was in both our best interests if the Weiss Schnee was featured as well."

Peter's expression twisted in incredulity. "What?"

"This will move units twice as quickly–"

Peter scowled. "You're defaulting on our original agreement and putting Weiss's sales at jeopardy–"

"–and has already been approved by our sponsors." Roman flashed them a plastic smile. "I'm sure Miss Schnee is more than capable of selling units to her devoted fan base even without the aid of a music video. We can just include one of her recent concert recordings as a special bonus. That more than makes up for it, don't you think?" he said with rhetoric. "After which, if you're so inclined, we can film an MV and package it with the next single as incentive. Hype to her upcoming album, if you will."

Fists hidden behind his arms, Peter clenched them tightly to try and alleviate some of the rage he felt.

Weiss gently touched her manager on the arm, silently cautioning him to maintain his composure. She returned the insincere smile. "Of course."

Roman clapped his hands together. "Fantastic. Now then–"

The door creaked open, drawing everybody's attention to the apprehensive girl that walked in. "Uh, delivery?" Ruby said, lifting a handful of paper bags with the Starbucks emblem into view.

Weiss noticed, out of the corner of her eye, her manager abruptly stand. "Ah, Ruby! Thank you for responding on such short notice, and for being so prompt as well. Set them down near Weiss, if you would."

The rookie looked hesitant, but she did as she was told.

"Who is this, and why is she interrupting our meeting?" Roman asked tersely.

Peter motioned to her, expression noticeably more jovial. "Ruby Rose, our latest trainee and budding young talent, if I could be so bold," he complimented, much to Ruby's embarrassment. "As for why, I requested for the sweet child to take some time off her break to purchase myself and Weiss something light to eat; unfortunately, because we were informed by your assistant that this meeting started at noon, we skipped lunch. I didn't think it feasible that said meeting would have been delayed by two and a half hours, Mister Torchwick, so beg pardon her intrusion."

Weiss reviewed the past few hours she spent with her manager, before remembering he had been fiddling with his phone shortly before Roman and The Cardinals' arrival. 'He must have been messaging her then, the sneaky man.'

Peter caught the look Weiss shot him and winked.

Roman was unfazed by the jab at their unpunctuality. "Please accept my sincerest apologies for our tardiness," he diplomatically said, "there were unforeseen circumstances that delayed our arrival. It happens often in our line of business, doesn't it?"

"Oh, yes, without a doubt. We don't fault you in the slightest," Peter replied with an equally polite tone. "However, you'll have to excuse us; Weiss hasn't had anything to eat since morning – the poor dear's been so busy – so I must insist that she have something now. Of course, I've asked Ruby to purchase more than enough for everybody here, so please feel free to nibble on something as we continue." He purposefully paused. "If that's alright with you, Mister Torchwick."

All eyes on him, Roman smiled. "It's absolutely no problem. Boys?"

Cardin sneered. "We'll pass on that processed shit; we're worth a lot more than that."

His band members muttered agreements.

"B-but food is food," Ruby gingerly replied with a nervous smile.

Dove snorted, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "That stuff you call 'food' is calorie-ladened junk."

"Then again," Sky noted, leaning forward to meet Ruby's eyes with his own half-lidded ones to catch her attention. His eyes drifted down to appraise her figure, which made the unsettled Ruby shrink away. "I suppose you're not one to care about that, are you?" he snidely remarked.

Russel cackled as he brutishly and repeatedly slammed his fist onto the table.

Ruby felt herself flush, the sudden onslaught of heat making her feel more uncomfortable than she already was.

Weiss gritted her teeth as the meek rookie struggled to reply. For some inexplicable reason, witnessing the newbie's deer in headlights expression, as a direct result of The Cardinals' unnecessarily derisive comment, flooded the artiste's system with rage. Before an indignant Peter could fire a response, Weiss snapped. "That's enough. By insulting her and this food, you're indirectly slighting me." Her cold, sharp ice-blue eyes scanned their now disquieted expressions before landing on Roman's impassive face. "Was that your intent?"

A few beats passed before Roman broke the tense silence with his reply. "No, Miss Schnee. Discrediting you and your efforts was not their intention, I'm sure. I apologise for my charges' crude behaviour, and will see to their punishment. This was not how they were taught to act."

Only when Weiss saw the quartet's expressions twist at the word 'punishment' was she satisfied, and nodded to show her acceptance of the apology. Meanwhile, her manager watched the songstress, a glint of pride in his eyes.

"Uh," Ruby awkwardly and softly began, shuffling her feet, "I should…" instead of finishing her sentence, she simultaneously gestured and backpedalled to the door.

"It's still your break, no?" Peter interjected. "Why don't you sit in for this meeting as well? The more first-hand experience you can glean, the better, yes?" Before Ruby could object, Peter beckoned for her with a wave of his hand. "Please take a seat next to Weiss, Ruby."

The newbie gulped uneasily, feeling everybody's eyes on her, but listened to the command as Peter sat back down. Gaze affixed to the table to prevent any unwanted eye contact, Ruby carefully slid into the chair, ducking down just enough that majority of her was covered by the paper bags she brought.

Weiss frowned, feeling the anxiety ooze off of Ruby in nearly tangible waves. Oddly enough, her blatant unease was making the idol feel uncomfortable as well. In an attempt to calm the rookie, with hopes that it'll alleviate the strange feeling in her chest, Weiss casually reached over and rooted through the nearest bag to find two piping hot drinks. The songstress extracted them from their paper confinement one by one, passing the first to her manager and keeping the other for herself. Provided Peter had given Ruby decent instructions, Weiss expected both drinks to be the same: black.

While she typically enjoyed a well-brewed cappuccino, the songstress always opted for black during working hours, and her manager knew this. Taking a long sip of the bitter beverage – her tongue long numbed to the scalding heat after years of countless steaming mugs of coffee – Weiss cast a sidelong glance at Ruby, tuning out Roman's prattling.

The stiff as a board girl was practically staring holes into the tabletop.

Weiss sighed quietly around the rim of her drink, the unwelcome foreign sensation gnawing at her innards yet again. Grabbing another bag, Weiss rummaged through and pulled out whatever pastry she found and promptly slid it across the table, positioning it under the newbie's face.

As it moved into view, Ruby glanced up at the idol, who had retracted her arm and was now seemingly paying full attention to Roman as she leisurely drank her coffee.

"Uh, thanks," Ruby muttered, playing with the tart.

Weiss nodded. "Their opinions mean nothing," she tersely murmured out of the corner of her mouth.

The rookie did a double take. "H-huh? But they're famo–"

"Which means nothing," she replied in a hushed whisper. "Appearances aren't everything."

"But yesterday you said–"

Weiss frowned, irked that she was being compared to them; it was true that not long ago, she had been as callous as the narcissistic boy band. That thought certainly didn't soothe her, but she inwardly justified that her comments were for an entirely different, more rational and impartial purpose. She had not been rude for the sake of it. "I'm aware of what I said–"

Roman cleared his throat. "Miss Schnee?" he asked in a saccharinely sweet tone. "I'm sorry for interrupting your riveting conversation, but we must go back to the task at hand."

Peter placed his elbows on the table and linked his hands together, resting his nose on them. "I believe that we've come to an agreement already though, have we not?" he replied in Weiss's stead. "Weiss and The Cardinals will collaborate on the aforementioned special Christmas piece, as well as its music video, which will be slated for release on Christmas itself. Furthermore, my charge's next single's extra content will be reworked."

He leaned back and exhaled heavily, staring into Roman's eyes. "My qualm is that this was very poorly planned and executed; we only have a little more than a month. Assuming Mister Arc and his crew require at least a few days – if not up to weeks, reasonably – to edit the MV, on top of having to record, shoot and mass produce the physical copies… and not considering both our artistes' schedules…" Peter frowned in disapproval. "We're cutting it extremely close, Mister Torchwick."

Roman capped the marker in his hand and put it down, before resting both hands on the tabletop. "Indeed we are, Mister Port. However, there's no reward without risk," he addressed lightly. "I have confidence in this project's ability to succeed, considering the wonderful talent we have aboard." Roman airily motioned to the stack of notes in front of Peter. "If you'll refer to our handout, you'll see that with regards to schedules – because this is such an important undertaking – the board is willing to help clear both parties' immediate itineraries, so that we may begin and end filming immediately. This gives Mister Arc and our people more time to polish the final product."

The man straightened and tucked his hands behind his back. "We'll be in touch about the specifics, such as time and location, in addition to promotional events. That said, since my charges have already completed recording, we're simply waiting to splice Miss Schnee in."

His forehead creased and he pressed his lips together, feigning at serious thought. "Hmm, might I ask that she wrap that up by tomorrow, so that we could start shooting… say, Saturday? To expedite the process."

Before an outraged Peter could interrupt, Roman soothed, "Of course, Miss Schnee's involvement will be rather simple; since she's 'featured', albeit rather prominently, we just need her to be on set and respond to cues. No practice beforehand necessary, Mister Port."

"Oh," he suddenly added, glancing apologetically at the only blonde in the room, as if only remembering his presence and position now, "if this is all alright with you time-wise, Mister Arc."

Put on the spot, Jaune had no choice but to stutter an uncertain 'yes'.

Roman smiled civilly. "Excellent," he declared with finality. "Now, are there any questions?"

Jaune timidly lifted his arm. "Uh… about the details of the shoot…"

Roman laughed. "Silly me, it must have slipped my mind; we'll contact you soon about the details. Because this is a board decision, they have many ideas they've proposed that are to be implemented. Furthermore, since Miss Schnee has yet to receive information about the song, she's unlikely to have any input as of now." He turned to face Weiss and Peter. "I'll have the lyrics sheet sent to you posthaste, after which, you may feel free to contact Mister Arc for further arrangements."

"I assume there are no more inquires, then?" Roman asked.

The room was silent.

With a quick glance at the quartet, Roman silently ordered them to rise. As they stood, their manager finished, "If not, we shall be taking our leave. It was a pleasure being able to speak to all of you, and I eagerly await for our cooperation in the near future."

Not another word was said as the five funnelled out of the room.

"The nerve of that appalling man…" Peter grumbled, grumpily getting to his feet as he fumbled for his phone the moment the door shut. "Now I have to reschedule everything, because Lord knows he and his 'people' aren't anywhere near competent enough to fix this long-term," he groused, storming out of the room. "Bloody blundering buffoons. Who do they think they are, meddling with protocols…"

With his departure, silence once again descended. Soon, Jaune felt the charged atmosphere become all too suffocating. Stumbling to his feet – which resulted in his chair cluttering and wheeling back, drawing the attention of both Weiss and Ruby – Jaune hastily muttered, "Uh, I guess I should go. T-thank you for your time." After a hasty, sloppy bow, Jaune scurried out of the room, leaving an unreadable Weiss and nervous Ruby alone.

The newbie was sweating buckets, and her gaze constantly flickered to the door, clear signs of her anxiety, though her posture was impeccably rigid. 'Should I leave? Or would that be rude? Maybe I should stay until she goes, so I can clear up these bags?' she frantically thought, terrified of making any faux pas. She mentally cursed Jaune for leaving her behind.

Then, she reviewed the past few minutes. The idol – the same person who had only yesterday shot down her aspirations – had defended her, despite not having any obligations to do so. Just what on Earth–

"Miss Rose."

Said girl gave a startled squeak. "Yes?"

"... About yesterday."

The rookie's heart sunk and her stomach churned.

Weiss looked reluctant to continue speaking, though she forged onwards. "I… would like to apologise."

Ruby gulped and looked down at her lap, where her hands balled up the fabric of her clothes. "Oh."

"While I meant what I said, upon reflection, perhaps I could have phrased it less harshly."

Ruby shook her head slowly, understanding what the artiste was saying. "No." The songstress hadn't been the only one to have mulled over the previous day's events. "It's fine," she softly replied.

'Fine' was not a word Weiss expected the rookie to use. Weiss turned her head to stare, perplexed, at a newbie, who glanced up at her with a small, shaky smile. "With all due respect Miss Schnee, I think you're wrong. And I'll prove it to you," she gently declared, though only Ruby was aware of how her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.

Weiss inscrutably eyed Ruby for a new moments before tiny bitter smile ghosted over the artiste's lips. Even after trying to dissuade the teen, she was still too stubborn to listen. Weiss wondered if Ruby was hopelessly optimistic, or hopelessly stupid. Possibly both? "You don't listen well, do you?"

The rookie blinked. "Eh?"

Breathing a low resigned sigh, Weiss's eyes slid shut and she took a sip of coffee. She had tried her best; if the trainee wished to delve into the dirty trade, even after all she had witnessed, Weiss could not and would not stop her. Everyone had a choice to make, in her mind, and Ruby made hers.

"Uhm, Miss Schnee?" Ruby asked, a clear tremor in her voice.

Said songstress got to her feet, coffee still in hand as she leisurely strolled out of the room. "... Do as you will. I wish you all the best," she replied, albeit rather cooly.

When her response clicked in the trainee's mind, Ruby felt a weight ease off her chest and the rapid drumming slow. Ruby watched the idol disappear behind the elaborate door, mulling over Weiss's words.

Her response was… relatively detached, but this was a step in the right direction.

… Wasn't it?

20 November 2014, Thursday

3:39PM

In another high-rise building merely a short drive away from Beacon Records, a bored Yang flapped her lips together as she reclined in the plush leather seat, leisurely resting her legs on her manager's tidy desktop. One quick glance at the clock hung up on the wall opposite showed she had been waiting for a good ten minutes.

He had called her to his office less than an hour ago, urgently requesting for her to come in despite it being her day off, but now was nowhere to be found.

The blonde sighed, mindlessly twirling a lock of her hair around her finger as she twisted her feet a little, lazily inspecting her new black buckle boots. 'That man… Where does he keep disappearing to?'

A faint 'ding' piqued Yang's attention; looking out of her periphery in the noise's direction, the model noticed the laptop haphazardly placed near the edge of the table had suddenly lit up. Closer inspection revealed that the mail icon was blinking.

Deciding that messing with his email would provide suitable entertainment, Yang reached out and clicked the trackpad with a manicured finger, bringing up the most recently received email.

She immediately spotted that the fairly lengthy mail had been sent from her manager himself.

Yang frowned, manoeuvring her legs to plant both feet squarely on the carpeted ground as she hunched forward to glare daggers at the screen. "You have time to email yourself with all this information, knowing that I'll be at your desk, but you can't just call me?" she grumbled. "Some logic."

Another notification popped up on the side, indicating another mail from her manager to… himself. Opening it unveiled a succinct message:

"Don't question your manager."

The blonde huffed, irked by how he effortlessly predicted her thoughts. Tabbing back to the first email, Yang briskly scanned through it. Her brows knitted as she absorbed the content, flicking her fingers on the trackpad a few times to re-read the message. As she did so, the air around her lightened as a sly grin slowly began to stretch across her face.

The window blipped again, signifying that she received another mail. Yang cycled to it.

"You're welcome," it read.

She crossed her arms and leaned back, reeling slightly from disbelief at her manager's actions. "Unbelievable…" she breathed, dropping her head back against the seat as her eyes slid shut.

Yang hadn't thought that she made her interest in the photographer she recently met obvious, but her manager seemed to have noticed. The model attributed it to them having worked so closely for the past few years, as opposed to her unsubtle mannerisms when they had met and discussed about the photos they and the magazine publishers received.

Granted, on hindsight, the way she wholeheartedly praised the images and commended Blake's flair for the arts was somewhat out-of-character for the model, and thus could have been interpreted differently by her manager. However, Yang remembered that he too had been impressed by the photos taken in the last magazine shoot.

So clearly, she wasn't completely biased; just a smidgen, perhaps. That shouldn't have been enough to tip the man off as to her fascination with Blake. Right?

Right.

Nevertheless, it appeared as if he was cutting her a break – or dumping more work onto her, depending on how she looked at it. Yang's lilac eyes fluttered open, and she tabbed back to the original email.

The first concise paragraph was a justification for his absence – not that Yang particularly cared, since she trusted her manager was doing what needed to be done. She skimmed over it. The second – which comprised as the main body of text – was a section discussing and describing a job position he had just opened; what it entailed, its pay, the fringe benefits, etcetera. While it hadn't piqued the model's interest at first, being that it appeared irrelevant unless from a managerial perspective, a brisk scan of the mail's entirety proved otherwise.

In fact, the most significant bit of his email only came at the end.

"I'm interested in hiring her for your personal photo book shoot, and I think you are too. I've obtained her number from the photography agency she temps for. Give her a call."

And below that was an innocuous string of numbers.

Her manager hadn't even needed to say a name for the model to connect the dots.

Yang stared at it for all of two seconds before she whipped out her phone and keyed in the digits; her manager's landline laid next to his laptop, but she paid it no mind. 'Who even uses those anymore?' Yang thought as she pressed dial.

Lifting the handheld to her ear, the blonde only had to wait a few rings before the call went through.

A mellow voice answered: "Hello? Who is this?"

Yang was equal parts relieved and excited to hear the photographer's voice, albeit slightly altered over the phone. "Hi, it's Yang. Is this Blake Belladonna?" she asked, to clarify.

"Oh, good afternoon Miss Yang. Yes, this is she. Is something the matter?"

Yang sucked her teeth. "I thought I told you to drop the formality?"

"Sorry," was the immediate, terse reply.

"Ah, it's fine," the model said, shrugging aside the issue. "Listen, I'll cut to the chase; how would you like to be my photographer?"

The receiver crackled for a moment as all that came from Blake's end was the sound of steady breathing, before she responded: "... Beg pardon?"

"You. Me. Work buddies!" Yang exclaimed cheerily. "I have a photo book being conceptualised right this moment, and my manager and I want someone fresh and talented to help shoot it. You fit the bill perfectly!"

"... I'm flattered. However, I believe I've mentioned that I only accept part-time photography assignments as and when needed, correct? And I don't need a job at this particular moment."

"I know, but hear me out." Yang used her free hand to scroll up to the email's main chunk. "We're willing to offer you a pretty enticing deal, if you ask me."

A beat passed.

"Go on, ask," the blonde prompted with a cheeky grin.

She heard a soft sigh. "What does your offer entail?"

"Why, I'm glad you asked!" she chirped. "Firstly, the shoot is a little less than a week from now. We'll be leaving for Guam on the 26th, to be precise, until the 30th, which is when we'll catch a morning flight back to LA. Of course, the trip is all expense paid," she prattled easily.

"You mean you didn't already have a photographer for your shoot?"

"We're always willing to change things around for those with aptitude!" she said smoothly. "Besides, it's not like our other photographer won't be tagging along; a bigger crew is a better crew, right?" She smiled, resting her arms on the desk. "Newer, younger opinions and approaches are what add spice to these books – and you, Blake Belladonna, are as new as they come."

"... And what of the pay and hours?" Blake inquired, still sounding dubious.

The blonde glanced at the laptop screen. "Would ten be enough? Your–"

"Wait, I'm sorry," Blake interjected, "did you say ten? Thousand?"

"Yep," Yang casually replied. "Is that a problem?"

"No, not in the slightest," she heard the photographer hastily answer. "And the working hours?"

Yang hummed. "Those'll be slightly sporadic, since my photo book requires pictures from different locations at different times of the day. But I promise that you'll find enough time to relax and enjoy the local atmosphere." The model mulled over it for a second before continuing, "Also, I can guarantee that you'll be able to write, if that's any consolation."

"You… certainly treat your employees well," Blake remarked.

"Gotta work hard and play hard, yeah?" she started confidently. "And play's only a letter away from 'pay'... or something," Yang ended weakly. "Anyway, we just like rewarding our staff for their efforts; it encourages loyalty and continued results."

"This is another temporary assignment though, isn't it? Just for those four days?"

"It is, although we'd be inclined to try hiring you again – maybe even permanently – if you do a good job," Yang responded. She leaned back into her seat. "So? Whaddya say?"

Yang could practically hear the gears in Blake's head whirring as the photographer fell hush; in Yang's opinion, this was a fantastic deal – who on Earth would say no after hearing her pitch?

"... Could I get back to you on this, Yang?"

The model grimaced. Apparently Blake would. Nevertheless, it wasn't an outright rejection, so Yang stayed optimistic. "Sure!" she said. "Just call me whenever." The blonde paused for a beat to think before correcting herself, "Actually, if you could keep it to working hours–"

She heard Blake chuckle. "No unreasonable hours, I understand."

Yang grinned toothily. "Thanks. I hope to hear from you soon!"

They exchanged brief goodbyes before the model ended the call.

Yang sighed, her head dropping heavily back against the chair's headrest. She sluggishly raised her phone to eye level and tapped the screen with expert precision, sending a text to her manager.

His response was swift; Yang hadn't even time to switch away from their conversation before he replied. "Was the response favourable?" he had messaged.

"She said she'd think about it. How's that?" Yang fired back.

The model didn't need to wait long for his retort. "And here I thought your charm would kick in even through a phone call."

Yang frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" she complained under her breath. Eyeing her phone's interface, she noted that it was five minutes past four. Assuming she was no longer needed, since he didn't request for anything else, the blonde promptly stood up and stretched, ready to head home. Shutting the laptop down, the blonde pocketed her phone and strolled out of her manager's office. On the way out, she flicked the light switch off while simultaneously grabbing her coat off the door's hangar.

After saying her farewells to the jolly receptionists and burly though sweet security guards as she left the building, Yang strode out onto the busy streets. Her padded brown leather bomber jacket provided fantastic insulation against the cold, though Yang could still feel a slight chill every time the city's labyrinth of skyscrapers caused a strong, concentrated gust of wind to sweep through the area. Not that she cared; her fiery personality and active lifestyle when young had trained her to handle varying temperatures exceptionally well as she frolicked outside, regardless of season. Moreover, winters in Los Angeles were never particularly cold anyway.

Thus, with these factors in play, Yang couldn't help but think it'd be a shame if she didn't take the opportunity to take the scenic route home, since they lived relatively nearby – in her opinion, anyway. A quick check of the phone showed that she had plenty of time to kill before dinner. Foregoing the usual taxi ride home, the model began trekking in the direction of her and Ruby's shared flat, soaking in the sights, sounds and smells of the city.

Even after three years of staying here – two of which were on her lonesome – Yang was still enraptured and awestricken by the littlest of things in the bustling metropolis. One being the way the receding sunlight danced off glass panels lining each tall edifice, creating a warm, faint glow that washed the streets with resplendent orange; a warmth that contrasted brilliantly with the increasingly cool, crisp breeze that gently brushed her exposed face and evoked the most nameless and vaguest of emotions in the pit of her chest.

The constant lively avenues and hectic, expeditious lifestyle weren't for many people, but Yang absolutely adored it. Thrived off of it, even. It was a city that could keep up with her exuberance, and rewarded her in such breathtaking ways for staying; what wasn't there to love?

Turning a corner, the model's thoughts started to wander to more immediate affairs. Her sister popped into mind.

Yesterday, Yang had returned home late to find Ruby sat, hunched solemnly, at the dining room table, reeking of negativity; while it hadn't been evident on her face, Yang knew her sister well enough that the subtle change in demeanour – the small strained infrequent smiles, forced speech and slump in her shoulders – spoke volumes of the despondence Ruby must have felt.

Yang didn't ask why or what happened to the girl, who had been so bouncy that morning, aware that it'd only cause the surprisingly delicate teen to withdraw into herself more. But the model, admittedly, had been worried sick watching the normally ravenous Ruby pick slowly at her dinner.

The blonde was no longer one to make bold unfound accusations, having mellowed out slightly over the years, but she had a sinking feeling she knew who caused her sister's internal struggle – a certain famous someone who Yang couldn't take any action against without severe repercussions. Though, even with their statuses, the blonde wouldn't have mind accepting the public relations nightmare if it meant satisfying her innate sisterly rage. However, that was overpowered by her desire to avoid disappointing Ruby, who Yang knew disliked conflict.

She only hoped that today went better for her little sister. Ruby had to end their text conversation earlier – slightly before the blonde's manager contacted her – because she was personally asked to run errands for Weiss's manager; it was only safe to assume Ruby might bump into her senior idol.

Deciding it would be a good idea to check on Ruby, Yang whipped out her phone and sent her a quick text message. "Are you okay? And will you be home early for dinner?"

Moments later, her phone vibrated as Ruby's cryptic reply appeared. "Things are getting better, and yep!" Following the sentence was a series of emoticons Yang recognised as those frequently spammed by Nora.

"Guess she's trying her best," Yang muttered to herself with a gentle, concerned smile. Her fingers tapped out another message: "Want me to wait for you? Had to go down to the office because manager was dumb."

"Lol! Go home first! I still have stuff to do!" was the immediate response.

Yang exhaled, watching her breath fog with half-lidded eyes as she stuffed her phone back in her jeans. A car whizzed by, decked out with tons of flashy lights and upgrades, the sound of its beefy engine revving violently as it blew past the stoplight and weaved through the intimidating Los Angeles traffic towards the now no doubt jammed main roads. Shoving her hands into her jacket's pockets, the blonde hastened her already naturally brisk steps as the streetlights flickered on. "What should we get to eat," she mused, playing with the key in her leather jacket; they were for her motorcycle, Bumblebee, which unfortunately had to be sent for repairs after Yang pushed the engine too hard over the weekend while racing at the Leguna Seca track.

Crossing the invisible threshold into their neighbourhood, Yang muttered, "Maybe we can order takeout again from that Chinese place Ruby found…"

20 November 2014, Thursday

3:54PM

Blake sighed, pulling her phone away from her ear. She saved Yang's contact number, then placed the device back down on her table. The light from her laptop was the only thing that illuminated her dark room. Amber eyes stared blankly at the blinking cursor on the word document she had opened in the morning, for what she wished to think would be her magnum opus: an epic tragedy, revolving around the concept of two souls fighting for bloody dominance within a man's fragile body. "Non Compos Mentis" was its working title.

So far, there had been zero progress made. She had reached the dreaded state of 'writer's block', and Blake sensed all too familiar anger and frustration fester in her heart. Her hand clenched into a tight fist and slammed itself onto her rickety table, shaking the structure and sending some of her coffee sloshing out of its mug onto the already stained material, where it barely missed her laptop.

The photographer gritted her teeth and roughly scratched the back of her head, tousling her hair in irritation. Reaching over to grab the giant mug of coffee's handle, Blake lifted it to her lips and only managed a single sip of the hot, bitter beverage before she heard her front door fly open with a loud, resounding 'thud'.

Blake sighed, reluctantly setting her mug down onto the table in anticipation of what was to come next. Shortly after which, the door to her room followed her front door's example. The photographer turned around in her swivel chair with an impassive expression to stare at the mischievous-looking short-haired blonde who had just burst unannounced into her flat. His hand deftly flicked the switch affixed next to him, flooding the room with artificial light.

The photographer's eyes instinctively squinted as they adjusted to the sudden brightness, barely making out the form of the intruder as he kicked the door close with ease and half-danced his way across the small space to stand in front of Blake.

"What's up?" the male greeted.

Blake stared stonily at the man.

Sun Wukong; a fellow orphan she and Adam had met three years into their stay, when they were eight and thirteen respectively. Sun had only been a year younger than Blake, but he lived up to his name. Despite the tragedy that occurred which landed him in the orphanage, he was a bright, sprightly boy who made fast friends with the aloof Blake and austere Adam.

However, this outgoing and vibrant personality also functioned as a double-edged sword.

Blake could still vividly remember how Sun was absolutely adored by prospective adopters, and had gotten snatched up within five months of being orphaned. She and Adam had been heartbroken by his departure, especially when the young child had confided in them late one night about how he didn't want to leave, but knew it for the best. A proper family could have taken better care of Sun than the orphanage did.

It turned out that a seven-year-old, going on eight, Sun hadn't thought that the case. A couple of months later, his foster parents returned with the boy in tow, claiming that they couldn't handle him. Sun came back a little rounder and with a few new bruises, but otherwise, he remained largely unchanged; he still loved climbing trees, and perched himself on his favourite sturdy branch as he snacked on a banana pilfered from the orphanage kitchen every mid-afternoon.

This cycle continued countless of times. Potential parents were always captivated by the dashing and rambunctious lad, and – in spite of fair warning about his wild attitude – adopted the child, only to send him back months or even a year later. The older duo had watched as Sun bounced from one foster home to the next, though none ever dampened his spirit. It seemed that every time he returned, Sun only grew more rugged and animated with age. And every time the young child came back, he would, without fail, instantly click with Blake and Adam.

Without realising it, seven years had flown by in a blink of an eye since Sun's initial arrival, and many things had changed. The photographer recalled that she, then fifteen, had been hard at work revising for her SATs in her dimly lit room. It had been storming rather heavily that day, providing a gloomy, dreary atmosphere the girl had only though befitting for herself. Her best friend and older brother figure, Adam, had moved out of the orphanage two years before, and while he dropped by as frequently as time would permit, Blake thought their relationship no longer the same. No longer quite as tight. Moreover, Sun had also left shortly before Adam did, having been taken in by yet another well-to-do family; while she and Adam had thought Sun would return – as he always did – within a handful of months, the unruly blonde never came back.

And so Blake, at that point, had been by her lonesome for awhile. She had the lovely caretaker and her fellow orphans, whom she adored, but it hadn't been quite the same.

She remembered the empty void that had begun to fill her then, and how the unreasonable-yet-overwhelming anxiety and fear of abandonment would have completely consumed her, had it not been for the lean male who opened her tiny room's door open with a thunderous slam.

The teenage Blake had spun in place, feeling her heart palpitate vigorously at the sudden noise, but slowly relaxed at seeing the person's familiar features highlighted by her candle's wavering flame. "Did you miss me?" he had asked.

She could never forget how her eyes welled up with tears, and how she had launched herself into the male's arms as he muttered: "I'm home."

Twenty-one-year-old Blake exhaled as her eyes drifted shut, the memory battering her with a torrent of emotions. A smile threatened to bloom across the photographer's face, but she restrained it. Instead, Blake's fingers moved to tiredly rub her nose bridge. "I thought you weren't supposed to be back for a few more days?"

"Ouch, you didn't miss me? That's cold Blake." The blonde pouted, curling into himself as he rubbed his arms. "And to think I booked an earlier flight than the rest of my troupe just for you."

His words broke the little control she had, and her lips stretched naturally into a smile. "Missing you would imply that you were ever gone," she said, echoing the words of her younger self. "So no, I didn't miss you."

Sun's eyes widened imperceptibly in surprise, recognising the statement from long ago. He too smiled softly. "I'm home."

"Welcome back," Blake whispered. She peered behind the blonde and queried, "No luggage?"

He laughed, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "I overslept, so my leader made check-in easier for me by offering to bring my stuff back with them in three days."

The photographer rolled her eyes. "Typical."

"Hey, I have some clothes in Adam's closet," Sun replied, pointing his thumb behind, where Adam's room laid across the small flat's hallway. "And if it isn't enough, I'll just borrow some of his. He won't mind."

Blake hummed, raking her eyes along his form. She noted how Sun's physique, even under multiple layers of clothes, showed clear evidence that the blonde had bulked up even more; a result of his group's intensive dance performances, no doubt.

"You like?" the male asked, wiggling his eyebrows as he flexed his muscles.

Blake snorted and smirked. "No," she answered with brutal honesty. "But I'm sure Adam appreciates it."

Sun grinned shamelessly, though the photographer caught the faint traces of pink that tinted his cheeks.

"Alright lover boy," Blake said, waving him away. "Go take a shower and get changed. I'm sure those clothes are at least a day old."

The dancer's eyebrows knitted, and he pulled his maroon sweater to his nose, getting a good whiff of his garb. "They're not that bad," Sun commented, though he began to backpedal out of the room.

"Just because you have no one you need to impress here, doesn't mean you should slack off on basic hygiene," the photographer lectured lightly.

"Yeah yeah," Sun mouthed, using his free hand to mimic yapping as the other opened the door. Slipping out through the small gap, the dancer left as swiftly as he entered.

Blake swung her seat back to face her laptop, which had gone idle. Tapping a few keys, the screen came alive, leaving Blake to stare at her manuscript. Breathing a sharp, exasperated exhale, she swiped the document onto another space in favour of the one hidden behind it.

It was the still incomplete skeleton for a new romance novel she had fabricated.

Blake aspired to be a serious author famed for their thought-provoking works. To all intents and purposes, she was on her way towards that goal.

However, the closet romantic in her spewed purple prose and sweet nothings on a regular basis; her muse fed off the mindless, trashy drama and heated passionate that existed only in her cheesy, wistful, teenage dreams. The only way to rid herself of the pervasive thoughts was to pen them down and craft a legitimate tale out of their scraps.

Which was how she found herself under the pseudonym 'Blair Nightshade', a relatively reputable authoress for young adult novels featuring homosexuals as the protagonists. Sun, who had secretly been one of her muses way back when, had stumbled upon her work while he was helping her move out of the orphanage.

Despite his attempts to convince her otherwise, Blake had been certain that her work would not receive any reception and, out of embarrassment, refused to let them see the light of day. The determined blonde then took it upon himself – with a little help from Adam – to send her first original manuscript to editors and publishers anonymously.

To her amazement, the story had actually piqued interest. Soon, she began communicating with different publishers, though with the name 'Blair Nightshade', fearing that using her real identity would adversely affect her University life and future prospects.

Consequently, Blake had three short fiction books under her belt since then. The writer admittedly made a decent amount from their sales – enough that she could have probably survived without having to work part-time for awhile. But Blake was a frugal and intelligent woman; she knew the sum wouldn't last long in the big city, and she still had student loans to pay off as her scholarship unfortunately hadn't covered the entire cost of her course. In addition, she – alongside Adam and Sun – consistently donated to their old orphanage whenever possible, further draining her resources.

Blake didn't jump when a weight rested itself on top of her chair. Peeking up, the photographer found Sun – now in a plain white t-shirt – had leaned his arms against the back of her chair to stare over her head at the laptop. "Sooo, how are things?" he asked whimsically.

"They're fine," she replied, typing a few more key ideas into the outline.

"Oh? Nothing noteworthy going on?" Sun roguishly questioned. "No special someone?"

"No," Blake answered in monotone.

Sun pursed his lips. Catching a glimpse of her phone out his peripheral vision, the dancer swooped in and snatched it off her desk. He received absolutely no reaction as the dancer scrolled through her short list of contacts, stopping when he spotted an unfamiliar name.

"Well, she's new," he remarked, side-eyeing his friend with a sly smirk. "Yang?"

Blake quirked an eyebrow. "She's a client, Sun."

"Whose phone number happens to be saved," Sun rebutted. "I stand by what I said; this is new. You don't usually have their personal info or keep it."

Blake sighed, momentarily dropping her work to look at the dancer. "She called earlier to offer a job."

Sun rested a heavy hand on her table and leaned in closer. "And?" he prompted.

The budding writer was unfazed by his proximity. "And I said I would think about it," she said indifferently.

Her friend huffed through his nose. "If you saved her number, you had to have been slightly interested. So why turn it down?"

Blake's forehead creased. "I haven't rejected the proposal–"

"But you haven't accepted it," Sun countered. "Which is dumb."

She crossed her arms. "How is it dumb?"

"Because what reason is there to turn this down?" Sun rolled his eyes. "C'mon, she's probably giving you a pretty huge paycheque for you to even consider it. And money's always good, Blake."

His pupils darkened. He slid her phone back onto the desk and then proceeded to crack his knuckles menacingly. "Is she harassing you or something?"

Blake stiffened in shock. "What? No," Blake frantically replied, alarmed that her friend could think that. "She's been wonderfully accommodating. I just…" Her gaze flickered to her now asleep laptop.

The dancer's eyes softened a tad as he relaxed and knelt to Blake's eye level. "Then what's stopping you?" he quietly asked. He glanced at her computer. "Think you should be focusing on writing?"

"... Yeah," Blake breathed, sinking into her seat. "It's been a month since I've made any progress."

A low hum sounded from his throat. Standing to his full height, Sun patted the photographer sympathetically on the shoulder. "Just sitting here isn't gonna change that," he murmured. Looking out of her window at the beautiful streaks of burnt orange and purple that lined the sky, he inhaled deeply before releasing it in rush. "Why don't you take the risk anyway?" he suggested. "Get the dosh. Maybe find inspiration out there."

Sun eyed her unmoving form out of his periphery. "I don't know exactly what you're feeling," he said apologetically, "but I don't think you're losing out if you take more time off. It might help, if anything."

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "That's my opinion anyway. But what do I know, right?"

Blake chuckled silently. "You know more than you give yourself credit for, Sun." She intertwined her fingers together on her stomach and reclined her chair back to stare up at her chipped ceiling. "You realise I'm older than you, right? Shouldn't I be the one handing out advice?"

The dancer smirked. "You? Advice? Since when did that happen?" he teased with a sly grin, receiving a disgruntled pout in return.

Letting the smile fall, Sun scratched his chin and sighed, feeling the abrasive wisp of prickly stubble beginning to sprout on his face. Padding out of her room, he said, "Give her a buzz, Blake. I don't think you'll regret it."

Left with those final words of wisdom, the writer found herself alone with her thoughts yet again. Amber eyes unconsciously traced the cracks lining the whitewash ceiling as Blake silently mulled over Sun's input.

He had voiced thoughts she believed true. So far, any attempts to simply sit and develop her manuscript proved fruitless. Day in and day out, Blake found herself glaring at her work, growing more belligerent the longer she remained incapable of producing words; words that could properly convey and evoke the emotions and people and places she painstakingly conjured and envisioned within her mind.

Her inability to properly pen her thoughts ate at her; sucked away any enjoyment she ever felt through a thin, long straw and replaced the slowly draining pleasure with an odd frigid hollowness. The writer found herself unable to fight off the bitter and all-encompassing sensation, which was in itself already maddening.

She felt her nails dig into the soft palm of her left hand as her fist curled into a ball and closed her weary eyes. 'Maybe I should take a break.'

The photographer breathed an inaudible sigh and reached blindly for her phone. When her hand made contact with the plastic exterior, she scooped up the device and glanced briefly at the black screen. Tapping its home button once, the display lit up, presenting Yang's name and number. Remembering their earlier conversation, Blake checked the time and noted it was fairly reasonable; someone was definitely still working at 5:41PM somewhere in the city.

With some hesitation, Blake called the model. "Hello? Yang?" she began when the line successfully connected.

"Blake! That was quick. Is something the matter?"

"No, just… about that offer…"

AN: Admittedly, I take a lot of liberties with the business aspect of… many things. While I have some basic knowledge, I really didn't want to bog down the story with the red tape that comes with accuracy. Please take everybody's dual roles (and the efficient-ish pace) with a grain of salt, and roll with it. A 'small' cast, coupled with real life bureaucracy that don't translate well into this story, means I have to improvise. Apologies to anyone who actually dabbles in business as a major or a job requirement!

I genuinely like Team CRDL as characters; having that contrast between nice people and absolute assholes is great and adds dimension to the universe. Figured they'd make brilliant rivals, since you'll always hear about 'that one guy' who's a giant prick.

VnixxiR was the one who sparked my surprising love for SunxAdam, so props to her.

Thanks again to everybody who reviews, follows and favourites this. I apologise for the delay and for any mistakes, been feeling under the weather as of late. Chapter 7's release will have to be postponed until I can finish and edit it.