So, some guy (you know who you are friend) in the reviews said I'm not even in his top 50 for productivity in fanfic authors. Like not even 49th place man?
I was so personally hurt—I decided to write another giant chapter immediately.
Lol. Just goes to show you…
Drop a review and say something clever. I might drop everything and write a chapter just for you.
I'm also updating because I didn't want my "arse hunted" lol.
All that said. A lot of people like Pip. I'm glad. My beta literally threatened to end my life if I gave her a bad end.
I'm glad no one was too put off with the last chapter's tone and humor. I wanted this fic to be more of a roller coaster. Chapter one is angsty. Chapter two is sort of lighter adventure. Chapter three is humorous. Chapters 3-6 are angsty adventure.
Etcetera…
I'm actually halfway done with a chapter of Guitar Huntsman too, so expect that sooner rather than later.
People should tell me what they thought of volume 6. I haven't watched it yet. (Because, I swear I'm actually busy, not just playing Fortnite 6 hours a day.)
I got some questions from people—one of them being the person who inspired this chapter so soon—asking about how I integrated the humor so naturally into the story—especially since a lot of it was dark.
The answer is simple: come up with weird situations that fit naturally into the plot, write clever dialogue, utilize the POV character's internal musings to create an ironic disconnection with reality, and highlight the clash between diverse personalities—from there the humor basically writes itself.
My Beta says that's a B.S. synopsis that won't help anyone.
Unfortunately, there's not much more to say, because that's how I set up humorous scenes.
Though I will say this: picking out the right POV is important as hell.
I rewrote the scene with Pip, Blake, and Jaune standing off in the hall three times. The first was Jaune's perspective. Which wasn't funny at all. He's completely calm but amused in the situation. His perspective was booooorrrrinnnnggg.
Then I tried Pip. Didn't work either. It was kind of funny—but not really because it was too early to do what I wanted to do with her internal dialogue. And mostly she just needs to be genuinely scared throughout the scene, which makes even funny proceedings sort of dark.
I settled on Blake and suddenly the scene was perfect. She's freaking out internally, she has character traits that exacerbate the situation in a funny way, she has a fundamental misunderstanding about the situation of which the reader is aware, but she is not…
Plus, her naturally dry personality let's her play the straight-man when I need it.
Just making the right POV decision for each scene can make scenes more fun. The landlord scene was most fun from Pip's perspective, Adam's arrival in Vale was most fun from Trill's…
This can also be applied to combat scenes. Want to make your main character a BAMF? Use his perspective sparingly.
Example #1:
"Jaune glanced at the civilian he had just saved, assessing if his injuries were life threatening.
Then he turned his eyes to this new enemy.
He studied him.
His opponent did the same.
A long time ago a killer of this caliber might have posed a challenge.
Now though?
He dashed toward his enemy.
The man wasn't slow. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
But he wasn't fast enough.
He raised his guard, to block the feinted right towards his nose.
Jaune's left burrowed into his kidney.
Ribs… Organs… Muscles…
Spine.
Jaune felt it all collapsing under his fist.
And then his opponent was gone, soaring into the nearest building.
Chances of him surviving were slim.
Chances of him surviving without living the rest of his life in a hospital?
None.
Jaune almost felt bad for him. Almost.
He was too busy to give more than an ounce of pity."
Hmm…not bad. But is it the most effective POV?
How about we write it from the perspective of a civilian?
Example #2:
"Mark watched the huntsmen stare each other down. His eyes flickered between the two warriors.
What were they doing?
Was it like those martial arts movies, where the two fighters would carefully analyze each others' defenses before the battle commenced?
Or was it—
Mark's thoughts were cut off by an alarm blaring in his brain.
He'd just seen something.
Or rather, he hadn't seen it.
He blinked when it started.
And, somehow, during the duration of that blink, it ended.
One moment the blonde huntsman…
The one who had saved him…
The one who had cut a goddamn roof in half…
One moment he was standing still, a little to Mark's right.
And then, suddenly, he was somewhere else entirely, a trail of raised dust the only evidence that Mark didn't just imagine his former position.
The dark huntsman moved almost as quickly the blonde huntsman—although it wasn't of his own volition.
His body folded in the most horrifying way, like a yoga instructor who had somehow managed to make the side-to-side flexibility of her spine equal to its front-to-back.
Mark had never seen something so big skip on pavement like a rock across a pond. Ten feet. Twenty feet. Thirty feet.
Then the corpse—because it had to be one at this point, it just had to be—hit a wall, releasing a sickening crack that was probably a mixture of both concrete and bone…"
Now isn't that interesting? Rather than get into how cool and collected and easy it is for Jaune. I get into the sheer physicality of what he's doing. The civilian is watching Jaune with awe, and that awe gets conveyed to the reader.
Here's a 3rd Example, from the enemy's perspective.
"Noneofit flexed his fists in anticipation.
Another huntsman to tear apart.
Excellent.
He'd already gone through three, and they'd only managed to whet his appetite.
Who would have guessed that dropping a building on a gnat—he glanced at the weakling out of the corner of his vision—would garner the attention of a lion?
Not that a lion was much better than a gnat to someone like Noneofit. Swatting bugs and killing predators were practically the same thing to a god.
And that's what he was.
A god.
Blondie didn't look like he would make the first move. Maybe he wanted to stay at a range where he could protect the gnat—in case Noneofit decided to go for him first.
This was the problem with huntsman and huntresses. Sure, some of them were strong—but they were always thinking about protecting this or saving that. They never took the time to focus on winning the fight.
So, they died.
Noneofit continued to meet blondie's gaze unwaveringly. He had strong eyes. And an unflinching face. As well as a large scar stretched from chin to brow.
Shit.
His head would look good mounted.
Noneofit tensed his legs, preparing to use his semblance to burst forward.
If blondie wasn't coming to him then he would—
Noneofit's train of thought met a brick wall as his brain screamed at him to watch out.
The fist was two feet away.
A lifetime in most other situations.
But considering that same fist had just traveled twenty feet in the time it took for him to think a single thought…
Noneofit raised his guard.
It didn't matter.
Pain.
It lanced through his body, interrupting his thoughts, aborting his senses.
It came from the left. He couldn't see what caused it. The jab must have been a feint.
Fortunately, Noneofit was a warrior. He'd been caught unaware many times. He knew how to rapidly move his aura, how to mitigate the damage of a knife to the back by activating aura as soon as he felt the prick.
He moved his aura from his arms to his side. Then he brought down his elbow, to further mitigate damage and his enemy's follow through.
His eyes met the huntsman's. The man looked tired. Not physically. But mentally.
But "tired" wasn't quite the right word.
He mostly looked…bored.
Noneofit gritted his teeth. He'd wipe that look right off the huntsman's face in a moment.
But then his aura broke.
And then his arm broke.
And then his ribs broke.
And then he was rolling, bouncing, flying.
And then it all stopped, hard.
All he saw was darkness. All he heard was ringing. All he smelled was copper. All he tasted was bile. And all he felt was fire…
How…?
Why…?
What ev—
And then he thought no more."
See the differences from those perspectives? I mean, you still must be a good writer. But this is one of the secrets to good storytelling.
So, there you have it. How to make a top ten-anime fight in written form.
Although that's only like thirty percent. The other seventy is building up the emotional stakes leading into the battle so that the actual combat has an emotional catharsis element to it.
But no way I'm gonna try to explain how to do that here.
Mmm, so I answered next to nothing about humor, but whatever…
On to the chapter.
Don't expect this one to be as funny as the last. There's some more serious stuff to address.
Also, My beta only beta's for content, not grammar and stuff. So, forgive the small mistakes. Please and thank you.
Without further ado…
The Shield of Vale Chapter 10
Glynda Gets Gawked
-or-
Taurus is Taken to Task
Deep breaths.
Calm mind.
Find her center.
Become a part of the situation without letting the situation becoming a part of her.
Collected.
Calm.
At peace.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale…
Oum. Shit. Damn. Hell. Motherfu—
"Blake?"
Blake's attention snapped to the teacher on her right.
"Sorry…I just…" her gaze drifted back toward John's whimsical smile.
She could feel her blood boiling harder—if that was even possible.
"It's been a while since you've seen your mentor, hasn't it?" said Glynda. "John says you've been operating on your own for the last few months—that's why you applied to Beacon without his recommendation."
Right.
That's why she applied to Beacon without his recommendation.
Okay.
How to respond?
She could deny that John was her mentor…
But that would just call her background into question.
Which could result in her messing up what was looking like a surefire enrollment into Beacon.
It could also end with Beacon leadership discovering she was White Fang.
So…what were her options…?
Did she even have any?
Her gaze slipped back to Jaune's shit-eating grin.
The fury burned.
Then there was Pip, standing beside John.
She looked nervous and amused.
Mostly amused.
Blake remembered the smirking devil face the dog-faunus had left on her note.
They were in this together. Torturing her.
What had she ever done to Pip? Aside from help her acknowledge her sudden, inappropriate, Stockholm-ish, intensely-physical, lust for John?
Is this how she was to be thanked for her support?
She returned her attention to Jaune. Somehow—his smile was even bigger.
Fine.
Shit was on.
I*I*I
It was absurd how much he was enjoying himself.
If messing with baby-Blake was this much fun—he couldn't imagine the joy of irritating baby-Weiss.
The Weiss from his time was too even-keeled and soft-spoken. Sure, she'd still turn a little crimson when she was particularly irritated or embarrassed—but it took a lot of effort to elicit those sorts of responses from her.
More than it was usually worth.
If Jaune remembered correctly, one could set off teeny-Weiss by so much as looking at her incorrectly.
There were good times ahead.
Of course, he couldn't forget his purpose.
In the end, poking fun at the younger versions of his closest friends was great—but he couldn't allow it to distract from his end-goals. Not even for even a moment.
Especially since he was enacting what was meant to be a two-person plan by himself.
Still, he, Weiss, and Ruby had spent so much time discussing how they would make fun of their younger counterparts—well, mostly he and Ruby discussed it, but Weiss made suggestions. It would be a shame to throw away all that hard work now.
Especially since it didn't cost him anything.
Not time. Not money. Not effort.
This was still the plan.
He needed to come to Beacon.
He needed to introduce himself to Ozpin.
Just…
Why not do so in a way that made Blake's ears twitch?
Jaune stole a quick glance at the girl's bow. It was moving. Slightly. But it was moving.
He hummed.
The question at hand now was: how would Blake respond?
He had to have pissed her off. He had to. She'd managed to maintain a decent poker face upon seeing him, but Jaune knew that was just a mask.
The bow moved for a lot of reasons. But in this situation, he doubted it was from pleasure.
She could deny that he was her mentor. Pretend she didn't even know him…
But how would she explain him knowing so much about her?
How would she even explain him knowing her name?
Plus, a denial at this point would just make the circumstances of her enrollment look more suspicious. The last thing Blake wanted was suspicion.
She couldn't afford to blow her chance at Beacon.
Of course, what Blake didn't know was that there was absolutely no way Jaune would let Ozpin or Glynda stop her from attending this school.
Although, given Ozpin's rather…frivolous track record concerning student admittance Jaune was fairly certain there wasn't much Blake could do that would mess up her entrance.
Blake opened her mouth.
Jaune couldn't wait to hear what she had to say.
"I didn't know you were back in town master…"
Jaune suppressed his smirk.
She could barely hide her disdain for his ill-gotten title.
But she said it. Which meant he won.
Blake continued, "…I didn't know if you were ever coming back after you skipped town with that whore."
Jaune's brain lagged for a second.
Whore?
He glanced at Pip. She returned his confusion.
"No," clarified Blake. "Not that one. She looks about your age. I'm talking about the whore who was about my age."
Jaune's confusion faded as he watched Glynda's face get harder and harder with every passing second.
There was a very short list of individuals on Remnant Jaune cared one way or another about pissing off, whose anger he found concerning.
The list had five members.
Glynda Goodwitch's name took up two of the five slots.
It wasn't that she was stronger than him. This Glynda was nowhere near as strong as the Glynda from his future.
And he was stronger than that Glynda too.
Well…stronger probably wasn't the right word.
He could beat her in a fight.
Eventually.
He could beat just about anyone in a fight.
Eventually.
So, no, it wasn't her power that had always made Jaune a little apprehensive around Glynda.
What remained consistent between this Glynda and the other from the future, was her glare.
While most glares, including that of a dark goddess pushed to the brink of her powers, left Jaune Arc unfazed…
Glynda's reminded him of his mother's.
And as Jaune had discovered not so long ago, Jaune Arc, slayer of Goliaths and Shield of Vale, was still a little scared—more accurately stated, absolutely terrified—of his mother.
Plus, Glynda's glare made him feel like he was her student again—so that didn't help.
"I don't know what—" Jaune began.
Blake interrupted, poker face still strong, although showing a hint of smugness. "—I'm talking about? That's exactly what you said when I pinched her license and showed you that she was barely legal."
The intensity of Glynda's glare strengthened.
Huh.
So, this was why you didn't screw around with your plan.
At least Blake was kind enough to say his imaginary girlfriend was barely legal. How much worse would this be if she'd instead gone with "two-years-under"?
He clearly needed to defuse this situation.
Stop Glynda from trying to glare a hole through him. Stop Blake from dropping bombs.
He could do this. He just needed to be diplomatic. He just needed to channel his inner Weiss.
Before he could open his mouth, someone behind him started clapping, slowly.
Shit.
He'd forgotten Qrow was here.
"Looks like we've found ourselves another blonde Casanova."
Jaune watched Qrow approach.
"Taiyang never slept with children Qrow," said Glynda. Her voice was…
Well it was kind of terrifying.
Jaune wanted to scream.
He'd never slept with a child either!
"Barely legal Glynda, which means fresh out of childhood and ripe for the pickings." Qrow patted his back. "Am I right John?"
Jaune dared not open his mouth, not until he had figured out how to dig himself out of this hole.
"Man…" began Qrow, again.
Jaune met Qrow's eyes.
The alcoholic looked shockingly sobered. Which was a bad sign. Qrow's wit only grew more acerbic without some drink in his system to temper his cynicism. Plus, Jaune could see malice in the man's eyes. He was all kinds of pissed about the way Jaune had shown up in the middle of his mission with two injured kids, slept for a while, and then left without a single explanation.
Jaune turned back to Blake. She was obviously struggling to control her features. Her entire face clearly wanted to scream, "victory!"
Qrow glanced from Jaune to Blake and back again. Several times. "It's like I'm back in school. Let me guess. The tramp he ran off with a while back was 18 and it's disgusting because she was such a child—but you're nineteen and an adult and he "belongs" with you?"
"W-what!?" sputtered Blake. "I'm seventeen!"
"Oof, he skipped town right before you hit his threshold? Was that hard on you?"
Blake's bow twitched aggressively.
Jaune had wanted to see the ribbon do just that. But this wasn't quite how he had envisioned it going.
He couldn't quite enjoy it when the look Glynda was giving him was making him feel twitchy as well.
The hidden faunus shot him a look that screamed, "fix this." Jaune wasn't sure what Blake expected him to do. Or why she expected him to do anything. Hadn't she dug a solid eighty-percent of this hole? Not to say he hadn't provoked her but…who even kept track of that sort of thing?
"Are you drunk?" asked Blake, turning her attention back to the Branwen who had offended her.
"Not as much as I wish I was."
Jaune really wanted to hear what Blake would say next because there was absolute venom in her eyes. But unfortunately, Ozpin chose that moment to interrupt.
"Alright, I believe that's enough of…that. There are more… important matters to which we must attend."
There was little doubt as to what Ozpin was referring. He wanted to know of Jaune's connection to Salem. He wanted to know what Jaune meant when he said Lionheart was dirty. He was already well beyond the matter of Blake Belladonna's acceptance.
Jaune breathed an invisible sigh of relief.
He had been the one to initiate this whole thing, purely to mess with Blake. But the fun and games had not been going his way since the moment he entered the room. Best let Ozpin set things back on course with his singular determination and focus.
"No." Glynda's voice was a brick house. She glanced between Blake and Jaune.
"Glyn—" began Ozpin.
She didn't even look at Ozpin as she interrupted him. She kept her attention on Jaune. "Explain your relationship, now."
Jaune met Glynda's acidic gaze.
It, kind of made him want to run away.
Was messing with Blake worth this? It wasn't a difficult question to answer.
Hell no, it wasn't.
Why the hell had he done this to himself?
Jaune mentally prepared himself for a very uncomfortable conversation as he parted his lips.
Before he could say a word, Pip spoke.
"There's nothing romantic or sexual between John and Blake. He's been training her personally for a while. That's it."
Glynda slowly turned her scathing eyes toward Pip.
Jaune was impressed by how well the faunus held her gaze.
"I apologize," said Glynda, deliberately. "I believe John said your name was Pip, but I went downstairs to greet Ms. Belladonna before I heard your…role in all this."
Uh-oh.
Jaune hadn't given Pip much prepping before bringing her here. He'd just told her everything would be fine, and that they were both going to support and make fun of Blake at the same time.
She had mumbled something about "work" and "fire" or something…
But she agreed immediately when he asked a second time.
On their flight over, Jaune hadn't bothered to discuss a backstory or establish what she should say. Instead, he talked about the people they would be meeting: Ozpin and Glynda—and maybe Qrow.
The reason he'd felt no need to discuss her cover, was because he intended to introduce her as his girlfriend.
She hadn't seemed to mind much when he used that cover on her piece-of-shit landlord. And it was a simple explanation for who she was to him.
It didn't quite cover why she was here with him. But it was enough right?
After all, it wasn't a cover he or she needed to maintain for long.
He needed to convince the people in this room—excluding Pip and Blake—that he was from the future. Once he had accomplished that, there was little need for deception. He could say Pip and Blake were allies.
No need for further explanation than that.
And why had he decided to bring Pip along?
Well…
It didn't seem like it would do any harm.
And he had promised to protect her—which he couldn't exactly do from miles away.
Although, to be honest, the actual threat to Pip's life was…dubious, at best.
Regardless, he liked Pip's company and she seemed willing enough, so she was along for the ride.
What was done was done.
He began to speak, ready to introduce her as his "better half," hoping that would salvage some of his introduction.
Pip moved forward—toward the angry Goodwitch—before he could say a word.
"Thank you for asking. They…" She jerked a thumb back toward Qrow and Ozpin. "…didn't bother. And he…" She motioned toward Jaune. "Didn't think to introduce me."
Glynda's eyes followed her motions, landing on the individuals to whom Pip was motioning, narrowing on Ozpin in particular.
"My name's Pip Perinto." Pip held out a hand. Glynda stared at the proffered limb for a half-second.
Jaune thought she might reject the shake. Which—damn—would have been cold. But he was reminded that the headmistress was far too polite for that when she grasped Pip's hand.
"Glynda Goodwitch."
Pip nodded. "I know. John told me about you. I'm John's assistant."
Assistant?
Jaune kept his groan internal.
Was assistant the best she could come up with?
Sure, she kind of looked like one, what with the white blouse and pencil skirt and heels...
But Jaune was a huntsman. Ozpin, Qrow, and Glynda knew he was a huntsman.
What use did a huntsman have for a civvy assistant?
"Assistant?" replied Glynda.
"Yes," said Pip.
"What sorts of tasks do you assist him with?"
Check and mate.
What was Pip going to say?
That she was out there on the battlefield with a syringe and some bandages?
Huntsman didn't need assistants.
"I help John track his finances, pay bills, prioritize hunts, track down enemies, purchase groceries, schedule doctor's appointments, manage ongoing feuds, stay on task with planned events, maintain his weapons—" she glanced at the sword on Jaune's hip, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "—The ones that aren't in complete disrepair. Essentially, I assist John with anything he needs or wants—well, anything that doesn't directly involve swinging his sword around."
Holy shit.
Jaune had to keep himself from gaping.
That sounded amazing.
Why the hell didn't he have an assistant?
Aside from, of course, his complete inability to pay them a fair wage.
"That sounds like a very…involved job."
"It is. But if John's going to keep doing what he does, someone's got to keep the water on, make sure he eats, maintain an itinerary, organize his ideas, figure out the legal ramifications of his actions..."
Jaune watched the light in Glynda's eyes change. It was subtle. But he'd spent enough time around his Glynda, the Glynda from his time, to know it was a glint of respect—or, perhaps…camaraderie?
"…anyway," continued Pip. "I assure you nothing about John and Blake's relationship is improper—aside from their ridiculous habit of humiliating one another in front of strangers. John did not run off with an eighteen-year-old. And Blake does not call John master. And their relationship is just teacher-and-student—well, as much as that's possible between two children."
Jaune didn't even care that he'd been called a child. For a moment, it was like he was back with team WRJ. Where he could just let Weiss do all the thinking and talking. There was no way Pip was that smart. But she was clearly good at talking to people. And if she was even a quarter as organized as the heiress…
Well, he'd have a lot more reason to keep her around than "enjoying her company."
"You have an assistant!? What kind of huntsman has an assistant!?"
Jaune rolled his eyes at Qrow's uneducated outburst.
The real question here was, what kind of ignorant-ass huntsman couldn't see the benefits of having an assistant?
Pip replied before Jaune could.
"The kind with a lot of ass to kick and not enough hours in his day."
Hell yes.
There had to be some way he could get money to actually hire her as an assistant.
He could just tell Roman to give him some lien…
Or maybe Ozpin would fork over some cash after he convinced him he was from the future…?
Oh yeah.
That's right.
Convincing Ozpin and company that he was from the future.
That's why he was here. Not to torment Blake or recruit Pip.
He'd told himself he wouldn't get lost in all this extra stuff, but he'd still managed to do just that.
This was why…
He needed a goddamn assistant.
"Alright," Jaune cleared his throat. "Ozpin's right, we have some pretty important stuff to discuss. Blake and I being here on the same day is a coincidence. I've been gone for a while, out of contact. I needed to talk to you all. Pip told me Blake was taking the PSA to get in because I wasn't around to give her a recommendation. So, I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone." Jaune met Blake's eyes, trying to convey that he truly wasn't here to ruin her life. "I would make sure you all know how qualified Blake is to be at this school, so she doesn't have to jump through the hoops. And I'd have that conversation that Qrow was whining about during our ride into Vale."
"I don't whine," said Qrow. His eyes narrowed. "And weren't you asleep when I was whining?"
"Was I?" replied Jaune.
Qrow's eyes narrowed further.
"Glynda," began Jaune, turning towards his former combat teacher. "This isn't a conversation Blake or Pip needs to hear. Could you set them up with lunch or something? I have a feeling this is going to take a while."
It was early for lunch. But Jaune had a feeling this conversation wasn't going to be the shortest.
Glynda nodded and produced her scroll. "I'll ask Professor Peach to meet them downstairs."
"Wait," said Blake. "Have I been accepted?"
Ozpin and Glynda shared a brief look.
"Yes," said Glynda. "You are more than qualified to partake in initiation."
Thank Oum for that.
How much more complicated would things be if they said no? Or worse yet, they asked Jaune for actual evidence that he was a licensed huntsman.
Jaune hadn't possessed official documentation of his profession in years.
Pip approached him with a sort of…professionalism. It was strange, as it had been entirely absent from all their past interactions.
"Do you require anything else from me, John?"
Jaune smiled at her. It wasn't exactly forced. "Nope, I'm good Pip. Excellent work, as always."
Pip nodded.
"You all may take the elevator down to the lobby. Please wait there. Depending on what she's doing, it may be a few minutes before Professor Peach can meet you."
Jaune watched Pip and Blake walk away thoughtfully.
He didn't have Weiss or Ruby. But he could still put together a team.
Of course, for now, he needed to focus on making allies of the people in this room.
But, eventually, he'd likely need individuals who would trust him completely. People who were willing to believe in him even if what he claimed defied common-sense.
Ozpin's people weren't those people.
But they were still today's goal.
Jaune licked his lips. "So…where should I begin?"
I*I*I
Blake whirled toward Pip the moment the elevator doors shut. "What was that!?"
"John thought it would be funny if we—"
"Not that," interrupted Blake. She already had a pretty good idea of how that came about. John wanted to mess with her, and Pip was happy to oblige.
"All that assistant stuff. Did Jaune tell you to say that?"
Pip's face reddened. She averted her eyes and shook her head. "No. Jaune didn't tell me what I was supposed to say if they asked me who I was. I just thought personal-assistant would sound better than woman-kidnapped-from-the-White-Fang."
"That's it? That was just you making up a cover on-the-fly?"
Blake could hardly believe it. Sure, she'd know people who were good at that sort of thing over the years. The prime example being Trill. The bat faunus could be anywhere and anyone. And he didn't even need to think about a sensible cover story—it just flowed out of him.
"Well, it was pretty easy since I work as an assistant for real—sort of."
Ah. That made sense.
But still…she'd gone from timid to professional on the drop of a dime. Even the clothes she was wearing were professional. Although Blake had a feeling the selection had less to do with anticipating her act, and more to do with the way the skirt hugged her hips and flattered her ample bosom.
Although… she hadn't gone all the way.
One less button done, and she'd have really given Jaune some eye-candy.
"Sort of?"
"Well…I'm good at what I do, so my boss keeps me around. But…he doesn't want to be seen with me in public, so Felicity stays with him throughout the day while I field calls, organize his schedule, keep his projects straight—that sort of thing. Part-time of course. No benefits for me."
"Felicity's a human?"
Pip nodded.
"And she's full-time?"
Pip nodded again.
"Is she better at the job than you?"
"Depends on what kind of job you're talking about. The job we're paid to do? No. The blowing kind? Then yeah, probably."
"That's…" Blake trailed off.
Unfair?
Disgusting?
Repulsive?
There were plenty of words to describe that situation. But none that Pip likely hadn't already told herself. And Pip wasn't speaking with anger or rage. She was well past that stage. Now she was speaking with resignation.
So, instead of exclaiming how she felt about the situation, Blake decided to just let the woman vent a little.
Huh.
Maybe she was growing as a person.
"I guess if your boss can afford two assistants, it's his right to have two."
Holy crap.
Were those the most difficult words she had ever spoken?
"Yeah," replied Pip, looking away.
They stepped out of the elevator as Blake continued to study Pip. Professor Peach had yet to arrive, so they moved a few feet to the left.
"He doesn't, does he?" said Blake, remembering the state of Pip's rundown apartment.
"Doesn't what?" replied Pip.
"He doesn't pay the two of you a fair wage."
Pip smiled. It looked forced. "Felicity seems to be doing pretty well."
Blake ground her teeth. Was it still the most mature and responsible action to keep her vitriol and loathing locked away?
"It could be worse," continued Pip. "There are plenty of faunus working in dust mines."
Gah.
Blake hated that phrase. It could be worse. It was like an excuse faunus gave to their oppressors. Every situation that had ever happened throughout all of time could always be "worse." It wasn't an excuse for inertia. It wasn't a reason to avoid change.
"And I am working part time, maybe we're paid the same per hour."
Pip's tone revealed that she didn't believe that to be remotely possible.
"I'm sorry," said Blake. "You shouldn't be treated that way."
"And you shouldn't have to hide behind that bow."
Blake hummed. She shouldn't. But…was anyone forcing her to wear it? She'd like to think so. But perhaps she was just being a coward…
"Well, look at it this way. I probably won't have to deal with that problem anymore. Since I didn't call or go in to work today. I'm ninety-percent sure that I'm now unemployed."
"You had work today?" exclaimed Blake. "Why'd you come here?"
Pip's face turned a bit redder. "W-well. John asked me. I tried to tell him I had to go to work and that I'd get fired...but he didn't hear me."
Blake quirked an eyebrow. "And then he tied you up and brought you here at sword-point?"
Pip shook her head, face enflaming even more. "No," she squeaked. "I just didn't say anything else."
"Why didn't you call?" asked Blake.
"I don't know," replied Pip, groaning. "Something about being with John makes me all…weird. I wanted to call my boss and tell him to go screw himself. I settled on letting the screw yourself be implicit."
That weird feeling Pip was describing had a name.
Safe.
She felt safe with John.
Which, to be fair, who wouldn't?
Who was going to mess with you when you had a guy like John in your corner? Who wouldn't feel empowered to tell their tormentors what they thought of them if John was glowering at them from over your shoulder?
"Speaking of John," said Pip, voice laced with nervous energy. "Do you think he was okay with my performance? I was so nervous. I kept thinking, do huntsman even have assistants? Does he want me to just stay quiet? Does he need my help? I thought my heart was going to just…stop."
"Well," began Blake. She recalled John's face when Pip introduced herself as his assistant. Best described as an Oum-dammit-face, an expression which, at the time, made sense to her.
John was a huntsman. Pip introducing herself as an assistant was a dumb move. What did a huntsman need with an untrained, no-aura, assistant?
Then she recalled the transformation that occurred in his features as Pip described the many tasks she supposedly performed for him, an expression best described as the face-of-a-starving-man-staring-at-a-steak-dinner.
By the time Pip told that irritating drunk that John was the kind of huntsman "with a lot of ass to kick and not enough hours in his day" John looked borderline ecstatic.
"Honestly?"
Pip nodded.
"I think your administrative skills might be the fastest way into John's pants."
"Blake!" Pip whisper-shouted as she turned crimson.
"Heart—I meant to say heart."
Funny enough, she had meant to say heart. Pip's confession that Jaune made her feel all safe and warm and protected confirmed that there was probably a bit more to her desires than lust.
Pip hadn't known him long enough for Blake to call it true love or anything like that. But it was safe to say that the dog-faunus was enamored.
And whether "assistant" was a cover likely to deceive Ozpin hardly mattered. John seemed to like the idea quite a bit. If there was one thing Blake had learned from her novels—the ones where the female-protagonist was more active in taking what she wanted—it was that all you needed to get the relationship moving was a way in—an excuse to spend as much time together as possible. From there, it didn't take long for things to escalate in most…wonderful ways.
"—so?"
Blake snapped back to Pip. She'd been distracted and Pip was speaking in a microscopic voice. "What did you say?"
"I said," began Pip, speaking a little louder. "Do you really think so? I mean, wouldn't John want a human—and a huntress? Is he even attracted to…?" she trailed off, motioning to herself.
Blake followed the motion of her hands. Pip wasn't unattractive. Not by a longshot. She lacked the body of a huntress of course.
She wasn't all lean and toned and muscular.
But she was curvaceous with a cute face and a compact frame. Blake liked her own height and Pip was only about an inch-and-a-half shorter—which was close enough.
All and all, it came down to what John preferred. Huntsmen and huntresses often wound up together. But that certainly wasn't a rule.
In that book about the warrior and the two sisters the warrior often reveled in how soft the women were.
Softness. Some men liked softness.
Softness wasn't exactly a trait, physically or mentally, associated with huntresses.
If that was what Jaune wanted, then…
"I don't know." The corner of Blake's mouth twitched upwards. "Want me to ask him?"
Pip shook her head as if she was trying to dislodge something. "No! Please don't!"
Blake was surprised by her serious tone. She was expecting embarrassment and fluster. Not a sincere plea.
Pip continued, "I…need to think about…stuff first."
Wow.
Blake decided to stop teasing her. After all, there was no need for Blake to get revenge on Pip for that humiliating display up in the headmaster's office.
Pip would pay her back by her life becoming a new never-before-seen erotic novel. A novel played out in real time.
Blake paused, assaulted by an important sudden thought.
Should she be recording all this?
Maintaining a written record?
She'd thought about becoming a writer.
Maybe this was her chance to dip her toe in the water without wasting too much creative energy…
Sure, she'd have to embellish some things—but she had no doubt that this would make an excellent book. Hmm…but who would be the protagonist? Jaune or Pip? Usually her novels took the female perspective. But writing from Jaune's vantage could be interesting as well…
"Hello."
Professor Peach's voice drew Blake out of her thoughts.
"Glynda tells me the two of you are in need of some food and a space to wait?"
Blake and Pip nodded.
"Mm…Okay. Follow me. I'm a bit busy. But we have two other guests here with us and they've already received the full tour. I'm sure they'd be happy to show you around."
I*I*I
"Okay, this is going to be a weird conversation—so bear with me. This wasn't originally going to be my job. And my partners had certain advantages when it came to explaining all this. I don't. I'm still going to try and make a compelling case. But it's more likely that you'll believe me gradually as more and more pieces fall into place. So, yeah. Just keep that in mind…"
Jaune was not off to a strong start here. In his defense, this wasn't supposed to be his job. And Ruby looked identical to her younger-self and near-identical to her mother so what they had planned for her to say was hardly going to work for him.
No one in this room knew his past self.
And even if they did—he'd changed big time—especially in the facial department. Ruby, on the other hand, still had the same baby-fat cheeks—even if she had gotten a bit taller and a bit more muscular.
"We promise to keep an open mind Mr…?"
Ozpin trailed off into an obvious probing question.
Jaune saw no reason not to answer honestly. "Arc."
"John…Arc…" said Ozpin, clearly recognizing the name.
There was a slight flinch in Glynda's expression as well.
All expected reactions.
Qrow was too busy to show a reaction. He was crouched to place him eye level with his flask, which was resting on Ozpin's desk. He had produced large brown bottle from somewhere and begun meticulously refilling his drink.
Also, an expected reaction.
"Might as well get right into it," muttered Jaune. Louder, he said, "I'm from the future."
Ozpin stared at him silently.
Glynda blink owlishly, before adjusting her spectacles.
And Qrow carefully finished topping his drink.
Unsurprisingly, Qrow was the first to speak. "If I had my flask ready, and this wasn't such damn good liquor, I want you to know I would have fully committed to a spit-take all over Ozpin's desk."
Jaune fought down a grin. He'd seen Qrow do a full spit-take before. It was a funny memory. "Noted."
"The future, Mr. Arc. That is…a fascinating claim."
Ozpin, surprisingly, sounded sincere.
"Well, I wouldn't call it a claim. It is a claim. But it's one-hundred-percent true, so it's better for all parties if you just think of it as a fact."
"John," began Glynda. "This wouldn't happen to be another one of your poorly-timed jokes—would it?"
"Nope, I'm actually from the future. I'm chock full of future memories too. Go ahead and ask me what Salem's planning. What's coming next? Who's who? What's where? I can tell you everything you'd ever want to know."
"Your use of that name, Salem. Mr. Arc, you sound very familiar with it. I would very much like to know how you came by it."
"What? Salem? I told you, I'm from the future. She's…a big deal there. Killed off most of the huntsman, most of the people—pretty much everything. Aren't you more interested in what I can tell you about what she's doing next? Don't you want me to prove I'm from the future?"
"To be honest, Mr. Arc," Ozpin reached for his mug. "It would not surprise me if you were able to tell me her plans. As the only individuals who know of her are those under my employment…and those under hers."
There was a weightiness to Ozpin's words, an accusation hidden not-so-subtly between the lines.
"What about Raven?"
"An anomaly," responded Ozpin, without missing a beat.
"A generous description for a mass murderer of your making."
"You do appear to be well informed Mr. Arc. But surely you can see how it would be more reasonable for us to conclude you are associated with our enemy—based on your knowledge. Rather than believing that you have jumped through time to relay information."
Jaune did. But he saw no reason to admit that. "How are the kids doing?"
"Excuse me?" replied Ozpin.
"Clint and Vul? They went through a lot at the bandit camp."
"They are…" Ozpin hesitated, trailing off.
Glynda picked up where he left off. "They are adjusting. Losing two teammates. Discovering that it was potentially their headmaster who put them in harm's way. Catching a glimpse of how dark the world can really be…"
Jaune noted Glynda's white knuckles and tense posture. There were only a few circumstances that could unsettle the perpetually composed woman.
Harming children. Harming students.
Those were two of them.
Glynda continued after exhaling. "They are recovering rapidly—all things considered. Most children would be unable to function after what they'd gone through. I have a feeling they picked up their coping methods from you."
"How so?"
"Vul, perhaps not fully. But Clint tells me he feels no grief and no anger because he's realized those emotions will get in the way of revenge. And he's gotten rid of anything that will get in the way of revenge."
Jaune blinked. "That does sound like…how I can sometimes be."
"How you handled the bandits, in the arena, left quite an impression on Clint. I believe he wishes to do the same to Lionheart."
Jaune nodded. "Well, he'll have to get in line for that particular honor."
"It's not a particularly healthy obsession."
No.
It wasn't.
Jaune could personally attest to that. He'd fallen into it several times before. Rather than experience his grief, he shoved it into the deepest, darkest part of him and burned it like fuel as he single-mindedly sought vengeance.
Only the combined efforts of Ruby and Weiss could pull him out of that state.
"I'll talk to them."
Glynda nodded.
"Which brings us to an excellent discussion point," inserted Ozpin. "What has led you to the conclusion that the headmaster in Mistral has betrayed our cause?"
"In the future, we all discover that together."
"Do you have any other evidence you could present?" asked Ozpin.
"Nope," said Jaune. "But I don't think you'd have to poke around for long before you could find your own evidence."
"Which, naturally, you would claim as evidence that your claims of being from the future are true?"
Jaune agreed. "Naturally."
"Even though," continued Ozpin. "Your accuracy concerning Lionheart's supposed betrayal would still more likely be a result of an allegiance to Salem—rather than the result of a future ally traveling through time."
"If I was working with Salem, why would I reveal her plans to you?"
Ozpin took a sip from his mug.
"Because you are hoping to mislead us. Because you wish to earn our trust before betraying us."
Jaune nodded.
Yeah.
That was fair.
"You've got a point there. Me knowing Salem's plan could just as much be a sign that I'm working with her as it could be a sign that I'm from the future—"
"I think it's actually way more likely the first one," interjected Qrow.
Jaune continued, unperturbed. "But fortunately, since I'm actually from the future. I don't just know Salem's plans. I know yours. And Ironwood's. And Lionheart's. And Roman's. And your mysterious queen's. I know secrets about you. Secrets about students attending the school this semester. I know things that are going to be happening soon. And I know things that are happening right now. And, if push comes to shove, although I'd really prefer to avoid involving him, there's always my past self. I bet Atlas has some tech that can confirm we're the same people."
Ozpin stared at him with a calculating gaze. He set down his mug in favor of lacing his fingers. "Interesting, Mr. Arc. I admit, having a historian's grasp of events over the next few months, spanning over all of Remnant, would be quite…convincing"
Well.
Ozpin was at least willing to listen.
That was a start.
Jaune walked over to the side of the room, where a couple of chairs were lined up. He grabbed three, two in one hand and one in the other. He set down one in front of Ozpin's desk. He set the other two beside the desk, facing him.
He sat down.
"Truth be told Ozpin, Qrow, Glynda…" he looked at each as he addressed them. "I don't really care if you believe I'm from the future. Or if you believe that I have a semblance that makes me omniscient. Or if you believe I'm the owner of a super spy network and I'm aware of every ongoing scheme and plot in Remnant and that I'm somehow able to calculate how each one will turn out." Jaune shrugged. "You're free to believe whatever you want on that count. As long as you also firmly believe that I know what the hell I'm talking about. And follow my… strongly worded recommendations to the letter."
Qrow more fell than sat in the chair provide for him. Glynda lowered herself with more grace.
"Why don't you begin by telling us a bit about Salem's most-current objective?" said Ozpin.
Jaune considered the recommendation. Sure, he could begin there. But weren't you supposed to save the best for last?
Or, in this case, save the part your audience most wanted to know until the end—so they had to listen to everything else you wanted to say?
"Counter-proposal," said Jaune. "I'll tell you about myself. About my future. About who I am and what I've done. Then we'll get to Salem."
"Very well."
"Okay," Jaune exhaled. "First off, my name isn't John. It's Jaune."
"Are you claiming to be the same Jaune Arc whose transcripts arrived yesterday?" asked Glynda.
"My transcripts arrived yesterday?"
Huh, he remembered cutting it close all those years ago. But he didn't remember cutting it this close. For a moment he wondered if his presence might have caused the timing to change. But he discarded that notion when he considered how little time had passed since he met his younger self.
Young Jaune must have gotten the ball rolling on his enrollment quite a while before John entered his life.
"You say you're from the future, but you're surprised by what your younger-self is doing?" asked Qrow.
"A little, yeah," replied Jaune. "I actually ran into younger me when I just arrived in this time. Our meeting was pretty…impactful. I wasn't sure how I might have changed things."
"Why would it change anything?" questioned Ozpin. "If you met yourself in the past, don't you have memories of the meeting, from when you were younger?"
Jaune shook his head. "Sorry. I'm going to explain a lot to you all. But we won't be discussing the details of time travel because I wouldn't even know where to begin. The only person in the world who could properly explain it—one of my partners—well…she's not here."
"Partners? You had more than one?" questioned Glynda.
"Yes. I started with one. The one you gave me." He motioned to Ozpin with his chin. "But when she died—and a lot of other people died too—I became part of a three-person team. WRJ." Jaune looked upwards, studying the ceiling. He hadn't realized how much these next few hours were going to take out of him until he thought about Weiss and Ruby.
"We were the greatest huntsman team to have ever lived. The strongest. The fastest. The smartest." Jaune pictured his two closest friends.
"We were also the last."
I*I*I
It took Ozpin several seconds to realize Jaune had stopped talking. To realize he wasn't just pausing for a breath before diving back in to his riveting tale.
"Is that…?"
Jaune nodded. "It's enough. I've got a decade of memories. This is a good enough start."
Ozpin glanced at his two companions. Glynda appeared dazed. Qrow was glaring at his own hands.
"I think we require some time to digest everything you've told us. And…contemplate answers to your requests. Perhaps Professor Peach can—"
Jaune cut him off with a raised hand. "I know my way around the school. I'll track down Blake and Pip, then wait for your response in the library."
Under normal circumstances, in his usual state of mind, there was no way Ozpin would have let some unknown huntsman wander around his school without supervision. As it was, Ozpin nodded mutely, watching Jaune disappear into the elevator.
Silence reigned supreme for nearly a minute.
Qrow was the first to break it.
"So, either we just talked to a man from the future. Or we just talked to the most brilliant liar to have ever lived."
Ozpin shook his head. "If the last…" He glanced at his scroll screen. "…four hours were a deception Qrow. Then they were a deception that goes beyond simple brilliance."
"It was like he knew us," said Glynda, quietly.
"Well, he did say you were his combat teacher. And he said you fought alongside him until the last battle. And you helped invent time travel too, apparently." Qrow ran a hand through his haphazard hair.
"Glynda," said Ozpin. "Your glyph writing abilities are second to none. How feasible is time travel via a single human's aura and dust manipulation?"
"It's possible, but only in the most theoretical sense. It's always been theoretically possible to time travel. The calculations necessary to make something like that real? The energy? The measurements? If you asked me at any point before today if it was possible, I'd probably abbreviate my answer to no. But after today…"
Ozpin's chin dipped in agreement.
"Okay, hold on. You know it's a chilly day in hell when I'm the voice of reason. But are we really saying time travel is more likely than Jaune being a Salem flunky and one hell of a liar?"
It was a fair point.
Wasn't the simplest and most likely solution that Jaune was a spy? An extraordinarily effective one at that? Wasn't that what made the most sense?
"Normally, I'd agree with you Qrow. But…his stories from the future. The circumstances he described…I knew immediately what I would do in those situations. And then he told me what I did. And the two were perfectly aligned. It's not as simple as being a good liar or telling a good story. Salem and I have fought one another for centuries—and not even she could so perfectly encapsulate my thought-process and decision-making. And the secrets he knew…"
"You really think old Ironwood is working on some kind of super sex-bot?"
"Artificial intelligence," corrected Glynda.
"Potato, Tomato," replied Qrow. "I'm just saying it sounds a hell of a lot like that erectile dysfunction medicine line James was going to start. What was it? Ironwood's Iron Wood?
"That's a rumor you started."
"Did I? Damn. I'm awesome."
Glynda rolled her eyes. "It's just the punchline of a joke you stole."
"Hey!" exclaimed Qrow. "That punchline needed an agent! I took it from small-time in some bar to the big-leagues—now every huntsman in the four kingdoms has heard it."
Glynda shook her head. "Iron wood. What man would even want both? It sounds painful and redundant."
Ozpin stole a quick glance at his second in command. Jaune's story must have really taken her off guard if she was willingly participating in Qrow's pointless banter.
"Glynda isn't wrong. Iron wood sounds a little too sturdy and little too permanent."
Qrow laughed and snorted at the same time in the most undignified way.
"But if we can get back to the matter at hand. How shall we handle Jaune Arc? How actionable should we consider his information? How should we respond to his requests?"
"I think we need to decide whether we believe him. And if we do. We should listen to everything he says and follow his orders. And if we don't. We should tell him to screw off."
"That is…a unique suggestion Qrow. You don't think keeping someone of his power and skill as an ally would be useful—even if we choose not to accept his claims?"
"That, Ozpin…" He took a swig of his flask. "…is a heavy thought. I'm not paid to deal with heavy thoughts. I swing around a giant scythe for a living."
Qrow downplaying his intelligence was always irritating. But if he had something more to add than he would.
"And you, Glynda?"
Glynda sighed. She tapped her thumbs for a moment. "It's hard to believe much of what Jaune said. It's also hard not to believe it. When he told us Qrow's niece, the girl I lectured last night for going after criminals without authorization or back up—when he told us she's going to grow up to be one of the most powerful huntresses of all time I…" She retrained her attention her thumbs. "I believed it but I couldn't see it."
"So, what are you saying?" prompted Ozpin.
"I find myself in the rare position of agreeing with Qrow," said Glynda. "If we believe him then we can't afford to not follow his directions to the letter. If we don't, then we shouldn't have anything to do with him. Anyone who can confuse us like this—intentionally? They're dangerous."
Ozpin considered the words of his two most trusted assets.
He wasn't sure he agreed with the idea of pushing Jaune away if they didn't believe him, but their point was valid. If the man was lying, he was an incredibly dangerous enemy. The only difference between Ozpin and the two beside him was he preferred to keep his enemies close. Right where he could keep an eye on them.
Getting stabbed in the back wasn't a huge concern for an immortal.
But none of that mattered if they chose to believe Jaune—Qrow and Glynda had said as much. And Ozpin agreed.
If Jaune was telling the truth…
If he had a plan to take down Salem once and for all…
If he'd fought her. If he knew how powerful and unkillable she was…
If he knew all this and he still believed he could end her.
Maybe his and her never-ending journey could finally come to an end. Maybe, just maybe…Ozpin could finally rest.
"I find myself agreeing with you both. I also find myself believing Jaune's claims."
"Really?" questioned Qrow. "I figure out of all of us you'd be the hardest to convince. You never trust anything immediately."
"Well, for one thing, we aren't deciding whether we'll trust him indefinitely. Just for now. I'm sure our trust in him will either shrink or grow with time, depending on how his predictions pan out. And I'm also not certain I believe his claims to be from the future. But the way I see it, the only other possibility is…" Ozpin smiled at the irony. "He has a semblance that makes him practically omniscient—in which case his advice is no less valuable."
Glynda nodded—slowly at first but with increasing speed. "I agree."
"Really?" said Qrow, still trying to wrap his head around what they were accepting. "I mean sure, some of what he said made a lot of sense, filled in some of the holes in the big picture we've been studying. But are we going to believe him before actually confirming that he knows the future? Shouldn't we give him some tests or—"
Qrow cut himself off. "Oh my god. I've got it." He hastily withdrew his scroll.
Ozpin and Glynda shared a glance as Qrow dialed someone.
"Can't believe I didn't think of this earlier."
The huntsman hadn't drunk much during Jaune's story, so there was no way he was drunk enough to do something moronic like call a drinking buddy and reveal everything…
So, who was he calling?
"Uncle Qrow!" cried a cheerful voice from the scroll.
"What's up Rubes?" replied Qrow, smiling down at his niece.
"You tell me! You're the one who called."
"True. Just wanted to ask you someth—"
"Uncle Qrow! Did you hear!? I'm going to Beacon! I met the headmaster! And Ms. Goodwitch. She was scary but she was so cool! I can't wait to be a huntress too!"
Ruby's words blended into a difficult to comprehend string.
"I heard Rubes. That's amazing."
"Thanks!" said Ruby. "What did you want to ask me?"
"Oh, right. Almost forgot. Do you like boys or girls?"
Ozpin raised a brow at the question. It was…relevant. Surprisingly. Jaune had been quite clear about the relationship between Ruby Rose and Weiss Schnee.
"W-what!?" exclaimed Ruby.
"Well you're fifteen. I figure that's an age where you probably like one or the other…"
"B-but…w-why are you—why a-ask…"
"Qrow," began Glynda, leaving her seat and taking a step towards him, clearly not approving of the way he was tormenting the young girl.
"Hold on Rubes. Glynda's gonna help you figure it out."
"Glynda…? A-are there other people in the room Uncle Qrow!?" Ruby was practically screaming.
Qrow stood and turned the scroll around, so the screen and camera were facing Glynda.
Ruby's voice went from a yell to practically a whisper. "M-miss Goodwitch. W-why..." Ozpin maneuvered himself slightly to his left. So he could better see Ruby's face.
Then Qrow did something no one, not Ruby, not Ozpin, and certainly not Glynda, could have predicted. He reached forward, and with a practice flick of a finger, undid the top three buttons of Glynda's blouse.
Ozpin watched the cloth unfurl to reveal sizeable cleavage, milky skin, and a purple bra.
His eyes flicked towards Ruby. From the positioning of her eyes, it was obvious that she was staring at her phone screen intensely. Her jaw worked for a moment, trying to formulate words, as her face turned a darker and darker shade of crimson.
Glynda already had her crop in hand, no doubt ready to dole out a harsh punishment. But she put off breaking Qrow in favor of watching Ruby's reaction.
"Y-you," began Ruby. "Y-you have amaz—um you're beautiful but w-why. I…um…" Ruby ran out of words to meaninglessly mutter.
Qrow turned the scroll back towards him. "Whoa. Ruby. You turned into an actual Ruby."
"I hate you uncle Qrow," screamed Ruby.
"Why? Is it because I turned the camera back towards me? Because I can always point it at Glynda again. She hasn't buttoned yet."
"I-I-I…" Ruby tried to get some words out.
"I-I-I," imitated Qrow. "I-I'm a lesbian?"
Rather than attempt another response, Ruby made a tactical retreat, hanging up.
Qrow slid his scroll into his pocket. "Well, she didn't confess to being attracted to women. But I say if it walks like a lesbian and talks like a lesbian and it can't look away from its teacher's breasts as if they're the most delicious pair of cookies it's ever seen—it's probably a lesbian." Qrow hoisted his flask into the air with a smirk. "I'm convinced. Jaune's from the future so let's—"
Qrow was interrupted by a long grating squawk. It sounded like a mixture between a young girl's scream and nail being dragged across a chalk board.
Qrow looked up at the flask in his hand.
Ozpin did the same. The metal container was twisting and contorting, seemingly of its own accord. After a few more seconds of the ear-drum rupturing noise, the flask was twice as long as before and twisted several times over. It faintly resembled a giant corkscrew.
Liquor ran down Qrow's arm and into his sleeve.
Ozpin hid a small smile as Glynda only now turned her attention to buttoning herself.
Qrow glared at the blonde.
Neither addressed Qrow undressing her in front of his niece or her destroying Qrow's most prized property. The two were as in-sync as always. Not the usual kind of in-sync possessed by those bound by similarities. Qrow and Glynda's type of synchronicity was more of a Yin and Yang. People running at the same pace, on the same stride, with the same form—in opposite directions.
Glynda continued to ignore Qrow's heated glare. She only bothered to reattach the bottom two buttons, then she turned to Ozpin. "So, will we be fulfilling Jaune's requests?"
"I likely would have, regardless of whether we decided to trust his words. A man like Jaune needs to be watched—even more so if he's looking to undo a future apocalypse."
"He probably wants to be here so he can watch you too," said Qrow, all hints of anger dissipating as he set his ruined flask on Ozpin's desk.
That was probably true.
Ozpin shrugged. "A mutually beneficial arrangement then." He switched tracks. "I know you don't particularly like when I make changes to the budget just before the school year begins Glynda but…" He trailed off.
"I'll consider these circumstances extenuating," said Glynda. "We'll find room."
"Good," said Ozpin. He took a sip from his—now—room-temperature coffee. "Time travel," he murmured, shaking his head.
It was strange to say.
Strange to even think.
Time travel.
He'd known it would happen eventually.
But what really surprised him…
What really threw him for a loop…
Was that Jaune's time travel, as he described it, well…
It wasn't even the kind of time travel Ozpin had expected.
I*I*I
"A-are you sure you don't want to sleep—even a little bit?"
"We can sleep when we're dead Trill," said Adam.
"Sure, but I'd like to do a lot more of the normal kind of sleeping before then," muttered the bat faunus.
"What did you say?" asked Adam.
Trill shook his head. "Nothing important."
Trill came to a stop. He motioned to the highrise in front of him. "This is probably where Roman is. I don't have his aura locked anymore. But he spent a lot of time in the penthouse. There's a service elevator in the back that he and Neo usually take."
"Come on," said Adam. Moving in the direction Trill pointed.
"Hold on—I'm not waiting here for you?"
Adam turned back toward him. "Why would you?"
Trill could feel his eye begging to twitch. "Because my mission will be nearly impossible if Roman and Neo see me with you. They'll know I've been spying on them."
"Your mission was to be my eyes and ears here. Well, I'm here now. So, no need for you to be my eyes and ears."
"What about when you go back?" asked Trill.
"I won't be going back until I've taken care of the…situation here."
Trill pondered what the hell that could possibly mean. Was Blake the situation? Or was it Roman? Or was it Cinder? Or was it John? Or was it all of freakin' Vale? Also…who the hell was running the White Fang?
"So…who's in charge while you're gone?"
"Illia," replied Adam simply.
Trill's eye felt like twitching even more. "Didn't you send her back to Menagerie because she was kind of…unstable after Blake left?"
"I hear her condition has improved."
"You hear her condition has improved? You didn't talk to her?"
Adam shrugged. "It's going to take her some time to get here."
Trill's voice unintentionally rose a few decibels. "She's not back from Menagerie yet? Who's leading the White Fang right now?"
"They aren't children Trill. They can go unsupervised for a while."
Was Adam actually insane?
No, they couldn't.
"They'll probably slack off in their training while I'm gone. But Illia will whip them back into shape."
Would she actually?
"I told Illia that you had tracked Blake to Vale. That this was important. So, I know she'll do her best."
Trill glanced at the mid-day sun. He so badly wanted to sleep.
"You told Illia that we found Blake…?"
Adam nodded.
"And told her where she was…?"
Adam nodded again.
"And then you left her in charge?"
Adam nodded one final time.
The two faunus stared at each other for a moment. Then Adam shrugged, turned, and resumed his walk towards the backside of the building.
Trill fought off a building moan.
Did he really have to explain to Adam that there was no way in hell Illia wasn't coming here?
Trill followed Adam to the backside of the tower. He picked the locked door quickly.
They located the service elevator shortly after that.
Adam stepped inside.
Briefly, Trill considered just turning around and going back to his apartment, sleeping until the sun set.
But…
Shit.
This was his job.
And…
Adam wasn't exactly in the best mood for further betrayals of his trust.
The second reason was several times more convincing than the first.
Trill followed his leader into the confined space. His face began to itch. Oum. He hated this mask. How did Adam do it? Wearing the thing all the time?
"So," began Trill. "How are you going to convince him to set up a meeting between you and John?"
Adam shrugged.
Then he cracked his neck and flexed his fingers.
Trill didn't like what his body language was saying.
He tried again. "What are our talking points?"
Adam didn't reply.
"Adam, we are just going to talk…right?"
The bull faunus remained silent.
Trill glanced at the sword by Adam's side.
"I mean, obviously we should be ready for a fight. But we're not going to start one, right?"
Still no response.
"Adam, you know I'm useless in a fight, right?"
Adam finally spoke.
"Just stay out of my way."
Shit.
The elevator arrived on the top floor. A flashing scroll reader near the button panel indicated that the doors would not open without the proper authorization.
Trill tapped the door open button, without pushing it in—on the off-chance that the action might actually open the doors.
"Looks like you can't get in without a staff scroll. I'm sure there's some maid or someone wandering around on a lower level. We can just…"
Trill trailed off as Adam drew his blade.
"Adam, c'mon man. Let's at least go in with a plan?" Trill didn't like begging. But it wasn't beneath him. Not right now.
"A plan…" replied Adam.
"Yeah," said Trill. "A plan."
"Assert our dominance. Take what we want."
Assert our…?
Was that the plan?
Was. That. The. Goddamn. Plan?
Without warning, Adam slashed several times.
Trill's stomach bubbled in the most sickening way as he watched the elevator doors drop into several pieces, each with a loud clang. He looked past the destroyed door. He saw a skyline view, furniture, a massive T.V, a kitchen…
Shit.
The penthouse suite was an entire floor. And the elevator opened directly into it.
And staring at them, wearing a stylish apron, was Roman Torchwick, criminal mastermind. Seated at the counter across from him, on a barstool that made her seem even smaller, was Neo. The four exchanged looks for a few seconds.
"What the—" Roman began to speak.
But he stopped when there was a burst of action. Neo grabbed her undeployed umbrella off the counter while Adam dashed forward.
Trill watched in horror.
Well, he tried to watch.
Things were proceeding a little too quickly for his untrained mind to process them as they happened. He was stuck playing catch up.
Roman dove out of his kitchen as Adam brought down his first strike on Neo.
The girl pirouetted out of the blade's path with a dancer's grace.
Adam's sword clove through the marble countertop. Through the base of the counter. And through the barstool that Neo had previously occupied.
Neo countered quickly. She withdrew her blade from her umbrella and lunged towards Adam. She was as fast as him, if not faster.
Adam didn't bother moving. Nor did he bother dislodging his sword from the counter. Instead, he pulled his weapon into the counter, along the flat of the steel. This finished the initial cut, splitting the counter in two, ripping half from its foundation on the floor, and bringing the huge chunk of debris hurtling towards Neo.
Neo vanished with the sound of breaking glass before the head of the massive makeshift mace made contact. The counter kept going, long after Adam completed his blunt slash. It soared into, what looked to be, a one-hundred-inch television, obliterating the screen.
"My T.V.!" screeched Roman.
Trill almost felt bad for him. No way that television was cheap.
Trill watched Roman fumble around, looking for something. Probably his weapon. That cane. What did he call it?
…
No…
That couldn't be right. But why was it the only thing coming to mind?
Who would name their weapon Homophobic Fudgesicle?
But then again…the man did wear eyeliner, a bowler hat, and possessed a near stereotypical penchant for flamboyance…
Maybe his weapon's name was a cry for help?
Regardless, it was a cry that would likely go unanswered, considering what happened to the weapon.
Homophobic Fudgesicle—that couldn't be right, it just couldn't—was on the counter, near Neo's umbrella, when Adam decided to "assert his dominance."
Now it was in two separate pieces.
Trill watched Adam and Neo thoroughly tour the apartment in a whirlwind of violence.
Neo went in and got out like lightning. She couldn't afford to stop moving since Adam's blows had a lot more weight behind them.
One slash separated the top half of a couch from its bottom. Another put a horizontal line through a support pillar.
Thank Oum the thing stayed standing, rather than bringing down the roof on top of them.
At one point, Adam returned his blade to its sheath. Neo had gone for a slashing strike from above. He had knocked her blade and her body back, hard.
He was making space for a powerful attack.
Trill already knew what that attack looked like.
He ducked low, just in case it was coming in his direction.
Fortunately, it wasn't.
Neo just barely dodged the razor-sharp wave of crimson energy. She only managed to avoid it by falling flat on her back. She craned her neck to watch the wave carve a line through a wall and a door, and continue onward, no doubt severing everything in its path as it went.
"My room!" screamed Roman.
When Neo turned back, it was to find a blade leveled at her face.
"Don't even try to teleport. Or weave an illusion. You have no idea how quickly I can shove this into your throat. If I see even a hint of you trying something—you die instantly."
Trill still hated that he was here. But at least Adam won.
How shitty would it have been if Adam dragged him here, picked a fight for no goddamn reason, and then got himself stabbed to death?
Trill turned to Roman. The man was glancing between his broken weapon and the masked faunus standing over his partner in crime. He looked as if he was attempting to figure out which one he should be angrier about.
Trill cleared his throat.
Roman and Neo noticed him for the first time.
Adam kept his attention focused on Neo.
"Ha…Sorry for disturbing your evening. We're just looking for someone and think maybe you can help us…?"
Roman stared at him incredulously.
"You're asking me for help?"
"Yes?" replied Trill.
"You come in here. Trash my shit. Trash all my shit. And now you're asking me for help!"
Trill winced at Roman's gradual increase in volume.
"Y-yes?"
"Oum-Dammit!" Roman screamed.
Trill watched the man walk over to his ruined weapon and begin fiddling with the pieces, mumbling all the while. It wasn't at a volume that any human could hear from a distance, but Trill was just able to pick it up.
"What is this goddamn feeling of déjà vu? First John. Now the animals. Everyone wants a piece of Roman. Every-fucking-one."
Roman threw aside his weapon when he realized it was unfixable. He glanced in Neo and Adam's direction.
"Who the hell are you looking for?"
Adam answered before Trill could.
"Huntsman. Named John."
"You his friends?" Roman's eyes narrowed.
"Well—" began Trill.
Adam cut him off, once again, not looking away from Neo. "That's none of your business. Will you arrange a meeting with him now? Or after I separate this woman's head from her body?"
Roman glared at Adam.
Trill thought his glare would soften when he looked at Neo. But it only got harder.
Odd.
"Fine, fine." He fished his scroll from pockets underneath his apron. "Who the hell are you guys anyway?"
Trill made sure he fielded this one. "I'm just a nameless face in the White Fang. But he…" He pointed towards the other faunus. "…is Adam Taurus."
Roman froze, scroll in hand. "You're Adam Taurus?"
Adam didn't take his eyes off of Neo, not even for a split second, nor did he respond.
Roman directed his questioning look to Trill. "He's Adam Taurus, as in the guy working with Cinder?"
Trill nodded.
"As in the guy who gave me the men to steal the dust?"
Trill nodded again.
Roman grew more agitated with each question.
"As in the guy who's supposed to be on the same team as me!?"
"One and the same," said Trill.
"Why the hell are you animals attacking me then!"
"You must really want your pet here to die," said Adam, finally. "If you're calling us that while I have a sword at her throat."
"I'd feel worse if she wasn't enjoying every minute of it," retorted Roman.
Trill glanced at the diminutive woman beneath Adam. There was no way that was true. Was there?
He paid attention to her expression.
He didn't know her well enough to interpret the look on her face with much accuracy. But he was pretty sure that she didn't look particularly… distressed. She looked kind of…blissful?
Trill decided not to think about it any harder.
"Back to the matter at hand," continued Roman. "Should I take this attack as a declaration of war against Cinder? I don't think she'd be happy about that."
"You don't think she'd be happy I cleaned up a couple of loose ends, colluding with a huntsman to destroy her?"
Roman's carefree demeanor didn't slip. "Ha. I don't know what you're talking about."
"Trill over there…"
Adam just had to say his name, didn't he?
Ugh.
"…bugged Junior's club."
Trill flinched back from Roman's ice-cold glare.
"He paid special attention to the rooms in the back."
Trill wanted to announce that he had done no such thing. But it wasn't as if Roman would believe him. Now he was just another loose end.
"T-that said," stuttered Trill. "We're n-not here to clean up loose ends. We're here to make contact with John, implicating ourselves just as much as you, right? So…no harm no foul?"
Roman's icy glare didn't slip. "Sure, no harm, no foul. Just come over here and lay down real quick, so my boot can show you how little harm and foul I've experienced."
"Stop wasting time Torchwick," cut in Adam.
Roman growled. "Alright, I'm messaging him."
"Call him."
"Um…he prefers when I text."
Trill couldn't help but note the small slip in Roman's speech. Here he was weaponless. His muscle had a sword at her throat. And Adam was clearly in a murderous mood.
Yet his first display of fear was at the notion of displeasing John.
"Did I stutter human?"
Roman groaned and made the call.
The scroll dialed for a few seconds.
"Hello?"
"Hi, John?"
"Roman. You're calling me. Unscheduled. Why?"
"Well…ha. Funny story, that. There's someone who wants to meet you."
"Who?"
"Hold on, let me reverse the camera."
There was a stretch of silence as Roman fiddled with the application. Eventually, he gave up trying to use the rear-facing camera, and instead just turned the device around.,
John's voice burst out of the scroll. "Oh my god! It's the devil!"
"What?" Adam growled, walking away from Neo without warning.
Trill kept an eye on Neo since Adam had seemingly forgotten about her. She made no move to attack when the bull faunus turned his back. Instead she admired the couch he had cleanly sliced.
He gave his attention back to Adam when the faunus snatched the scroll from Roman's hand.
"Oh, you're not the devil. My bad. The sun was behind you and it kind of cloaked you in shadow. All I could make out were your horns."
"You're John?"
"That's me."
"My name is Adam Taurus. I am a lieutenant of the White Fang. And I demand a meeting—with you and Blake Belladonna."
"Blake!" called John, sounding as if he was further away from his scroll. "Sounds like the horny faunus called for you!"
A moment later Blake's voice joined John's.
"Horny faunus? Are you taking about Adam!? He called you?"
A moment after that, Adam whispered in a voice that only Trill could possibly detect, "Blake." She must have been on the screen now.
And then Blake, the source of Adam Taurus's obsession, the girl haunting his every waking moment, the reason Trill's life had nosedived over the last day, went off on Adam like dynamite.
"Adam! What the hell are you doing!? Why are the White Fang robbing dust shops!? At least targeting the Schnee made sense! But working with Roman Torchwick—submitting to some psycho fire-bitch? What the hell are you doing to the Fang!?"
"You lef—" Adam began rage lacing his voice.
Blake cut him off. Somehow, she sounded angrier. "Ooh! I am so freakin' angry at you! Where do you want to get your ass kicked!?"
Adam was clearly derailed. "Where do I want to get my…what?"
"On second thought, you don't get to pick the spot. I will."
There were a few seconds of silence.
John's voice returned through the scroll.
"You don't know any good spots to meet him, do you?"
"Whatever!" shouted Blake, away from the mic. She returned her attention to Adam soon after. "Arrange it with John! I'll be there!"
"Your anger," Adam rasped. "Is entirely unwarranted. You betrayed us. You betrayed your k—"
Blake interrupted him again. She was screaming now. "I left Adam! I fucking left! I didn't betray you. I didn't betray the White Fang. I didn't betray faunus everywhere. I left because the Fang changed. I left because you changed, you asshole! Don't you dare act like I don't care about the plight of the faunus! I care more than you ever have! You never cared about helping faunus! You never cared about the greater good! You never cared about me! If you did, you'd stop trying to drag me into your psychotic revenge schemes. Which, by the way, this one, is going to ruin the life of innocent humans and faunus! How the hell can even faunus lives not matter to you anymore?"
The room was silent when Blake's tirade ended. Trill wasn't breathing. Neo wasn't moving. Roman wasn't talking.
Adam just stared at the scroll in his hands.
He stared and stared.
"Blake—" he began.
She interrupted one last time. Her voice was slightly calmer now. "Save it for our meeting Adam. I hope, for your sake, you're ready to kill me. Because when I see you…I don't know what I'll try to do."
There was the sound of a clatter, like her dropping the scroll on a table or on the ground. A second later there was the rustling noise as someone picked it back up.
"Wow, I didn't see that coming. I mean, she was just over their joking around with…and then she just…" John imitated an explosion noise. Then imitated several more following it. "Well, okay then. Blake wants to meet. Have your people call mine. Buh-bye."
The call ended long before Adam was capable of replying.
He just stood there, in slack-jawed silence, as the supporting beam he had cut in his skirmish with Neo groaned and shuddered in sympathy.
Slightly different note than the last chapter.
So, there you have it: ten chapters! We're halfway there! "There" being the halfway point of the story.
So, we're halfway to the halfway point. Woot!
I'm joking.
We're actually almost at the halfway to the halfway point.
Smash that like button.
Beta'd by Mystery Beta.
Dooon't stop, Belieeeeeevin',
Vronsurd