AN: I would like to begin this chapter with my apologies for the tardiness of this update. I had lots of ideas planned and lots of interludes, but I… well, screwed up the pacing by working on several different devices: my phone, my laptop and a friend's computer. Also Overwatch. Yeah. Also, thank you all for the support!
AN2: I am also very pleased to announce that recently, Nike0071497 of has graciously translated Arc of the Revolution into Russian (or perhaps more accurately, Cyrillic). It can be found here ( /readfic/4457596).
AN3: There comes a time in RWBY Fics where characters sit down and play chess, the pieces and the game itself becoming metaphors for their motivations and characteristics.
This is that chapter.
Oh, and everyone is a spy. Kkthxbai.
Albus walked forward.
Albus walked forward, the sounds of his polished horseshoes striking fine marble echoed through the empty halls.
Albus walked forward, his eyes not leaving the beady dark orbs of his nemesis, Zwei.
Zwei leered at him, sitting on his corgi butt, and crossing his corgi legs on the plush, black leather chair. Albus paid the juvenile attempt at intimidation no heed. He'd stared down more terrifying creatures in the past, and even called one partner, once.
No, you did not want to see autumn incarnate during her time of the month. On that path lay death and madness.
Zwei reached out a paw, beckoning him closer, eyes glinting hungrily.
As composed as steel, Albus took the white leather seat opposite Zwei's.
Zwei barked, and all of a sudden, the darkness in between them was banished, revealing a finely polished table holding refreshments ... and a chessboard.
Albus regarded the drink, then the game.
The "chessboard", if one could call it that, resembled less the white and black squares of the ancient game, and more of a map of Vale. The pieces themselves were not black and white either, but in vast multitudes of color: yellows, reds, blues were all abound, and wrought from different materials, some of wood, some of glass, and some of metal. They all also possessed different designs, like they were all collected from different sets. Some King pieces had brilliant crowns, while others wore crosses or the like. Some were smooth and simple, and some were overlaid with beautiful filigree of precious metals.
Most interesting, however, was that the tops of each piece, from Kings to Pawns, were all cut at the top, allowing one to slide photographs on each piece. Indeed, the bright green pieces that occupied Beacon's location held pictures of its notable and august staff. Disciplinarian Glynda's photograph was attached to a brilliant green glass queen. Peter Port's picture was attached to a stone rook, painted the same green as Glynda's piece.
Albus narrowed his eyes, before lowering his head to the beautifully ornamented trough and taking a drink. Drinking of the trough deeply, Albus's senses were assaulted by the fragrant caresses of fine jasmine tea.
Steeling himself and holding his surprise in, the horse had to wonder. Was this a message, or dumb luck? Did the dog suspect where his true loyalties lay?
Searching for a distraction, Albus' attention was turned to Ozpin's photograph, calm and resolute.
How very interesting, Albus mused, Beacon's esteemed headmaster was but a pawn. Albus turned to Zwei and made known his question.
"Neeeigggh."
Zwei, for once, ceased mocking him and instead regarded him somewhat seriously, before he shrugged.
"Arf."
What?!
"Neeeeigggghhhh, snort."
"Arf! Bark, bark!"
Albus snorted, but inside, a cold fear had made itself known. The implications were staggering.
Maintaining an aloof facade, Albus knew he wouldn't get another chance at this anytime soon, and so his eyes carefully scanned the board, memorizing notable details and formations.
Seemingly detached from Vale, on top of a giant question mark print, numerous pieces were gathered around the only jet-black piece on the board.
Albus's eyes widened imperceptibly. The black piece was an obsidian Queen.
Surrounding the black piece were a large amount of other pieces, made or wrapped around in various exotic materials. To the piece's north, pieces wrapped in snakeskin and turtle shell stood at the ready. To the Black Queen's west were white pieces painted with tigerstripes; to the east, pieces were painted bright blue and seemed to be wrapped in reptile scales.
Interestingly, there were some other pieces in that formation which stood out. Very close to the obsidian pawn, standing in a neutral position, was a tall, scarlet piece fashioned from a bull's horn. Albus could not tell whether it was supposed to be a Queen or a King, and it stood in front of a staggering amount of pieces behind it.
Something else that caught his eye, was the formation of pieces near the obsidian pawn's south. They were white, but adorned with vermillion feathers, but only a small amount remained with the obsidian pawn, half of them remained far away, aloof, while the other half...
The other half seemed to be drawn to an ivory piece standing solitary by the edge of the board.
Albus squinted. The white piece was larger than a Pawn, but smaller than a King, and looked like either one of the two.
It had no picture pinched into it.
Aha.
Zwei began growling. The shadows in the dark room seemed to scurry around and rumble.
Albus simply whinnied mockingly.
Inexplicably grasping the pieces without opposable thumbs, Zwei's paws moved several pieces closer to Beacon.
With a neigh, Albus's front leg jolted forward and took hold of one before his smaller adversary could react. He grasped a bronze queen tightly in his hoof (of course he could do that) and retracted it right before Zwei's fangs could sink into his flesh.
Zwei snorted angrily.
Albus regarded the mineral he held in his hoof.
It shone burnished bronze, with flecks of crimson when held near the light.
Albus placed the piece down near the lone white piece, and to his surprise, some pieces drew closer, whereas others were knocked down.
This metal, it seemed, was extremely magnetic.
Zwei's eyes snapped down to one piece that had fallen extremely close to the ivory pawn.
An emerald knight.
How very, very interesting, Albus took another gulp of his tea.
Arc of the Revolution
Chapter 11
The Games We Play
Alternative Title: Obligatory Chess Chapter
"Hahahahahaha, ahahahahahah!" cackled Winter Schnee, pus dribbling down from the many diseased warts on her hag face, as she stood atop her Goliath's terrible head, "You're too late, Jaune Arc!"
Jaune Arc rose from Ferrum Mors, his iron throne; shirtless under his white cape, revealing his mighty, eight foot tall frame, eight-pack abs, and glorious pecs to all. At his feet, young, gorgeous, oiled faunus virgins, loosely draped in translucent silks, as well as Adam Taurus, all swooned over his mighty form.
"I will never let the faunus go!", Winter Schnee stomped on the Goliath's head with her hairy, misshapen feet. In response, the Goliath lifted a net filled with even more beautiful, oiled faunus maidens to its salivating mouth. "Do you see, Jaune Arc?! They're going to work for me, forever!", Winter chortled, spittle flying through the air, "Foreeeeveeeeer!"
"No, Winter Schnee," Jaune Arc spoke, his silky blonde locks swaying enticingly in the wind, "You will let my people go!"
"Neveeeer!", Winter sneered. The hunchbacked Schnee witch lifted her bony arms, and from out of the shadows, hordes of Grimm bared their fangs at him.
"Schnee, schneeee!" the assembled Grimm hissed.
"The faunus will never see the light of equal rights, equitable living wages, and humane benefits!" laughed the Schnee, "Those dirt-eating, shit-shoveling animals are going to mine me dust, now, and forevermore!"
The vile Schnee, with yellowed, broken teeth smiled. "They won't even get decent dentals."
"You fiend!" Jaune exclaimed.
"Please, Mister Arc," one of the captive faunus, a stunning red-haired bombshell cried out, voice sultry. She clasped her hands together, as if in prayer, pressing her adequately sized, oil-glistening breasts together, "Please help us!" she called out.
The sound of singing steel rang through the air as Jaune drew his mighty sword, Crocea Mors. "Never fear!" Jaune brandished the white sword, pointing it at the colossal form of the Goliath, "For we are the Flame!"
"Flame this, Arc!", Winter shrieked, bidding the Goliath to charge Ferrum Mors.
As the thundering feet of the Goliath drew closer, Jaune Arc raised his sword.
"GIGA!", Jaune Arc roared, white aura flaring around him spiralling around his sword, the white aura covered the Arc's legendary sword, and it grew double, no, triple, no, quadruple, no, several hundreds of times larger than its size!
"I'm going to shit on that sword when I'm through with you, Arc!" Winter jeered.
"CROCEA MORS!", Ferrum Mors grasped the growing sword with both hands, and began spinning wildly, looking more and more like a sword-shaped missile each passing second.
"I do this for Schneeeeeeee–"
"BREAKEEEEEEEEEEEER!"
-Jaune Arc: The True Story – Volume 1, directed and produced by Icicle Bay
"Cinder!" Roman Torchwick scurried into the bullhead, "We've got a huntress!"
Against his better instincts, he dared to look back at his persistent pursuers. Sure enough, the diminutive girl with the overcompensating scythe, and the woman in white and purple weren't even fazed.
Roman squinted. It was difficult to see in the darkness of night, he wasn't some faunus rat, but if he didn't know any better, that looked like...
Fuck, that's Glynda Goodwitch!
Glynda frowned ever so slightly. With a flick of her riding crop, Glynda had summoned purple light into existence, and launched them at the escaping bullhead.
Roman's grip on Melodic Cudgel tightened, this was gonna suck.
Somehow splitting in mid-air, each streak of light had homed in and detonated on every weakness, every vulnerability, the bullhead had with pinpoint precision.
Melodic Cudgel clattered uselessly on the aircraft's floor; Roman used one hand to steady himself, and the other to ensure his hat remained atop his head. Glynda fucking Goodwitch was battering his getaway vehicle like a piñata and while it was heavily armored, there was only so much damage it could take.
Goodness, and to think the day started really well.
Junior's goons were absolutely pathetic, but hey, at least they could carry stuff without blowing themselves up. They'd gotten a good haul for the day, and they'd managed to stockpile quite a decent amount. His efforts were singlehandedly driving up the prices of dust, and in extension, near everything as well. If the Schnee and the cops didn't shape up, he'd rob Vale dry in a couple of months.
Roman's intelligent eyes narrowed. She still hadn't told him why "The Plan" required the use of so much dust. Come to think of it, she hadn't told him anything about "The Plan" at all. He hadn't even seen her two hanger-ons, the legless dumbass and klepto slut in a while either. In fact, for the past month, she'd been tightlipped, barely saying anything at all. He'd been busy with organizing a Kingdom-wide dust run that he didn't pay much attention to it, but now that he thought about it...
Another purple explosion rocked the ship.
I'll think about it later, Roman decided.
It irked him to hide behind his boss's really short skirts like a child, but hey, why fight a battle you couldn't win?
What was he, a goddamn hero?
"Cinder!" Roman called out again, stumbling into the cockpit, "We've got a huntress!"
Roman expected the Red Woman on the pilot's seat to smoothly and calmly take command. He expected her to stand up and defeat their foes with esoteric powers and ancient flame.
He did not expect the woman sitting by the controls to turn her head to him, eyes wide. In fact, if he didn't know any better, in her usual smoldering gaze, there was a speck of fear.
Roman blinked, and she was back to her calm, confident self. Did he really see Cinder afraid back there, or was he just...
"Take the controls, Roman," The Red Lady requested – no, ordered, and he scrambled to obey.
The Red Lady strode, unhindered by the shaking and lurching of the craft, to the bullhead's open doors, right as Glynda Goodwitch launched another purple streak into the night sky.
Like a firework, the streak detonated, and for the briefest moments, the skies and the stars had been painted with a magic circle, before giving rise to dark storm clouds.
Roman grunted as he tried to steady the bullhead as the winds rose and the skies crackled with unnatural lightning.
Shit, if she keeps this up...
Roman's thoughts were interrupted yet again when he spotted something glint in the shadowy clouds. His instincts screamed at him, and he dodged to his left right in time to narrowly dodge a spike hewn from ice.
Glynda was pelting their bullhead with icicles now.
Roman swore. First he had run into little Red over there at some random dust shop that didn't even look worth robbing, then he runs into one of Remnant's most powerful huntresses just like that? Shit, if Cinder didn't do something soon, he was abandoning ship.
In the darkness of the Bullhead, away from prying eyes, the Red Lady bode her time. The odds were greatly stacked against her. She had to maintain appearances as much as possible, and with the fact that they were to infiltrate Beacon, using her signature weapons against Glynda Goodwitch would mean digging her own grave. She looked down on the hooded huntress trainee and Ozpin's Witch. This distance wasn't her preferred range, she needed to get up close and personal to shine.
She quashed the urge to curse. Cinder Fall didn't curse, after all. Besides, she still had one weapon that could turn this all around.
Her Semblance.
She again resisted the urge to swear. Had there been only one of them, she would cast her Semblance on them and they would be able to escape easily. But two?
Two at a time, she could handle, but... well...
The ship shook once again, and one of its engines burst into flame.
She steeled herself. It was just like before, before she met her, back when it was do or die. When she was on the streets and had to risk her life so she could push back the gnawing pangs of hunger for just a few more hours.
The Red Lady strode forward, glass heels clinking on the metal floor. As she came into view, the small one in the red hood perked up while Goodwitch remained stoic. As their eyes fell upon her crimson clad, creamy skinned, raven locked form, already could she feel the stress from maintaining this charade. She had to end it now or she was finished.
Bringing up memorized information on how she heard the Fall Maiden fought like, she raised a flaming palm up to the sky.
She needed something big to scare them off.
Twisting flames burned into existence, wrapping themselves around each other and thickening like they were pulsing muscle. With a mighty roar, the flames had converged into one long, twisted, winged form.
A dragon. She had twisted the flames of Fall into a burning, serpentine dragon.
In the distance, she could hear the Red hood scream, and the witch herself gasp.
Ha. She had actually managed to get a reaction from the witch. She'd chalk that up as a success, almost worth the pounding vertigo now threatening to make her puke.
With a flick of her burning hand, the dragon surged forward like a bullet, gaping jaw wide open and hungry for huntress.
Red looked shocked, her mouth agape, her feet frozen in place. Glynda had to grab her and throw her to another roofdeck as she herself jumped off the building.
Heh, good. That was mission complete, right? Still, she did that much, so she may as well see it through.
She waved her hands like an enraptured orchestra conductor, and the dragon twisted in the air, falling upon the building, setting it ablaze with the sound of a mighty explosion.
It was a painful feat, but she believed it was worth it, watching her enemies scurry from something that wasn't even there. She imagined the reactions they'd have when they'd report to Ozpin only to see no traces of the so-called fiery dragon come morning. She grinned a weak grin, something that looked so out of place on Cinder's face. Not that it mattered, no one was around looking at her right?
She allowed herself to sink to her knees. Her vision was beginning to blur. She'd done enough, Roman was piloting, and she could probably catch some sleep before –
A glint in the distance shook her from her reverie. Something was approaching the bullhead, something fast. Her eyes were used to looking at fast things and this was... A SPEAR MADE OF BRICKS?!
Glynda Goodwitch!, she realized.
Ozpin's witch had fashioned a javelin made of whatever materials she could find, and chucked it at them.
"Roman!" she called out desperately, but when she turned, there was no one in the pilot's seat.
She turned back right in time to see the witch's erstwhile javelin plunge deeply into the bullhead, unnaturally bound stone twisting apart reinforced steel with a screech, as well as setting its cargo – precious, volatile dust aflame.
The projectile had shaken the aircraft like a top, whipping the back of her head onto its walls, where she struggled, grasping at the last strands of consciousness even as her world spun.
The force from that strike, coupled with the flames spreading throughout the bullhead reached the caches of dust they had stolen throughout the day. With the deafening explosions added to the mix, the much battered burning engine of the small aircraft had finally broken, the bullhead spiralled down into Vale.
The Red Lady was shaken up and down like a ragdoll in a coffin. Each lurch smashed her reeling body to another wall, another obstacle, as each explosion burned at her rapidly-diminishing aura. She had overexerted her Semblance, it was never meant to be used on more than one person at a time, and coupled with the spinning of the freefalling bullhead; she could finally feel her vision dim and her consciousness darken.
"Cinder," The Lady in Red, thought, as she gave in to blissful unconsciousness.
"Please help me."
Pyrene took a glance at her surroundings, Jaune knew the look. It was the look of someone trying to act like he knew his way around when in actuality, they had not even the slightest clue what was going on. Jaune wore that expression nearly every day now, after all.
If Jaune were forced to describe the place they were in with one word, he would use the word "cozy"; what with its carpeted floor, red brick walls, wooden furniture, and ever so slightly tinted windows that let through just the right amount of sun into the café.
Jaune took a deep breath, and found the air pleasantly steeped in the aroma of coffee, cinnamon, and caramel.
It was an unassuming little establishment by one of the smaller, prettier streets of Vale, on top of a small hill. Unlike most buildings in the Southern Kingdom which were built of gray stone and concrete, the buildings in this quiet, tree-nestled street were made of warm, red brick.
Jaune brought out his scroll and saved the café's location into his map. The aptly-named Cocoa Corner was someplace he'd definitely like to visit again sometime.
Jaune let out a sigh; he still felt like a moron for not using his scroll's map and saving himself the trouble of getting lost, but hey, he made a friend!
Seeing the quiet wonder on Pyr's face as she looked around, Jaune couldn't help but smile.
Strangers are just friends you haven't met yet.
As Jaune sat down on a cushioned wooden chair, he had but one thought in mind:
Worth it.
Pyrene was still looking around, vivid emerald eyes drinking in the warm colors of the quiet nook.
Unwilling to break the comfortable silence, Jaune busied himself with observing his new friend. They had taken a small table by the window, and the white sunlight seemed to make Pyrene glow. She was wearing subtle green eyeliner, and if Jaune squinted, he could spot a few strands of brilliant red hair peeking from underneath her hat. Jaune's eyes, almost of their own volition, went to Pyr's glistening pink lips, and for a moment, he could imagine –
"Oho, I like your style, kid."
"Eep," Jaune squeaked, thankfully it went unheard as Pyr and the barista began speaking.
"Oh, this?" Pyrene looked towards her outfit. "It's just… uhh, Vale's a bit chilly compared to where I'm from, that's all."
"Looks great," the barista continued. As Jaune regarded the barista, it was pretty clear that she looked great as well. She had short, dark brown hair, with wavy locks on the side of her face that eventually transitioned from dark brown to caramel. She was wearing a simple white apron over a cocoa-colored blouse, dark pants and heels, long with a number of accessories: necklaces, bracelet, aviator sunglasses clipped on her collar (Oh God, another Kaz?) and a handbag slung on her shoulder.
Why is she carrying her handbag instead of leaving it somewhere?
"Loving how the beret looks," the barista mentioned. "Been thinking about getting one myself, but was never really sure about how it'd look on me."
Pyrene smiled, "Well, I think it would look wonderful on you, miss..?"
"Coco," the barista gave her a crooked smile, just as the sun came peeking through the window. Jaune resisted the urge to gape; was everyone in Vale a supermodel? Where Pyr was the perfect picture of a refined, cultured lady, Coco seemed to ooze sassy confidence.
"Gotcha," Coco scribbled down Pyr's order, "The Vale Autumn special, light roast with autumn berries and a hint of cinnamon." Coco's gaze fell on the unprepared Jaune, "And you?"
Jaune could spot the barista's eyes narrow ever so slightly at his outfit. Jaune took slight offense to that. His mom and sisters said he looked cool.
"I-I… uhh…" Jaune stammered. He totally hadn't been paying attention! Feeling Pyrene's eyes rest on him, he took a deep breath, and calmly spoke, "I'll have the strongest thing you have!"
Coco blinked, as if seeing Jaune in a new light, or more accurately, began wondering if the boy in front of her had a death wish. Given that Jaune looked somewhat in charge of his mental faculties, she began entertaining the thought that this kid was serious.
She subtly eyed her scroll, and … wow, huh, this kid had a lot of aura. One cup couldn't hurt, right?
Right?
Coco nodded numbly, and shambled off to the kitchen in a daze. Jaune mentally congratulated himself; he had totally nailed that one.
"So," Jaune asked, "Where are you from?"
For some reason, the question seemed to please Pyrene.
"Mistral," Pyr smiled back at him, "From how you're dressed, I'm guessing you're here for the same reason I am?"
"Oh?" Jaune raised an eyebrow. "What reason would that be?"
"Why, to study at Beacon, of course!"
Jaune's face fell. Those words felt like icicles piercing his chest.
Of course. It all made sense. It was that time of the year after all; the start of the semester. Hunters-in-Training would flock here from all over Vale to enter Beacon, the Southern Kingdom's Premier Hunter Academy.
Stupid. Stupid! Jaune should've known! Now that he thought about it, Pyr looked every inch a travelling huntsman-in-training; what with the thick clothes, the large bag, and-
"Is something wrong?" Pyrene's eyes were wide, worried, under tinted lenses.
Jaune paused, and took a moment to compose himself. He was here to make it up to Pyr for bumping into her in the middle of the street. Just wait for the drink, sip, pay for it, and leave; simple.
"I'm sorry," Pyr muttered, eyes downcast.
Damn it, he was supposed to make it up to her, not make her day worse!
"Nah, it's fine," Jaune wore what was hopefully a wry grin, "I was just thinking about something."
"It's just…" Pyr bit her bottom lip, "I saw your sword and armor and thought you were here for Beacon. I'm sorry."
"Well, I was here for Beacon," Jaune's hand, on instinct, went to rub the back of his head, "But my transcripts didn't make the cut."
Well, there was also the fact that they were complete fakes, but she didn't need to know that.
"I … I see."
"Yup."
"I'm sorry."
"It wasn't your fault; don't apologize."
"Oh, yes," Pyrene nodded, "I'm sorry."
"…"
Jaune continued rubbing the back of his head.
Pyrene began tapping a rhythm on the wooden table. It sounded like a commercial jingle.
Jaune looked at Pyrene, and she couldn't meet his gaze.
Damn it.
From the corner of his eye, he could spot the Barista Coco give him the stink eye; her hands gesturing "do something, you idiot!" frantically.
Damn it, she was right. He was being so negative he could probably attract a horde of Grimm on his lonesome. Quickly, his eyes darted around the room for anything; anything that he could use to distract Pyrene with.
"Ha, check!"
Jaune's eyes snapped towards a neighboring table; where its occupants were busying themselves in a game of chess.
Jaune hated chess.
Jaune turned his head towards the polished wooden shelves by the corner. The thing was stacked with books, fashion magazines, and… aha, boardgames!
Smile back, Jaune turned to Pyr just as she met his eyes.
"Chess! Would you –"
"Would you be interested in –"
Both of them blinked, then small, matching smiles returned to their faces.
"Chess?" Pyrene brought up.
"Yeah," Jaune agreed.
From the corner of his eye, he could spot Coco flash him a small thumbs up.
"Here, let me-"
"Oh no, I insist –"
Both he and Pyrene made to rise simultaneously, quickly freezing when they realized they each planned to acquire a chessboard.
"It's no problem, Jaune," Pyr gave him a warm smile, "Please, allow me."
Jaune shrugged, "Okay."
From the corner of his eye, he could spot Coco shake her head at him disapprovingly.
Pyrene rose from the table and casually walked over to the shelves. She reached out a hand to take one of the chessboards, but seemed to hesitate, before slowly plucking one out.
Jaune rose an eyebrow at her as she returned to their table.
"I'm sorry, Jaune," Pyrene returned to her seat, "They were all out of chessboards," She gently laid the game board down on their table, "This was all they had left."
Jaune squinted, somehow the board, and its 81 blank squares, none of them black or white, looked familiar to him. In fact, it looked like –
"Shogi!" Jaune exclaimed.
"Shogi?" Pyrene parroted.
Jaune opened the board, and sure enough, he found the telltale wooden wedge-shaped pieces of the ancient game.
A smirk founds it place on Jaune's lips. Back when his family was still training him, this, aside from chess and those video game knock-offs, shogi was another of the games Rouge and Sienna Arc had taught him.
Pyrene moved her chair closer, until she was sitting by his side. "Isn't this the chess variant popular in Southern Mistral and Eastern Vale?"
"Don't know about that," Jaune grinned, "But I definitely like it more than chess, that's for sure!"
Pyrene raised an eyebrow, "Why so?"
"Lots of reasons," Jaune began setting the board up, from the left, he assembled his Lance, his Knight, his Silver General, and his Gold; Pyrene mirroring his formations on the other side of the board. "But mostly one," With a "clack" Jaune dropped his Bishop and his Rook, and it was then Pyrene noticed the absence of one key piece so distinctive in Chess.
"There are no Queens." Pyrene realized.
Jaune slammed his King onto the board.
"No Queens," Jaune grinned.
Pyrene leaned forward., eyes focused. Like the origins of chess, like the origins of nearly everything in Remnant, actually, no one exactly remembered when Shogi was developed. It was always just… there, as another relic of the forgotten past; as a relic of the Whole, of which Remnant was once part of.
Still, albeit forgotten, while people still used these relics, still played these games, they kept history alive. That had to be something, right?
From the corner of his hearing, Jaune could hear Coco groan.
"How do we play?" Pyrene asked, "I assume the rules aren't really different from Chess?"
"More or less," Jaune brought a hand to his chin in contemplation, "Although it's a lot easier to explain if I show you instead."
Eyes on the board, Pyrene waved, open palm upturned, conceding him the first move.
Jaune's hand went to the rank of smallest wedges, and moved one step forward.
"These are the pawns. They only move one step forward, and unlike chess, can only capture pieces forward. They can't move two squares in their first move."
Pyrene mirrored his move as her mind contemplated those mechanics. This meant that Pawns just couldn't be forestalled by other pawns, but could continue moving indefinitely if unopposed; however, if two pawns were to meet, the one that moved first was the first to die.
That was… rather passive, wasn't it?
Jaune's hand went to the 2nd rank, occupied by only two large pieces.
"The one on the left is the Bishop, and the one to the right is the Rook. They operate the same as Chess, except –"
"Except there are only one of each of them." Pyrene finished.
More pieces, no queens, and one less Bishop and Rook. In this case, Shogi felt more static than chess. Pyrene failed to see the appeal.
Jaune's finger pointed to the sidemost piece in the last rank.
"Lance, moves straight only, any number of squares."
An impaired Rook, Pyrene thought.
"Knight, same as Chess, except these guys can only move the forward L."
Pyrene shrugged.
"Silver General, can move one square diagonally in any direction, or one square forward."
Glorified Pawn.
"Gold General, one square horizontally, vertically, or one square forward diagonally."
Another glorified Pawn. Pyrene still couldn't understand why some people preferred this game over Chess, when Chess seemed like a much more dynamic game; there were less spaces to cross, and more pieces with greater range. Like a true bout, every move could mean victory or defeat.
Jaune moved a General forward. His expression was unreadable.
Pyrene moved a Pawn out of the way. Sure, there were differences from Chess, but in essence, she felt it was the same, if not slightly inferior.
Jaune moved another General.
Pyrene moved another Pawn.
Jaune slid pieces to the side, appearing as if he were erecting some sort of formation.
Pyrene slid her pawns forward, advancing rapidly towards Jaune's ranks.
Jaune's formation began resembling more and more of a castle, tight, compact, filled with pieces reinforcing each other.
Pyrene threw her Pawns onward; she sacrificed the pawns to her side to open up corridors for her Lances to charge through.
Jaune's formations began tightening further.
Pyrene opened more and more avenues of attack, as well as taking the center.
Their side of the café was silent, save for the "clacking" of wooden wedges and the occasional hum.
Jaune continued turtling up, only counter-attacking when it seemed he didn't have a choice; while Pyrene continued pushing, her formation a well-reinforced spear to Jaune's blocky defenses.
Pyrene took her remaining Knight, the other having fallen four turns ago, and surveyed the battlefield. Save for her unmoved King, several pawns and a lone Silver General; she had committed all her forces in a devastating attack. Pyrene controlled the center, and nearly the entire map, save for that one corner of the board that Jaune had painstakingly fortified, as well as separated individual pieces.
Pyrene narrowed her eyes. There were barely any gaps or openings within that veritable castle. Any Knight she could sneak in would be countered by Jaune's own. If she battered at his wall of Pawns, her vanguard would fall to his reinforcing Golds.
Jaune wasn't stupid, this she knew. So what was he up to?
While his defenses were airtight, Pyrene by now had secured an insurmountable material advantage by now. Half his pieces had fallen to her assault, where she had lost, what, a third? No, even less than that, just a piece more than a fourth, all inconsequential pieces at that, just Pawns and those Pawns by other names.
Had their positions been reversed, she'd have conceded or tried something reckless by now. So why hadn't he?
Regardless of what defenses he prepared, even if she lost two pieces for every one she took, she would prevail. She just needed to crack him open like an egg.
She would win in around six moves.
Jaune on the other hand surveyed the board, and smiled.
He would win in five.
"I win, Pyr."
Pyrene raised an eyebrow.
Jaune picked up one of Pyrene's captured pawns, "Pyrene, do you know why the wedges, whether they're yours or mine, look exactly the same, aside from which direction they're pointed at?"
Pyrene remained silent, her expression curious, yet neutral.
"It's not like chess," Jaune played with the piece, twirling it with his fingers, "Except for the Kings, no piece is made Black or White; the only thing that marks them as friend or foe just really happens to be which direction they're facing."
"That's an interesting insight, Jaune," a small smile crept up on Pyr's lips, how long had she wanted to just talk like this? "But I fail to understand how you're going to win."
Jaune smirked back in response, "There's one main rule why Shogi players don't play as aggressively as Chess players." Jaune threw the Pawn up in the air.
"Drops," Jaune spoke, as he caught the thrown Pawn and slammed it down back on the board, direction reversed, right in front of her King.
"Check." Jaune declared.
Pyrene blinked.
"Drops," Pyrene spoke slowly.
"What I love most about this game," Jaune met her gaze, "Is that the pieces you capture can be brought back, under your control."
Pyrene's eyes widened. All of a sudden, Jaune's erratic decisions had begun making sense.
No, it wasn't over yet, Jaune was just attacking her with a pawn! She could move diagonally, then capture the Pawn from its side! Pyrene swerved her King to the side.
Jaune dropped another piece on the board, a Gold behind the Pawn. His intentions were twofold: first, he reinforced the Pawn, and second, he threatened the King diagonally.
Pyrene's eyes studied the newly-dropped Gold; she couldn't capture it with her King as it was being guarded by a Silver that she thought Jaune had long abandoned.
"Check." Jaune declared.
Pyrene retreated. She had been playing Chess, where the game was different.
"Check." With a clack, Jaune had dropped another piece.
Pyrene sidestepped.
"Check." Clack!
Pyrene's King backed up into a corner.
Jaune picked up one of the Pawns he had dropped, and moving it forward, right in front of her King, he flipped it over.
Underneath the dull, black text that said "Pawn", was bright red text declaring "Promoted Pawn."
"Checkmate!"
Pyrene's eyebrows twitched, while the sides of her mouth tilted upwards.
One small part of her was impressed. This was, first of all, a practice game, meant to introduce to her the rules and mechanics of this game, and he did so admirably, in a way she definitely wouldn't forget anytime soon.
As for the other parts?
The other, bigger part of her, the champion, roared at this puny boy's insolence. How dare he not just teach her the game's full mechanics from the very beginning?! This was a match she could've won. This was the first match she'd lost since she was motherfucking ten!
"Rematch!" Pyr barked, fist slamming into the coffee table.
From the corner of his eye, Jaune could see Coco desperately mouth something.
Let her win, Coco's wide, mocha eyes pleaded.
Kick her ass? Jaune inquired. Will do, he gave her a jaunty salute.
From the corner of his eye, Jaune could see Coco throw her arms up in the air, probably elated by his skill and competence. When Pyr wasn't looking, Jaune nodded back, smile on his face.
When he had looked back, Pyrene had already reassembled their pieces and reformed their ranks. She'd memorized the placements of these unfamiliar pieces in but a few scant minutes.
Pyrene looked at him, green fire burning in her emerald orbs. Her face was set in a neutral, yet derisive look, as if he was a bug staring into the proud visage of a war-goddess.
She was beautiful.
Pyr took notice of his stares, and gnashed her teeth.
She was also butthurt.
Jaune smirked.
Very deliciously butthurt.
Jaune had never felt so alive, except for that time they'd escaped from Omega.
Heart racing in his chest, Jaune replied with a smug, shit-eating grin. For the past fucking week, the Malachite Twins had literally been using his ass to clean the safehouse, owning his ass with games he wasn't familiar with. It seemed only fitting now that he be able to avenge himself against womankind.
Jaune brought a hand up, and beckoned her, "Bring it."
By the time Coco had returned with Pyr and Jaune's drinks, the coffee table was cracked all over, and missing a leg. Still, the valiant table refused to fall, ruin their game, and further piss off its two occupants.
Coco sighed. At the very least, the furniture was huntsman-insured. These things happened way too often for her tastes.
CLACKCLACKCKACLKCALCCKALCKACLAKCLACK!
Abandoning all pretense of friendly competition, Pyr and Jaune slammed the wooden pieces down on the board like they had each sworn blood feuds against wood. They were just smashing those blocks in there without hesitation or second-guessing.
"X-Ray!" Pyr snarled. If Coco didn't know better, she would say that spoons, forks, and various metallic objects seemed to be shaking in fear.
CLACK!
"Vav!" Jaune declared, voice impossibly low, his cape seeming to billow despite the fact that: one, they were indoors, and two, there was no wind.
CLACK!
"X-RAY!"
CLACK!
"VAV!"
CLACK!
"VAV!"
CLACK!
"X-RA–" Jaune seemed to catch himself, think twice, and grudgingly concede.
CLACK!
"X-RAY!"
CLACK!
"VAAAAAAAAAV!"
Sensing Coco's presence, both their heads turned as if they were one, pinning Coco in their gaze like a deer in headlights.
Coco gulped. Was it just her or was it exceptionally hot coming from their corner of the … Corner. She carefully deliberated her answer as she tried to avoid Pyr's cold, chilling emerald glare, and Jaune's fiery, sky-blue leer.
"Umm, I-I got your drinks?"
Almost as if something just clicked, the sheer hostility in Jaune and Pyr's eyes just disappeared, evaporating like piss in the desert, or disappearing like clothes in a Vacuoan house party, and they both nodded approvingly.
"Thanks," they uttered in unison, as they both reached out and took their drinks.
Jaune looked down on the board, and shrugged.
"Good game, Pyr."
Pyrene looked down, then back up, and gave him a toothy grin.
"No, no. The game was all yours."
"Yeah," Coco stammered, pointing at the kitchen, "I'll just be… you know. Uhh, there, enjoy, please."
Jaune raised an eyebrow as Coco slinked away, "What's up with her? She looks spooked."
Pyrene shrugged, "I don't know. She might just be busy."
Jaune had to agree. He'd only taken one look at the cups she'd left them, and he'd already known they definitely weren't some cheap, easy-to-make drinks.
No, they were more akin to pieces of art.
Pyrene's Vale Autumn Special was served in a beautiful ceramic mug, decorated with berries all strung together artfully with stringy wires of sugar, topped off with a generous helping of cream, berry sauces and cinnamon carvings. The mug itself was in a brilliant, almost transparent topaz color, with a gradient of warm red that became a deep brown.
Pyrene nodded approvingly.
Jaune looked at his mug.
It appeared to be made from bone, a human skull to be exact, and the liquid inside it was so black it didn't reflect light.
He tilted his mug to the side, and the liquid barely moved, seeming to possess the consistency of sludge.
Maybe he should've read that Waiver before he signed it.
Pyrene sniffed the heavenly aroma emanating from her cup, and took a dainty sip. She shuddered, and a warm, contented smile spread across her face, like she had everything she'd ever wanted right in front of her.
Jaune took hold of his mug, and he could feel his aura cry out in horror.
Oh, c'mon, how bad could it be?
Quashing his hesitation, and what was probably his self-preservation, Jaune took a hearty swig from the cup.
Actually, it wasn't bad. A little bitter, but Jaune could really appreciate the depth of its flavor. He put the cup down and opened his eyes.
And when he opened his eyes, Pyr was gone.
Actually, wait, not quite right. Jaune's eyes were wide, pupils dilating. Everything was gone.
Past the bright oppression of the sun, the clouds, and dust-generated lighting, he could see the stars, ever brighter than day. He could see time as it drove ever onward. Beyond the flimsy confines of flesh and bone, he could see everyone's limitless, beautiful souls.
Past their earthly vessels, all souls were equal in their inequality. Differing in color, in brilliance, in shape, in transparency; yet they were all beautiful, all breathtaking.
What was humanity? What was faunus? What was gender? What was money? What were all of these inconsequential details compared to the everlasting joyful mysteries of the soul?
A tear slid down Jaune's eye, and he sniffled.
If the soul were truly eternal, beyond time and space, then was not life only an obstacle to eternity; a mere roadblock in the birth and ushering in of the next kalpa of reality?! Truly, were we not born to die?
He –, actually, no wait, his head was on the table, his heartbeat was beating like a drunken drumline, he was sweating like a pig, and he couldn't breathe.
Jaune gasped for air, only for him to choke, Oh God, there's something in my throat!
"Jaune?!" Pyr asked, her hand all the way in his mouth, fingers deep in his throat in an attempt to make him puke what she perceived as poison, "Are you okay?"
"Hrrrglbhhrrg," Jaune tried his best to respond, despite her fingering of his orifice.
From the corner of his hazy vision, he could see Coco bury her face in her hands.
Yeah, he really should've read that Waiver.
He felt a strong arm wrap itself around his shoulder, and he felt himself being hoisted up, and carried bridal style.
When his vision cleared, Jaune realized he was breathing fresh air, and all he could see for miles on end was azure, cloudless, infinite sky. Infinite, azure sky, and endless, vivid, emerald eyes.
"Jaune?" Pyr repeated, "I'm bringing you to the hospital, please hold on!"
Jaune blinked. They were in the streets of Vale, right outside the Cocoa Corner, and Jaune was still prone in Pyrene's powerful arms, laid in a bridal carry.
"Pyr!" Jaune squirmed, "I can walk."
"Are you sure?" Pyrene's eyes were wide and worried. Jaune cringed; the whole point of this thing was to make it up to her, not to further ruin her day.
As Jaune got to his feet, Pyrene spoke up, "There's a bench over there, maybe we could ask Miss Coco if we could simply enjoy our drinks in the fresh air?"
Jaune looked to where Pyr pointed, there, over by the hill, were a couple of wooden benches overlooking a gorgeous view of sunny Vale. He could still turn this thing around!
Jaune took a side glance back at Coco's, only to find unamused looks staring back at him from the establishment's patrons. He groaned, "Yeah, let's do that, may as well get the bill too." Jaune reached for the door, only for Pyrene's hand to beat him to it.
"Please," Pyr smiled, as she moved to hold the door open for him, "Let me."
From the corner of his eye, Jaune could see Coco desperately shake her head left and right.
Hold the door open for her, you asshole!, Coco tried to say.
Oh, shoot, I forgot to thank her!, Jaune realized, "Thanks, Pyr!"
Pyr graced him with a winning smile, as Coco graced him with a loud facepalm.
Moving to collect his belongings, Jaune reached for his backpack, only for a fair, dainty hand to once again beat him to it.
"Oh!" Jaune's eyes met Pyr's, "Really, I'm fine."
"Oh no, Jaune, please," Pyr slung his normal-sized backpack over her man-sized knapsack, "I insist. You might still be unwell!"
From the corner of his eye, Jaune could see the other customers give him the stink eye, while Coco herself seemed to be mouthing something pleadingly.
No, Coco mouthed, Hell no.
Jaune raised an eyebrow. Jell-O? Nah, he waved it off. He wasn't hungry. No thank you, he mouthed back.
Snarling, Coco immediately headed over to transfer the drinks into paper cups; but when Pyr was distracted, she immediately passed the bill to him, urgency etched onto her face.
Sky blue eyes met hers, and a flash of understanding struck Jaune.
Now's my chance!, Jaune realized, and before Pyr could even put her hand in her pocket; Jaune exclaimed, "I'm paying!"
Pyr simply blinked, but although Coco's response was minute, she offered him a small, approving nod. Perhaps he wasn't completely hopeless after all.
Jaune met her brown eyes and responded in kind, as he tried to fish out his wallet. That's weird, it was usually almost always in his –
Jaune's eyes widened.
He didn't have a wallet.
The memories came flooding back in, he threw his wallet at the old lady he'd borrowed Albus from! He didn't have shit right now!
Aw, come the fuck on!
The color slowly drained from his face.
From the corner of his eye, he could observe Coco's face change from expectant approval, to disbelief, to "Oh God, you gotta be fucking kidding me." If looks could kill, the expression on Coco's face would've exterminated all life on Remnant twice over.
Jaune continued fiddling his pockets uselessly.
From the corner of his eye, he could see ceramic cups crack under Coco's slowly-tightening grip.
Jaune resisted the urge to draw his sword and stab himself in the face. The place was reasonably-priced, but it wasn't cheap, although honestly, he could probably work some sort of deal out with Coco. No, what would really fucking hurt was going to be Pyr's reaction.
Jaune furrowed his eyebrows and released a deep sigh. Had it been he who was travelling from God knows where, only to be bumped by some weirdo who would go into convulsions, and insist for him to pay for his drink; he'd be outraged. She must fucking hate him right now.
Arcs never go back on their word, he'd promised her a good time, and then ended up completely ruining her day.
Goddammit, was there nothing he could do?
Steeling himself, he turned to Pyr, an apology on his lips, before he came face to face with the most amazing sight he had seen today, and that was saying something.
Her green eyes were alight with mirth, tears pooled in their corners; her shoulders shook, and her hands covered her mouth.
Pyr was giggling.
Dumbfounded looks on both their faces, Jaune and Coco shared a glance.
"You lucky bastard," Coco struck him half-heartedly on the shoulder, knocking Jaune Arc flat on the ground.
Jaune was desperate.
Each of the Kingdoms were beautiful, there was no doubt about it. They said that the sunsets in Vacuo colored the deserts and skies of Vacuo in wonderful hues of gold, red and pink. They said that the Northern Lights in the farthest north of Northern Atlas painted its elegant, mirrorlike castles into beautiful kaleidoscopes of color. They said that the old, classic architecture of Old Mistral struck its beholders with an unshakable sense of awe and longing for the glories of old Mankind.
Vale had no golden sand, nor Auroras, nor the gilded columns and buildings of an age long past, but it had a charm all of its own.
In attempts to most efficiently use the limited amount of land it could keep safe from the Grimm, Vale had integrated its cities into the mountains and the plains, preserving wildlife and building their cities alongside Mother Nature herself. Cities were built on the hills, in the forests, and in small islands, indeed, Coco Adel's Café itself stood on a small hill, nestled lovingly by lightly-colored and sweet-smelling trees.
A mere couple of blocks past Coco's, on benches perched by the side of a cliff, Jaune Arc was desperate.
"Pyr, don't do this. It's not worth it. Pyr!"
Undeterred, Pyrene raised the paper cup holding Jaune's drink to her lips.
Jaune's heart sunk. He'd just let his new, best friend die.
However, instead of speaking in eldritch tongues and bleeding profusely from her eyes and ears, Pyr simply lowered the steaming cup of unholy joe and flashed him a small smile.
"I like it."
Eyes wide, and mouth agape, Jaune very slowly brought his face really, uncomfortably close to Pyr's, and stared directly into her eyes.
Pyr smiled shyly and looked away, a faint tint of red spreading over her cheeks.
Cupping her cheeks experimentally, Jaune mushed her face in his hands. "You're alright!" Jaune laughed with relief, "Oh God, you're okay!"
"Jaune, please," Pyrene gave him an angelic grin, "It must've just been the stale air that made you feel unwell. The drink is fine."
Jaune's eyes slowly inched towards the murky black liquid; was it just him, or did it just bubble menacingly when he looked at it?
"Here!" Pyr passed him an identical paper cup holding her old drink, "Let's trade! Maybe you'll enjoy this more."
Where Jaune's old drink looked like it was mined from the deepest, darkest, pits of hell, Pyrene's Vale Autumn Special was nearly as angelic as its owner. Browns and Maroons swirled in the steaming cup seductively, bidding him closer, and closer. The glorious aroma of lightly-roasted beans, ground spices, and fresh berries assaulted his senses and threatened to drive him mad with desire.
No! Jaune tried to resist. He'd been hurt before by her kind. All coffees were the same!
Or am I?, a husky voice bubbled from the cup.
The drink that was the very personification of Fall's Bounty refused to relent. More and more did the fragrant tendrils of steam caress the young man's cheek, twisting his resolve and turning his legs into jelly. The coffee whispered sweet, sensual promises in his ear, of how she would wipe all his weariness away; of how she would keep him awake and warm wherever he was.
Jaune tried to hold on.
Don't worry, baby, the cup pledged itself to him, I'll make it all better.
Jaune hesitated for the last time.
It'll all be okay, Jaune.
Jaune took a very small sip, consigning himself to its loving embrace.
"Well," Pyrene took another sip of the embodiment of human misery, "How is it, Jaune?"
Jaune turned to her with teary eyes, "I've never tasted anything so good in my life."
"I'm glad you liked it." Pyrene smiled back, her fair skin and tan clothes framed pleasingly against the forest green of Vale's trees.
Jaune smiled back as a comfortable silence descended upon them, only interrupted by the occasional sip as they just watched the city move on a lazy, sunny day.
Jaune leaned back into the bench, and by chance, so did Pyrene.
Their hands touched; hers on his.
As one, their hands jerked back in surprise, as the flustered boy snapped his gaze to the blushing maiden. As one, they froze as her emerald met his blue.
Jaune's gaze was determined, and his face, his lips, inched ever closer to Pyr's.
Pyr's emerald eyes went wide. He… he was actually doing this? Here?!
Oh God, is this happening? Should I stop him? Is anyone looking? Oh, wow, he's really going for it. I- Ohhh, boy.
Heart pounding in her chest, lost in his eyes, Pyr swallowed a gulp and leaned forward, eyes shut. She'd never done it before, but there and then, it felt so natural, so right, to part her glossy lips ever so slightly and –
She felt something rough, dry, and definitely not lips, touch her mouth.
"Here we go," Jaune dabbed at her mouth with a tissue, "You had something on your mouth."
Pyr blinked once. Pyr blinked twice. Pyr blinked thrice before regaining her thoughts.
"Thank you, Jaune," she spoke, her tone slightly more clipped than before. Oh crap, did he do anything again?
Jaune opened his mouth to speak, until he heard clamoring from afar.
Pyr seemed to hear it too, and they both turned their heads. Down from below the hill they were on, by one of Vale's bigger streets; both Jaune and Pyr could spot colorful figures, signs and banners in their hands, marching straight towards the Council Spire.
"They're faunus," Pyr spoke, answering his unasked query.
Jaune raised a hand above his eyes to block the sun. Sure enough, he could spot signs and boards and banners carrying different statements, but the same message.
"The Faunus are not animals!"
"Our time will come!"
"We will have equality!"
Jaune's eyes narrowed and he downed the cup of coffee. It didn't taste good anymore.
He didn't need to look at Pyr to figure that she was feeling similar. She'd stopped blushing, and instead, a façade of cool indifference settled on her face. Rather than lean back on the bench, she'd straightened her back, and planted her heeled feet flat on the pavement.
In a split second's notice, she could be up on her feet and in a fighting stance. Jaune could spot her hands twitch towards weapons that weren't there. Pyr clicked her tongue in annoyance.
"Perhaps we should find another place to relax, Jaune?" she asked.
From the other side of the street, Jaune eyed a thick cluster of armored police take formation opposite the protesters. They raised their riot shields menacingly, and even the mob of protesters and rioters gave pause.
"Jaune?" she tried again.
A heavyset man stepped forward from the throng of faunus. Raising his sign threateningly at the assembled shieldwall, he threw his hands in the air, and began shouting.
Jaune squinted. The message was indistinct, but Jaune had heard enough of their rhetoric to suspect the man was a rabble-rouser from the Fang. Whatever he said whipped the crowd into frenzy, hesitation and self-preservation thrown into the wind, replaced with suicidal courage, the faunus protesters charged and pushed into the line of shields.
Jaune's grip on the metal railing tightened, and – he blinked. When had he stood up and walked all the way to the edge?
"Jaune," Pyrene placed a comforting hand by his shoulder.
"What do you think of the White Fang?"
Jaune winced. The words came out of his mouth before he could think, but…
Images of the hellscapes of Camp Omega flashed through his head. Faunus unnaturally thin, bodies without the protection of aura were exposed to the worst of aura's effects. He remembered the skin of the older faunus they had rescued, burnt, cut, bruised, and weathered by ice. The only smell he could remember of that place was the corpselike stench of Grimm and the acrid tang of blood.
Yet, did he do the right thing? He'd trusted White Fang Member Keppel Azure "Kaz" Miller and Ex-Guard Gaston Alabaster with the protection and reintegration of the faunus they had liberated, but he did nothing more than that. Were the now-refugees being smuggled, integrated into honest lives, or were they now being fed propaganda and turned into living weapons that the Fang could later send to die?
If the lives they saved would take up more arms, prolong this conflict further, and hurt more innocents, in the end, would it have been the better choice to let them die and rot in that godforsaken camp?
In the end, both the SDC and the Fang kept quiet. Nothing had really changed, the SDC still resumed its shady operations, and the Fang still resumed their raids on said operations. There wasn't anything significantly big, and Fang operations outside of Vale seemed to wane.
Atlas declared that the end of faunus extremism was near.
To Jaune, it simply felt like the calm before the storm.
Thinking about this topic made Jaune's palms itch differently. Unlike the light, irritating, usual itch Jaune had come to associate with immediate danger, this was a steady, grating pain. The kind that made Jaune want to just swing his sword. He'd been entertaining the thought of just calling the damn fox faunus, but… well, he and Kaz didn't exactly part in the best of terms…
Pyrene removed her hand from his shoulder. Her eyes were gentle.
"The White Fang," Pyr echoed. Jaune nodded.
Clouds had begun to obscure the sun.
"I confess; I don't know much about them," Pyr spoke, her tone was smooth as silk, but behind it, her resolve was hard as steel, "I understand that they have legitimate grievances towards the Kingdoms, but…"
"But?" Jaune turned his body to face her.
"I cannot condone their actions," Pyr's eyes grew hard, "Violence in this issue shall only beget further violence."
"Can you blame them?" Jaune snarled, feeling as if he felt he was insulted personally. "The faunus were–ARE being oppressed. Can you blame them for standing up for themselves?"
"Innocents suffer as a result of their crimes," Pyr gave him a sharp look. "They do horrible things. They rob freight trains, prey on trade routes, and murder dozens in their rampages. Are these acts supposed to somehow win them respect instead of fear and hate?"
In the background, albeit stifled by distance, the sound of breaking glass and pained shouts could be heard.
"They have no choice, it's the only way they can get results!" Jaune argued, "Would you prefer they just lie down and take it?"
"There are legal recourses for them to take, Jaune," Pyr spoke, tone unchanging, "Without them having to resort to committing murder and acts of terror."
The sounds of shouting intensified, and above the buzzing voices, one could hear the rush of high-pressure water slamming warm bodies into the ground hard.
"How long exactly have the Fang been protesting before they even thought of taking up arms," Jaune fixed Pyr with a glare, "Did anything actually change? Do you seriously think the faunus can win in court against the SDC?"
"Change takes time, Jaune," Pyr was exasperated, "Did you think the Council, or Ozpin, or anyone else could just wave their hands and rid the world of this prejudice?"
"No, but they could do something!"
From the distance, smoke rose into the cloudy air. Bystander and protester alike rubbed and forced water into their bloodshot eyes.
"They are," Pyr's voice was a pleading whisper, "Little by little, things are changing. Day by day educators try to revise whitewashed histories of the Faunus Revolution. Day by day, lawyers and legislators argue and attempt to push forth better laws and policies. Things will get better, Jaune."
"Do such small steps matter when things are this bad?" Jaune let out a bitter scoff. "How many faunus and people will have suffered by the time this change finally comes around?"
"They're trying, Jaune," Pyr reached out her hand, her eyes pleading, yet hopeful. "We're trying."
Jaune reached out his hand to take hers, but before he did, he flinched.
As evening started to unfold, the faunus protesters dispersed. Yet, even as they dabbed at painful eyes, colorful bruises, and bleeding wounds; more than a few faunus looked back, baring their fangs at the crossed axes that symbolized Vale.
From across the street, the crossed axes of Vale emblazoned on their badges, the police dragged their fallen and wounded comrades to safety. More than a few lawmen looked back, hands twitching towards their weapons.
"…We should find some place to go," Jaune flashed her a sheepish smile, as the last rays of sunlight began to fade away.
"Yes," Pyr mirrored his expression, a tad sadder than his, "Let's."
As Jaune strode forth, Pyr turned to follow.
He did not take her hand.
Pyr bit her lip as her heart fell. Jaune obviously felt passionate about this topic for it to affect him like this, perhaps she should –
Jaune stopped suddenly, and Pyr bumped right into him, sending him sprawling on the floor once again.
"I'm sorry!" exclaimed Pyr as she once again reached a hand out, yet, Jaune did not take this one either. Rather, his face was shocked, and his eyes were focused above.
Pyr followed his line of sight, and she gasped at what she saw.
Smoke bellowed from an out-of-control bullhead as it spiralled helplessly towards the earth.
Adept at observing objects travelling in high-speeds, Pyr instantly noted that something was off. The cockpit windshield, made to resist everything short of Giant Nevermore feathers, was penetrated and shattered, the bullhead's wings themselves were bent at unnatural angles and damaged, and the hatch doors were deformed, as if something, or more likely someone had been shooting at it with powerful dust-based projectiles.
This was no accident.
She waved her fingers, and hidden deep within her packs, she could feel her weapons respond. At a moment's notice, she could have her tools tear out from her pack and into potential foes. It would be an inconvenience to ruin her traveling equipment, but they were freebies from her sponsors anyway.
"Jaune," she whispered, voice hushed, eyes still locked on the falling bullhead, "Stick close to me."
There was no response, but given the manner in how Jaune carried himself, it was likely he was in shock.
With the sound of thunder, the bullhead crashed into a smoking heap by what looked to be one of Vale's many forests. Pyrene released a breath she didn't know she was holding; at the very least, save for the passengers of that flying vessel, no one else would be hurt.
Still, it didn't mean they were safe. Whatever brought down the bullhead was likely to still be in the nearest vicinity, and Pyrene had no intentions of finding out whether they were friend or foe.
Or did she?
She bit her lip, while she was loathe to sacrifice her much-valued anonymity, she had still embarked on this path wishing to be a defender of mankind. Her true identity was well-known, and no doubt she would easily be able to join any investigation teams that would already be forming. The dust-damage on the bullhead wasn't dealt by some amateur or thug, the VPD might need all the strength it could get.
Mind made, she turned to her, her friend, to inform him of her decision, only to realize one tiny detail.
Jaune wasn't there.
In the distance, from the corner of her eye, she could spot a familiar, if slightly damaged white cape flapping in the wind, its owner running closer and closer to the wreck of the bullhead.
"What," Roman Torchwick dusted the filth from his coat. His emergency landing strategy didn't exactly leave him clean, "The fuck was that?"
His rescuer and partner in crime, Neopolitan, merely shrugged nonchalantly like he had simply commented on the weather.
They both stood on a roofdeck of a building several blocks away. The moment Roman realized that the girl with him wasn't his current employer, Cinder Fall; he had called on Neo and escaped, using the impostor as a diversion.
"That wasn't Cinder," Roman bit out.
Neo's eyes changed to brown and pink as she gave him a pointed look, like she was saying, You stupid brah?
"Well, excuse me for not noticing," Roman defended, "But I was actually working and getting things done!"
Neo smirked, and put both her fists together, before suddenly opening them in imitation of an explosion.
"Please, I can always procure more dust in a heartbeat," Roman scoffed, "Even more so if I don't have to rely on Junior's apes to provide the muscle."
Neo smiled back before her expression grew dark. She narrowed heterochromic eyes at him and raised an eyebrow.
"What do we do now?" Roman raised a cigar to his mouth, "Good question."
Neo ran a delicate, manicured finger across her neck.
"Cinder's not dead," Roman lit the cigar, "We'd have heard about it by now."
Neo raised another eyebrow, shrugged and gave him a thumbs down.
"She may not be as competent as we thought?" Roman interpreted.
Neo nodded.
Roman exhaled smoke into the air, like a miniature version of the flaming bullhead wreck that was releasing mountains of it to the sky.
"Powerful though she might look, we must acknowledge that perhaps our fiery acquaintance cannot walk her talk." Roman muttered, "Perhaps we should be looking into severing ties or finding new means of employment."
Neo pointed at the sky.
Roman blinked. What was she trying to say? Roman looked closer, into the shattered moon.
It was shining brightly, in the shape of a crescent, or an arc.
"Ahh, Arc."
Every decent criminal worth his salt, or still alive for that matter, knew to keep an ear to the ground. Even the most trivial bits of information could imply so much more. The presence of even the tiniest twitches on the faces of hardened criminals spoke just as loudly if they were absent.
That news of a White Fang Commander rising out of nowhere and making a key joint Atlesian-SDC mining facility disappear overnight certainly set some tongues wagging. Roman tapped into all his contacts, save for Junior who had also coincidentally disappeared, and each story came out different. It had been a month now, and people were still talking about it.
Some say the Commander was a personal officer and peer of Adam Taurus himself. The Atlesian based contacts claim that the SDC hired him to attack their own facility to fabricate an excuse to strengthen their private armies. Others whispered that he was a spy sent by Ozpin to spy on the White Fang. Even more people claimed that Ozpin sent him to sabotage Atlas for its rampant militarization.
A couple say that he was born into a life of pain and brutality, haunted by the demons of his past, thirsting for the virgin flesh and blood of the Schnee heiresses as his life descended further into the fiery bowels of hell.
And some fox dude who liked to wear aviator shades at night preached that the man did it out of the goodness of his heart.
Hahaahahaha, sure.
The one thing all the stories had in common though, was that the commander was an Arc.
A fallen hero, eh, Roman chuckled, A man after my own heart.
To put it simply, something big was happening, and no one knew what the fuck was going on.
What everyone did know is that Atlas began turtling up security tighter than Goodwitch's legs. Smuggling operations, even the smallest ones no one gave a damn about were looked into. Security Companies, the pseudo private armies of large Atlesian conglomerates, began replacing everyone who couldn't account for every minute of his fucking day. Safe houses people thought were secure were suddenly raided. Undercover agents in various crime rings began surfacing, bringing down groups with barely any evidence at all.
Something had Atlas spooked.
Rumor had it that Ironwood was minutes away from declaring Martial Law.
God, gods, dust, whatever, bless that unsubtle bastard.
The Mistralians had a word that stood for both crisis and opportunity, and for the criminal underworld, this truly was a crisis, and what an opportunity it was for Roman!
White Fang arms dealers found themselves fresh out of stock, like the filthy animals had been able to recruit a zoo to their cause. The SDC had decreased its amounts of dust shipments, and with his efforts in separating Vale from its dust, prices were going through the roof. Dust smugglers that hadn't been caught by Atlas were probably venerating the mysterious Arc as their new patron saint. Police departments in Kingdoms that weren't Atlas had their hands full as they suddenly found their hands full with faunus refugees that appeared out of thin air. Even shady mercenary groups found better employment as the civil unrest from the Kingdoms roused the Grimm.
Roman feared Cinder.
She was absolutely implacable, unstoppable, and worst of all, vengeful beyond reason. If these rumors were to be believed, then these were traits she shared with the Arc as well.
A counterbalance, and a possible way out.
"Why, yes, dear Neo, I do believe you're right," Roman took a deep drag of his cigar, "Arrange a social call."
Neo simply smiled at him, pink and brown eyes shuffling positions with every wink and blink.
She flashed a thumbs up at him.
Roman's grin turned predatory.
Neo knows where he is.
"How long have you known the whereabouts of our mysterious … friend, then?" Roman grinned.
Just now, Neo twirled a hand nonchalantly.
"Really?", Roman took one more drag from his cigar when Neo simply pointed down.
Roman's eyes followed his companion's dainty finger.
Right under their vantage point, on the streets, he could spot a slightly damaged white cape flapping in the wind, its owner running towards the wreck of his recently abandoned bullhead.
Roman's eyes took note of the sword strapped to his hip and the armor under his cloak.
A lot less showy than the weapons and armor worn by the Seven Sisters, but Roman had stolen enough valuables to identify fakes and replicas. Those weapons were forged in the same style using similar materials, that kid was an Arc.
"Looks like that social call's going to be earlier than expected," Roman rubbed his gloved hands with glee.
At Roman's side, Neo wrinkled her nose in distate, as if she had just smelled something disgusting. She pointed several blocks away, and Roman put on his binoculars.
Faunus, notably of the cat, and dog variety, wearing bulging coats that oh so obviously screamed concealed weapon, were calmly and inconspicuously making their way towards the bullhead as well. Well, as inconspicuously as they could, at least, for people walking towards the crash when everyone was screaming and running away. Roman chuckled, White Fang assassins, here? Timing was just too good. He'd heard that the talks with Adam Taurus had gone sour, but did Cinder really piss the bull off so hard that he'd tipped off the cops and sent killers after em?
"Looks like tonight's going to be more interesting than expected," Roman rubbed his gloved hands with glee.
Could be more, Neo gestured, her grin growing feral, Wanna have some fun?
"No, thank you. Goodwitch's driven me rather weary, I think," With a rogueish smile to match hers, Roman tipped his hat.
Chicken, she winked, pink and brown exchanging places as she dropped off the roof of the tall building.
Alone, Roman leaned back, made himself comfortable, and from his coat, produced another fine cigar.
"Looks like tonight's going to be much, much, more interesting than expected," Roman rubbed his gloved hands with glee.
Jaune forced aura into his legs, and his feet dashed on the asphalt with force.
As soon as he had seen the bullhead fall, Jaune had exclaimed a quick "We need to help them!" and began rushing to where he thought the crash would be; except now that he thought about it, Pyr looked deep in thought and might not have heard him. He also may or may not have squeaked it out in the same high-pitch a girl would scream at.
Goddamn, he had to work on his heroic voice.
Still, he didn't have time to waste. No doubt the VPD would still be reeling after that large protest-turned violence, so they might not be able to respond to the crash in time. Jaune wasn't taking any chances. The pillars of smoke filling the night sky bade him to run faster. Given the density of airborne Grimm, bullhead hulls were generally also designed to cushion crash landings, so even civilians could often survive sudden Nevermore attacks. Except that much smoke spurting out ahead could only mean that the entire thing was on fire, and maybe ready to blow, and even huntsmen would be hard-pressed to survive such an ordeal.
He wasn't strong, that he knew.
He couldn't change the world.
He wasn't a hero that could miraculously solve Remnant's socioeconomic woes. He himself was hard-pressed to beat Ursae. Hell, he couldn't even give Pyr a decent time.
But they said he had lots of aura.
He could, at the very least, do this.
Jaune ground his teeth, forcing more and more aura into his legs recklessly, the heavy armor not helping his already pitifully pathetic running speed.
Liberal amounts of adrenalin, aura, and sketchy cosmic coffee pumped into his blood, Jaune had finally, finally reached the clearing. Fire from the bullhead had already began spreading to the surrounding trees, the hot flames almost blindingly bright to his darkness-attuned eyes. Still, while the fires grew thick, they weren't at the uncontrollable levels he couldn't wade through.
He'd arrived just in time.
Dousing himself with water from his canteen, he stripped off his dripping-wet cloak and wrapped it around his head into a makeshift mask. The smoke and fumes were getting thick, and aura didn't prevent people from inhaling it and passing out. With a deep breath to steady himself, Jaune pressed on, flaring his aura to grant his flesh protection against the flames.
Despite the situation, Jaune wore a wry smile. The flames licked at his body and singed his clothes, but compared to the fires Rouge employed, this may as well have been comfortable.
A quick glance at the front of the bullhead informed Jaune that the pilot's seats were empty, so that left the main cabin, then. Jaune attempted to open the haphazardly-closed hatch doors, but damage had further deformed the doors and sealed them shut.
Despite the smoke, Jaune risked it and took another steadying breath. Channelling aura into his hands, Jaune grasped the door, and strained at them with herculean effort. As metal screeched and gnashed on metal, producing sparks bright even in the flames, Jaune was slowly, but surely prying the twisted barriers open.
Eyes darting wildly, still slowly opening the door, Jaune quickly surveyed the cabin interior.
There had to be someone. He didn't see anyone fall out of the bullhead.
There! Jaune's eyes lit up as they scanned the farthest part of the room. Slumped by the far walls, was the bullhead's sole occupant, her green aura flickering weakly, still protecting her from the flames, even as blood trickled down her face.
Heart emboldened with new hope, Jaune strode forth into the burning room, undaunted by the flames, scooping her light frame out from the bullhead floors. He carried her like a bride, gently so as not to hurt her, but tightly as if he were worried death itself might take her from him.
Got her.
If any of his Sisters were here, they'd have put out the fire, and rescued this girl much quicker than he could. He was willing to bet that his Dad or Mom would even be able to pluck the bullhead out of the air and stop this crash in the first place. No, Jaune Arc knew he wasn't a hero.
Except.
He was here, and they weren't. He had to make do.
Seeing no one else in the bullhead, Jaune sprinted out of the flames. He didn't stop running until the wind was cool and the grass was green.
Adrenalin fading, Jaune gently laid his charge on the grass as he himself sunk to his knees. Sirens blared in the distance, and even from there, Jaune could spot the familiar red of fire trucks making their way to his location. Crawling to, and leaning on the trunk of a nearby tree, Jaune finally, truly, took in the moonlit appearance of the woman he rescued.
Jaune was not filled with the elation of survival, nor was he filled with the same good feeling one typically received from having performed a good deed.
No, the more Jaune looked, the more bewildered he had become.
Memories came flashing through his head. Memories of green fire, of revolvers, of illusions, of bandits, of stealing Albus, and of narrow escapes.
The last time he had seen his charge, she had been dressed in simple clothes and torn leathers. Her mint green hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, and she was covered in a sheen of dirt and sweat from travel.
Back then, she had looked like a thief or a bandit.
Now?
This time, she was wearing a more elaborate, more intricate white top on the olive undershirt. The leather chaps she wore on her white shorts were new and of premium quality; Jaune ran his fingers through the material, they were soft enough so as not to impede movement, but hard enough to turn aside a blade. Her hair was tied into two long locks on each side in the back.
This time, she looked like a Huntress.
Jaune's eyes narrowed, and his heart hammered in his chest. It had been, what, a month, three weeks since this girl had attacked him en route to Vale. Living with his sisters, Jaune knew the fell magicks that a decent makeover, hair extensions, and contacts were capable of, yet at the same time, Jaune needed definitive proof that this truly was one of the bandits that tried to kill him.
There was only one thing you couldn't really fake.
To a huntsman, a weapon was an extension of his or her soul. Huntsmen built them, broke them, repaired them, modified them, broke them again, and modified them further. Most trained exclusively with them, bathed with them, ate with them, and did unspeakable things with them until the line between 'weapon' and 'extension of the body' blurred.
Simply put, most huntsmen were used to wielding only their weapons.
If there was one thing you couldn't fake, it was this.
Reaching for her hips, Jaune pulled out her weapons from their holsters.
In his hands, Jaune Arc beheld a very familiar, if not slightly modified and repainted, pair of revolvers.
Beneath him, bloody and unconscious, Emerald Sustrai mumbled a name in her sleep.
Chapter 11 End
AN: I find writing interaction the most tedious things to do, then I realized that if I found it boring, you guys probably would too, so I went around, asking my friends for the cringiest way to ruin dates, and voila. Hopefully I got the funny cringe and not the cringe cringe.
I'm still looking for more ideas, though. Comment me your most horrible date experiences please. Boring talky stuff hopefully finished soon.
