Sorry about the delay. I got sidetracked writing ahead. Fluff is dangerous. One minute you're writing a cheesy morning-after scene and the next you're plotting out an entire AU.

The fic has reached over 200 followers since the last update (though I suppose at 201 'over' is reaching a bit). Hello! I hope you're all keeping safe and healthy. I work at a string instrument shop so it's kinda surprising the government hasn't told us to close yet, though I've had my hours cut quite a bit.


The cavern was empty.

This confused Gilderoy, because as far as he could tell there was no other ways out save the tunnel to the city proper. Yet Winter was gone. So was the baby, if it'd ever really existed.

He wasn't sure if he was more annoyed that she'd gotten distracted or that he'd waited so long to follow. Not that there was anything to be done now.

So he returned back up the tunnel, past the faux-faunus corpse, back up to the path and onwards into the Ringed City itself. Where ever Winter had disappeared to, she still had to reach Vendrick. Perhaps he'd find her there.

Part of the outer wall was crumbling. A rickety elevator carried him down to street level. Empty houses loomed around him, overgrown with vines. Weeds pushed their way up between the cobbled roads. Gilderoy wasn't sure where he was meant to go. The only constant landmark was the tip of a tower he could see over the buildings. It was as good a goal as any. It looked important, anyway. But no matter what path he walked, he never seemed to come any closer to it.

There was no further sign of Winter or the mysterious baby. Beyond the ivy and moss creeping along the stonework there was no sign of life at all. It felt like a world frozen in time; his scroll told him he'd been travelling for hours, yet the sun hadn't moved at all across the sky.

He wondered why they'd built a whole city when they'd only needed a prison. Perhaps it'd been built to contain thousands of inmates. Perhaps they'd needed a city's worth of guards.

He seemed to stumble across the tower more than find it. He'd wandered for what felt like days when, all of a sudden, he discovered that it was right in front of him. The houses fell away leaving only a path up to the doorway, the cliffs on either side falling into sunlit clouds. The great ironbound doors were shut, though when he pushed them he found that they were unlocked, and that they swung open far too easily for their size.

An unfamiliar woman stood at the other end of the room.

Instinct told him to duck out of sight. Nothing remaining in this place was trustworthy. But, as he waited in silence, he heard no movement within. Tentatively, he peaked through the door.

It was just a statue, and it seemed very out of place.

The woman was dressed in sweatpants and a novelty hoodie with WARNING: KNOW-IT-ALL printed across the front. Her arms were folded and she stared at the empty floor with a disapproving glare. She had pale skin and long dark hair and bright blue eyes, and seemed so lifelike that Gilderoy suspected she was a real person after all, albeit standing stock-still. He tapped her arm tentatively; her sleeve felt like cloth, but her hand felt like stone.

The rest of the room wasn't just empty: it was stripped clean. He could see places where the stone floor had been scratched as heavy objects had been dragged across them. There were empty sconces on the walls. Hooks too, as if paintings or mirrors or maps or blueprints had been hung there. A door set in one of the walls led to a spiral staircase; he was just pulling it open when he heard a voice behind him.

"You're not Patches."

Gilderoy whirled around, reaching for a weapon he didn't have.

"No need to be concerned," the woman said, straining her head to one side and then the other until Gilderoy heard her neck pop, her stone skin audibly grinding as it moved. "It's a good thing, believe me."

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm not going to answer that because that's not what you're really asking. You want to know what to call me." She shrugged. "Not much point answering that either. I'll respond to just about anything."

"Well… I'm Gilderoy."

"Oh, I know. Gilderoy Ornstein. Your semblance is an affinity for shock dust. You were born in Vacuo, where anyone can fit in, but you've never felt like you've really belonged there. And—ooh—you've died once or twice. Fascinating."

He tilted his head to the side. "Who are you?" he asked again.

She raised an eyebrow. "You really meant it that time. I still won't answer. I don't do that here, and honestly I just came to find out what was going on, not for an extended conversation. Definitely not now that I— actually, I won't say that. It'd be mean."

"What?"

"You wouldn't want to know. Especially if you knew who I was." She pursed her lips. It quickly turned into a grimace. "Extended conversation or not, that's not a note I'd like to leave on. Do you want to talk about something else? Anything else?"

"I really don't think we were talking about much anyway."

"Which is entirely beside the point," she said. "There must be something you'd like to talk about."

"Uh… what's with the sweater?"

She gave him a deadpan look. "It's comfortable."

"You just seem very out of place." The architecture in the Ringed City was similar to Old Oasis, which predated recorded history. It must've been thousands of years old.

Novelty hoodies were a comparatively recent invention. He also didn't think they'd do much to alleviate the discomfort of being made of stone.

"Says a man who thought his abs were a fashion statement." She rolled her eyes. "Come now. Something of consequence. What about Penny? Or Smough? They've been on your mind a lot lately."

Gilderoy was suddenly glad for the metal face hiding his reaction. "What's it to you? Are you some kind of omniscient therapist?"

She laughed. "That was actually kinda funny. Bravo."

"I wasn't entirely joking."

"Yes, yes, you're very serious. I know." She sighed. "You've tried to talk about them before, but you couldn't. Not really. And now you don't even want to think about them. You try very hard not to, at least. You just want to move on. I wish I could tell you that it'll work."

"I'm not going to talk to a stranger about it."

"You tried to talk to Winter."

"She's not a stranger."

"She's the friend of somebody you existed alongside for three years and still barely even liked," the woman said. "One could argue a stranger would be easier to talk to. Anonymity can be comforting."

"I don't feel anonymous. You know a lot about me."

"But you still want to talk."

He looked away.

"Yes."

"But not with me." She frowned thoughtfully, then shrugged. "You were in Eleum Loyce, right?"

"Uh—"

"It might work. You know what? I'll give it a go."

"Give what a go?"

"You might feel a little nauseous. Don't worry, it's expected."

"What are you—"

She snapped her fingers.

The world fell away.

/-/

Jaune couldn't sleep.

It was too hot. He hadn't spent long in Atlas, but he was already used to the cold. Now he couldn't get comfortable. Stupid Atlas. Stupid weather.

Nora and Ren were fast asleep. So was Osborne. They were staying at an empty guest suite on the edge of Refuge Academy's campus, one of the wealthier preliminary combat schools in Mistral, and each room was arranged to fit the traditional huntsman team of four, hence Osborne sleeping in the same room as Jaune's team.

He didn't like that very much. He would have preferred Qrow, but he'd claimed that to be a terrible idea. Yang had confirmed that she'd been woken by a spider on her face at least three times when Qrow had babysat her and Ruby as a child, and now Qrow was sleeping on the couch in the common room downstairs.

Best-case scenario would have been nobody at all. They were a three-person team now.

Jaune sighed and dragged his hands over his face. He was sweating like crazy. The windows were open, but it was still hot as hell inside.

He needed some fresh air.

He put some slippers on and snuck out into the hall as quietly as he could, trying not to wake the others. The door creaked a little as he closed it and Nora muttered something but didn't wake.

Blake was already on the balcony outside.

Jaune froze for a second, surprised, before snapping himself out of it.

"Couldn't sleep," he said sheepishly.

She was leaning against the railing, a stick in one hand and a knife in the other, whittling away. She regarded him silently. Jaune was unsettled by the way her eyes glinted in the dim light. A small, tired part of his mind wondered if she was thinking about stabbing him.

"I'll just… find another place to—"

"It's fine," she said, and returned her attention to her whittling.

"I mean, 'outside' is a very big place. I can find somewhere else if you—"

"I said it's fine."

He nodded slowly and leaned back against the wall. It was a little less hot out here, and occasionally a cool breeze would pick up and send a chill running through him. It wasn't entirely unwelcome.

"I feel like we never talk," Jaune said.

"By design," Blake said. "The last thing I wanted was for you to move your fixation from Weiss to me."

"I wasn't that bad."

"You were bad." She blew away some of the wood shavings. "I did end up hearing the whole story with the guitar, you know."

He snorted. "Feels like forever ago."

"Only a few months. But… yeah."

He folded his arms. "Can I ask what you're doing?"

"I'm… distracting myself from things outside of my control."

"Osborne?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "If I cared to elaborate, I would have. And no. Not Osborne."

"I was just—"

"I liked Pyrrha, but I don't blame Ozpin for what happened to her, and I certainly don't blame a kid who's in over his head. Don't project your issues onto me."

"I didn't say Pyrrha."

She rolled her eyes.

"I don't blame him either," Jaune said. "I mean, not entirely. I know it's not like he killed her himself, but he still put her in Cinder's way. It wasn't just him. It was Ironwood, and Vengarl, and Goodwitch too. Apparently even Artorias was involved. But it's all because Salem and Ozpin hate each other. Doesn't that bother you too?"

"I'm just trying to do the right thing," she said.

"How do you know this is right?"

"I don't. I'm just trying," Blake said. "What I do know is that Ozpin took me in when I left the Fang, whether he knew about my past or not. Now Beacon's gone. I don't blame Ozpin for that. It was his home too. Qrow said he even built it himself." She shrugged. "Not brick-by-brick, I suppose, but you get the idea."

"I'm not talking about Beacon."

"Yet you 'didn't say Pyrrha'," she drawled.

"How many lives would have been saved if Ozpin had turned himself over to her and she'd called off the attack on Beacon? Pyrrha, Penny, all those civilians. Gough would have his eyes, Gil would have his body."

"Cinder wasn't just after Ozpin. She wanted the maiden as well."

"Two lives, then. Two lives to save dozens."

"I'll be nice and not point out that you only really care about one of those dozens."

"I—"

"The maiden was in a coma," Blake said. "She couldn't have surrendered, and nobody had the right to do it on her behalf."

"Ozpin was perfectly happy to give her aura and her powers to Pyrrha."

"As a last resort. Given what we've seen since, keeping the maiden's powers away from Cinder seems like the right idea."

"Last resort or not, he still did it. Maybe if he'd given them to Cinder instead, found some sort of compromise to at least delay—"

"That's not compromise. It's throwing somebody else to the wolves. It's the same thinking that led to child labour protection laws not applying to faunus."

"They don't?"

"Not in Mistral or Atlas. Or in most districts of Vale, for that matter."

"I mean, at least we have those laws at all, right? It's something, isn't it?"

"That's a very generous use of the word 'we'," Blake said, scowling. She tossed her whittled stick over the side of the balcony. "Ozpin made mistakes, and a lot of people suffered for it. That doesn't make him the villain. Pyrrha is gone. Try not to forget who actually killed her."

"I haven't. I just—"

"I don't want to hear it," she said, and shoved past him to the door leading back inside. "Good night, Jaune."

/-/

When Weiss woke up early the next morning, Blake and Yang were still fast asleep. Ruby was gone.

She followed the smell of coffee downstairs. Qrow was the only one awake, looking very hungover. Moreso than usual, anyway. Given that she hadn't spotted a coffee maker in the kitchen, she suspected the mug in his hands contained some low-grade instant stuff.

She didn't envy him.

"Morning," she said.

He grunted back a greeting.

"Have you seen Ruby? She wasn't in the dorm."

"She left for Haven around about four in the morning," Qrow said. "Bumped into the door and woke me up. I think she did it on purpose."

"She's never up that early."

"She said she wanted to get some prototypes ready for you."

"Come again?"

"Prototypes," Qrow said. "You know, for weapons."

Weiss blinked.

"What?" she asked.

"You didn't know about this?"

"No."

"Thought you'd asked for her help or something."

"I never did anything of the sort."

"Huh." He sipped at his coffee, then grimaced. "Well, she's up there. Might be there a while. Looked like she had enough schematics drawn up to last her a few days."

"I'll drag her back here," Weiss said. She heard Qrow curse when she closed the door; she didn't slam it, but she'd closed it with perhaps a little more fervour than totally necessary.

She'd said, hadn't she? She'd said that all she wanted was to repair Myrtenaster. Nothing more. She didn't think she'd indicated that she had any desire at all for a new weapon, so she didn't know where Ruby had gone and gotten the idea. Perhaps she should have been more clear.

But how could she have known Ruby would go and do this?

She spent the first half of her journey up to the academy fuming about it. She spent the rest cursing Ruby for getting her so riled up that she'd forgotten to eat breakfast.

She heard the forge before she saw it: a whoosh of bellows and the angry roar of fire. She stormed towards it, calling Ruby's name, but when she reached the doorway she stopped frozen where she stood.

Because, in that moment, watching Ruby with her short hair held back by a bandanna and embers sizzling out on her leather apron, an epiphany hit Weiss like a ton of bricks.

She wasn't quite as straight as she'd thought.

More than that, she was attracted to Ruby.

Very much so.

Why the hell is this happening now!?

"Weiss!"

"Hmm?"

"You listening?"

"Mm-hmm." Gods help her, Ruby had asked a question, hadn't she? And she'd stood there dumbfounded like a simpleton. "I mean yes. I'm listening now. I was just… sorry."

"...okay. I was just asking what you wanted to start with."

Weiss bit back her first inappropriate response and cursed whatever dark pit in the back of her mind had produced it in the first place.

"I think I'll get some air," she said.

"You just got here."

"And now I need some air. This is all your fault, you know. I didn't have breakfast, and it's hard to think, and it's your fault."

"So you're going to eat air?"

"No. I'm— oh, forget it."

She managed to pull her focus away from Ruby for long enough to take in the forge. Ruby was by the smelter. Weiss didn't know enough about weaponcrafting or smithing to know what she was doing. On a table near the entrance were a few prototype weapons, some of them similar to Myrtenaster and others… not.

"If you're hungry there's some breakfast on the workbench here," Ruby called. "I'm just finishing this up."

"Where'd you get the food?" Weiss asked.

"There're still a few teams on campus, so the cafeteria's still running. Sorry I didn't leave you any bacon. They should still be serving if you want to get your own. They're like a five or six minute walk thataway." She gestured vaguely through the wall to her left. "Near the CCT."

Ruby had left half a slice of toast and some scrambled eggs in a takeout container. Weiss shrugged. It'd do for now.

"What are you doing?" Weiss asked.

"I was able to make all those ones with parts the workshop just had lying around, but this one's a special piece. Not going overboard with the prototype. Just casting it. We can do it properly when you pick the one you like." Ruby leaned in. "Really I shouldn't be doing this without an assistant, but hey, forgemaster's out on a mission. It'll be fine."

"How did you learn to do all this?"

"Uh, when I made Crescent Rose? Didn't you make Myrtenaster?"

"No. It was a gift from Winter."

Ruby's eyes widened. "Do you want me to teach you how to do this stuff? It'll be fun, trust me!"

Yes. No. Focus, Weiss. "I just want Myrtenaster fixed."

"Okay, but look at— oop! Hold on a sec." She grabbed a pair of tongs from the workbench and extracted a crucible, then poured the glowing liquid it into a mould that was held shut by a pair of clamps in what appeared to be a shower. It made sense a moment later when Ruby flipped a switch and water began to spray all over it, sending steam everywhere.

"Alright," Ruby said, tossing the tongs aside carelessly and tugging off her mitts. "Come look at these."

"Ruby, I—"

She picked up a sword with a long, thin, flat blade, along which ran a pair of gun barrels almost to its tip. "I call this one the bullet injector. Working title. It's kinda the one that kicked this whole thing off because Jaune said that Gil was alive and I was reminded that his weapon was dope and I wanted to do something like it. Just a little more sword-ish. It's still more stabby than slashy, like your old weapon. But it's also a gun. So it's cool."

"That's great, but—"

"These two are meant to go together," Ruby said, holding up the next pair. One was a traditional rapier, and the other was…

Confusing. It was a mess of straps and thin metal pieces and plates. And hydraulics, maybe?

"This is an exoskeleton," Ruby said. "I mean, I'd like to call it that, but really it's just a brace. I noticed your right shoulder's still a little stiff so I figured you might want to lean into it a bit, try a less agile style. It turns into a shield."

She sent a pulse of aura through it, and a series of metal pieces near the elbow unfolded into a buckler a little larger than a dinner plate, then slid down to the wrist.

"The exoskeleton part means it can stop much heavier impacts than it looks; these bits here lock into place under stress."

"I guess if it's not too heavy it could be useful," Weiss admitted, then glanced at the accompanying rapier. "But I don't see why I couldn't just use it with Myrtenaster."

"Well, it's got dust channels too." She collapsed the shield and tapped the wrist. "So you wouldn't need them on your main weapon. Figured you could use something lighter instead."

"I'm used to Myrtenaster's balance."

"I guess that's still an option. You can try it out later."

"Uh, sure."

She grabbed another weapon. "What about this one? It's inspired by that weapon you pulled on Raime."

That'd been Lorian's sword, and the most Weiss could say about it was that it was a big sword.

The monstrosity Ruby had made was not even a sword. But it was very big, so she'd gotten that part right at least.

"That's just a rocket launcher," Weiss said, deadpan.

"With a bayonet," Ruby said. "And it can hold up to seven types of dust. So it's basically the same as Myrtenaster, but better in literally every conceivable way."

"Not at all."

"I hear you. Hold on, let me put this last one together." Ruby shut off the sprinklers and checked how hot the mould was with the back of her knuckle before releasing the clamps and taking the blade over to the workbench. The minute Weiss saw the other parts she was using to assemble the weapon, she shook her head.

"No."

"You haven't even—"

"That thing's going to be way too big."

"It'll fold down! Like Myrtenaster!"

"Myrtenaster folded so I could reload the dust. Not for storage."

"So does this!" Ruby held up a revolving cylinder that looked large enough to accommodate mortar shells. "It folds to reload! The storage is just a side-effect."

"I'm still not going to lug that thing around with me everywhere. Let alone ammo for it."

"It'd be cool!"

"Being crushed under the weight of my own weapon is not cool."

"Come on. Just try it out?"

"Ugh. Fine. But as soon as we're done we're getting started on Myrtenaster. Understand?"

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Yes ma'am."

Weiss had never enjoyed being called ma'am quite as much as she did at that moment.

/-/

"Did that work?"

Gilderoy couldn't see the statue-woman anymore, but he could hear her voice distantly. "What did you do?" The tower and the Ringed City were gone. Everything was gone. He was alone in a white void.

"What do you see?"

"Nothing."

"Then it worked. Sort of. Hold on, let me just— where did he leave it? Probably upstairs. This isn't quite how I usually do things. Give me a moment."

He heard something clatter and fall below him.

"What happened?"

"I dropped you, but it's fine."

"You dropped me?"

"You're very heavy. Probably all the metal."

"Aren't you made of stone?"

"How about we just don't talk about each other's weight, hmm?" There was a clank, presumably as she set him back down. "Alright. Ready?"

"I still don't know what you're—"

The world returned, rolling out under a carpet of blue smoke emanating from his feet. But it wasn't the Ringed City, the statue, or the tower.

He was at Shade Academy, at the dance just before the thirty-ninth Vytal Festival over two years ago. The ballroom was decorated with streamers and fairy-lights, the earthy hues of the sandstone walls casting a cosy glow over the event. It wasn't hard to pick which students were from Vacuo and which were from other academies; it was a formal occasion, but most of the Vacuans didn't put in the effort to dress up. Not on their home turf.

Gilderoy stood on the second level overlooking the dance floor. His hands—his real hands—rested against the railing. Flesh and blood. He was himself again.

"What is this?" he murmured.

"One part memory, one part imagination, and a dash of omniscient therapy powers."

"You alright?" Ciaran asked. "You seem a little out of it."

"Yeah. Just…" He stared at her for a moment, shocked. "It's good to see you."

"Oh. You're drunk."

He shook his head. "Artorias didn't spike the punch. We made sure he—"

"It's Vacuo, Gil. Wolfy might not have, but I guarantee at least a dozen other people did, and that half of them were the teachers. Gods bless our great kingdom." She grinned and raised her cup.

He snorted and reached for his own from the table next to them.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked. "You look… sad."

"Yeah. I'm fine. I just… I don't even know what I want to ask you."

He didn't even know what he could ask her. This was just before he and Smough had gotten together, and long before he'd even met Penny.

"You look like you need a hug."

"That'd actually be—"

"Gough!" Ciaran leaned out over the railing and waved to him over by the door where he was talking with Smough and his team. Gilderoy laughed. "What?" Ciaran asked. "You know he gives way better hugs than I do."

"Thought you were offering."

She snorted. "Don't be ridiculous."

Though Gough had to cross the dance floor to reach the stairs up to them, it didn't take long; he was so large that it was almost impossible for them to not part for him. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Gil needs a hug."

"Ah." He nodded sagely as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and without another word swept Gilderoy up in his arms and held him tightly. "Whatever's going on, I know you can get through it. You're amazing."

"You're drunk too, aren't you?"

"Very," Gough said. "It doesn't make me wrong."

Gilderoy smiled and relaxed a little. He thought he understood why the statue-woman had chosen this memory to show him: to remind him that while Smough and Penny were gone, there were still people he missed dearly, and who missed him in turn. That he wasn't alone.

He was in the wrong place. He should never have come to the Ringed City. General Ironwood had said Ciaran and Gough were on their way to Halgot. That was where he should be.

Maybe.

Maybe it was all bullshit. This wasn't just a memory: it wasn't real, and most of it never had been. And, real or not, Smough was here. He couldn't leave yet. Not without seeing him.

"Can't breathe, Gough," he murmured.

He heard the statue-woman struggle to contain a chortle. He wondered why.

"Hmm? Oh. Sorry."

"That's alright." Gilderoy sighed. "There's someone I need to talk to. I'll see you two soon."

He left them there by the railing and headed downstairs, pushing through the dancers towards the door. Partway there he passed by Artorias and Winter, though they seemed to be focused more on trading barbs than on dancing.

"Believe it or not, when I told you, 'that punch is probably spiked,' I meant exactly that," Artorias said.

"Vacuo," she cursed.

"Vacuo," he agreed. "Maybe you should hire a sobriety butler."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Do you need a language comprehension butler?"

She stomped on his foot so hard his aura crackled.

"Ow," he said nonchalantly. "I wonder if Ciaran likes dancing."

"You could just ask her," Winter suggested.

He scoffed wordlessly.

"Coward," Winter said, and then they disappeared among the dancers again.

Smough was with Havel. Where Leeroy and Egg had gone, Gilderoy wasn't sure. It wouldn't be another year or more until Smough started growing out his beard. Gilderoy missed it. It'd looked good on him.

Smough saw him approaching and raised an eyebrow. "Who's it about this time? Gough? Or the mutt?"

"Neither. Just wanted to say hi."

Smough hummed thoughtfully. "Havel, this is—"

"Your brother's team leader. I know." He frowned. "I think Brim's got Leeroy cornered. I'll go save him."

"He's a grown-ass adult. He can handle—"

"He poured orange cordial over his cornflakes the other morning," Havel said. "Not even juice. Cordial. Grown-ass adult doesn't mean he's not an idiot."

"Idiotic eating habits don't mean poor social skills."

Havel was already leaving. He waved to them over his shoulder without looking back.

A scowl crossed Smough's features for a split second, then he returned his attention to Gilderoy. "So…" He trailed off awkwardly. "Teammates, huh?"

"Yeah." Gilderoy stared at him. "I don't even know what it was I wanted to say."

"Thought you were starting with 'hi'."

"I guess I was."

Smough pursed his lips, then shrugged.

"Do you think two years is enough time?" Gilderoy asked.

Smough glanced at him. "Enough time for what?"

"Enough to love someone."

"There are some idiots out there who manage to fall in love in the course of an evening," Smough said. "Two years is plenty."

"Not to fall in love. The part that comes after. Is it enough time just to… be with someone?"

"I don't know. Maybe. It depends a bit on why we couldn't have more than two years in the first place."

"Death."

"Oh. Like a terminal illness sort of scenario?"

"Sure."

He leaned in a little, a concerned look on his face. "You okay? You're not dying, are you?"

"No." He couldn't meet Smough's eyes yet it hurt to look away. "Do you think it'd be enough for you, though?"

"It'd have to be, right?" Smough pursed his lips and turned away. "I mean, if I'm being totally genuine… it'd be nice to feel that strongly about someone in the first place."

"Yeah. I guess."

He sighed. "Don't tell anyone I said that."

"I won't."

"And—just to reiterate—that was a weird question for you to—"

"I said I wouldn't tell. You don't have to try and downplay it."

"…alright."

They stood quietly together and watched the dancers. Smough shifted awkwardly once or twice. Gilderoy didn't move. He was just enjoying his company.

"Can I ask you something?" Smough said.

"Sure."

"Do you want to dance?"

"Did you really have to ask if you could ask?"

"Is that a yes or a no?"

They danced together until midnight, when, as if from a dream, Gilderoy woke up.

And those few hours were enough.


These Ringed City scenes are starting to feel more and more like a drug trip. And speaking of fluff, that dance scene was fucking loaded with it (and also with subtext and symbolism, but let's ignore all that and laugh at butler jokes, which are obviously the pinnacle of comedy).

Jaune just dove head-first into the bargaining stage of grief. What if this? What if that? What if Ozpin had just compromised with Cinder?

Bruh.

Ruby's giving Weiss a gay crisis, and damn girl, I totally understand. If a woman stayed up all night to design several crazy weapons for me and put together prototypes of them before breakfast (and then provide me with breakfast), I'd fall for her too.

I was going to have a little more of Oscar and the Junior Detectives this chapter, but I decided to cut it to keep the focus of this chapter tight. But I did write ahead on it a bit, and oh lawdy we have a fun match-up to look forward to.

Anyway, that'll be the main focus next chapter, probably with a bit more of the Mistral stuff and Winter's side of the Ringed City.