Chapter Eight: In All Her Finery
Evernight
"I would like you to explain to me… how it is you failed so spectacularly."
Hazel, Emerald, and Mercury had entered her meeting hall and immediately dropped to one knee, to prostrate before their queen. Tyrian and Watts -still holding their master's favor and in their assigned seats- spared them any derision. Salem was calm and her tone was even, but she was no less terrifying for holding in her temper. They all knew it lurked below the surface. They all knew her… disappointment could easily manifest in wrath.
Hazel was already at the front of their formation, shielding the younger two from their master's tongue. "The Faunus militia split our forces-"
"Stop," Salem swiftly interjected. Hazel was immediately cowed, falling silent and turning his eyes again to the floor. Salem, however, composed herself, tenting her fingers and drawing a deep breath. "Let me rephrase the question: who is responsible for your defeat?"
They all knew the answer. None of them dared to speak it.
Hazel threw himself upon the sword, standing to his full height and meeting his queen's eye. Salem had always appreciated his bravery.
"I take full responsibility-"
But she also preferred his honesty. And he had overstepped.
Salem's rage crept out, as she thrust the great stone block of her meeting table to her left, nearly crushing Tyrian in his seat. "But that wouldn't be fair now, would it? We all know who's truly to blame…"
Hazel was still defiant. "I don't-"
Salem bent her hand and summoned her beasts to her. Their arms ripped right out from the stone floor and ensnared Hazel in their grip: a dozen thin arms wrapping around him, with claws digging into his legs, his arms, even scratching up his face. Even the towering Hazel was again brought down to his knees by but a fraction of his master's will.
Perhaps he would be more honest when he remembered his place.
But no. Hazel held his tongue. He was not arguing for himself, but in defense of his comrades: sparing them having to share Cinder's shame. Even after all this time, Hazel still tried to coddle weakness rather than stamp it out.
He felt no pain- he could easily endure her torture. Salem may have been able to bend him, but she could not break him. Not with anger, not with strength…
But she could also make him watch. Salem instructed her beast's arms to turn his head ever so slightly to ensure just that.
Salem herself focused on one of the children Hazel had so eagerly defended. "Emerald… I want you to tell me whose fault this was."
The girl was already anxious just being in Salem's presence. Being addressed directly was causing her to hyperventilate. Salem fed off that fear. Every stride Salem took closer was another terrified breath from the girl's mouth.
Still, she did not indulge for long. "Now."
"C-Cinder!" Emerald quickly replied, shutting her eyes -perhaps she would be braver if she could not see Salem so close at hand. "...we failed because of Cinder."
Salem appraised the girl. She knew that was a difficult admission. Emerald was devoted to her mentor… and her fear had overpowered that loyalty.
Still, Salem had to ensure the message sunk in. "That's right." She walked past Emerald, drawing her left hand to rest on the girl's bare shoulder, feeling her immediately twitch. "I want you to understand that failure. I want you to understand why Cinder must be left to toil in her isolation until she redeems herself."
She threw the girl a bone. Fear may have been stronger than devotion, but without rewards for loyal service, it would be all too easy to drive them away. And Salem could certainly use someone with Emerald's talent.
But her fear kept her from seeing it. Her silver-haired brute of a companion got there first. "You mean…?"
"She's alive?" Emerald finally asked.
Watts was baffled. "You're joking. How could you know that?"
Speaking out of turn. And she thought better of him.
Fortunately, her most loyal lieutenant interceded. "Are you questioning our divine savior?!"
To further emphasize the point, Salem turned to look at him. With Hazel forced to the ground between them, she trusted someone as intelligent as Arthur Watts to get the hint.
Watts immediately corrected himself. "O-of course not. Forgive me."
Salem forgave him that. She carried on to her point. "It's important not to lose sight of what drives us: love, justice, reverence… but the moment you put your desires before my own they will be lost to you."
She looked again at Hazel. He was trying to find his way free of her Grimm's snare… a man unable to feel pain may well have been capable of escaping them, and that would not serve her lesson at all. So instead she feigned… mercy.
The beast's hands withdrew. Hazel could breathe again.
Salem strode past him. "This isn't a threat: this is simply the truth. The path to your desires is only found through me."
She heard no objection. Hazel did not protest further. Emerald did as she could to silence her whimper. Tyrian and Watts seemed again eager to kowtow at either of their queen's hands.
Salem focused on what lay ahead. Genuflection could wait. "And so we must press on: the sword under Vacuo's academy, Shade-"
"Ma'am."
Hazel again. Perhaps her mercy had gone to waste, if he was still so brazen as to dare to interrupt her…
"I have… more to report," Hazel explained.
Salem narrowed her eyes. Was it a test?
She waved both her hands, drawing portals in the floor, summoning her monsters once more to ensnare him if he spoke out of turn. Hazel watched them reach to him, but maintained his composure, forcing himself to look upon her. Not fearless, perhaps… not even defiant, really, but focused and determined. A reminder to Salem why she valued him: he was motivated.
"Qrow and the children are taking the lamp to Atlas," Hazel explained.
Hardly surprising news. Tyrian merely giggled. "Not if I can help it."
But Hazel was not done. For a brief moment he averted his gaze. Not because he feared to say it… but because this particular statement was something that mattered to him, something that affected his otherwise cold focus.
The only thing that unified them. The only thing that wounded Salem and hurt Hazel Rainart in all the world.
"And they're being led… by Ozpin," Hazel finished, again finding Salem's eye.
There was the reason for his fealty. The reason Salem knew she could torture, belittle, and humble him and he would continue to faithfully execute her will. He may have lacked fear… but he did not want for anger.
Anger for the only man in the world Salem truly hated. Anger for the only man she ever loved.
The room briefly fell silent. The storm raged within Salem before it would be released for her court to behold. There was no stopping it: merely saying his name had set this in motion.
"So soon?" Tyrian wondered.
"He's the only man with a chance of getting through to Ironwood," Watts realized. "If that happens-"
He was abruptly cut off by cracks appearing in the glass panes of Salem's meeting room. The others glanced around the room, watching them appear at every window. Salem herself pointed her head down, her open palms turning to clenched fists. When she looked up at her followers again, she curtly bid: "Leave."
"Your Grace, I can-" Tyrian offered, only to stop himself as black Aura rose from his master's back. He quickly thought better off speaking his piece.
Emerald was still terrified, unable to move. Hazel firmly took hold of her shoulder and quietly commanded: "Come on." He gently moved her towards the double doors, back to the hall. He continued to shield her with his massive frame as he ushered her out.
So protective. So… paternal.
Salem remembered the sight well, of the father's hand on the daughter's back, sneaking out from their room…
Mercury, Watts, and Tyrian needed no such prompting. They headed for the door, hoping their feet would be swifter than their master's wrath.
When they hid behind the doors, Salem briefly allowed herself to calm, to draw breath, to remind herself that this fight was eternal; his reemergence inevitable.
It did not quell her. Her rage erupted, shattering every pane of glass from her roar.
Ozpin had returned. What face did he wear now, she wondered?
If Hazel had seen him, then perhaps it would make no difference. He could destroy the wizard's new vessel before he put two of the relics out of Salem's reach.
She continued to draw labored breaths. Rage could be so… vexing.
Now that her followers were out of sight -and would be so until she called for them- she would need to find some other outlet for her anger… and when dwelling on that man, there was so much hatred to burn through.
Another Time and Place
She came to him after spurning someone else; someone whose attraction she did not return. When friendship and compassion were not enough, she met the rest with weary resignation, humoring then unwanted attention knowing that there'd be a means to ease her frustration later.
And he was ever so concerned with her well-being, so of course he gave her the time she needed to vent.
Glynda had a stressful, demanding job. Being an instructor at a combat school was time-consuming enough, but doing all the administration of a deputy headmistress and rotating patrol duties for the kingdom of Vale sapped all her day away.
She buried herself in her work. She had no opportunity for a social life, for the complexities of a partnership. She barely had time to see her residence outside the school. She could only turn her eye inward.
He hadn't exactly cultivated that mindset -the devotion to duty was wholly her own- but he'd never encouraged her to find a better balance in her life. He'd allowed her to abandon that hope for anything but her chosen vocation. And he knew that sooner or later…
Things began as they always did: when tempers flared, when frustration mounted, when things bottled up finally needed release. And when they were done they dressed themselves back up and went right back to the personas they held at every other moment.
Glynda visiting his chambers was hardly unusual. She reported to him so frequently -so faithfully- that he never had the expectation she visited him for any reason but business. But eventually… inevitably…
On this night when he opened his door, she was not holding her Scroll or a stack of papers or had her arms crossed in preparation for some long, moralizing speech. Her hands were behind her head, already starting to undo her bun and let her hair flow out.
He was convinced he was the only one who ever saw her with her hair down. Glynda so insisted on her appearance being immaculate that she would instantly correct anything out of place before students -or even faculty- noticed. Her attired was flattering -in some places even revealing- but it was all carefully arranged to ensure it remained in place through long lectures and physical training in combat class. Ozpin never even tried to undo it: he merely waited for Glynda to use her Semblance to disrobe herself.
Before that, however, he had to wave her inside. With her hair down and her eyes so plaintively fixed on him, it was hard for him to even consider any other course of action.
When she stepped inside, she used her telekinesis to shut the door behind her. She needed to take that extra step -psychologically- to cut herself off from one world and be in another. She wouldn't shed her frosty exterior without the certainty no one else would see what lay beneath it. And she trusted him not to tell her secrets: she trusted him so completely… and she had given herself to him just as completely.
He began to disrobe. He took his time, to subtly remind her that she would be at his beck and call… and she all too willingly locked herself into that position. She had spent so long as his deputy, as subordinate to him, that she was not so capable of taking the lead. She had moments where she was aggressive, times when she was needy and pressed him to act… but she tended to prefer it when he was in charge. It was a consistency behind closed door as much as it was in the day to day.
What was not consistent was what Glynda became in isolation. Submissive, perhaps… but also ravenous.
Exactly the way he preferred her company.
She shed her carefully arranged attire, dropping it haphazardly on the floor. She climbed into bed with him, and they set at once to work.
They shared no kiss. They exchanged no intimate look. Their intentions were far less complex.
Ozpin caressed her only long enough for her excitement to mount. He hesitated in the act only long enough to ensure the feeling would be all the more intense for the anticipation and forethought. She'd allowed her frustrations to mount, and enough time had passed since their last dalliance to leave him pent up with his own desires… and they set to work.
She made a good proxy. Though at times he felt guilty thinking of someone else, he worked through it. His lust was always stronger than his guilt.
He preferred to take her from behind, to firmly grip the back of her head with one hand and her ample chest with the other. He shed his calm, reserved demeanor and became just as fervent as she was in pursuit of this base pleasure. With every movement of their bodies his bedposts racked the wall, digging sharply into the wood and leaving dark scars.
He hadn't bothered to count the notches on his bedpost. Glynda had sated him for many years now, but she was only the latest. It wasn't Glynda's name he thought with each pointed thrust.
Glynda was a beautiful woman. But he only saw her blonde hair, her buxom form, her green eyes… and the rest he filled in himself. When she kept her glasses on he reached over and removed them for her, to better create the illusion. Burying his head into her shoulder and pulling tightly on her hair and squeezing her left breast and feeling her heart thunder in his hand… it helped complete the illusion. It aided in his motivation and intensified his pleasure.
On some level, he suspected she knew she was being used. But she was content to be so, because it helped her stay committed to her choices. If she had a means to relieve her stress and to quiet her own doubts, then Glynda Goodwitch could overlook the impropriety constantly going on between them. Because she could separate herself in her master's bedroom from herself every other waking moment, she could carry on.
When he lingered too long at her flesh and took in her scent, he knew Glynda was not the woman he coveted. She was just a bedwarmer, just another follower whose devotion and faith turned into a different value…
He could still derive pleasure from her. He just had to bury thought and memory all the more, and focus wholly on the act. He had to intensify things to the point that he could -however briefly- not reminisce. He had to allow himself to be consumed by feeling and act wholly on instinct. Only then could he forget.
He pushed her head down into the mattress, away from him. He drew his opposite hand away from her chest and dug it into the sheets to anchor himself as he continued to press into her, speeding up, listening to the way their hips constantly slapped against each other and the pressure mounted.
She wanted this too: not to think. She gave him control, she put herself in his hands… just as she always would.
That thought made it easier to let himself go. Hearing her cry as he felt his release assured him that she got exactly what she needed too.
But it was only the beginning. A single moment was not enough to quell his memory. He used his own Aura to rebuild himself, to start again immediately, to replace one thought with the present, to make it as all-consuming as he could.
It always went this way. He started trying to recapture a feeling then used the present to replace it, racing away from the past and trying so desperately to forget.
Glynda never knew. She thought it was simply him needing an outlet, just as she did. She endured each tighter grip and each unexpected burst of strength because she knew when they were spent, when they turned from each other, when she stepped out of his chamber door… they went right back to their duty and their bond. He her mentor, she his trusted colleague and ally.
The night wore on. For a brief moment, he was able to forget. For a brief moment, he could pretend like he cared for the woman in his bed and not the one he'd kept picturing in her place.
He rolled off her after one final exertion and allowed himself to rest, his demons quieted… for the moment. Glynda stepped into his bathroom to clean herself, to make herself as prim and proper, to re-adorn herself in all her finery before she went back out his door.
Ozpin watched her leave through one weary eye, the image becoming blurrier when he removed his spectacles and set them on his nightstand. From afar, in his weary haze, he could almost see what he missed…
Glynda pulled her hair up into a tight bun. Ozpin turned his gaze away and nestled into his pillow, listening for the sound of her closing his bedroom door and heading down the hall to her own staff apartment. And just like that, none of it would have ever happened. The next day would be no different from any other.
And tonight, at least, he would sleep, and try not to dream.
Mistral
Oscar opened his eyes, his head flat against his pillow. It was still dark out -he wasn't sure of the time- but he could make out enough of the details of his room. He woke in a different bed than the one he'd fallen asleep in…
No, it was becoming clearer now. He went to bed early after dinner, after making egg dishes for Qrow's hangover, after listening from afar while Yang went off with Ruby and the rest of her team and talked about clothes -or something to that effect- and Nora and Ren finally emerged from isolation to eat. Oscar had been so appeased -and so worn down- by the day's events that he hadn't put any thoughts in her head. He'd been quiet and aloof, but it seemed no one had noticed it. Yang was occupied, Qrow was drunk, and Nora was still so concerned and focused on Ren recovering from his injury.
So why had he just remembered being… Beacon? Vale? Places he'd never been. Places he knew intimately.
The memory so pristine, so eidetic…
"Ozpin?" Oscar tentatively asked.
As I promised you.
"What was that?" Oscar inquired, sitting up in his bed, resting against the bedpost and rubbing his hair from his eyes.
The past… and the future, if that is what you want.
A moment's pause. The only sound Oscar's own breathing.
I have advised you on this already, because I know exactly the path you are going down. You didn't even need my prompting to get there.
"Who was that woman?" Oscar inquired.
Glynda Goodwitch, my deputy Headmistress at Beacon. She -along with Qrow and his teammates- was one of my first recruits when enlisting allies in the fight against Salem and her cabal. She… well, I can't say we were ever on equal footing as you are to Yang. She never quite moved out of the mindset that I was to be heeded. When we met, I was already her Headmaster.
"She was your student?" Oscar asked, perplexed.
Yes, Ozpin bluntly confirmed. I was not much older than you are now when I became head at Beacon. Glynda enrolled as a student near the same time as Qrow and his nieces' parents. And later in life, we…
Oscar wasn't sure how to feel. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know all the details.
We all have our vices. It seems this is a rare case where the man I incarnated into already shared them with me. The same blunt, reckless desire… the same desperation for… oblivion.
Oscar didn't dwell on what the implications were. Ozpin may have been revealing more than usual, but he remained frustratingly vague… almost enjoying the mystique he'd crafted. But so long as he was willing to be more honest than usual..
Oscar asked the obvious question: "Why? Why… any of it?"
At times, the fight seems a hopeless one. Humanity's plight is mostly of their own making. And given even I am prone to repeating my mistakes, I can hardly claim experience makes them any more likely to learn. This, Oscar, has been my means of coping with my own… certainty that some aspects of this life never change. And knowing what I ask them to do in my name -and what efforts Salem will go to so that she might eliminate me- encourages me not to get attached.
"So… why have you been pushing so hard for me to do it differently?" Oscar wondered. "If… if we're going to have to coexist forever, why wouldn't you just… prepare me for that?"
I wanted you to make this choice for yourself. There are so many tasks ahead where you will not have that option. If the base, if the simple is all you want… I understand. I am no longer going to impede you from doing as you will when you have the privilege to choose.
But if you want anything more complicated than just this, you will need to decide soon. Eventually this will feel normal, and you will forget any reason you had to try anything else.
Oscar took a moment to dwell on it all. He knew what he'd wanted from all the girls he'd interacted with, and had never really stopped to think much past that simple act. He wanted their bodies, and the pleasure they would offer… and never really wondered what else they could do. His interest was an instinct, devoid of so much as the consideration for the consequences of doing so. His only thought had been pursuit of the act.
But he had confided in Yang before, and she had been a comfort to him then. When she entrusted her own vulnerability to him, he had -however briefly- wanted to be the strong one when Yang had finally allowed herself to surrender the reins.
It wasn't a cogent, rational thought. It had been an instinct too… but perhaps a nobler one than only wanting her to be…
What had Ozpin thought of Glynda? A 'bedwarmer?'
"Glynda…" Oscar mused. "Did you use this… magic of ours' on her too?"
I never had to. I am… far more practiced than you are, Oscar. Words can be every bit as powerful as a spell, especially when you know what someone else wants to believe.
Oscar thought on it.
Nora had taken him in -more than any of the others- from the moment he walked through the door. In one of her long winded stretches she'd mentioned she and Ren were orphans: she may well have been quick to adopt others as her own. He recalled seeing Weiss summon a defeated Grimm and rejoin the battle at Haven -after being nearly fatally stabbed- and thought her brave and… poised. Ruby's encouragement of him, her support of him simply for making the effort to try when faced with something that seemed impossible… those were not feelings he could so easily quantify. Those were positive senses not rooted in base intent. There was appreciation there untainted by longing.
And yet at one time or another he'd planted a thought in Nora's and Ruby's heads. He may well have done the same to Weiss, had he the opportunity… even dwelling on the possibility made him wonder what he might've been able to see if he did.
The pleasure he'd felt with Yang was incredible; the greatest he'd ever known. And yet still he coveted more…
And Ozpin told him that if he wanted to, he could. He could have everything he wanted and more, and eventually he wouldn't even need magic to get it.
Ruby, Nora, Weiss, Yang… he considered all of them his friends. Did Ozpin feel the same way about Glynda or… there must have been others, but one was enough to get the point across. It was a strange thought to be so detached, to think of a woman -of another person- as a tool; a vessel for your own gratification.
No wonder he'd tried so hard not to think. The more he dwelled on the possibility, the more he wondered if he'd like himself the further he went. Ozpin -in his memory, assuming it was all real- had never once spoken to Glynda. He hadn't even been thinking of her at all, only the act.
Not so different from what Oscar himself had wanted… what he'd… encouraged Yang and Nora to do.
After Nora had taken him. After Yang had trusted him with her doubt.
Oscar was not so certain he did not already dislike himself.
The fight would carry on the rest of his life: Ozpin already seemed resigned to that. Yang may well have been willing to devote her life to the battle too… would they never speak about any substantive matter again? Would they just… act?
It was so very tempting to do just that. To be simple. To not think.
But he was thinking. He got to make the choice.
Oscar sat there a long while, waiting to listen for Ozpin to say something. The silence was far louder.
He reached to his nightstand, for his Scroll, for… the possibility to act and quell such troublesome doubt. It was still very early, before any of them would wake. If he wished it…
Oscar typed a message to Yang: are you awake?
A long pause. He could hardly blame her for sleeping now.
But she had been troubled too. Even the passion they'd known -the simple act of their bodies intertwined- could not ease her thoughts for any longer but a few fleeting moments. She had her doubts too, and did not have the luxury of another person's memories showing her where her actions led.
What's up?
Either she had already been drawn from slumber or Oscar's request brought her from it. Either she had been in need of someone to reach for her or she had quickly offered her hand to someone else in need.
Just as Ozpin told him: devoted. Loving.
A word Ozpin had discarded. A word Oscar hadn't yet thought to use.
Oscar wasn't certain he'd bring that up just yet. But he did think perhaps they could try something… different than they had. Something they had done only once -really only once- and not again. Something he may well have been willing to discard too, when he thought of something… simpler instead.
Can we talk?
A moment's pause. Had she wished for it? Or had she feared it?
Which thought bothered him more?
A sound in the hall, moving across the carpet. A gentle tapping on his door.
Oscar wasn't sure if it would've been easier to keep communicating through words on a screen. If Yang were to enter his room and the two of them were to be alone, with very little risk of anyone knowing they were and hours before they woke…
He reminded himself there was more to Yang than just her burning flesh. So many times he'd wanted to feel her heart beating, and know not only that he was alive, but that his lover felt something too.
Oscar opened the door and waved her in. Yang stepped in and walked over to his bed, sitting down and looking up at him.
Expecting… more of the same? Wanting more?
No, he was jumping to conclusions. He knew why he asked for her company; he just needed to commit himself to seeing it through. He had only to remember that there was more they could do together.
Even if it was scary, even if it was complicated, even if it wasn't the first thing he thought of when he looked at her…
"I was thinking about yesterday," Oscar began. "And the day before that… and all of it. And we promised we'd… talk and we never did."
It was so terrifying to bring it up. Why was it so scary just to talk?
She'd already seen him act the fool. She'd already seen moments when he'd been calm and confident.
Maybe he just needed to stop trying to craft some image of himself and just… be that person he kept pushing aside.
"Yeah…?" Yang slowly inquired.
"And I… I'm afraid to talk, because some part of me thinks that if we do, somehow -I don't know how, I just think it might happen- it screws everything up and it ruins this really, really great thing we have," Oscar explained. "But I… I woke up early and couldn't go back to sleep and I've just been lying here thinking about it…"
Should he have told her everything? Ozpin? The spell? The memory? The fear?
If she knew that she'd only made love to him because he put the suggestion in her head… how could she think anything else but she had been manipulated? He may have used the power unconsciously before -discovering it entirely by accident- but by the time he bid Yang stay with him, it had never so much as crossed his mind to think what she would have done without his guiding hand.
If he got there… if he felt like he could tell her that and she wouldn't hate him after she knew…
"...and I don't know what you're feeling and I realize it's because I never really stopped to ask," Oscar continued. "And I'm… I'm tired of not knowing and don't ever, ever want you to think I don't want to know how you're doing and just wanted you for… for things like this."
He tried to think of a better finish than that; something more uplifting than his sputter. But he couldn't quite manage.
"Are you… uh, are you… getting that?" Oscar tried to string his thoughts together.
He briefly considered pushing her to understand. How easier things might've been if she could find his rambling endearing rather than confusing.
But he reminded himself that he was being sincere. If Yang wasn't allowed to be sincere in return…
What if she wanted to stop? Not only to slow down, not only to stop and think, not only to talk… but to stop? Would he be so willing not to use his power then?
Ozpin was right when he called this an addiction.
Yang took a deep breath. Oscar did his utmost to keep his attention on her eyes… half-lidded, hidden by her unkempt bangs, but focused on him. He tried to envision what she thought… to see if maybe he could anticipate it rather than try to present it himself. To trust Yang to be herself, and not what he crafted of her.
"I get it," Yang affirmed. "I'm… I've been scared too, because I'm really not in as good a place as I thought I'd be, and maybe… maybe all the stuff we've been doing has been helping me cope, but it's not… it's not normal and I want to try to find a way for things to be… more normal with us. Maybe decide what we actually are and… actually know each other when we're not alone together."
Oscar tried to hide how reassured he'd been, but in trying to be unguarded, he was certain Yang had noticed. He didn't know if she was looking to him to be stronger than she was or wanted him to feel vulnerable too…
The uncertainty only sowed further doubt. But he tried not to simply bury it with action. He tried to find some way to… live with the anxiety surrounding him. To be okay not knowing where things would go when another person had the agency to choose too.
Oscar moved over to sit on the bed with her. He reached over to find her hand.
Strength… or support. Both and neither. A hand to hold might reassure both the one reaching out and the one being held.
"So…" Oscar began, "Do you like… stuff?"
"Stuff?" Yang repeated.
Oscar quickly tried that one again. "You know… stuff. I'm… I didn't have a lot of spare time on the farm -there were always so many chores to do- but when I got done for the day I'd… I'd usually try reading a book. Did you… have any hobbies like that?"
Just a stream of consciousness. As much honesty as he could release at once.
"I… I did something sort of like that, sure," Yang nodded. "We… we didn't have a farm but we had a little cabin and grew a lot of our own food. And since we lost our mom pretty young, I had to do a lot… and I did like to read too, even if that was more for Ruby than me."
A recollection of another life. The possibility of a common bond.
"Will you tell me about that?" Oscar asked. "Just… walk me through what your day was like."
Yang nodded. "Okay."
She shifted a bit, getting more comfortable. Her shoulder brushed against Oscar's as she found her groove to lean upon… not for the first time, Oscar wished he was taller.
Still, Yang seemed content with the comfort of his presence. Oscar tried to reassure himself with that.
"Our dad grows sunflowers," Yang began. "Every morning I'd go out with him with a pail and water them, because they were something I was happy to see each day…"
Evernight
It took her hours to calm; to let the violent energies within her sink back into her soul and regain her composure. Once she was certain her wrath had vanished, Salem left her council chambers, ignoring the damage caused by her outburst. She may have eventually set to repair it, but that was not her priority. She doubted she'd assemble her followers again anytime soon: she'd give them assignments and send them off to do their queen's will. Restoring her keep could wait for a time they were more likely to be assembled again.
Salem spent a long time wandering the halls. In her territory, she did not see the sun move around the globe: but she suspected it was still night, if only for her followers. Emerald, Mercury and Arthur were asleep… Tyrian and Hazel were probably still awake. One burdened by the weight of his devotion, the other constrained by his failures.
She cared not what they did with their idle time. If they were ready to serve when called upon, if they had no other master, if they remained loyal… they were free to their own pursuits. Such was the reward of those who'd sit at her table, willingly entering into the house of a witch… a monster.
Salem did not always care for that perception, but it did not usually trouble her. When the dark ichor that bound the Grimm to her was unleashed, mingled with her magic and fed by her wrath… she did think the chaos altered her into something she did not wish to be. A monster she may have been, but not one indifferent to the person she had to look upon.
She entered her bedchamber and took a moment to appraise herself at her dresser -a relic of another life, of another woman- and saw the way the black blood lashed into her skin, how the tendrils in her hair poked through the braids… how chaos had unbalanced her.
Salem sat before her mirror and opened the ancient wooden furniture beneath it, searching for something that she rarely deigned to use… something she rarely acknowledged was hers' and never revealed -not even to her most loyal and trusted allies- that she had… something that might undermine their fear, something that might lead her to admit she still had some shred of humanity…
She still wore a necklace. She still braided her hair. She still bothered to hem her dress and make her appearance flattering. She still kept something so mundane as a brush; something so vain as a mirror.
She was not always a monster. She knew some would consider her such, she knew some feared her for the transformation she had undergone… for the pale skin and the burning, hateful red eyes and her own self-styled title as the queen of the Grimm…
Salem did not often indulge. But she needed now to think herself something else. She needed now to aspire to more.
She took time to run the tool through her hair. She went to her bath and drew water, to cleanse herself and restore the scent not of a Grimm, not of an ancient thing… but of a woman.
It was weakness. It was indulgence. It was fear masquerading as something greater.
She was not always a monster.
Salem drew from her bath and readorned herself, dressing in all her finery… the necklace, the regal gown… but her hair she left untouched, save to dry enough and fall straight back upon her neck and past her shoulders. She only brushed it until it was even, until it looked more as it once had, though she eschewed any tails, or buns, or anything more than caring for the appearance just enough…
Once she was content, she stood up from her dresser and stepped out from her chamber down the hall.
To… indulgence.
Mistral
She replied immediately to them, even in the early hours of the morning. The spiders did not know if she slept -they had not found where in the city she dwelled. They didn't know if the contact she provided was her own number or someone else's, where she had come from, or even her name. They only knew she had Lien pilfered from a great hoard, and for her pay they kept their eyes affixed for what passed near their web.
Lil' Miss Malachite herself insisted on the meeting. Even well earlier than she liked, she was eager to do business: to keep this unknown element in her good graces. Until she knew where this one slept, she was fine taking her money for the service of locating some out of towners.
One thing had left her considering the alternative: another, large brute of a man had asked about some of the very same people. But unlike this one, that man had vanished from the city, and seemed unreachable. He would get the information he'd paid for too, should he return… but so long as this one remained in her territory, she took priority. And Lil' Miss Malachite respected anyone who could stay outside her web, and move undetected in her domain…
She stood at the door, stepping inside without ever appearing to open it. Lil' Miss Malachite reminded herself to discipline her guards: standing aside may have been prudent, but showing any vulnerability to a client was unacceptable.
She held her tongue, focusing on the business. "Hope I didn't wake you, little miss, but I thought you'd want to know right away. One of my little spiders spotted one of the people you're looking for. out in the market the other day. That big ole' head of blonde hair was hard to miss."
Silence. Just eyes -each a different color- firmly affixed.
"There was a gentleman on her arm… not one of the girls you're looking for, but he must've been quite close," Malachite continued. "She went with him to one of those pay-by-the-hour nests… you know the type?"
Nothing.
Lil' Miss Malachite never allowed herself to be unnerved… but she was becoming increasingly eager to move on. "Cute little farm boy, I hear… a bit on the short side. Maybe your blonde friend there has a type."
Her client did not share the humor. She impatiently tapped a parasol against the floor.
"We don't know where they went after that, but she's here in this city," Malachite assured. "You need anything more than that?"
A gentle shake of the head. The girl's other hand moved swiftly, flinging something at Malachite… something that landed on her table and clattered on the wood: more Lien cards. The other half of the bounty.
"I like dealing with serious people," Malachite said with a grin. "I'll keep you in the loop in case we get a better lead… for another round of your generosity, of course."
The girl hoisted her parasol up to her shoulder, opening it over her head. She gently bowed -only slightly inclining her head- before heading back through the door, this time stepping out through the frame and giving Malachite the chance to see her step out into the street.
An unstable element… an unpredictable, imperceptible thing… but not someone anyone seemed interested in.
That was unnerving too, to not know anything about the person who'd employed her services. It was all the more concerting at a time when Huntsmen all over Mistral were turning up dead…
Still, until she knew where this monster dwelled, Malachite had little choice but to appease her. And if her fury was focused elsewhere, perhaps her little spiders could observe this girl and assess her threat in the meantime.
She had quite a fortune if she was so eager to spend her Lien on someone so inconsequential… and there were four others she was trying to find, including a Faunus girl who might've been with that big crowd of them who came by from Menagerie…
There was a game being played here, and a profit to be made. Just not the most desirable partner to play the game with.
Blake had not slept well. The first time staying in an unfamiliar place… she'd had the same response her first night at Beacon. She'd feigned trying to sleep eventually, but spent the whole night reading or staring at the ceiling. This strange house in Mistral… things had gone a little better, but she'd still been wake for intermittent stretches, maybe hours at a time.
She told herself it was simply the adjustment. Or the mental exhaustion from the fight at Haven, the departure of her parents…
She could've stayed with Sun and Ilia at Haven. That might've been a greater comfort than…
Than… what? Her other dearest friends?
No, she knew why she was awake. She knew why staying in this house made her uncomfortable.
Yang had been staying in the same room as Ruby. Blake doubted she and Oscar had… done anything in the night, certainly not with Yang's baby sister so close at hand. They'd only acted out when they thought they were alone.
Blake remembered how difficult it was to find the time when gathered up with an even larger crowd. She and Adam had ventured far from their camps, found a place where no sensitive ears would catch them…
The thought made her shudder. But it was the only frame of reference she had, and at one time she had enjoyed the thrill of the chase…
Was that what Yang and Oscar had? Were they so in love as to need those little moments of stolen time: to need a chance to express themselves without thinking about how others would perceive them?
Her ears caught the sound of a flicker: a flame on a stovetop. Someone was starting breakfast already?
It might've been Ren… for all his frequent naps, he was an early riser. And he'd make for good company for someone who didn't want to talk… to be alone with her thoughts yet give them no voice. That was a thought that appealed to Blake right then.
She rolled out of bed and pulled on her coat. She stepped out into the hall, listening to the clanging of metal, the boiling of water, the fresh sizzle of meat in a pan.
And to a… giggle?
"Then -you really had to see this- Nora puts a watermelon on the stick," Blake heard Yang's voice. "That thing hit like a truck: she sent me straight up through the ceiling and I had to miss the rest of the fight!"
"What? But you told me Team RWBY won!" came Oscar's disbelieving reply.
"We did! But that was down to Rubes using her Semblance and I wasn't there for that," Yang elaborated. "I didn't land until after Glynda and Oz showed up and put the place back together. She chewed me out for a minute straight about leaving a hole in the ceiling after she went to the trouble to fix everything…"
"Right… Glynda… Oz told me a bit about her," Oscar affirmed, moving the skillet on the flame, shaking the strips, coating them in the sizzling grease.
"Oh, really? Does he talk to you about everybody?" Yang inquired. Her curiosity would've been apparent even without Blake's particularly advantageous hearing.
"Well… he might've mentioned you all once or twice," Oscar nervously replied.
"Well come on, spill," Yang insisted. "What'd he say about me?"
"Of course you'd go there…" Oscar murmured.
"C'mon!" Yang insisted.
Blake didn't mean to eavesdrop, but if anyone would offer an objective appraisal of Yang… sometimes she couldn't help but indulge her curiosity.
"He said you were very… devoted," Oscar replied.
"...is that all?" Yang sounded disappointed.
"... he thinks you're okay?" Oscar suggested.
"Ha, I'll bet he does…"
This was the Yang she had expected to hear: the more playful and boisterous, rather than the quiet, reserved person Blake had mostly avoided interacting with a day prior. To see -well, hear- her come alive again…
Blake remembered the food fight well. She had heard Sun bring it up to her mother when he filled her in about the adventures of Team RWBY… while Blake held back around the corner, just as she was now, reminiscing, missing those days… and saying nothing.
Her mother came and found her, sending her out to talk to someone she'd needed to talk to… and just before she got back on the boat to Menagerie, Kali told her not to get lost in her thoughts, especially around her friends.
They were alone now. Blake could easily inform them of what she knew… what they could entrust her with…
"I'm going to go kick Ruby out of bed," Yang told him. "Get ready: she's gonna want to know what Oz said about her too."
"Oh, no way," Oscar quickly protested, before subtly adding: "You'll get jealous."
"Oh, that is it! You're gonna spill all his secrets for us!" Yang promised.
That Yang enjoyed Oscar's company didn't surprise Oscar. Yang had an affinity for helping the shy and timid express themselves… and for attracting the occasional bad joke.
Yang rose from the table, her chair gently screeching on the floor. Blake -instinctively- moved out of Yang's path in the hall, vanishing from sight into a separate corridor, using her Semblance to change her position without taking a step: to shift her Aura to a new place and leave naught but a quickly-vanishing shadow.
Still so quick to flee from the conversation… with someone she desperately wanted to talk to. Still unable to act…
Blake reminded herself that she'd made a plan. It hadn't been Yang she meant to speak to first…
Somehow it was easier talking to a boy she'd known for a day than a girl she'd known for months. Still… if it led her to the answers she sought…
Once she heard Yang open the door to her and Ruby's room, Blake moved into the kitchen. She didn't announce herself, but Oscar noticed her quickly. "Oh, hey, morning, Blake. You want some of this? We got bacon from the store yesterday… no eggs, though, you can thank Qrow for that…"
Blake drew a deep breath and closed her eyes.
A virtual stranger rather than one of -if not- her closest friends…
"Blake?" Oscar inquired.
Blake opened her eyes and found his. "I know about you and Yang."
Another long silence as Oscar stared back at her.
There was nothing so loud.
Evernight
Salem took the time to knock. As master of the house, it would not be improper of her to simply barge in and speak her request, yet still she took the time to observe some nicety, some accordance for her guest.
He answered the door, and could not completely conceal his surprise. He was normally so ambivalent, so disaffected -even here surrounded by Grimm- but even he could not miss that Salem had come to his door at an unexpected time, not with the calm, commanding demeanor he was used to… but a softness in her eyes. Even bloody red could be plaintive… longing.
This was a dangerous move to make… to value one of her cabal above the others. Worse still, to reward someone who defied her; who did not fear her.
He wasn't afraid of monsters.
But was he afraid of women?
Salem reached her hand up to caress Hazel's cheek with her palm. She had quite a distance to stretch, he was so tall. So… fierce, so strong.
Hazel kept his eyes fixed on hers'. He was curious… but not apprehensive. Had he been here before? Had he ever wanted this?
He'd been so devoted to his mission, so quiet in pursuit of his revenge… she had not taken the time to wonder if Hazel ever wanted such a life. A man who gave up his life to revenge had long ago accepted he'd never have hearth and home or wife and child. He settled for smaller comforts.
Salem only knew she'd never have them again. And as for smaller comforts…
Salem did not want anything small. She wanted something that could match her, that could suffer her wrath and not only live, but rise again.
Hazel's Semblance blocked out all pain. The only danger in enduring Salem's anger was in it being great enough to consume him.
It wasn't anger that she wished to show him now. It was something even simpler than that.
Salem leaned up to kiss him, sliding her hand back behind his head to grip his short, graying hair. She meant for him to be fierce, and wanted to set the mood right away… digging her nails deep and firmly pulling out a few strands.
She appreciated that time had weathered him. She wanted a man who'd lived through a few seasons.
She appreciated how he protected Cinder's wayward children in Cinder's absence. She'd coveted a man who defended the young in her house.
But more than anything, she appreciated his strength. She wanted someone who could not only endure her, but someone who could return her affection with force.
Salem moved Hazel to his bed with a wave of her hand, just in case he thought he had any agency. He would not hate this experience, but as Salem promised… all his desires would only flow through her.
She climbed into his bed, sliding herself over him. He was much easier to approach lying flat on his back, where the distance of size didn't seem so troubling…
Hazel understood quickly. He moved with her, sliding one massive hand to the back of her waist. Salem reached up to the shoulders of her robe, sliding her arms from the sleeves and pushing the garment down, letting it fall and exposing her chest.
She did not know if he would desire her, pallid and cold like death… but there had always been a way to reaffirm it. Salem reached down to pick up his other hand to press against her left breast, to feel the softness of her skin and to know her heart was racing.
To know the witch, the being of infinite destruction was still alive under the veneer. To know that even in a place of endless night, life could be found… and connected.
Hazel's massive fingers dug into her chest. Salem moaned as she dug her nails into the back of his hand, bidding him press only harder. She so desperately needed to remember how it felt.
Hazel took some charge, leaning in to kiss her neck. Salem moved one hand to wrap behind his neck, holding him close, feeling the warmth of his flesh… remembering what it was to be with a man and feel his hunger… for her.
An indulgence. A weakness.
Salem drew both hands down to rip open his shirt and expose his chest. She moved almost as quickly to find his belt and unbuckle it.
Hazel finished tugging Salem's robe down. All the effort she put into her appearance… all that care just for this moment when thought gave way to passion.
When she pulled down his pants and saw what awaited her, Salem knew there would be pain.
She coveted that too.
Salem climbed atop him without fear. She dug her nails into his shoulders knowing that he would suffer no damage… unless he wanted to. He would be her vessel on this endless night, and she his outlet.
Both of them alone save memory and desire… remembering what it was to feel alive.
She was not always a monster.