Don't worry, I'm not done with this story yet. No, though I may only make piddling progress, in the spirit of the First World War I will continue to throw myself into headlong into my efforts even at the cost of thousands of brain cells!
But seriously. I am not sure how much of a chance I'll get to write in the near future (And sweet jebus, it feels like half this chapter is notes). Part of the reason I've not been updating is because I am switching jobs (the other part is crippling lack of inspiration with this year's crisis both internal and external). Even once I actually start, the job is promising to be quite a doozy that might not leave me with either time or energy to write (though perhaps a good story or two).
That being said, forgive me for being frazzled. I really, really have to thank all of you who put up with me, giving me support in my futile efforts. This is something that I don't say enough. And even now, I realize that I never answered the reviewer who asked about Tandey. Here it is:
Tandey's story is still regarded with a lot of skepticism. While he was theoretically in the right time and place to have encountered Germany's future chancellor, he probably will not be in the right time and place to meet our huntress crew. That being said, since there are no modern communications, Adam will need to surround himself with competent people who he can trust to deliver a message. Who's to say that a certain dispatch runner who was decorated with the Iron Cross might make it into his entourage? *WINK, WINK* (Yeah, I think we all need some therapeutic Nazi beatdown right about now).
Besides, there are LOTS of other awesome personalities in WWI that I will try to take advantage of alongside some maybe-not OC's. And yes, I am thinking about a certain kleptomaniac Aussie and a Native American who also happened to be the top-ranking sniper of the war. IDK, really, I'm just making this up as I go.
In the words of Mustafa Kemal, "I do not expect you to read, I expect you to die!"- er, or something like that…
Hark, quiet, Eric, Erik, ere this morning you were
Awake. Sick? Tired, are you? Rest. I shall take your place.
Lo, and is that Luke, Lucio, Luther, lying over there?
His golden hair has grown so long, like fields of wheat.
Peter, Pyotr, dearest Pete, your stubble prickles me
As I kiss your sallow cheek, like barbed wire lain bare.
Michael, Michele, Mikael, my friend why do you stare
So blankly at the sky that your blue eyes turn gray?
Pray mind John, Juan, gentle Johan, he sleeps
Sturdy as a mountain. But what fragile a beast
As are we all. I am tired now, too, and I fear
You shall not come when I call. My turn, is it?
Then come, Carl, Karl, Carlo, cruel life, love
Embrace me, with your hands around my neck- [1]
The tip of his pencil broke, a snap causing him to blink.
Seph stared at the jagged tail of his cursive for a few seconds before sighing and marking his page with the broken tool. He set them off to the side and picked up what remained of his supper, the bread crust having soaked long enough in the cold broth that he could at least chew it. Though as the minutes dragged on and the stale flavor lingered, he wondered.
Time was moving on. The seasons were changing; he could smell it in the meager draft which came in through the one window perched high on the opposite wall- less a window and more of a vent. His residence was more a stall than stocks. And again, it remined him of home.
It would be Fall soon, and all that came with it.
With spoon and wooden expression he pushed the sorry excuses for carrots around the bowl. Nothing like the ones they used to grow when he was still a child that had been as big as his forearm and as sweet as fruit. These were skinny, tasteless, boiled to oblivion and used as filler. Fodder. Hardly worth the effort of eating- or in this case, not.
Lifting himself along the brick wall, Seph poured the diced carrots into his hand and set the bowl aside. There was another window on this side which mirrored the other, iron bars and all. He moved the room's three-legged wooden stool underneath it and climbed up, stuck his arm through the grate up to his elbow,
And waited.
"Tht-tht-tht-tht." He clucked with his tongue against his teeth, leftover stewed carrots scooped in his fingers jiggling like bells.
Hot breath brushed the back of his hand, a strong and pebbled tongue snaked out to lick his palm clean. It was replaced by stout teeth which nipped at him gently. And he apologized with a pat to the muzzle which remained within reach.
"Sorry, girl." He sighed. But the mare in the other stall butted its head resolutely against his knuckles, insisting that it wasn't a problem.
These were his assumptions, anyway, unable to actually see the beast through the wall that separated them. A lifetime of being around animals gave him the impression.
Seph acknowledged that he had spent most of his years in one field, or another. He hadn't been big enough to work the plow by himself before his father died and he'd moved on to hauling coal. Then artillery shells, crates of ammo many times his own weight, the limp bodies of friend and foe alike.
In the war he'd put his husbandry skills to use, cajoling horses that would have been retired from the plow into pulling the 75mm cannons across tortured ground. He'd coaxed a canteen full of milk from the distended udder of an old dairy cow that should have been put out of its misery a long time ago. He'd butchered men like pigs.
Blood from a stone- did he really expect reprieve? Mercy?
"No, it is not fair," He whispered once again and a stubborn snort was his answer, the mare laying its heavy snout in his hand to remind him once again how small he and his problems were.
The weather would turn. Another year would fade. There would be beets soon. Squash. Rutabaga, radish and yes- carrots.
But where? The lands plowed by himself and his ilk were poison. Who was left untainted to reap the crops? To think that they would just rot in the ground without anyone to care was upsetting, and there was a perturbed whiny from the other stall.
"After all, only one of us chose to be here."
"COURTMARTIAL?!"
Weiss was surprised, certainly.
Yang's outburst had caught her off-guard. And not only because she had been focused on her limited French, trying to translate for the startled staff-officer who recoiled into the bookshelf on the wall behind him.
Actually, it was fair to say it must have been worse for the well-tailored official who, until that point, had probably been lucky enough to avoid direct combat. Now the man only had a narrow desk as a bulwark between him and the blonde's explosive fury, instead of the hundreds of kilometers and mountains of paperwork keeping the Hun at bay. Hard to say which was worse.
"That's enough, Yang." Ruby sighed.
They really didn't need to draw more attention to themselves. They had been extremely lucky, in fact. More than they had any right to expect.
And yet, they were still dissatisfied.
As it turned out, the artillery barrage they had weathered a few days ago had been a French counterattack with aims to drive Adam's forces out of the city. Its rubble, anyway. There must not have been much left there to fight over. Either that, or Adam hadn't been prepared for the resistance he had encountered. Hence, the French bid to recapture the territory was an unqualified success, driving the German forces almost back to their starting point on the border.
Yet, this did little to assure Blake or any of the others who wouldn't be comfortable with anything less than a mountain range between them and Adam. And this sentiment seemed to be shared by the French troops who, even in victory, were cautiously optimistic, conversations drawn up and muted whenever they walked by.
No one said a thing about Blake's ears, for which they were immensely grateful. Incredulous, and, in fact, a little insulted, since apparently the four huntresses didn't warrant so much as a second glance after their 'capture'. Only a single rifleman was diverted to escort them to the rear lines, and he had looked bored rather than anxious.
Maybe the locals were all focused on the upcoming battle- but still, they hadn't even bothered confiscating their weapons! -Okay, maybe they somehow didn't recognize Crescent Rose in its compact form. And Ember Celica might have been passed off as chunky jewelry. But Myrtenaster flaunted itself on Weiss's hip, the sword standing proud amongst the reams of cruciform bayonets, practically calling them out for being inadequate (despite being too long to be practical otherwise) [2].
Then there was the quiet and unassuming Adjutant-Poudrier, adding salt to the wound. Even after handing over his weapons voluntarily, his 'comrades' had treated him less like a criminal and more like a dangerous animal. He had been separated from the Remnant natives at spearpoint and tossed- almost literally- into the barbed wire pen which had been hastily erected for prisoners of war, vanishing into the faces of the defeated.
Three days ago.
"Look, Yang, this guy won't be able to tell us anything," Weiss sighed, gently pulling her away from the desk jockey whose trimmed moustache was wilting like the roses in a skinny glass vase on his desk. "He's just a clerk. A paper-pusher."
Yang didn't say anything; the whole office was silent apart from the flustered clerk who was babbling such that Weiss could only guess at the incoherent patois. Other uniformed officials were watching them from their stations. Motionless and innocent like the painted cherubs on the ceiling, the stares were starting to make them feel uncomfortable.
"Tch!" Yang sent the man one last look that was so dirty it turned his starched-white collar liner yellow with sweat. "Let's go."
None of them lingered to see the two hand-shaped indents Yang left on the desk like wet concrete, nor the equally harrowed impression they had made on the remaining administrative staff. Ruby had already dashed ahead of her sister, throwing open the Baroque doors which led to the- thankfully- quiet hallway.
Too quiet [3]. It was strange and a little unsettling. Only a couple of days and few kilometers away from the recent battle, and it was like the war was a forgotten memory. Peace covered everything like how an opulent 17th century veneer was plastered over Medieval bedrock.
Ironic, considering the city was a veritable fortress- Actually, it was funny how reminiscent of home it made them feel. Though not in the good way, more like how one looks at a wax figurine in a museum with the pathological thought that it might suddenly start moving.
The place was a living museum, totally detached from any war of this century. The Third Republic's forces had taken up residence in the stone-walled castle which really did feel like it belonged in the old books about Knights. Or, conversely, perhaps from the blueprints of a less-ambitious Beacon Academy, more geared towards practicality than inspiration.
Pencils outnumbered rifles, and the military garrison seemed perfectly happy to conduct the war from the south via correspondence. So long as everyone looked official and busy. There were the occasional parades, spotless blue uniforms marching up and down the streets with the mechanical precision of the watches the city was also apparently famous for.
"This place is really beginning to tick me off…" Yang grumbled as she stomped down the hallway- and then back up again, hopefully able to figure out what their next move was before she wore through the aging floorboards.
"That's bureaucracy for you." Blake commiserated, quieter but with no less spite as she leaned against the wall out of her partner's way.
"Yes, and the military variety is even worse," Weiss chipped in, knowing from her sister that even when things went smoothly- hastily- it wasn't necessarily a good thing. "It would be easier if we didn't have to deal with them at all. But frankly, I don't see how that's possible. What do you think, Ruby?"
"Well…" Playing with a dime-sized hole in her skirt, Ruby avoided answering for a long time but grudgingly had to agree. Mainly, because it didn't feel like her partner was really giving her much of a choice.
Nor was anything else. Events had been stacking up to drag them further into conflict. Either with the world, or themselves. Which, in Ruby's opinion, might have been worse. She had been personally been fighting against her own altruistic inclinations because she believed it was the best decision for her team. But she wondered how long she could keep it up when it was becoming so clear her efforts were in vein. Or worse.
"I think-"
"Bless me- is that the King's English I hear?"
A rather cheery and not at all French voice called from the opposite end of the hall. Dislocating, a grinning man dressed like a French officer stepped out from a doorway molded to look like just another section of wall.
"Was beginning to worry I'd go the rest of my life never seeing another proper girl!" His smile was broad, more aligned with what they were used to. And unlike most of what they had encountered thus far, to them his English carried no accent. "But what on earth are such fine young women like yourselves doing here?"
"One could ask you the same," Weiss interjected before her leader began her well-meaning introductions or Yang could begin flirting. "You're not exactly from around here, are you. American?"
"Ah- sharp, this one." The man drew a roguish smile underneath his penciled-on mustache. His face was all hard angles, well-suited for the black and white- silent- cinema. "Yup. You got it. I'm from Ellington- Connecticut, that is- that is in the States- Ah! By which of course I mean the um- ahem,"
He cut off his prattling with a cough that became a chuckle. Himself not quite sure what it was meant to be, he reached up to the brim of his kepi and resettled it as he prepared a new battle strategy.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to ramble- been a while since I had to think in English. But why don't we talk more inside my office? Pardon me for saying so, but it, uh, sounds like you ladies might need a little help?" He smiled hopefully, reminding them more of someone their age asking for a hand on assignment they'd put off to the last minute than the adult he pretended to be. "And truth be told, I've been starved for good conversation for a while now."
The decision to humor him wasn't hard, weighed against the likelihood of finding someone in the region as communicative and seemingly eager to assist. Plus, there was something genuine in his pale blue eyes. Guileless.
Which, as they were coming to discover, wasn't necessarily reassuring.
It was dubious whether the five of them would even fit into his 'office', a tiny cubby of a room which, they were to understand, had been converted from a servant's passage back when the building serviced the Bourgeoise. The rehabilitated space was a third the size of their dorm, though without the beds to further crowd it. Apart from the rudimentary desk that was pushed towards the far, windowless wall, there was only an officer chair and a stool for furniture. Both of these were offered to the man's guests before he sat himself halfway onto the tabletop and faced them with another grin.
Blake stayed as close as possible to the door and the shadows, which wasn't hard considering the only light came from a couple of oil lamps on either side which fed on the stagnant and musky air. Yang took up post underneath the one on the right, crossing her arms and forcing herself to return a flickering smile.
"Sorry that I cannot offer any of the customary hospitalities," The man shrugged discomfited at the tiny space before his hands fell upon the thighs of his worsted wool breeches, rubbing out the wrinkles which had formed from sitting all day. "As you can probably guess, I'm not too high up on the totem pole around here."
"Not a problem," Ruby chirped as she perched herself on the stool, settling her rear in only to be slightly disappointed that the top didn't swivel.
"Indeed," Weiss sat down in the lattice-backed chair, settling in as if it were a throne as she stared at the officer who suddenly found his personal space firmly occupied by a foreign party. "Though as far as hospitality is concerned, you could start by telling us your name."
"Of course, of course! Ha, ha-" Spryly hopping off the desk, he clacked his polished leather heels together in a tight stance of attention while his hand flicked cheekily into a salute. "Sous-Lieutenant Martin Daguerre [4] at your service!"
His lighthearted introduction fell heavy in the room as his audience failed to blink. The young Lieutenant felt himself disarmed, dropping the salute to cover a cough.
"-And yes, I'm well aware of the irony," In reality, failing to grasp it, Daguerre leaned back against his desk as his hands began to blindly rove the tabletop. "But believe it or not, I didn't speak a lick of French before I came here. I was still attending classes at Cambridge when a couple of well-spoken representatives of the French Artillery Corps payed us a visit. We knew about the war, of course, and what the Bosch did to poor little Belgium certainly rubbed us the wrong way. What could be done, though, eh? We- the United States, wasn't at war. Not yet, anyway.
"The two Frenchie's that talked to our class certainly painted a bleak picture, though! And considering Wilson eventually caved, I guess they were right. Though even back then, I suppose the fact that they were seeking help from US college students should have been ominous enough!" He was the only one to chuckle, the huntresses not knowing enough of the nuance to decide whether it warranted it. "Ah y-you see, it wasn't that they lacked manpower, plenty of farmers and laborers, robust, strong folks to fill the ranks. That's all well and good, but they also needed people with education to lead. Especially the artillery corps who had a lack of people who could do basic calculations, trajectory for the guns and things like that.
"It was at this point that I thought: why not? I was always more of a figurer than a fighter, but I figured this was the chance to do my bit, protect civilization and all that. Plus, it was a far better opportunity than being an ambulance driver or something like that. [5]" Despite his good intentions, his dismissive tone rubbed team RWBY the wrong way; as did the way he erroneously assumed them as simple as the rank and file while he continued to proselytize, "Here's a lesson for you ladies: never be too good at what you do. Mid-way through my crash-course at artillery school, the higher-ups decided my 'talent' at making the numbers add up would be wasted in the trenches. So they transferred me over to logistics and… well, here he lies in his tomb!"
A theatrical gesture to his dimly lit workspace ended up back on his desk where his wandering hands found some loose papers. He shuffled them off to a stack before hesitating, moving them to another and then back to where they had been originally. There he might have obsessively squared the edges all day long had he not forced himself to look back at his guests.
"Now I work with thousands of guns a day- all on paper, mind. Never fired a shot in anger nor set foot in the field before they crammed me into this broom closet!" He snatched up a fountain pen and began furiously twirling it between his fingers like a baton. "The job's all well and good. Needs to be done, certainly- Ah, but rest assured, I know first-hand how boring it is, so I'll speak no more of it. I'd much rather hear about how such obviously lovely ladies ended up with this fate."
It took team RWBY a few seconds to realize that the baton- the proverbial one, not the brassy fountain pen which found itself stuck between the logistician's fingers like a cigarette- was being handed to them.
"Hi Martin- sorry, is it alright if I call you Martin? I'm Ruby, Ruby Rose!" She shot out of her stool and onto her boots, mirroring the man as she struggled to figure out whether she should return the mock salute, try and shake his hand or embarrass herself and her team with what would be an absolute disaster of a curtsy. "A-and this is my team: my sister Yang Xiao-Long over there, Blake Belladonna is the quiet one and this is my part- my friend Weiss Schnee!"
"Team?" As Martin blinked, his eyes adjusted to the light and he seemed to actually be looking at his present company for the first time. "Ah! Some sort of sports-club, is it? Does that mean that you four are students?"
"Uhh, yeah, actually, we're from-"
"Beacon Academy," Weiss interjected with an authority that made Ruby doubt the lie that was half-formed in her head. "That's in Vale."
"I- see…" The Lieutenant scratched his chin, "I'm sorry. I can't say I've heard of it," Weiss's tone was clearly making him wonder whether he had been supposed to, like how he had automatically assumed these four would be familiar with US geography before he had seen their expressions of bewilderment. He gave another nervous chuckle, again, not sure which one of them was supposed to be embarrassed. "To be perfectly honest, I didn't know what to expect when I saw you four standing out there in the hall."
And the dim light of his office did little to clarify it for him, strange outfits and foreign attitudes that he'd not yet faced stared back at him.
"I am afraid, I am still at a bit of a loss…" He croaked another chuckle like sonar, trying to search out the dark-haired woman whom he had so far barely glimpsed as she hung out in the shadows. "It sounded like quite the row out there. These walls are rather thin, as you might have discovered. Forgive me if I sound impertinent, but are you ladies… alright?"
"You mean, are we refugees?"
The Lieutenant flinched like all the unit officers he'd called out for misappropriation of funds. It was much harder to ignore than the twitch of his nose at the lack of perfumed air, but he had wanted to be more diplomatic about it.
"…Well, that is-"
"Accurate." Blake wrote off with the same callousness the Lieutenant had necessarily to take when allocating medical supplies to one unit and not another. "Truth is… we were actually caught up in the battle that took place a few days ago."
"Oh…oh, my!" Dithering aside, it was the first that Daguerre truly felt not in control of the conversation. An unorganized retreat, he fired off, "W-well. If there is anything I can do…"
"Actually, there is."
With the pursing of his lips, it was clear that this wasn't what the man had wanted to hear. A lighthearted conversation- perhaps a little bit of flirting, nothing more serious and draining than a cup of coffee at a café. He hadn't been prepared to commit actual resources such as empathy, let alone what else they might demand with aggressive passivity. A mistress could be wooed with jewelry, but these four looked like they needed a whole wardrobe, not to mention a place to store it.
While none of them would surely mind a place to hang their hats, Ruby wanted to convey the message that they were not helpless… just needed a little bit of a break.
"There was someone who helped us out before, a friend," Ruby's hands worried in her lap as she stared at the increasingly uncomfortable Lieutenant. "We escaped together, but for some reason he was arrested by the army before we got here. And now, the only thing they'll tell us is that he is going to be court-martialed, not even where he's being held or why." In the closeness of the room she leaned forward, forcing the Lieutenant to back up on his desk like a housewife afraid of a mouse. "We just want to find him!"
"I-" The man who had yet to see war couldn't seem to meet her eye and tried to look away. "I haven't heard much about the recent action, a-and I know nothing about non-coms, so I'm not actually sure what I can do-"
"Sergeant Seraphim Poudrier of the 2nd Foreign Legion Marching Regiment, 11th Company." Weiss cut off Martin's escape route, providing him with all the details he should need to get a start. "Recipient of le Croix de Guerre, second class. I am not sure if his promotion to Adjutant-Chef has gone through yet. He was in hospital when the attack came and was not assigned to a unit. Therefore, he cannot be accused of dereliction of duty. In my personal opinion, Sergent Poudrier performed above and beyond the call of duty. Even if he was out of uniform, he was a credit to the country he represented when he assisted us in our escape. And in return, he was treated like the basest of criminals by his own forces! Surely, a man so devoted to doing his bit can see the injustice in this situation?"
Lt. Daguerre pried a finger under his collar and took a deep breath. They weren't giving him much of a leg to stand on- both literally and metaphorically, with his own words being levied against him like a charge from internal affairs.
"I… can try to look into it." He cracked his eye just enough to see Weiss give him a courteous nod, which made him relax immensely. What was he getting worked up for, anyway? They weren't asking for much, after all. "Frankly…" He slid down off the table, "I'd be surprised if anything came of it. Sounds like standard procedure to me if there is any question as to who he is… since you said he wasn't in uniform?"
"Uh-huh!" Ruby backed away and nodded once with such vigor that she rocked the stool. "Blake said he came directly from the hospital. I don't think even I- er, there's anyone who can fight in those silly outfits!"
"Well then!" Martin wrote the whole thing off with a slap of his knee, scooting back to a more comfortable position on his desk- at least, one which allowed him to retain some amount of dignity. "I'd say your friend has little to worry about. Probably just a mix-up. Even if there is some kind of issue, Pétain [6] has been pretty lenient with the troops up North. And I would think that command would be far more upset with the soldiers refusing to fight, rather than one who'd be willing to go over the top in a bathrobe!"
Martin laughed easily at the ludicrous image- a different kind of insanity that didn't directly affect him and so was actually funny compared to the very strange encounter he was having. However, it didn't last long, and that small room meant that his lonely echoes came back quick to slap him in the face.
"What do you mean, 'refusing to fight'?" Weiss could tell what this meant; it wasn't one of those false cognates which they continued to stumble upon through trial and error. But there was still more to it. "Is there something happening up North?"
The rear-line Lieutenant displayed a different kind of nervousness as he nibbled on the end of the pen which had yet to leave his hand. Unlike before where he was light about his mistakes with the fairer sex, he realized that he'd made a grave misstep that his superiors wouldn't be nearly so kind to forgive.
"That, I cannot say." He didn't waver.
But, neither did the huntresses.
"Can't, or won't?" Weiss threatened, raising an imperial eyebrow that made Martin realize he was sweating again. "Before, you might have hinted at a manpower shortage. Perhaps the situation is more desperate than the news lets on."
Again, she was sharp. Weiss's deduction argued for them being educated- too well educated to be students who were like kitchen knives confined to the block, insulated from the rest of their world. If what they said was true, then they had experienced the war as it was- not what the newspapers tried to depict. However, that still could not explain what was happening to Martin with his armpits flooding and his mouth going dry.
"Please," The look on Ruby's face was a different kind of lethal, jerking him the other direction as she pleaded with hands clasped and eyes like the many stray curs that wandered the streets looking for scraps. "If it might have some bearing on what's going to happen to Seph… we need to know."
"I promise you that we can handle whatever unpalatable facts you might have." With a calm appearance, Weiss was as anxious as Daguerre himself, both sides with the sensation that they had stumbled on something bigger than what they had expected. "-Despite what you may think, we are not little girls who need to be protected from the truth."
But the truth- this included- was dangerous. It had been lurking in the back of his mind like the woman in the shadows. Not dangerous in the manner of, say, a black widow- no, his own pride refused to envision that. But perhaps like… a fly on the wall.
Were they spies? If so, rather conspicuous, he should say. Ruby seemed the kind to wear her heart on her sleeve. But maybe that was part of it? Had he spent so long at this boring station that he couldn't tell the difference between normal and extraordinary? He didn't even wear a pistol on a daily basis. It was in his desk- probably buried underneath the 1st Army's expense reports that he really meant to get to, one of these days.
Could he get to it in time?
His eyes flickered towards the drawer. On the way, he trespassed over Ruby's line of sight. Her gunmetal stare. And very much like that tale by Ambrose Bierce [7], he imagined all the things happening in the blink of an eye, his daring deeds, his great escape- right before the noose snapped.
Martin set his pen down. Then he slowly moved his hand up to his collar and undid the clasps keeping it erect. There wasn't much point in maintaining a professional appearance if he was going to bend the rules, anyway.
"If you must know… over the past couple of months there have been a series of mutinies on the Western front." With this little confession out in the open and Adam's apple free, Martin gulped, wishing he kept a bottle of wine in his desk like the others in the office. "Large parts of the armies are refusing orders to attack. They claim that they will continue to hold the line, at the same time they are demanding home leave and better conditions.
"It's impossible to keep it totally under wraps, but internal affairs have apparently been doing a pretty good job at pretending the dissidence is not as widespread as it is. I bet the censors are working overtime, but," He smiled, and it was closer to the bitter ones they had come to associate with men in the blue uniform. "You can't hide from the budget. It's little things, but you can tell if you're looking for it. Fewer assaults mean less expenditure, fewer replacement supplies, that sort of thing. And it's been that way up and down the lines. I'd say damned near 30% of the Western Front might have been at a standstill over the past month. It seems to be resolved now, but I don't think your friend's court martial will be the last."
"Didn't you say that Patton guy was being reasonable, though? [8]" Yang asked, eyes sharp as her partner's as she felt like she'd slept through the first part of the discussion and suddenly had to get things straight. "What's so bad about wanting to take a break from this shit?"
"General Pétain," Martin blinked, the blonde's crass language along with her gaze was starting to remind him of why he avoided the working-man's pubs. "While most were calling for the immediate execution of 'traitors' and 'cowards', he managed to reach a compromise and things have more or less gone back to status quo."
"Then, problem solved, right?" Yang sounded like she was trying to convince herself, arguing, "Why do they gotta punish the people fighting for them?"
The huntresses weren't about to admit their own contribution, not yet, anyway. On the other hand, the Lieutenant wasn't speaking either, going back to chewing on his pen and staring at the floor.
"Yes. I was just thinking…"
Intellectually, Martin knew that he had a pretty good position compared to a career on the front lines. That didn't stop him from waging glorious campaigns in his head during his off time. He knew they were just daydreams- not the reality which came back to him disseminated in the unfeeling numbers of munitions lost, personnel needing to be reassigned to decimated units. But, maybe it was because he could add two and two that he was forced to look at the situation with a queer eye.
"It seems unlikely that the loyalty of someone who won the Croix de Guerre would be called into question. But the fact that I haven't heard the news means that it possibly wasn't announced yet, like you say about his promotion. So it would be easy to pretend it never happened. Though once his record is dug up, it should be simple enough to establish that he's not a spy, as long as someone in his unit can vouch for him-"
"He was the sole survivor," Weiss recalled unpalatably.
"I see," Martin said without deviating from his thought. "That does make it a bit more difficult. Legionnaire, too? Can't trust the records for any of that lot. Whether or not they're criminals, that's how the Brass will see them, even more expendable than the average-"
With how much he was rubbing his face, the huntresses would have expected the grease-pencil moustache to have been smeared off by now. Instead, the thin line became highlighted as the man's countenance turned pale.
"…While the- shall we call it- 'unrest' in the North has been kept quiet, this recent surprise attack was some real egg in the face for command, newspapers all over demanding to know how it happened. Even though the ground was quickly recaptured, it makes the leadership look incompetent for not noticing it in the first place. Unless they can identify what made the invasion so easy, they're going to have to divert more troops down here, which means that once again the generals and politicians can't launch their offensives. This time they can't exactly blame Nivelle, so they'll be looking for someone else, some excuse to give the public to assure them that they're doing everything they can."
"… A scapegoat." Blake muttered, her amber eyes flickering with the kerosene lamps. "Someone expendable, preferably without ties, who can't defend their actions."
"Hate to say it, but that guy's face is better suited for a mugshot than a postcard, anyway." Yang spat out, bitter at her own lightheartedness. "What I don't get is: why? It ain't like Mr. Lego-brick is that important."
"No, but he was there." Weiss thought about the tabloid photo taken of both of them, how easily fame could be reversed to infamy. "And not only was he out of uniform, he was wearing parts of an enemy uniform."
"So, what, they expect him to just go around in the buck? What the hell else was he supposed to do?!"
"It is against the rules of war set out by article 23 of the Hague," Martin offered, trying to maintain a perfunctory appearance despite the young woman's anger making him blush. "By all rights he can be tried as a criminal of war and executed without trial. Though I imagine it would suit the narrative far better if it were made a spectacle. Accusing him of being a spy would somewhat excuse the loss of the battle, and it would certainly fit in the context of Alsace-Lorraine [9]… how well do you girls know him, anyway?"
"This is bullshit!"
Lt. Daguerre's professional veneer proved to be as thin as the government-issue wallpaper as Yang's fist went right through it, her arm getting stuck up to the elbow in the new-construction.
"Oh- for the love of-!"
"W-wait!" The officer leapt off his desk, not thinking about the woman's obscene strength so much as the indecent amount that would come out of his pay if she were to tear the whole wall down trying to free herself. "Don't-!"
Several more loud noises followed like the echoing responses in a firefight: the clomp of boots as the officer lunged towards Yang, which spooked Ruby and caused her to flail and topple backwards, nearly taking out Weiss who squealed and was only kept from the same fate by Yang bracing her other hand on the back of her chair.
Meanwhile, there was the crash of scrollwork as the door was rudely flung open and Blake darted out.
"Blake!" Fortunately, Ruby had learned to protect her head, and so she was at least conscious if not totally dizzy and confused when she saw her Faunus teammate dart out of the room.
"On it!" Her team leader and sister's tone of urgency immediately overrode the command from the Lieutenant they had just met. Wrenching her arm free of the wall, she narrowly missed clobbering Martin who was obviously having quite a terrible day already.
That said, Yang left the man and his misfortune- along with her sister and Weiss- in the office as she skittered out into the corridor in pursuit of her partner, determined not to let the woman out of her sights again. Hell! They would attach a bell to her collar if they had to!
"Erm- sorry about… all… this…"
As if she had just rung a bell, Martin looked away from the gnarly hole in his wall and towards the young girl who was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, nibbling her lip and waiting for him to respond.
"…Did either of you know there is a staircase behind here?" He pointed into the abyss behind the plasterboard- a lot of which had turned into a fine powder and covered his face, making him look like the ghost of a Dicken's play.
"Um, no, no we did not."
"Oh. Okay."
But recognizing what was about to happen, Ruby shot off the floor and immediately jammed the stool underneath the man as he collapsed backwards. As his bottom hit the wooden seat, Martin let his head drop and he stared wide-eyed at the floor which was covered in the evidence of what had just transpired.
"… This is real, right? I'm not going to wake up in a hospital and discover that I was actually wounded in combat or something?" Though with his luck, it was far more likely he had slipped in the tub or else on those notoriously slick steps out back. But a man could hope, couldn't he?
"No," Weiss sighed, and Martin leaned back to see her mirroring his overburdened expression. "This is a nightmare. And we're all trying to wake up from it."
"That… is true." Martin nodded in shared weariness, looking down at the pen which had also fallen to the floor.
"Um, I know we have no right to ask you for your help, now," Ruby started, "But do you think you might be able to keep this quiet?"
The man stared at her as the muffled seconds ticked by on the clock outside in the hall. But there continued to be no commotion, no one popping in to investigate what happened on the other side of those thin walls- not that anyone would believe him if he admitted it, anyway. And so finally Martin shrugged, the effort hardly reaching his shoulders.
"I suppose… this office needed some redecorating anyway."
"Oh… awesome!"
The bright expression on Ruby's face like a stage light almost made him believe his bad acting. The girl leapt up with comic energy as she began bustling about his office at speeds that made Martin wonder if he had hit his head.
"I'll have this cleaned up in just a sec!"
But he took his que from Weiss who maintained her seat as well as her calm and aristocratic air. It might have been a pretense, a false sense of familiarity, but Martin latched onto it amidst the tornado which was current events. He leaned down, scooping up the polished brass pen from the floor and snatched a blank piece of paper before it could blow away.
"Anyway… If you would…" He presented the items to Weiss, defaulting to politeness. "Write down his name and anything that might be used to identify him. I'll see what I can find out about your acquaintance."
This was the first time he apparently surprised the young woman, and Martin took a little too much guilty pleasure in that fact, before Weiss took the items from him and began scribbling down the request almost as fast as her younger friend zipping in and out of the room.
"Thank you."
Still working on autopilot, he took the note from Weiss and tried to focus on its mundane contents rather than the moving background which made him seasick. It was delightfully boring, a laundry list of information. Except…
"…I thought you were looking for a Legionnaire?" His eyebrows furrowed at the second name, "This other one-"
"If it's not too much trouble," Weiss's tone hinted that it was, though she was more careful to keep it from Ruby who was true to her word and putting the final touches on her patch-job. "I am sorry that I don't have more information for you to go on. I only met him once. He is someone I attended when he was injured, and I would just like to… check up on him."
"Done!" Ruby stifled herself before her partner could, both Weiss and Martin looking at her handiwork.
"How…?" Martin blinked at the stretched landscape painting which now hung off-center on his wall corresponding to the diagonal hole. He didn't remember seeing it around the office, and only hoped that meant it wouldn't be missed. "Nevermind."
On the other hand, on the piece of paper, the second name inscribed did ring a bell. It beckoned him to the army of identical ledgers lined up on the back of his desk where he reached out and withdrew one near the end. Flipping blindly until the writing petered out, his finger stopped near the bottom line. Comparing the names like a stereoscopic image, Daguerre blinked and then copied the rest of the info onto the bottom of the paper. Tearing it off in a neat little ribbon, he handed it back to Weiss.
"This is the most recent address. It should at least give you a place to start while I work on locating Agt. Poudrier."
Weiss accepted it with a nod like a tiny bow before she and Ruby left far more quietly than they arrived.
No less abrupt, the sudden absence of voices on either side of the hallway reminded Martin why he had invited the strangers into his domain in the first place. A massive wave of fatigue made him wonder what time it was. It could have been night, and he wouldn't know. Despite the new hole, his office still didn't have windows and was immensely stuffy and depressing.
He sighed, heavy breath reminding him of his open collar and soaked shirt, which made him shiver.
"No good deed goes unpunished."
"Blake, hold up!"
A voice from on high caused Blake to screech to a halt like a mouse caught out in the open. She glanced up to the castle walls only to have the morning sun spear her eyes through the crenulations like arrows.
"Stay there! I'll be down in just a sec!"
Yang stepped on the side of the wall and flung herself off the Medieval battlements without a second thought, not thinking a landing strategy would be necessary as it really wasn't that high up and all the onlookers were quick to clear out of her way.
"Woah!" But her feet hit the sidewalk like a bar of soap and threatened to slip right into the shallow moat. Yang flailed, searching for a handhold that wasn't there.
"Watch it!" Blake ducked under the blonde's arms which were dangerous even when not clad in the metal frames of Ember Celica. She clamped down on Yang's hourglass waist until it looked like she had her balance. Both gave a sigh of relief. "You okay?"
"Yeah, sure," In the process of checking herself over she noticed Blake's hands on her hips. A smile like a flag stretched across Yang's face as she draped her hands over her partner's shoulders. "You're always taking the lead though, next time I want a turn."
With a blush and clenched jaw Blake turned away from her partner, then cast her gaze to the ground as she met the stares and none-too-subtle gestures from the pedestrians who had halted in the middle of the street to gawk at Yang's stunt.
"Sorry about that I… needed some fresh air."
"I'll bet."
Yang could tell there was more to it than that. But she could also tell that the attention they were getting was more oppressive than the stuffy office-cum-broom-closet. And so, she slipped one of her arms around Blake's shoulder and steered her away from the rubberneckers.
"So, where're we headed in such a hurry, anyway?"
"I-" Isn't it obvious? – Blake felt like Peter Rabbit telling Alice he was late. For what? There was a deadline, a very real one, that Yang didn't know.
"We need to find Seph." She whispered conspiratorially, running her hands on her wrists as if they might come up against a watch, or shackles.
"Uh, okay," Yang stumbled in her laugh, her feet doing a little shuffle as they walked alongside a manmade canal. "Jeez. Wow. Alright, not my type, but I won't judge. Can't say we all don't go through the phase of finding a guy we think's a fixer-upper. I mean, I always knew you were a closet romantic-"
"No!" The castle wall still on their left created an amphitheater for the shout and Blake ducked even further under her partner's arm, wondering if instead she could just slip into the sewer and disappear. "It's- that's not it at all…"
There was already a growing need for privacy, and so Blake periscoped above Yang's arm for just a moment and scanned around before she spotted an escape. She grabbed her partner by the wrist and dragged them off the road between two buildings whose leaden glass windows were as dark and dirty as the mud puddles which dotted the street.
They paused at the alley's mouth before Blake decided that they still weren't as alone as she would have liked. Passersby seemed to ignore them, but she was unable to override the feeling of being leered at under the brims of peasant-caps pulled down tight over foreheads, suspicious glances from the corners of bonnets and headscarves. So, she pressed further into the gap between buildings, deeper into the urban maze until even the sun stretching towards its afternoon apex couldn't reach them.
It was even quieter here, Yang reacting to her partner's peculiar behavior didn't speak and simply waited for her to gather her wits. Blake started with a shaky breath, rubbing her forehead where a black wool beret made her sweat and itch.
Yang watched as Blake's hand drifted down to the pocket of her coat- the same coat she had been wearing for months now, trimmed, fixed and patched a million times over so that like the ship of Theseus it had become something else entirely. It had gone from military surplus to shabby-chic, and now it was once again on the downslope to becoming unwearable. But the deep pockets, originally tailored to hold six grenades or a full bottle of wine were still sturdy enough for a medium-sized leatherbound book which Blake pulled out and presented to Yang.
"I took this from Seph's storage bin at the hospital."
In the dark between buildings Yang looked at it. Looked at her teammate.
"Um… this doesn't really help me believe you're not a stalker." She threw her hands up in surrender as Blake shoved the book at her like a pistol. "Alright, Alright!"
At first taking the tome with two fingers as if it were contaminated (at least the pages weren't sticky), Yang turned it over with cautious skepticism. Never much of a reader herself, she didn't know what she was supposed to get out of it and simply let the pages flop open across her splayed palms.
It really wasn't a secret, books and Yang just didn't 'click'. She didn't understand Blake's obsession with them, not even the raunchy ones. Anything more serious than smut just seemed silly and pretentious to her. And anything that tried to be silly was honestly just plain boring- comics excepting.
This too, as there were no words for her to hang up on. Any snarky comment was flattened as the single pressed flower staring up at her from between the pages like a bookmark. Despite knowing more about bikes than botany, Yang knew this one, its every detail replicated in that silver etching in Blake's limited-edition copy and imprinted in her mind, the story that started this whole-
"Oh." Yang's mind throttled, gears spinning and arms shuddering. "So, Seph was the one who wrote…"
Blake nodded as the blonde closed the diary cautiously on the flower as if it were a crime scene photo.
"You see now why we have to go after him."
With a deep breath, Yang lifted her finger from the pebbled leather to scratch her cheek. She turned the book back and forth in her hands, not really looking at the unadorned cover but weighing what she was about to say.
"Do we, though?"
In the nearness of that alleyway, she didn't need to look up to feel Blake stiffen like a fishing line.
"-I know, I know. But seeing how Weiss isn't here, someone's gotta play the wet blanket, right?" She placated with raised hands; book still clutched as If it were a shield. "I'm serious. So what if he was the one who wrote it? How does it help us figure out how to get back? Even if he knew what he was doing, I doubt he left anything like a note or instruction manual in here?"
A small, silly little part of her hoped he did. Probably the same part of her that acted out the cast of the bedtime stories she read to Ruby once upon a time, pantomiming the villain's dark and raspy voice. She wished there were a clear villain here as Blake only shook her head disappointingly.
"I… I actually haven't read it all." Yang scowled but directed her frustration at the volume in her hands, unable to even be upset at its author. "Once I realized what it was… I didn't have the guts to."
"Yeah…" Not that she could blame her. Like biting into a block of cheese and discovering mold, it would've been better for both of them to just keep on chewing through their predicament without knowing. "Well... whatever."
Neither of them had any question as to its authenticity. Everything else however…
Correlation and causation were getting shuffled in Yang's skull like a martini-mixer as she scratched her head with the book's spine- Maybe if she were plastered it would be easier to understand, justify the pounding headache. She really could use a stiff drink right about now. But Yang didn't even have that excuse when the next thought staggered across her mind and slid off her loose tongue.
"I mean, whatever. What difference does it make? Everything we read in the book- his diary- already happened, yeah? And it just… well, it just ends and, you know…" Dead quiet. Yang gulped down the conclusion that was finally coming up on its own, foul and unwanted. "Maybe something like this was supposed to happen-"
"You mean that we should let him die?"
Pigeons cooed plaintively in the ensuing quiet, the sound of their feet scratching at metal drainpipes not quite like nails on a chalkboard. Yang tried to shrug it off.
"I mean, we all do eventually." An unpleasant reminder, "And what if rescuing him screws things up?" She waggled the book like a bible for evidence, "Makes it so we can't get back?"
"…I refuse to accept that."
"Great," The tension dropped out of Yang's shoulders like an elevator with its cord cut, stomach coming up through her throat as she realized they were leaving logic behind. "Because getting obsessed over this thing was such a great idea the last time."
"This is different," Blake argued, ears flattening under chastisement. "This is a person's life we're talking about!"
"Don't I know it?" Yang muttered, the book's leather binding creaking ominously in her grip. Whether or not Blake was meant to hear her, the message itself was broadcast loud and clear.
"It's my life…" And though she'd spent most of her years fighting for equality, Blake felt like a colicky child standing up to a parent. She couldn't seem to meet Yang's pointed stare, knew that she ought to feel ashamed. Instead, Blake was frustrated, angry- angry that she couldn't do anything about her frustration. "Is it so wrong to want to help someone?"
"And what about us?!" Flinging her arms to the side, Blake flinched as it looked like Yang was about to toss the book like a skipping stone down the puddle-strewn alleyway. "What kind of assholes d'ya take us for?!"
"What?! It's not you! I-" There were many wrong answers to Yang's rhetorical question. But the unvarnished truth ran away from her mouth like her feet had carried her away from responsibility time and again. "I didn't mean to run away or get you guys hurt; I just didn't want anything to happen-"
"You think we don't want to help?"
Blake's jaw flapped uselessly while on the rooftop startled pigeons buffeted their wings in and took flight. If Yang were a charging bull she could move out of the way, flee. But this anger was unlike the blonde's usual belligerence- probably because it wasn't.
"You think I don't care?" Yang switched to throwing softballs, her expression slackening. "It's not like I hate him or anything; I'm sure Seph's a good guy. Thing is, so was Hans, the girls at the factory, the Madame, that Major with the bushy Moustache… where does it stop?"
This wasn't meant to warrant a response at all, and Blake stayed quiet as Yang once again weighed the book, as Anubis weighs the heart.
"You mentioned being selfish… but I guess I am too. This team, you guys, you're important to me. Truth is… I think I'd trade every single person in this world if it meant the four of us could go back home safe and sound."
Blake was shocked silent- flattered, concerned. It wasn't like she could reasonably expect everyone to feel the way she did about a cause, but this… she didn't know what to do with this.
"I don't know." Yang ran a hand, fluffing her hair which seemed less vivid than usual. "I really don't know what I'm doing. It's not like this is our fault- well, Adam kinda is… Maybe we are supposed to help him, and that's why we're here… Or maybe we'd just be screwing ourselves in the long run by fucking things up even more. I've got no clue. And that scares me."
This fear though, Blake could understand. Being impotent, ignorant of whether one was making the wrong choice. But doing nothing, turning your back on the question, that too was a decision as she was coming to recognize, and resent.
"… But I guess," Yang sighed laboriously, "We won't know if we don't try."
It took Blake significantly longer to realize that Yang was once again flashing her a cocky grin, blinking at the blonde's lighthearted expression as if it were a flare suddenly lighting up that gloomy scene. She struggled to catch the book as Yang pitched it back to her.
"At the very least, we can return that to its owner."
"Wait," Yang was already starting to move off purposefully down the alleyway- though Blake doubted she knew where she was going. "So, you're going to help me rescue him?"
"What? I'm not an asshole," With her back turned, Blake couldn't tell if Yang's expression was as forgiving as her shrug. "We can argue about what to do with him when we find 'im, but," A twirl like the girls in the Madam's cabaret had her facing Blake with a grin that was just as sultry and dangerous as any of the experienced dancers. "-you can bet your pretty little Bella-booty that I'm gonna help my partner in any misadventure she finds herself in- whether or not she asks for it!"
"Bella-wha-?"
Before she could parse what was being said or done, Blake again found herself Yang-hied and led off aimlessly to the amused chortles of a couple of pigeons which had come back to roost.
"I dunno what we gotta do to get home," Yang offered by way of explanation a whisper in her ear, soft and subdued while her arm threatened to squeeze the life out of Blake like a teddy bear. "But sometimes I think that doing the right thing, is as easy as doing the thing that's right in front of you."
"…Wrong way." Blake mumbled.
"Eh?"
Through a cheek scrunched against her partner's shoulder, Blake smirked.
"If you want to help… we're headed the wrong way."
Coming to a halt with a clack of heels, Yang looked left, right, turned around and craned her neck looking for direction amongst the indistinguishable backsides of the buildings that stood as tight and exclusionary as a gossipy clique.
"Let's go,"
Though she trusted Blake to know where she was going, clasped hands ensuring that she would never be more than arm's length behind as the black-haired woman slipped her way purposefully down the stone corridor. They splashed without haste through the stagnant puddles, Blake glancing back at her partner as Yang chortled lively.
Up on the rooftop a pigeon settled in its nest, glancing sideways as the two curious disturbances disappeared from view at long last. But something else in its sight moved- too close for comfort. It puffed its chest and fluffed its feathers, ready to issue a warbling warning to the others before whatever it was vanished in a blink.
In another blink, the bird had forgotten about the hunched form it may or may not have seen camouflaged among the roof tiles. Out of sight, out of mind.
"Where are those two?"
Usually it was Ruby doing the fidgeting- not that she could just sit there on the fountain's edge without kicking her legs like a four-year-old on a swing. But for once, she felt like the mature one compared to Weiss who was wearing out the sole of her shoes just standing there, tapping incessantly like a woodpecker as her head whipped back and forth just in case their wayward teammates would suddenly appear in her blind spot.
"Relax," Ruby yawned, not needing to pretend to fight off a lack of energy as her stomach burbled like the cascading water. "I figured something like this would happen, which is why I told Yang that if any of us got separated we would meet back at the boarding house no later than nine before anyone started to panic."
Weiss stopped and gave her leader a startled look.
"That's… a surprising amount of forethought," she neglected to say from you, but tightening her crossed arms, Weiss added, "Would've been nice if you told me."
"Well… we're together, aren't we?"
"Yes," Ruby cringed at the tone, knowing she had done something wrong but not what- yet. Although, surprisingly, when Weiss next spoke after her sigh, it wasn't to talk down to her. "Well, then, what are we still waiting here for?" After Weiss uncrossed her arms, she attempted to give Ruby an unbothered smile. "Come on, we still have a lot of work to do."
As she strutted off, Ruby was also spared a rehashing of the previous night's lecture about how they had an even more strict budget now that they were 'unemployed' and couldn't afford to constantly rely on the largess of strangers.
…Which was at odds with how they had practically bullied Lieutenant Daguerre. And while she could normally count not being yelled at by Weiss as an improvement, the whole thing didn't sit well with Ruby who was nonetheless forced to hop to her feet and hurry on after her teammate.
"So, what's our first stop? Groceries?" Hands propped behind her head disguised Ruby's lack of enthusiasm, as if her asking was as perfunctory as Weiss's denial.
"I'll hang on to our funds, thank you very much." Ignorant to this distinction, Weiss kept rereading the scrap of paper as if it were a list and not a single line of information. "We don't need you blowing it all on sweets. There are soup kitchens and other free services set up that we should take advantage of. No, now that I am no longer working at the hospital, we are going to need another source for things like disinfectant, bandages and gauze."
"I'm not that clumsy."
Though Ruby's protest was about as hollow as the missing stone which she then stumbled over. Her attention had been elsewhere, watching the rather disarmingly casual scenes of daily life going on around them. Strangely, Weiss was also seemingly distracted as she looked around for street signs that were, of course, absent.
"It's not just injuries," Chewing her bottom lip, Weiss looked at the painted addresses in shop windows trying to draw some sort of organization from them. "We can be as careful as we can, but at some point, all of us will need…" She eyed an apothecary with its universally unnerving calling card, twin snakes entwined around a brass pole nailed to the front door. "Hygiene products. [10]"
Instinctively Ruby tried to cover her blush with her hood, only for embarrassment to give out the way her hands clutched nothing but air. Left with only disappointment, Ruby toed a crumpled cigarette butt thinking about her bullet-ridden cloak that even now she wished she had gone back for. She then let out a surprised squeak as a hand snatched up the remnants of the cigarette from under her foot.
The indigent man who claimed possession of the smoke didn't seem to notice her until then. Only after which he acknowledged her, looked up with heavily bagged eyes and tipped his peddler's cap that was the same color and state as the trampled butt. Then he hobbled back over to his street corner, squatted and savored the tobacco until it was nothing more than another black stain among his fingertips.
As Ruby watched, her nostalgia for the carefree attitude of daily life going on around them shifted to disdain. Unlike the passersby, she couldn't ignore this scene of desperation and destitution until her partner called her attention.
"Ruby?"
"Huh?" She turned her attention to Weiss who was carefully pocketing the scrap of paper but paying close attention to her partner.
"You alright?"
"Oh, yeah," Resetting herself at the ground and then straight ahead, the huntress turned to Weiss with what she hoped was a confident and professional air. "So, I can trust you to take care of that, then?"
"Of course," Weiss replied with a huff that sounded more relieved that haughty. "In the meantime, what will you be doing to contribute?"
The return of her smile was an untold relief to both of them, Ruby cheerfully pointing out one of the many shops whose shelves were like a gold-toothed grin. What few watches dotted the mostly empty display shelves were studiously polished, their intricate spring-powered mechanisms still ticking on despite the pinch of a wartime economy.
"If I can get an apprenticeship with one of the watchmakers, we might finally be able to maintenance our weapons," She explained to a patiently dubious Weiss, "They're about the only places that have the precise tooling and manufacturing capabilities necessary for the small, one-off parts we need. It might not be a perfect solution, what with the level of tech and especially metallurgy [11], but I'm sure I can work something out!"
Wooed by argument rather than the agreeable cheer on her leader's face, Weiss pointed out that Ruby would have a hard time convincing someone to take her on. However, she took no pleasure in shooting down her leader's idea. Because even though Weiss was a quicker study to French than any of her cohorts, there was still one insurmountable strike against all four of them.
"Phhht." Ruby blew off the concern with a wave, bringing her hand up to the back of her head and restraining the locks of her hair which had been allowed to grow rather long in the past months. "Ta-da!"
Weiss blinked, trying to decide whether to be unimpressed or confused.
"All I need is a quick trim and some trousers, and I'm good to go!"
The notion was so foolish that it took Weiss a few seconds to figure out what she was talking about. But before she could poke any holes in the idea, the slightly heiress realized that any criticisms of Ruby's womanly figure would undoubtably lead to the argument that Weiss was better suited to play the role of a young boy. So, with a twitch and a sigh, she relented.
"Alright. Fine. Whatever." After all, Ruby did have the best mechanical aptitude, if not the most subtle personalities. There didn't seem to be any harm in an attempt, the worst being the time which she was now wasting arguing about it. "One of us can cut your hair so it looks more like a boy's. Go check some of the humanitarian stations around town and see if any of them have men's clothes they can loan you. If not, I suppose we can spare some of the budget for it. Our weapons are, after all, our most important assets. And having them in top condition is paramount."
"No."
Ruby's face turned as serious as the statue of Neptune staring back at them from the fountain in the square, and for the first time in a long time, Weiss felt like she was the one who said something wrong.
"What?" She asked, dumbfounded.
"The most important thing we have are each other." Ruby once again smiled animatedly, turning the other direction back towards their temporary lodgings before giving her partner a wave. "So be careful and I'll see you back at the dorm- I mean, boarding house no later than nine, right?"
"Yeah. Sure." Weiss sent her leader off with a hesitant wave, trying not to dwell on the oddity. Instead, she immersed herself with her French vocabulary as she prepared to ask someone for directions.
"Excuse-moi…"
Thinking in the foreign language was no longer as draining as it once was, even compared to that morning's escapade. The woman she approached, a middle-aged mother, made it all the easier. She only briefly startled upon the huntress's pale hair before relaxing as Weiss gave her politic smile and spoke in broken but reasonably accented French.
Between the mother's cooing over the well-mannered heiress and the baby in her pram, Weiss was finally able to get some directions out of the woman. It was more challenging to detach herself before she was invited home for what she was sure would be a lovely if humble meal.
Weiss's stomach was polite enough to wait for the woman to move out of earshot before grumbling morosely. She placed a hand over her sunken gut, remarking to herself the irony of how she no longer felt the need to go on a diet. Eating was hard enough on its own now, though she would hardly be able to stomach any sort of meal while the rest of her team went hungry. No. She would just push through it.
Though as she turned the corner, she didn't notice the fact that her leader was still standing right where she had been left, silently watching Weiss walk right past the apothecary and go down another street.
She passed many other shops, restaurants, endless rows of apartments and none too few buildings which sagged emptily and were seemingly only kept up by the boards in the windows. The streets were a winding cow-path, seemingly lain without any obvious forethought. Except maybe to confuse foreign invaders, because despite the clear directions the woman had given her, Weiss very quickly felt lost among the lack of landmarks and other recognizable signage. There were plenty of wooden placards with names as fanciful as their hand-painted lettering and fading into obscurity, hanging in front of what could have easily been pubs or funeral parlors with the dour air that surrounded them. But there was no hint of the one she was looking for, a red and white striped pole which should have been obvious-
Ah, there. Taking a left at the object which looked like a candy-cane about five seconds after Ruby got her paws on it, Weiss crossed another three of the inconsistent blocks before arriving at a wooden door which looked like someone had simply slapped some brown paint over instead of growing through the trouble of stripping and revarnishing it properly. However, she did note while pulling out the scrap of paper, that they had at least managed to hang a small wooden tile with resident's name written with black paint and a stencil.
After confirming the address, she put the paper away and moved up the short steps to the door, rapped on it twice. Waited. Three times. Waited. Reared her fist back-
"Oi! We already told you lot that we don't give handouts!" The door rumbled before it was wrenched open inside, giving Weiss warning and time enough to hide her brandished fist behind her back. "And if you keep bothering a representative of her Majesty's army, I'll-!"
The young man in military drab blinked dully down at Weiss who stood on the lower stoop. His gaze fixated at a child's head height (which was conveniently even with Weiss's chest), he was irritatingly slow to make his way up to her face which was by then locked in an overly-polite expression immediately recognizable as dangerous to anyone who was half-savvy in politics or women.
"Bloody 'ell," However, he was started for an entirely different reason. The soldier recoiled at the same time he slipped back into a cockney accent he had previously tried to hide for the sake of his career as an aid-de-camp. "It's you- I mean, you're real. Really real? You and the other lot-"
"Yes, quite." Taking advantage of the fact that the soldier had taken a step back, Weiss pushed her way into the apartment's salon. Once firmly entrenched, she turned around and waited as the very picture of courtly patience.
"Though when you're finished stating the obvious," She remarked in a tone that greatly helped speed things along, "You may tell the Major he has a guest."
"Ho, lascar! Tu as une cliente!"
Seph set aside his writing without protest; he wasn't making that much progress anyway. Perhaps if he had his diary he could look back on his life and try to make sense of it, but there was nothing here inspiring him to write. The looming deadline only reminding him that it was ultimately pointless.
In the meantime, he stroked the unperturbed tabby cat which had wandered in and taken up residence in his lap and wondered if it would miss his warmth.
"-Tu écoutes?" Finally acknowledging him, Seph looked from one hairy creature to another. The dark, bearded face of his guard peaked around the corner and gave him a deep grin, waggling his busy eyebrows suggestively. "Une belle cliente."
Seph frowned. He turned his attention back to the floor and continued to stroke the yearling feline whose emaciated ribs felt like keys of a xylophone under his fingers.
"Non,"
"Eh?"
No good would come of seeing them. Though even when he'd told them to go away in no uncertain terms, his guard stared at him in disbelief for a good minute in which he waited to see if Seph would change his mind.
Eventually realizing the stubbornness of his ward, the guard shook his head disapprovingly but moved to comply. He retreated around the corner while muttering things about it being 'a waste' and questioning the prisoner's sexuality as well as his moral fiber. These complaints ended when the heavy wooden door shut, and the equally heavy latch fell like a butcher's knife. But Seph went unbothered by them anyway.
They wouldn't understand. To his fellow soldiers, he was merely a condemned man, a coward at best and a traitor at worst. They couldn't, didn't want to empathize with someone who was as alien as the enemy they were fighting.
Alien. A stranger.
He actually laughed, coinciding with a moan from his lap which he soothed with more gentle attention. Wakening just slightly, the kitten which was on the verge of becoming a cat hummed a weak purr which he felt through his crossed legs.
That was when he felt something else. Like an ice cube being dropped into a glass, the invisible shape displaced the air in his cell and made him shiver. It alerted the cat too, who perked its groggy head up and looked around what still appeared to be an empty room.
He couldn't see it, not directly, anyway. But he trusted the soldiers' sense and, moreover, the cagey feline which began to growl as soon as he moved it off his lap. The animal's strangely sharp blue eyes never left the same spot on the brick wall, just underneath the stream of light coming in from the window-vent. It hissed at Seph as he swatted it on the rear, getting it to dart off into an even more shadowy corner.
And when Seph turned back, in that spot was sa cliente, his very female visitor just now pulling on a travel-worn cloak the same soft brown as her naked body underneath.
While it might have been rude not to look her in the eyes, most of her face was shadowed by the cloak's hood except for a few licorice vines of dirty red hair and a frown more deeply incised than the other marks around her chin. In any case, this wasn't that kind of situation. Though Seph imagined there was some joke to be had when from under her cloak the woman produced what looked like a switch, the kind nuns used to discipline unruly children.
With a flick of her wrist, blue lighting ignited around the weapon, buzzing like the beehive the neighboring farm used to keep which could be heard from miles away.
Seph swallowed, wetting his mouth.
"Alors…"
[1] I'm not exactly a poet- but that's okay, because a hundred years ago poetry was more widely taught in schools and lots of soldiers wrote poetry as a past time. We memorialize the best, but a lot of poems, both exceptional and unremarkable, have been lost to time.
[2] The 'Rosalie' were a 19" long cruciform, spike-type bayonet that the Germans endearingly dubbed 'knitting needles'. Frankly, they really remind me of Myrtenaster, though are no doubt of much more dubious utility.
[3] "The early summer mutinies of 1917 had shaken the French High Command which began to seek means to raise the morale of the troops at the front. The policy of reconstructing the Devastated Regions was thus reinforced: the reconstitution of civilian life behind the front would remind French soldiers in concrete terms of the cause for which they were fighting."
(The above article was first published in 1853 - 1947, The Americans of the Legion of Honor, catalog to the 1993 summer exhibition, curated by Véronique Wiesinger, at the French National Museum of Franco-American Cooperation at Blérancourt (Aisne). The catalog was produced by the Réunion des Musées Nationaux.)
[4] The case of Martin Guerre is one of the first and most well-documented instances of identity theft in history. I suggest picking up the book: "The Return of Martin Guerre" by Natalie Zemon Davis. It's a fascinating read, though it has no bearing on this character or my story… I think.
[5] "A French driver, replaced by an American, could be assigned to a combat unit. Thus the Réserve Mallet was created: a unit of American volunteers who, instead of taking the wheel of an American Field Service ambulance, would drive trucks loaded with soldiers or munitions."
There were many foreign volunteers to the French army, the most famous of course being the 'Lafayette Escadrille' and the American Ambulance drivers (of which, Ernest Hemingway was one). But Many other positions, especially rear-line or supporting positions were filled by Americans because the language barrier would not be as acute. I read an article even detailing Americans who went to a French artillery school, but sadly I cannot recall the unit. Daguerre's unit would be the 6e Régiment du Matérie, but in truth, it is unlikely that an American or other foreign volunteers would be assigned to such a position.
[6] Pétain was the commanding general in charge of the French and other allied forces after the disastrous Nivelle offensive which tied directly into the summer mutinies. The French had an obsession with the concept of elan, aggressiveness at all costs, and the Nivelle offensive was simply more of these kinds of blind attacks without any realistic goal. After three years of fighting, the French troops were getting mighty tired of pointless death. Thousands of French troops refused to go over the top, but by in large they remained at their posts and would defend their homeland. This was perhaps the only reason that Pétain, taking over for Nivelle, could afford to be lenient and limit the punishment to only a few hundred executions and the rest hard labor.
[7] You've probably read this story, even if you don't recognize the name. It is a short tale about a man slated for execution who, in the moments before he is hung, imagines his daring escape. There is a part where he is fleeing and looks at a rifleman who is aiming at him in the eyes, and notes that the man has 'grey eyes of a hunter'. That's what Ruby's eyes always remind me of.
[8] The name sound similar to a curious and spry young tank commander who would later go on to be a rather famous personality in WWII…
[9] The Alsace-Lorraine region is a highly contested area of land between Germany and France just North of Switzerland that the French lost during the Franco-Prussian war and never quite got over. There was some sporadic fighting there in WWI, but overall the terrane was too rocky and difficult for big offensives, and the German Schlieffen plan pretty much ignored it anyway. However, there was always internal contention as to whether the region should belong to France or Germany, and there were suspicions on either side as to the loyalty of the population.
[10] Do you know how damned hard it is to find information about this kind of thing 100 years ago? About the best source I could find was an autobiography from the Second World War about a nurse who noted that before deployment they stocked up on Kotex pads and baby diapers for when their supplies of the former weren't available. Naturally, since the first Kotex pads came about from leftover wood pulp and bandages from WWI, bandages would probably be about the best option.
Again, even if it is from WWII, I highly recommend this account entitled "Bedpan Commando" which shows a completely different perspective on combat that is tragically overlooked.
[11] I cannot stress enough how important good metallurgy is to firearms. You can't just make a gun out of any old metal and expect it not to blow up in your face. Some parts NEED to be hardened in order to function for more than a full magazine, and within the last decade some serious improvements to our ability to control temperature and oxygenation to the hardening process have made certain firearms possible where they weren't before. You also need the right tools. By WWI, most major powers (the Eibar region of Spain being a notable exception) had accepted the idea of mass-production, which means that making one-off parts such as what might be needed for the transforming mechanism of Crescent Rose might not be possible in a typical factory. I can only imagine how stupidly complicated (read: impossible/impractical) the mechanisms for the RWBY weapons are, and the only thing which comes close to this type of Rube-Goldbergian mechanics in the time period are, to my mind, watches.