Ignore the troll spamming offensive guest reviews as usual
As a disclaimer, talk about depression, treatments and psychology in this chapter is based off my Psychology A-Level studies, research online and visiting a few help sites for depression. I entirely realise the issue is a big one, and I don't make light of it in this chapter. I do make light of some old-time psychology studies into it, though, because Christ, psychology was crazy in the day! This is back in the time of "Oh, you should just electrocute the sadness out of them" or "Let's see what happens if we take a baby and purposefully mistreat it in the name of science – oh look, it grows up to be completely messed up. Who could have guessed?"
To say nothing of how many animals get slaughtered in those early studies, and to research truly unimportant stuff like "what happens if you suspend a cat in a pool of water and never allow it sleep until it passes out? Oh, it drowns. That's science, folks! Best repeat it ten times to make sure it wasn't a fluke."
Cover Art: Mystery White Flame
Chapter 78
There was something strange about waking up in a tower owned by and dedicated to evil, stretching your arms, having a shower and then raiding the kitchen for egg and bacon which Yang was sizzling away on a stove. Weiss was collecting plates and laying them on a nearby table while Blake was slumped over said table, head on her hands and fast asleep. Really, Blake could be such a cat sometimes, lazing around even though she'd had the whole night to sleep.
A grouchy cat, too, Ruby thought, thinking of that morning and the angry, bloodshot hiss she'd received on asking Blake how she slept. Sheesh. I was just trying to be polite.
Yang flipped the bacon like a pancake, shrieked when the bacon fat scolded her, winced when Weiss scolded her and ultimately spooned it out onto a wide plate next to a stack of toasted bread and a knob of butter. The nearest microwave pinged, and a pot of scrambled egg came out.
"Scrambled egg in a microwave," Weiss moaned. "I'm surrounded by heathens."
Everyone ignored her.
Breakfast was the most important meal of the day and this breakfast was the first proper meal they'd be having since reaching the Grimmlands, which was still a little awkward because this was literally Salem's tower and she'd kind of expected chains, hooks and corpses hanging from the walls, not chalkboards, recipe sheets and shelves filled with cookbooks.
"So," Yang said. "I'm not the only one thinking this is a little… you know. Homey."
"It is her home," Weiss pointed out around a glass of orange juice. The fridge had been surprisingly well stocked. "I suppose even an eldritch abomination dedicated to destroying the world must have quiet moments. I'm more surprised we were challenged by Grimm coming down here."
Cinder snorted, swallowing her bacon. "Please. As if Salem would let the Grimm near her kitchen. Would you let mindless monsters wander around crockery and marble work surfaces?"
The answer was no and yet that still came across so mundane. This was the Queen of Evil. This was Salem. This was a monster. Monsters weren't supposed to shout at you for tracking muddy footprints in or letting the dog – or Beowolf in this case – put its paws on the counter.
"What about the food?" Weiss asked. "Where does she get this?"
"There's a vegetable garden out back with Seers and some other Grimm especially designed to tend it. Meat, eggs and dairy are brought in by us, and yes, Salem does the cooking. She is immortal, which means thousands upon thousands of hours with nothing to do. You'd be surprised what skills she has mastered."
"Skills like…?" Yang prompted.
"Cooking, painting, juggling, singing, sewing, sculpting, card counting." Cinder frowned at the last one. "Simple things most people wouldn't waste time with. They're mostly skills useful around the home and nowhere else. She can't exactly enter normal society."
"Sounds lonely," Ruby said.
"It is lonely." Cinder finished her breakfast and sighed. "Anyway, let's find the Relic of Destruction so we can murder her."
"You're going to ignore what we just said that quickly!?"
"Pretty much. What does it matter if she's lonely? Oh, it's all so sympathetic, but she's still going to rip my spine out if she gets hold of me, so I'd rather deal with that. Jaune gave us this task and I'll see it done." Huffing, she leaned an elbow on the table. "Sadly, the tower isn't a small place, so I'll need your… your…"
"Assistance?" Yang offered.
"No. I'm looking for a word that best encapsulates worthless and pointless effort you don't respect but will make use of if you're desperate enough because it gets the person doing it out your hair."
Ruby, Weiss and Yang scowled. Blake slept.
"Well, the word is gone." Cinder clicked her tongue. "I'll go with assistance. The more ground we can cover, the better."
"Doesn't she have a vault or treasury?"
"Yes, actually, and I'll eat my arm if the Relic is hidden in the most obvious place. You can search it if you like. Just remember, once you're in the corridors away from the kitchen and dining room, there will be Grimm. Seers for the most part, but also the occasional roaming Beowolf or Ursa. Try not to be so useless you get caught by one. I'm not saving you if you get caught by a tentacle monster."
Ruby rolled her eyes. "I think we'll be fine."
"Hmph. I'd make a comment on how your porn-addicted friend might enjoy it…" Cinder eyed Blake, who continued to sleep, unaware of the world around her. Cinder sighed unhappily. "It's just not the same when they're not awake to feel the burn. Well, let's get started. I'll take the lower floors. That includes the dungeon-"
"This place has a dungeon!?"
"Yes, though… not the kind of dungeon you're thinking of. Really more the kind Blake would enjoy." Another pause, another sigh as Blake didn't react. "It's a sex dungeon. I was really hoping for more of a reaction there."
"I'm not ten…" Ruby muttered. "Why does everyone think I didn't go through sex ed? Or that I don't have access to the internet…?"
"Whatever. Split up and search however you like."
Cinder stomped off and Weiss, after a moment to shrug, left through a different door. Yang and Ruby shared their own look, mouthed `together?` and then left to check out the vault Cinder had mentioned.
Blake slid off her chair and fell to the floor, curled up and continued to snore quietly.
A Seer floated by ten minutes later, considered the black haired human with its rudimentary intelligence and limited vision, decided it was Cinder and dropped a blanket on her. Its task done, and not-quite-Cinder snuggling up tight, it floated on its way.
/-/
"Grimm are scaling the west wall!"
"Injuries on the northern wall – requesting immediate medical assistance."
"-one Grimm managed to survive the landing. Team CRDL has been dispatched to hunt it down."
"Send Raven to the west, have her clear the wall using her powers." Ironwood ordered. "Get medical teams north. We have-" He checked the time. "Only one hour before the next ceasefire. Tell the huntsmen they only need to last that long and then they'll be reinforced and switched out to rest. Marrow, get the artillery focusing on the Grimm to the west – buy them some relief."
"Sir, yes sir!"
One half of the command centre was a bustling hive of activity as Ironwood barked orders to any number of people at once, moving his hands across an interactive scene to keep himself perfectly appraised of the situation. He looked exhausted but in his element, bags under his eyes but mind working quickly as he sent people to their relevant positions and managed the defence of Beacon.
On the other side of the command centre, an altogether different battle was taking place.
"What do you see!"
Roman squinted at the ink splots on the paper. "I see a bird plucking a mouse from a field to take it back to its nest and devour it alive."
Jaune reversed the placard and stared hard at it. He saw a butterfly at best, maybe a four-leafed clover if he squinted. Oobleck smacked his head from behind with a stick, telling him he wasn't supposed to second guess the patient's choices. Nodding, Jaune leafed through the psychology book on his lap for answers.
"You have… penis envy? No, that's if you're a girl. Wait, is all this just saying women have penis envy? Why? It's not that great. Um." He flicked on several pages. "Ah, here we are. Birds of prey, fear, doubt, homosexuality? You're afraid to admit you have homosexual feelings?"
"Uh. I don't think I have those feelings. What if I say I see a butterfly?"
Jaune flipped through. "Desire for freedom and otherwise feeling constricted or held back… likely stemming from repressed desires relating to the penis, the butterfly looking like a penis with wings-"
"But it doesn't."
"-and thus you are holding back sexual desires for your own mother?"
"I never even knew her."
"Bart, are we sure this is useful?" Jaune asked.
"Bigmund Freud was a pioneer in the field of psychology. Though, there are people who suggest his rather single minded focus on genitalia and feelings toward one's own parents is a little extreme."
"Extreme doesn't even cut it, Bart," Roman said, sweeping his legs off the seat. "All I'm really getting is that he, himself, had repressed desires for men and his own mother and wanted to find a way to explain it all off as normal, so he invented some whack job psychological theory that all people have it instead of, you know, doing the brave thing and coming out."
"His theories haven't held up well to the test of time, I shall admit."
"Yeah, the penis envy thing most of all."
"It was a time where women had less rights and men were seen as superior, a less civilised time. I expect that most men back then simply assumed they knew what women were thinking."
"How about I don't be a misogynist to Salem," Jaune said, closing the book. "Even leaving aside that sounding like a stupid idea, she was once the ruler of her own kingdom. I don't think she's going to take being told what to think or say well."
"You asked for help practicing your therapy."
He had, but this didn't feel like it was giving him any ammunition to use on Salem. Roman shrugged apologetically, having tried his best to be the sorrowful patient. A few huntsmen and soldiers looked their way confusedly. They no doubt assumed someone as aware and intelligent as Jaune Arc would be planning a suitably important matter, so they nodded and went on, content to trust in his leadership.
"Any new ideas?" he asked Oobleck.
"We could go for the teenage approach."
"Partying?"
"No, I mean the teenage approach to finding ideas." Oobleck held up his scroll, open to a search engine. "Let's have a look. Ways to treat depression – skip past all the ads for therapists offering their services, skip past the poetry section. Ah, the charities. Always disappointing how badly they're forced down the list. Hm. Let's see. Ways to help treat depression."
Jaune perked up. This sounded good.
"Step one, learn as much as you can about your depression…"
Useless. Utterly useless. "Next step?"
"Accept that it will take time to find the right treatment."
"Nope. We're being invaded. Next."
"Don't rely on medications alone."
"Nice. Nice. Does it say what to rely on instead?"
"I'm afraid not. The next step is to `get social support` from people nearby."
Jaune whined through his teeth. "Yeah, obviously, that's what I'm trying to do, but I'd really like some actual bloody advice here!"
"And the final step is that treatment takes time and patience."
"WHAT TREATMENT!?" Jaune yelled, making Ironwood and the Specialists look his way for a few moments. In a quieter voice, he hissed, "It hasn't said anything about treatment. What useless site is this?"
"It's the official cross-Remnant support guide."
Great. No wonder so many people suffered from depression if this was how pathetically people tried to help. Okay, he got it, there were a lot of different kinds of depression and every person was different, but people were presumably coming to those sites for hard advice, so having at least some to offer would be helpful. How were they meant to feel like there were people out there who cared for them when the advice offered was so pathetic? People weren't stupid; they could identify empty platitudes when given them.
"Oh, there are some actual things at the bottom."
Jaune dared to hope.
"Eat nutritious food, sleep more, get exercise and rely on social support."
"That's it…?"
"That's it." Oobleck closed his scroll. "Well." He coughed. "I think I can see why therapists get off charging so much money, especially if they're the ones making sure there is no actual useful information online. To be fair, I'm sure there are laws which make it dangerous for these sites to suggest anything that might prove incorrect."
Probably. That didn't help him, though. He'd identified the problems Salem had, but with no good advice other than "it takes time" to rely on, he didn't know how to help. This is ridiculous. Maybe I should just hire an actual therapist to come down and help her. Except no, because it would take time, time they didn't have.
"Forty minutes until your scheduled meeting, Arc!" Ironwood called across the command room.
Forty minutes. Sheesh. "I can't make her run around in circles or take medication. It has to be the social support thing. That's friends, right? I need to befriend her."
"You really think this war will be solved via the power of friendship?" Roman asked.
"I think I have forty minutes to pick something! I'm desperate here!"
"Touché."
"Friendship isn't bad." Bart said. "Even if it's a vague term. Really, I think you should go in blind." When Jaune croaked out a complaint, Bart explained, "You're most successful when you're speaking your mind. Call it survival instinct, thinking better on the spot or not being burdened with too many ideas, but you can't argue otherwise. Planning has never been your strong suit."
"Bullshit has," Roman said.
"Exactly. Now I'm not telling you to bullshit befriending her, but just get her to talk, listen and ask her what you feel is right. Ultimately, that's the most anyone can ask for."
Maybe Oobleck was right. Any professional treatment was going to take too long – he'd tried bringing in twenty of the best therapists across Remnant, having Glynda arrange for them all to be available on a call at the same time, all beamed into his office as Roman locked the door, trapping him inside with his notes on Salem's behaviour and the twenty best psychological minds alive today, to be locked in there for four hours.
Roman had called it the Therabolic Time Chamber.
Jaune didn't get the reference.
The experience had been… muddled to say the least. He'd bring something up and then twenty people would argue over it for half an hour, each coming to wildly different conclusions and offering advice that ranged from having him and her roleplay her issues to let her confront them, to strapping her down with little electrodes attached to her skin – something that immediately led to an argument as three quarters of the therapists turned on the others, decrying such outdated and immoral practices while the other quarter defended the traditionalist, results-based approaches.
It had quickly turned into what felt like a debate-based death battle wherein people weren't killed but ended their calls in disgust, shame or embarrassment depending on how they were `defeated`. Before long, he'd been cut down to one therapist who kept going on about chicken dinners until Jaune threw a paperweight at the screen and stomped out.
"Thirty-five minutes, Arc. You might want to make your way down to the gate already. Don't want to be late to your session."
Swallowing, Jaune stood.
/-/
"I feel like we should be working harder…"
"Oh come on, Rubes. Just one picture. Please? When am I ever going to have the chance to do this again?"
"Well… alright."
Ruby pulled out her scroll and angled it at Yang, who leaned back on a stack of golden coins which dated back thousands of years and were probably worth more than their weight in solid gold. Yang wore a crown studded with gems lopsidedly atop her mane of hair, wielded a sceptre studded with the biggest sapphire Ruby had ever seen in one hand, and a ceremonial gold and gem studded sword in the other. It was more form than function and would likely have snapped if it parried a proper blow, but that obviously wasn't its purpose. Sadly, it also wasn't the Relic. They'd seen pictures of that.
"Kneel, Sir Ruby, and be knighted."
"Yang, we're meant to… meant to…" Ruby looked left and right then scooted forward with her Semblance, skidding on one knee in front of her sister. "O-Only because I'll never get a chance to be knighted for realsies!"
"Heh. Sure." Yang tapped the sword on her left shoulder and then her right. "Arise, Ruby Rose, Knight of the Realm."
Ruby tried hard not to squee.
Tried.
Salem's treasure vault was, in a word, awesome! It wasn't just fat stacks of cash, though there was plenty of that. It was stuff collected over thousands of years of… well, whatever she'd been doing. There were fancy cars, golden statues, paintings stacked in corners and basically several billion lien worth of tat stuffed into a room like a hoarder packing an attic full of antiques. There was a lot of jewellery, too, and Ruby wasn't sure what to think about Yang pocketing some. On the one hand, stealing was bad. On the other, this was Salem. Evil. Was stealing from evil bad? It was just like taking loot from someone in a video game, wasn't it? Kind of. Sorta.
It wasn't like they hadn't done a little looking, either. Yang had only found the crown after two hours of being shoulders deep in various piles of valuable knickknacks. Ruby had been going through the weapon racks – and not just because ancient weapons, oh my lord, but also because that was surely where a magical sword would have been kept. Still, as amazing as it all was – and it was amazing – the Relic of Destruction didn't seem to be anywhere.
"I guess Cinder was right," Yang said, removing the crown and placing it gently atop a stack of gold bars. "Maybe she hid it before she left, or maybe she didn't want to put it somewhere Tyrian or Hazel could get hold of it. This would be the first place thieves would look, too. Not that I imagine she gets many of those around here…"
"Do you think it's in her room?"
"I doubt it. I bet that's where Cinder went to look after the sex dungeon, and since she isn't here rubbing out faces in over the fact she found it first, then it's not there. It'd be somewhere where people wouldn't expect it."
"The toilet?"
"Somewhere people wouldn't accidentally use, Ruby."
"Oh. Um." The tower was big. Huge, even. "I'm not sure we could search this place in one day…"
"We definitely can't. I think Cinder knows that. We're probably going to have to look in shifts and it might take a couple of days to check it all. Ugh. Why does one person living alone need a place this huge anyway? It's ridiculous."
Ruby's stomach grumbled in answer, making her flush.
"Hungry, huh? Yeah, I guess it's about noon. Want to swing back to the kitchens and see if the others found anything?"
The plan sounded good to her and they went back the way they'd come, Yang having literally left a trail of breadcrumbs by crumbling up a loaf she'd stolen earlier. It was a bit ridiculous considering they'd gone in a straight line, but there were a lot of corridors and they could have gotten lost easily. With no connection for their scrolls to hook onto, they'd have to find one another again by shouting out, alerting Grimm.
As they reached an intersection and turned it, Yang and Ruby tensed. A bulbous ball of what looked like red and orange jelly was floating toward them on a withering bed of tentacles. It… Ruby wasn't sure what it looked like. A jellyfish floating? Maybe. How it floated was a mystery given the tentacles not touching the floor or rustling to suggest air being blown down. Maybe its head acted like an air sack and kept it afloat. It came floating toward them and Yang pushed her against the wall, activating Ember Celica, a much more reasonable weapon to use in a narrow corridor.
Wub. Wub. Wub.
The Seer floated past them without so much as noting their presence. It buoyed and bounced on, down the corridor and away. Yang brought Ember Celica back, making a short, confused grunt to mark its passing.
"You think they're blind?" Ruby asked.
"Might be. I didn't see any eyes. Guess they're not going to be an issue unless we startle them."
Weiss and Cinder had already returned to the kitchens, it turned out, and Blake had woken up with a sleepy question as to what was for breakfast. Confused and not yet fully awake, she was nursing a coffee and scowling at anyone who dared talk in her general direction. Ruby slid in next to Weiss before Yang could, leaving her sister to reluctantly sit next to Cinder.
"Skank," Yang greeted.
"Sloppy seconds," Cinder returned. "I take it you've had no luck finding the Relic. The same on my end. This isn't going to be as simple as I first thought, and worse, I found where it used to be."
"Used to be? How do you know?"
"Because it was a wooden display piece on the wall of Salem's bedroom with two hooks on it and a bronze plaque reading `Relic of Destruction` beneath it." Huh. Well. That'd probably do it. "Salem naturally kept it close to hand, but the fact it is missing means one of two things. Either she brought it to Vale – which we know she wouldn't have – or it has been taken and hidden, Salem perhaps expecting that someone – most likely Qrow – would come along to take a look."
"Hah. More fool her. Uncle Qrow would never get near that thing. Can you imagine his Semblance with a weapon that could destroy the world? Yeah, no. Prof Jaune would tie him to a missile and send him to the moon sooner than let Uncle Qrow near this."
"Luck does not exist," Cinder snorted. "It is an excuse used by failures to explain why others succeeded in their place."
"Yeah, you haven't seen Uncle Qrow's Semblance," Yang laughed. "So, it's hidden. Makes sense. It'd still be here though, wouldn't it? In the building."
"I expect so. Taking it out and hiding it would just mean running the risk of someone finding it. If only the Relic of Knowledge had some questions left, this would be easily solved. As it is, we're going to have to turn this place upside down, and for that we need a plan. We'll split into teams, take the floors one by one and basically destroy everything."
Weiss blinked. "Destroy…?"
"The Relic is something that can't be damaged. Everything else can. I can't think of a quicker way to find it. Can you?"
"Well, no, I just… It's not very subtle, is it?"
"No, but the person who might notice is all the way in Vale, so who cares?"
"Wait." Yang leaned forward. "Just to be sure, you're asking me to trash this place on purpose. My job is to run around completely smashing this house up, and that's a good thing…?"
"Am I speaking another language? Are you having difficulty understanding?" Cinder rolled her eyes. "Yes. Yes, that is what I'm asking. Go wild. You're already trying to play homewrecker to Jaune and I, so it should come naturally. Just spare the kitchen and our sleeping quarters since we'll still need those. Anything and everything else is free game."
Outside the tower, Grimm mulled about and congregated among purple rocks and dust crystals. They flinched suddenly, as a large boom heralded a gout of flame spinning out and shattering a window of the tower. The fire licked outside the and up the walls, before a flaming bed was hurled out the window and came crashing down to the floor below, crushing a Beowolf that had been a little too slow off the mark.
"Wohoooo! This is awesome!"
A chest of drawers followed, spilling underwear out over the Grimm below before shattering to pieces on rock. This time, the Grimm were wise enough to scatter. Covered in lingerie and not quite sure what to do about it, several Ursa looked to one another, their mindless, rage-filled minds not quite `thinking` but perhaps more accurately `calculating` what it was they were designed to do.
Mostly, that was destroy. Kill, destroy and rend the human things. They didn't think like that, if they thought at all, but that was their instinctive programming. As one, the Grimm fell on the drawers, ripping it to shreds and playing – trying to murder, but one could have been mistaken for thinking otherwise – a pair of frilly white lingerie stockings.
"Whooo!" the voice above yelled again, dropkicking an entire wardrobe out.
The Grimm echoed, Beowolves howling as the Grimm waited for the latest offering to crash down before pouncing on and ripping it to shreds. All over the tower, ice, gunfire and bursts of flame spilled out windows, glass, wood and ceramic shattering as the five girls got to work quite literally turning the tower upside down.
/-/
"-and I just don't know where I went wrong with him. He was always a bit strange, but I don't think I did anything to make him that way."
"Hm." Jaune's pen scribbled.
"Do you think I encouraged him?"
"Hm. I wouldn't say so. It sounds like he's just a complete nutcase if I can be honest with you. I think you did everything you could. Some people are like that." Jaune paused to take a bite of the cookie. "This is seriously good by the way. Like, wow! What's in it?"
"Oh, nothing out of the usual – a little bit of ginger is the spice, but it's how long you bake it that's the secret." Salem smiled proudly as he finished the cookie. They'd gone without the reclining therapist's chair today, instead the two of them sitting at a small garden table with a parasol above them.
And, you know, an army of Grimm surrounding them.
Normal things.
"I think you did everything you could for Tyrian." Jaune said, licking his fingers clean. "Except maybe get him a therapist, but I don't think that'd help. Actually, it could be argued you helped him by giving him a purpose and something to do. A lot of people would have just called him a lunatic and sent him away. You may have saved his life."
"Really? Well, it's a relief to know I didn't make things worse." Dipping her voice, she leaned over to whisper. "In all honesty, they're all a bit strange. Cinder was always such a hyperactive and bossy little child, demanding this and that. Watts came as an adult and a bit of a shame for it. Clearly, his mother never bent him over her knee like she should have."
He'd been told more about his mortal enemies than he really thought he should or had ever wanted to know. For instance, he'd been told of Cinder's first period, her screams of dying and how `Doctor` Watts had first made her his enemy by telling her in a very serious voice that she was in fact dying and should get her affairs in order because she wouldn't survive the night. Listening to Cinder bawling and sobbing and Salem having to force her into bed because Cinder was convinced she'd die if she fell asleep was equal parts horrific and honestly a little sad. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that Watts got himself killed.
There was something about a shark costume, too, and Salem's coy laughter and comments that Cinder would never forgive her if she showed him the pictures.
Cinder as a child. It was an image he'd never known he needed.
"You sound like my mom." Jaune said without thinking.
Salem paused. "Oh? How so?"
"I don't know. It's just… I guess it's a mom thing. How you remember the embarrassing parts of Cinder growing up or how you think back fondly on her and the others when they were younger. The way you managed to raise her without issue despite having no one to rely on. I guess it just made me think of you as a mother."
"I was a mother once…"
Jaune winced. He'd heard the tale of how they died and wanted to avoid it if he could. "Sorry if that brought up bad memories." He wanted to delve into Ozma, though. Getting her to talk about herself was all well and good, but the whole `war` thing was the main crux. "Were you and Ozma already cursed when you married and had children?"
"We were both cursed by then, yes. Things were… They were awkward if I can be honest. I was cursed to never grow old. Ozma was cursed to grow old, die and then inhabit a new body. Do you know what it's like to have to get used to your husband wearing new skin every few decades?"
He couldn't say he was. "Weird?"
"Very weird! The skin colour changes, I can accept. Hair, I can accept. Eyes, a little more complicated, especially the one time he inhabited a silver-eyed warrior. No missionary for a hundred years! I hated it. Really, though, it's the passengers that make things awkward. They're still conscious for a long time before being subsumed, so I can be feeling frisky, reach over and wrap my arms around him and then he squeaks and tells me I have the wrong person."
"Ouch. Must be a mood killer."
"Not half as much as when he comes back a child!"
Jaune winced again. Like this time. "How does that work?"
"I'll tell you how it doesn't work – in my bed! No sex until he's at least twenty. That was a rule. A hard rule to follow at times since he often couldn't get it up in old age either, so sometimes I might have a forty year dry spell as he grows old, dies and then has to grow up to a reasonable age again. Then we'd go at it like rabbits for forty years and repeat."
Yikes. And he'd thought him and Glynda had problems.
"Was it that which caused issues?"
"Our separation? No. We'd grown so used to the switches that it was part and parcel of being together at that point. What did Ozma tell you about our argument?"
"Is it wise for me to say?"
"I won't get angry," she promised. "Really, I'm enjoying these little meetings to squander them. Tell me."
Jaune drew a deep breath. "He said that you started to turn against the people you ruled over and wanted to wipe them out and start anew. That he couldn't agree and hoped to take himself and the children away, presumably so you wouldn't be able to enact the plan without risking them."
To his surprise, Salem didn't debate it. "That's about right. I'm glad to see he didn't mislead you."
"You were really going to kill everyone?"
"Yes."
"W-Why!?"
"Ah. There's the right question." Salem bopped her finger against his nose. "The question is why? Why did I think it necessary to kill them? Because I must have. This was no overwhelming power drowning out my common sense. I had ruled over them with Ozma for hundreds of years, so why suddenly change my mind?"
"Because you had a reason to…?"
"Indeed." Salem smiled and sipped her tea. "History tends to repeat itself. I'm sure you've heard that said before. In our case, we collected the scraps of humanity left behind after the Gods departure and saved them, helped build them back into a civilisation. In return, they loved us. They were grateful and adored and respected us for rescuing them. Their children did, too, remembering the calamity, and their children's children who were taught it by their parents, and so on and so on."
"However, over time, the memory of those moments began to dwindle. People remembered what happened in theory, but the sensation was too far away to really empathise with. Think of it as your own racism issues with faunus. It's not even been a hundred years since the faunus war where humanity was defeated, and already you're back to this. You'd think people would be intelligent enough to ask what happens if the faunus win again and decide they can't trust humans to rule, but no, people have forgotten what the war was like. It fades from memory and just becomes `some big thing` that happened ages ago."
Like the Great War, he supposed. You knew about it, everyone was taught about it, but as much as you might say it was horrific and disgusting, you can't generate the same revulsion as someone who actually lived through it. You're just spouting second-hand feelings.
"Our people started to push back against us. They wanted to become more independent. To be honest we were fine with this," she said breezily. "Our children had been born by then, and I had better things to focus on. Ruling can become boring after a few centuries, so I couldn't have cared less, and neither could Ozma."
"So, what happened…?"
"History repeated itself. Just as we turned on the Gods, they plotted to turn on us. Some did, first in private or behind our backs, going against our decisions and blaming actions on us, and then in public, protesting and making grand accusations. It could not rain without it being our fault. If a child scraped its knee, then it must have been because I made it so. They wanted their independence back, but they could not accept or believe that we would give it. For some twisted reason they believed that the only way they could really have their independence would be if we were banished from the Kingdom. Or killed."
Jaune swallowed. "Did they?"
"They tried. Ozma was the easier target since he could die, and there was an attempt on his life. He thwarted it himself naturally, and then just as naturally, he decided it wasn't something to overly worry about." Salem sighed. "That was just like him. Too forgiving. Too eager to accept false apologies. He said that by showing mercy, we would show that we weren't as bad as they believed, but Ozma overestimated humanity as usual. They didn't see us sparing the assassins as mercy; they saw it as an insult. And if Ozma and I were too difficult to target, well, they'd just need to go for those less protected."
"They targeted your children!?"
"They did. And that, Jaune, was their final mistake. It started with insults and ostracization, but soon turned to thrown rocks. They attempted to kill my eldest and would have if her pet dog hadn't given his life to protect her, giving her the time to escape. When she came to me in grief and tears, blood running down her arm, telling me how her beloved companion had been killed, I reacted as any mother would. I hunted down those responsible and showed them none of the mercy Ozma would have!" Salem's voice rose with every word, the table creaking under her strength. "I dragged them before the startled masses, and I obliterated them slowly. I wated the smug satisfaction on the faces of everyone in that crowd by replaced with fear."
Suddenly, she relented, seating herself once more. "Ozma was not pleased. He saw what I did as going backwards and sowing fear. We argued, we disagreed, and I decided I would destroy them all and start anew. You know the rest from there."
"Yes." Jaune put his pen down. "One last question. Did you? After Ozma and your daughters died, did you follow through?"
"Of course. I burnt our civilisation to the ground. The survivors of that calamity banded together to form the Remnant you know today, and that is where – through means I really don't care to understand – the faunus popped up."
Jaune's scroll buzzed the end of their session. Salem smiled, more relaxed than the last time. That was probably a good sign.
"Tomorrow?" she offered before he could. "Same time?"
"Yeah." He picked up his notepad. The huntsmen on the walls would have all been replaced, allowing for rest and recovery. "I'd like that."
"One question, then. Before you go." Salem leaned on the table with her chin on her hands. "Do you agree with Ozma? Did I do the wrong thing in letting anger take over? Should I have allowed them, time and time again, to strike at me and my family?"
He didn't have all the details. Salem could have been lying or even if she wasn't, she might have been subconsciously playing down her actions or exaggerating those of the people who had gone against her. Given what she'd told him and assuming it was all true, however…
"I don't think I'd blame you," he said carefully. "I think my mother would do the same if someone tried to hurt one of us. Sometimes… Sometimes people can't be reasoned with. Killing everyone might have been extreme but killing them wasn't. Maybe what you and Ozma disagreed on wasn't that someone should be punished, but the degree of it. Maybe you would have agreed more if you'd sat down and let yourselves calm down before making any decisions."
Salem looked thoughtful. "You think so…? I admit I was angry at the time. Furious…"
"People say and do things when they're angry. Maybe you shouldn't have planned to kill everyone, but Ozma definitely shouldn't have tried to sneak your children out and leave you. That wasn't a very mature solution to the problem, especially not when it wouldn't have even stopped you killing them. That's like wanting to stop someone smoking by stealing their computer console."
Jaune paused as an idea came to him. A very wild and potentially dangerous idea, but one all the same.
"Would you mind if I brought him next time?"
Salem's mouth fell open. "Ozma!?"
"Yes. I think it could do you good to talk. Or argue." He shrugged. "Whatever works."
"I… I don't know…" Salem bit her lip. It was the most uncertain he'd ever seen her.
"Only this one time and if you want him gone, I'll send him back." he promised. "I'll also stop him getting sanctimonious with you. Think of it as a chance to shout at him for all the times he's been such an idiot."
Salem still didn't look entirely convinced.
"You don't have to agree…"
"No." Her eyes closed. She sighed. "You can bring him if you wish. I reserve the right to leave if he gets too annoying, however. Either way, I will allow your safe return to Ozpin Sucks after, though I can't say I will be as friendly a host if he is here."
"I'll keep that in mind. Don't worry." On a whim, Jaune leaned over to touch her arm. "I'll mediate and stop things getting too bad. If you start to feel pressured, kick me under the table and I'll change the subject or talk over him."
Salem laughed and pushed her seat back.
"I'll keep that in mind, and I'll apologise in advance for turning your leg into a bloody stump."
Time for dat relationship counselling, Jaune.
Psychology was a fascinating subject in school, by the way. I make it sound all horrid, but most of those examples came in the "ethics" module that you have to study, which covers all the ways psychology has breached ethics, what ethics is now and how tests are kept fair and moral for everyone, etc, and those were chosen because they were bad.
There's lots of interesting modules like dreams, reproduction and behavioural, with loads of interesting cases like Zimmerman et al, and the one on obedience that I always mistakenly say is from Maslow because he was in my business course. Had to Google it, it was Milgram. Maslow is self-actualisation and Milgram is obedience.
One of the things our psychology teacher taught us was that your exams are marked by normal people who actually don't know anything about psychology, so sometimes you can bullshit a fake experiment, attach a fake name and just throw it in there, and the examiner just has a marking sheet that says "extra points for referencing a psychological study", and they're not going to Google it to make sure it's real when they have hundreds of papers to mark. His advice was always to make the name a German sounding one, something markedly foreign so even if they haven't heard of it, they can just assume it's because it's a foreign study. He was a legend of a teacher.
Next Chapter: 1st October
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