A/N
And now! The moment you've all been waiting for! Blake Belladonna VS Yang Xiao Loooooong!
(I'm imitating an announcer, if that wasn't clear.)
CHAPTER 7
For one second, one short second, Blake believes she must be dreaming. Or Remnant has somehow misplaced its own people. Or she's eaten something she shouldn't have. Those are the only conclusions her muddled brain can come up with as she faces Dragonheart. The only thing different about her are her clothings, and how she ties her hair. The rest is the same, from the length and style of the hair to the build of the body. And those eyes, Blake's mind realises. It's hers. It can't be anyone else's.
Then, Blake's mind stops thinking at all as Dragonheart lunges at her, hands outstretched and aimed at her throat. Blake leaps out of the chair as Dragonheart crashes into it. She grabs the closest thing she can—the nameplate on Headmaster Goodwitch's desk—and slams it against Dragonheart's head.
Dragonheart growls, and Blake expects fire to come out of her mouth and nose. Goodwitch yells something at them, panic in her voice, but Blake ignores it, pulling back then front-kicking Dragonheart. Dragonheart lets out an "oomph!" but grabs Blake's leg.
Dragonheart swings the leg down, bringing Blake's body with it.
"GIRLS! STOP!"
Blake's head thumps against the ceramic tile. She brings her knees to her chest, then pushes them up as Dragonheart brings the chair down. Blake grabs two of the chair's legs, then nudges them up. The chair's rail hits Dragonheart's chin, and her grip weakens.
Blake pushes harder with her hands and legs, throwing the chair up at Dragonheart. Dragonheart stumbles back, and Blake jumps into a crouch, hooking one knee around Dragonheart's ankle, then pulling.
Dragonheart falls sideways.
A door opens, then Goodwitch runs out of it, her heels echoing in the hallway. Good. Blake won't have to hold back.
She steps one foot against Dragonheart's collarbone. Hair clings to her forehead, surrounding her eyes. Her puffy, bagged, red eyes.
The door opens, startling Blake. Dragonheart grabs her leg then bites it. Blake cries out. Before she can retaliate, firm hands grab her, pulling her away from Dragonheart. "LET ME KRAZZING GO!" she cries out, thrashing. Someone's pulling Dragonheart away too, wearing a security guard's uniform.
She should stop. This is not Remnant. No one knows who she is, and who Dragonheart is—if she truly is Dragonheart.
"HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU COME HERE!"
It is confirmed; she truly is Dragonheart.
The insanity of it all causes her to yell back, with equal vigor: "I'VE DEFEATED YOU! YOU SHOULD BE ROTTING AWAY IN YOUR DUNGEON!"
"AND YOU SHOULD BE BACK ON—"
"GIRLS!" Dragonheart glares at Goodwitch, clamping her mouth shut. With reluctance, Blake does the same. Goodwitch stands between them, her sides to them, holding out hands in either direction. She glances at Dragonheart. "Stop. Or I will expel you." Then, at Blake. "Both of you."
Blake does not doubt her.
Goodwitch makes them promise not to try anything before she orders the guards to let them go. From the ajar door, eyes peek through with curiosity. This must be top-tier entertainment for them. The people of Earth prefer not to settle their discourses through punches and kicks, after all. It happens, but it's considered taboo.
Goodwitch has one of the guards take the chair away, for fear of it being turned into a weapon. Her pale face is paler, and her glasses have slipped down on her nose.
Goodwitch keeps away any objects with heavy materials or sharp edges from their reach. Her look becomes puzzled as she grabs her nameplate, which has split into two ends, one dangling onto the other. She doesn't know what to make of this. People of Earth do not do this. Not the sane ones, anyway.
It would be amusing to watch if not for Dragonheart, standing feets away from her and glaring at her.
Dragonheart. It's her. It's actually her. How can this be? What's happening? Sure, people who exist in Remnant may also exist here, but Dragonheart doesn't just exist here. She remembers Remnant.
She's like me.
The thought brings weird feelings to her chest.
They stand on either side of the room as Goodwitch calls their parents. Adrenaline wears off, and dread seeps in. Dragonheart's own face has lost its angry creases. She now looks tense.
Her dad arrives within fifteen minutes, asking, "What happened?" His eyes roam Blake up-and-down. "You alright?"
Blake nods, not trusting herself to speak. How is she to explain this?
Another ten minutes pass by—more awkward silence—then, the man who must be Dragonheart's father stumbles in, his flask badly hidden in his oversized coat. Is this truly the king of Vale? When Blake catches Dragonheart's eyes, and Dragonheart looks away, her cheeks reddening as her father slurs his greeting. No, not father. Uncle.
It dawns on her again; Dragonheart is like me. Blake hasn't found a term for what she is, but whatever she is, Dragonheart is also that, as well.
Or, in this case, Yang Xiao-Long. Because that's her name. Because Dragonheart has a name. And a reputation. Apparently, it's not a good kind of reputation.
"Just this week you've been coming to school late three times."
Dragonheart stares, defiant with crossed arms. It's strange to see her without her armor, wearing typical Earth clothes; flannel, ripped jeans, worn t-shirt. She looks smaller, less dangerous.
As Goodwitch rants on the importance of maintaining good relations with others, and maintaining a logical brain, and—"Look, why the hell would you throw a chair to someone? It doesn't matter how much you hate her, people don't do that."
Not on Earth they don't.
Goodwitch turns to Dragonheart. "I will have to expel you."
Dragonheart pales, uncrossing her arms. "Wait—"
"And you." Goodwitch meets Blake's eyes. "I don't think it's a good idea to accept you here in the first place."
Blake opens her mouth to speak, but Dad beats her to it. "Please, Missus Goodwitch—"
"Miss Goodwitch."
He swallows. "Right. Miss Goodwitch, please. There has to be something we can do."
"Yeah," Dragonheart's uncle says, bobbing his head in an exaggerated nod. "Look. Girls fight all the time."
"No, Mister Branwen. They gossip behind their backs and pretend to like each other."
"Well, that's sexist," Dragonheart mumbles. Instead of chastising her, her uncle snorts.
Blake and her dad share a look. Clearing his throat, he leans forward, hands open-gestured. "Look, Miss Goodwitch, there has to be something we can do. You can't just expel two students willy-nilly."
Goodwitch tips her chin up. "You're right, Mister Belladonna. I'll need to have a good reason." Her glasses magnify her glare. "Such as, say, lunging at each other within less than five seconds in the headmaster's office. In front of the headmaster herself." Pause. "Then breaking her name plate."
Her dad tries for a smile. "It can't be that bad, can it?"
Goodwitch gives him a flat look, grabbing what used to be a name plate from the desk drawer. Her dad's face falls. He turns to Blake, giving her a look that says, "You're on your own, now." He blinks, then his face shifts into another look. "Also, you're in big trouble, young lady," it says.
"C'mon, Glynda, there has to be something you can do," Dragonheart's uncle says, placing both hands on the table. Blake can't tell whether he's drunk or hungover or both. "Look, I—I served in the army, alright?"
"Qrow," hisses Dragonheart, but her uncle ignores her.
"Plus, the kid's an orphan. And I ain't exactly the best paternal material either."
"Oh my God," Dragonheart groans, her red face buried in her hands.
Dragonheart's uncle—whose name is Qrow, apparently—leans in closer, so much so that Goodwitch pushes her chair back. "Please, Glynnie. Can I call you Glynnie?"
"No."
"Look, Glynnie, she's—she's got a good heart. You know it too. The kid tries."
Goodwitch maintains her stiff position, then sighs, shoulders slumping. "If she were a more exemplary student, I might've believed you."
Qrow slams his hand on the desk, startling everyone in the room save for Dragonheart, who groans again. "That's settled, then!" he says. "Yang'll be a more exam—excam—"
"Exemplary," Blake's dad offers.
"Yeah," Qrow says, waving a dismissive hand, "that. She'll do better, then you won't have to kick her out because she'll be so good you won't have a choice."
Silence. Dragonheart's face emerges from its hiding place to peek out with uncertainty, the red disappearing from her place. Goodwitch looks back and forth between niece and uncle, then turns to Blake's dad. "And I suppose you'll be making a similar proposal?"
"I, er—" he turns to her, and she nods "—yes. Yes, I will. Blake has been a fine student. You can check the records yourself."
Goodwitch nods in a way that tells Blake she has checked her records. Her eyes find Blake's. "No, yes, I believe Miss Belladonna has the capability to make Beacon High proud." Then, they flit to Dragonheart's direction. "Miss Xiao-Long was once a formidable football player, from what I've heard. Her sister, Miss Rose, is also an exceptional student."
Rose? As in Ruby Rose? The princess of Vale.
Sensing what Blake must be thinking, Dragonheart gives her a scornful glare. Blake glares back, then remembers who's in the room.
Goodwitch's eyes flicker back and forth between them.
"How can I be certain that the two of you won't try to cause each other problems?"
The question is directed at them. Neither her dad nor Qrow can help them anymore. It's up to them.
This time, the look Blake gives Dragonheart is one that says, "What do we do?"
Dragonheart's mouth forms a thin line. In a heartbeat, they're back again in the forest, working together to defeat the Grimm worm.
Dragonheart leans forward, a forced friendliness to her face and tone. "I promise, Miss Goodwitch—"
"It's Headmaster Goodwitch to you."
Dragonheart's eye twitches. "Sorry. Headmaster Goodwitch, we—" she gestures between herself and Blake "—promise never to do it again. We'll never even look at each other wrong."
"That's right," Blake says, nodding and clasping her hands on her front. "It was all just a misunderstanding. I…" She gives a cursive glance at Dragonheart. "I thought she was someone else. Turns out she wasn't."
"Oh, really?"
Blake nods. Goodwitch turns to Dragonheart. "And you?"
"I, uh—I thought she was someone else too."
A disbelieving silence lulls.
"I'm afraid it won't be good enough," Goodwitch says, leaning back in her chair, her fingers forming a triangle. "I can't have the possibility that either of you will do something drastic to each other. If ten seconds of seeing each other costs me my nameplate and a chair, I don't want to know what the rest of the high school year will do."
An idea forms. It makes her nauseous, but better to be nauseous than to be expelled. "What if we prove it to you, then?"
Another lull of silence hangs before Goodwitch raises an eyebrow. "What?"
"We prove it to you. That we won't try to—" stab, punch, poison "—hurt each other."
"How?"
Blake swallows down what may or may not be actual bile. "By working together. In class. On a project. Or—or be lab partners. Or something."
Goodwitch tilts her head sideways, then turns to look at Dragonheart. "And you? What do you make of this?"
Dragonheart looks like how she feels. Blake nods at her, giving her a look that says, "C'mon!"
In response, Dragonheart glares at her, and Blake remembers what she's done. I locked her up for questioning, right after she saved my life. Hope deflates. That's it, then. I haven't even walked into a class, yet I'll be ex—
"I think that's a tremendous idea, Headmaster Goodwitch," Dragonheart says, voice void of hatred, a hint of a Remnant accent lilting her voice. Her face is calm, making her look like a reasonable girl, though Blake knows she's anything but. Then, she walks over to Blake's direction, and puts an arm around Blake's shoulder, pulling her in. "Me and Miss Belladonna—we'll be best buds! Just you wait!"
Blake can kill her. Right here, right now, she can kill the infamous Dragonheart, Vale's knight in shining armor and Menagerie's nightmare.
Smiling, she snakes her arm around Dragonheart's waist, turning them into the perfect picture of friendship. "Yes. We will prove to you that there's nothing for you to worry about."
After she says it, realisation dawns on her. Moons, what have I done? Goodwitch purses her lips, an inquisitive frown on her face. Please say no. Please say—
"I suppose an arrangement can be made."
Kraz.
A/N
I don't think I've asked this before, but do you guys like the whole "kraz" is Remnant's version of "fuck"? Since it's a different world, I wanted to pull a Brandon Sanderson and make up a whole new set of curse words, but does it work for you guys? Or do you think I should use words that already exist in the canon Remnant as curse words?
Like, say, oh my Oum instead of oh my God. Or maybe dust instead of fuck.
Also, how well did you enjoy their fight? I didn't want to stretch it out for too long and make it boring, but now I'm scared it's too fast-paced. Too much build-up and not enough pay-off, you know?
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that video. Don't forget to like, subscribe, and comment down below! I'll see you guys next week on my upcoming how to juggle knives while dodging bullets. Byeeee!