The troll is back and imitating me and others in the reviews, this time trying to make it look like I'd attack my own reviewers because obviously that's a thing I'd randomly do from a guest account. Ignore the nonsense.
Important Note: This chapter will be short. My 2-year-old puppy (Kali) was last night kicked by a horse, which did extensive damage to her lower jaw and forced me to rush her into an emergency vet, where I was stuck from 8pm to past midnight. Her lips needed to be stapled shut and she was given heavy painkillers. They say she should be okay, though I have to go back in 3-4 days to have the staples removed.
I have to keep a close hold on her today as she's come off the painkillers and is in a bit of a state, alternating between complete cowardice and bouts of sudden energy. I don't want her to run around and hurt herself like this. Blood everywhere in my front room.
Kali should be okay. It's unlike her to enter the fields with the horses, so I think one of them must have kicked through the fence as she passed by, which is just as rare because most of the horses love her and they're always rubbing noses through the fencing. Some even run along it with her, racing up and down.
Last night was very panicky, especially since thanks to Covid I wasn't allowed into the vet with her. That was one of the worst experiences ever since I always say it's an owner's responsibility to be there to comfort their pet no matter what, and especially if they do have to be put down. I saw people having to let their dogs and cats be taken away from them, clearly to never see them again, and without being there to comfort them when it happened.
It's been a hell of a difficult week for me and my dogs. I just want some peace and quiet with them right now.
Cover Art: Serox
Chapter 17
General Ironwood slammed a hand down on the table, rattling the wood and making several of the councillors jump in alarm. One person who did not jump was Matthew Fields, CEO of Chivalric Arms. He stood in the middle of fifteen raised seats that surrounded him from left to right forming a semi-circle. The man, no older than thirty-five, watched with carefully blank eyes and a faintly smug smile. Dressed in a slate grey suit with a black shirt and red tie, the man looked calmer stood in the centre of an inquiry than anyone had a right to be. His blue eyes were fixed solely on Ironwood, his hands straight down at his sides and the crest of Chivalric Arms emblazoned on his breast pocket.
"You will answer the Council's questions," Ironwood demanded.
"Chivalric Arms is prepared to cooperate with Atlas in all matters." Matthew's voice was smooth and cultured, slow and confident. "I've answered every question to the best of my ability."
"Ironwood," Sol chided.
"If this is cooperation, I'd hate to see obstinance," he snapped. "We have fifty dead bodies in Atlas in a facility that does not exist, and after cross-referencing their data, several have been found to work in your company." Ironwood leaned forward, the desk creaking under his weight. "Would you care to explain how this happened?"
"We are as much at a loss as you are, General. It is believed those employees acted independently."
"Truly? And where, pray tell, would they find the kind of money necessary to establish such a facility? Not just one, but numerous spread across Atlas as well. All utilising high-tech equipment including combat droids designed by Chivalric Arms."
"Chivalric Arms produces droids for private business as well as military. It is possible those were purchased through legal means and then diverted to criminal enterprise. We are in line with all relevant checks on hardware sold but cannot guarantee where it is sold after that fact. Naturally, we are investigating-"
"If your employees went AWOL, why did you not report them as missing?"
"That is something we are investigating among middle management. Disciplinary meetings are already underway as to how such an oversight could happen."
"An oversight? An oversight is a budget going missing or a project being put behind schedule. An oversight is a minor mistake missed by happenstance." Ironwood stared the man down. "An oversight is not staff and equipment being diverted to human experimentation."
"General Ironwood!" The interruption came from several seats over, a pudgy and sweaty Councillor rising. The representative of the unions and commerce within the city, a powerful, wealthy and altogether unpleasant man. "Accusing an esteemed business of such practice without proof is not how this Council operates. You will retract that statement."
Ironwood stood, and the man immediately faltered, shaking faintly. "Shall I…?"
"Y-Yes."
"Those charges are as of yet unsubstantiated and also not laid against Chivalric Arms." It was Sol who cut in, motioning for Ironwood to sit with far more confidence. "That is what this inquiry aims to discover. Sit down. And Mr Fields, please forgive General Ironwood."
The CEO smiled charismatically. "There's nothing to forgive."
Grinding his teeth together, James sat, foot tapping on the floor as questions were plied by other members. They were all of them banal, asking Fields' thoughts on policy, the White Fang, and the charges of experimentation. Each was so straight forward the man had no problem answering, waxing poetic about Chivalric Arms' contribution to the Kingdom of Atlas.
The Council of Atlas had already made up its mind; that much was clear. Divided into fifteen seats, some political and subject to voting, others stationed by position or rank, the Council rarely agreed on much. He claimed two seats, both granted automatically to the General of the army and the headmaster of Atlas Academy. There were those who rebelled against such a practice, seeing it as power without consequence, calling the practice undemocratic. Ironwood snorted. As if by Jacques Schnee buying advertising, influence and votes made him any better.
"Chivalric Arms refutes the accusations, Councillors. Though it goes without saying we are troubled by certain members of our staff being present at this facility, we believe ourselves to be victims in this. As I understand it, members of the military have also been found present. It may well be that we are both being targeted."
"Well said," a councillor remarked, as obviously in their pocket as he had been when, in the first minute of this inquiry, he'd stood up and decried the investigation as a farce. Money could buy a lot of things but apparently subtlety wasn't among them. "I move that we dismiss these accusations as baseless. Our time is better spent focusing on the Vytal Festival."
"Aye."
"Agreed."
Ironwood banged his cybernetic hand down again, this time gentler. The sound still reverberated and silenced those speaking. Once more, Fields' attention turned his way, the faintest flicker of annoyance on the handsome man's face.
"The inquiry is in process," James spat. "To dismiss it now without evidence is to prove ourselves incompetent." He glared down the man who had suggested it. "You claim that Chivalric Arms has conducted its own internal investigations. Is that correct?"
"It is, General."
"Then this Council would see the results of it."
"We have already released our findings to the esteemed council," he said, gesturing to the folders they'd received. Ironwood's was open, but he noticed that only about half the council had bothered to look through them.
"You've released the cliff notes. I want to see the original investigation logs."
"I object to this!"
Disgust rose in his stomach like acid. Turning, he let his eyes rest upon Jacques Schnee himself. Dressed today in a suit of icy blue, he was sat back in his seat, chin resting upon one hand and eyes narrow flints of ice. Behind him stood his secretary, a waspish woman with a perpetually snide smile and reflective glasses. As he stood, she leaned in to whisper in his ear. He nodded, coughing into his fist and stepping up.
"What General Ironwood asks sets a poor precedent for our Kingdom. If our Government can force its way into the private goings-on of a trusted company, what is to stop us doing the same for all who cross us? For business to thrive, the economy must remain free."
"I'm not suggesting a hold on the economy, Councillor. I am asking to see this investigation the representative speaks of."
Jacques picked up and brandished the thin folder. "We've already seen it, General. Your suggestion that we need more only implies a lack of trust in a respected company that I personally find disturbing. There are laws in place to protect all citizens and entities of Atlas. If we overstep them here, what is to stop us doing more in the future?"
"If the SDC isn't accused of human experimentation then you've nothing to fear."
"This has nothing to do with the SDC," Jacques lied. "I am speaking of the totalitarian nature of your suggestion. Chivalric Arms has provided us all the details we have asked for. Intruding into their affairs in so heavy handed a manner will only disrupt their operations further."
"That is true," Matthew said. "Our investigation has already frozen several departments and cost us over one point two million lien. We accept and understand the necessity of this but would ask the Council of Atlas to allow our employees some rest from scrutiny." He stepped forward, hand to his chest in self-sacrifice. "I am here. You may question me in their stead."
"Well said," Jacques complimented. "Business must allow to run. The Kingdom's stability comes first. We have indulged this inquiry and I believe we have all the information we need." Smirking his way, Jacques took his seat. "I suggest we move to a vote to dismiss charges."
Chivalric Arms walked out thirty minutes later.
/-/
"You were instructed to leave the investigation be."
"Some investigation," he replied, looking up from his desk. "And what brings you here, Sol? I was under the impression you'd be busy pushing me to launch dust missiles at a young man wronged by our Kingdom."
"Your temper does you no credit, James. It also shows how you can't be objective in this."
"Objective?" Ironwood barked a laugh, slamming his fist down. "You want to talk about objectivity? Oh, Sol. That. Is. Hilarious." Snarling, he kicked back, knocking his chair to the floor and looming over the man who, to his credit, refused to back down. "How objective was that inquiry back there? We couldn't wait to dismiss charges. That was a farce!"
"The evidence was lacking."
"Their men were found dead at the scene!"
"As were ours, James," Sol snapped back. "Shall we arrest the army now? Throw ourselves into a cell and guard ourselves lest we escape?" The retired General pushed past him, helping himself to a glass of brandy from Ironwood's drinks locker. He unscrewed the top and poured it out, back to him. "You say we're too eager to call them innocent. I say you were too eager to find them guilty. I can understand wanting someone to punish, James, but let's make sure we're punishing the right people." The bottle clinked down and Sol turned, toasting once before drinking. "We are not barbarians. It's innocent until proven guilty."
Ironwood scoffed and crossed his arms. "Does that also apply to Jaune Arc?"
"No." Sol's eyes flashed dangerously. He slammed the empty glass down. "It might have done before – I agree with you, James, his circumstances are tragic – but tragedy doesn't excuse what he's done. The boy is a murderer, and worse he's our murderer. Our murderer currently set loose in the capital city of our greatest ally! What happened, James?"
"His last position was Mistral. Our intelligence suggested he was headed to Menagerie."
"Well something changed!" the former General snapped. "Military intelligence is as bloody useful as ever, I see. This is a disaster, James. Make no mistake." He pointed to him, unsettled. "The Vytal Festival is the one place I don't want an unhinged man with a Semblance capable of killing anyone in its radius and the motives to use it."
"He doesn't have reason to involve anyone at the tournament. His movements so far have all been to secure his siblings."
"Yes. Leaving a swath of bodies in his wake. And what's to say something hasn't changed? He's been seen cooperating with the White Fang. Even if he doesn't have reason to interfere, they do. No. This has gone on long enough. You were given ample opportunity to stop him in Atlas. Don't think I'm not aware you sent Winter Schnee to Mistral to continue the chase even after I ordered you not to."
Ironwood raised a brow. "You're not my superior anymore, Sol. I don't take orders from you."
"No. But you do from the Council." Sol let a letter slap down onto the desk. It was sealed with the sigil of Atlas and Ironwood stared at it like a snake.
"When was this decided? Why wasn't I invited?"
"It was unanimous. Your two votes would not have swayed anything."
"My presence is still mandated."
"We write the laws." Sol tapped the letter with his finger. "I'll spare you the effort here. You are moving to Vale immediately. Officially, you are to reinforce security around the Vytal Festival in response to unsavoury action in the city."
Ironwood let out an angry rumble. "And unofficially?"
"Find him. Kill him. There's to be no trial, no time wasting and no more chances. He is to die before he can cause a tragedy that will have Atlas as its cause."
"Is that what we are now, Sol? Murderers?"
"It's what we've always been, James. We do what we must for the stability of Atlas, be that defending its borders, weakening its enemies, or cleaning up its mistakes. You teach huntsmen to kill monsters. You shouldn't have any problem with this monster."
"I'm disappointed. I thought better of you."
"And I of you, James." Sol walked past him to the door, never once looking back. "I didn't realise when I pushed for your promotion that you were so weak willed." The door swished open and he stepped out. "See this done or the Council's next meeting might be to discuss your replacement."
/-/
"I'm sorry, sir. I really am."
"You've done nothing wrong, Winter." Ironwood offered her a tight smile as he stepped into his command centre. The Ace-Ops stood to attention and each saluted. "At ease. The Council has pardoned Chivalric Arms. The inquiry has revealed nothing."
"Nothing?" Marrow squawked. "But there were dead bodies!"
"All an accident," he snapped. "Or happenstance. I lost track of what excuses they gave."
"The traitors go that far, then," Vine said. "Troubling."
"I can't tell how many were traitors and who was bribed or just disinterested. There were some who had made their minds up from the start. They were there to win votes, not to see anything done."
"Atlas always rides a nationalistic wave before the Vytal Festival," Clover remarked. "The competition is good for peace, but it breeds competitiveness in ugly ways. I imagine the public want us to be seen as better than the other Kingdoms. Finding Chivalric Arms guilty of such heinous crimes doesn't fit the narrative."
"And the narrative is votes," Harriet said. "Reminds me why I joined the army instead."
The others muttered their agreement. Ironwood didn't but felt it inside. The Council was a necessity and something to be admired when it worked, but like all things, it was open to abuse. The theory, as with all democracy, was to allow everyone a voice. The problem was that it had clearly become a system in which certain people had more of a voice than others, namely those with the money to throw around.
"I doubt Jacques would need the money or influence CA could offer," Winter said. "It's likely he acted because if we allowed an inquiry here, he knows he might be next if an incident happens in one of his mines. He was protecting his own interests."
"My thoughts exactly," he said. "Unfortunately, everyone was busy protecting their interests to the point CA was allowed to walk away. Elm, I want you to watch Matthew Fields. I don't want him to so much as go to the bathroom would an update on what he's eaten beforehand." The woman saluted and hurried off. "Marrow, cross-reference the dead with what we know of this investigation." He tossed the young man the file from Chivalric Arms. "If they won't show us their investigation, we'll conduct one ourselves."
"Sir, yes sir!"
"Vine, I want you to look over the other Councillors. See if any have made any surprise purchases of late. Anything they shouldn't be able to afford on the salary they earn."
"Sir." He saluted and left.
"Clover. Winter. I want you to prepare teams to accompany us to Vale. I want everyone checked, double checked, triple checked and then run through a blender. Every single person needs to have their loyalties in place. Whether it's CA or not, our enemies will be looking to push their own people forward. If any come across suspicious, have their names on my desk as soon as possible."
"It'll take time, sir. We need to bring a lot of people to Vale…"
"Then we'd best get started." Winter stood, saluted and marched away, leaving Clover to smile exasperatedly and snap a quick salute as well before hurrying to catch up.
"And me, sir?" Harriet Bree asked.
"Harriet. I want you personally guarding our guests. They shall be coming to Vale with us."
"Sir, is that wise? I don't mean to question your orders but if we bring the sisters we have to Vale, we paint a target on ourselves." Despite her training, there was some small amount of unease. He could understand it since training meant so little against Null. "Arc has no reason to trust us and every reason to try and take them away. We're inviting him to attack us."
"I understand that, Specialist, and yet if we leave them here and they're captured, we'll be giving him reason to return to Atlas. I'd rather he attack us in person than wage war on our city."
Harriet closed her eyes and saluted. "Yes sir…"
/-/
Sirens wailed in the streets. Red and blue lights flashed. People hurried to and fro, heads down and shoulders hunched. The rain that had begun to patter down grew in intensity, blanketing the city in a thick mist and driving those that could into cover. Others hurried on their way, umbrellas up or raincoats pulled tight around their bodies.
Jaune hurried with them, fur collar up over his head. The jacket formed a tunnel before his head, letting him see another patrol car hurtle by and a narrow field of vision of people racing through the soaked streets. His shirt hung damply to his body, his socks were drenched, and a pool of water squelched with every step.
Hunger.
It gnawed at him. He hadn't dared stop to eat the rest of the day, determined only to put as much distance between himself and the scene of the crime as possible. The news was out, the police on high alert. He'd spotted cordons at the entrances and exits of the city checking everyone who tried to leave. The hospitals were also guarded. Lost and unwilling to risk asking for directions, he made his way in what was hopefully the direction he'd come, back toward the poorer side of the city where he might find shelter. The rain was convenient for letting him hide his face without looking suspicious. It also fit his mood perfectly.
Things wouldn't be this bad if I'd killed that man. The thought kept spinning in his head and stomach, making him feel sick with doubt. The fact he could think it at all bothered him. I can't kill innocent people. That's not who I am.
If it meant saving his family, though. Could he do it then? If not, then when – and where was the difference? It was okay to kill people from Chivalric Arms but not other people? Wasn't it all just killing in the end? If a police officer tried to arrest him and thus end any hope of saving his family, would he kill that man even if he were doing his job and what he thought was the right thing?
"I'm not going back there. I can't…"
The streets became dirtier, the roads cracked. Neon signs in the poorer district promised good times, easy women, and gambling. Avoiding those places that might see his face, he slid up to a poorly lit food stand instead. It was one of those white trailers with the side open and an elderly man and a younger girl working inside. There was a short queue out the front, some of those people wobbling from having had too much alcohol.
Hunching his jacket up over him and pulling it tight around his neck, Jaune joined the back and waited. The steam from the grill warmed his hands while the smell of sizzling bacon and beef burgers had his stomach grumbling. The queue moved as another person took their order and left. It was well-lit inside and he hopes that would contrast with the dark outside and provide some small cover. Another person took their order and left. Jaune slid up, covering his hair and staring pointedly at the menu instead of the girl.
"Double cheeseburger," he rattled off. The thought of ordering some sofa was tossed aside. It'd be nice, but he could drink water from public restrooms if he had to. The girl asked if he wanted onions and he nodded silently, fishing out the stolen wallet and opening it up.
A young girl stared back at him, her picture pinned to the inner left compartment. Jaune swallowed and moved past it, folding the flap back to pull out some lien and slide it onto the counter. The woman took it and handed back some change, then accepted the hefty bun from her father and wrapped it in some napkins.
"Here you go, sir."
"Thanks." Jaune took it and turned back, only to freeze and notice the queue that'd formed behind. He ducked right before any could notice his face, biting down into the cheeseburger both to sate his hunger and hide himself. The people out here seemed like they were out for the nightlife, or even finishing it in some cases.
They chatted and laughed and started fights with one another, while others sat hunched against walls cradling their heads and a few wobbled and weaved their ways drunkenly down the pathways arm in arm, singing or laughing with no regard for how loud they were. Polishing his meal off in record time, he ignored the lowly pang asking for seconds and started looking for an abandoned building to call his own.
Why was it like this? Why was he homeless? His dad earned good money and held a job. He'd studied in school. His sisters had started to pick out their own jobs as well, and mom earned extra repairing clothes in her free time. Their family hadn't been wealthy, but they'd had a cosy home back in Ansel and everything they could have wanted. Warm food, comfortable beds and spending money whenever they did the chores to earn it. And yet here he was, tired and wet and hungry, counting lien to be able to afford to eat the next day and only having any at all because he'd taken it from a man at gunpoint.
Blake's fault.
It wasn't all her fault but being trapped here alone was and he'd be damned before he forgot it. I trusted her. How could she-? No. He scrunched his eyes shut and stopped to catch his breath. Forget her. Forget all about her. She's unimportant. Literally nobody. All I care about is finding my family. Fuck her. Fuck Blake. I hope she rots!
Jaune drew himself up to a boarded and condemned building. The doorway had once had wooden slats over it but those had been broken. Peering inside, he considered pulling out his new scroll for light but decided against it. For one, it'd only expose him, and secondly there was no way here for him to charge it up again. The best he could hope for there was to find a charge lead and somewhere with a public station. Those were usually on trains or restaurants, but he might be able to sneak into a library or find a socket somewhere.
Glass shards crunched underfoot. Light reflected off labels of bottles of beer and the glistening syringes that he avoided as best he could. His hand reached out to steady himself on a wall before he thought better of it and kept them close into his side. The ground floor was empty and a mess, likely used for a party or just somewhere to toss your empty bottles. Used-building syndrome, they called it. Where people would see a broken-down place and no longer think anything of making it worse.
Crunching his way over to the back, he found the staircase and slowly made his way up it. Here, there were more recent signs of inhabitation. An opened can of beans tossed aside, a ratty and tattered blanket, a pair of rats that hissed at him from the rotting meat left in the corner of the room.
Jaune went higher still, climbing over some discarded furniture and a dirty bathtub covered in cobwebs and huge spiders. Getting over it all was an exercise in balance and he had to vault up and cling to the lip of the doorway, kicking his feet to swing himself under and through. His boots landed loudly on the other side, followed by a loud curse nearby.
"Fuck off! I found this place!" His hand snapped down to Mors, drawing and pointing it at a man in a ragged coat sat by a dust-powered stove. The man flinched and held his hands up. "Fuck," he hissed, "C-Calm down. I won't want no trouble."
A beggar. A homeless – or another homeless person. Jaune supposed he was as well now. His hand trembled, finger itching to pull. He'd taken a risk once already and paid for it. Just kill him, a dark part of him whispered. Your family is more important. Kill him and deal with it later.
Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, Jaune dragged his hands down.
"I won't want trouble either," he said. "This place big enough to share?"
"Y-Yeah. Just the two of us." The man slouched, not entirely relaxed but maybe giving up on having a choice in his fate at all. "Area is run by some people that don't like our kind. They run out the homeless every now and then. Says it drives down business."
"Lovely people," Jaune remarked, remaining where he was.
"Might as well come warm yersen," the man said. "Not like I can do anythin' to ye."
The man had rough and patchy skin, clearly suffering from a condition beyond his poor living standards. His teeth were blackened, his fingernails thick with grime and dirt. He was human for once and not a faunus, though it was hard to tell with how ragged he looked. The coat he wore was actually two different coats, a blue one that only reached up to his arms and was made for someone at of a child's size, and another tossed over the top with fresh holes cut for the arms. Whatever he could get a hold of, obviously.
Jaune moved over and slowly knelt by the stove. He kept one foot bent and in front to better give him time to move if he had to. The man didn't look capable of much, but then neither did he. Appearances didn't always match up.
The old man's weary eyes met his. "Yer that killer," he said bluntly.
"I am."
He breathed a ratty sigh. "Gonna kill me?"
"Not if you don't try tell anyone about me."
"Tell? Hah." The man's laughter was scratchy and hoarse. "Who would I tell? Who'd listen? I could be dyin' on the edge of the road and people would cross the street to avoid me. Then go back to their warm homes, food and televisions to tell themselves they're good people. Fuck 'em. If you're here to cause trouble, ain't no business o' mine."
Jaune stared, trying to tell if the man was being honest or not. It was hard to make out anything. "You're not scared?"
"Been dead for twenty years. Just been waitin' for someone to pull the trigger. Might as well be you." He smiled toothily. "Though tell you what, you give me some food and I'll keep quiet. How about that?"
"I don't have any…"
"Ha." The man's grin grew. "Figures. Guess I'll do it for free then. Got to be one person in this fucking city willin' to offer some charity. Might as well be me." He tossed over an old bottle full of water. "Filled it from the taps," he said. "Help yersen. Not like it costs anythin'."
He didn't feel safe drinking from a bottle with someone so clearly sick, but he didn't have much choice. Opening the cap, he poured some out onto his hands and supped from that. Only enough to sate his thirst. Screwing the cap back on, he handed it back. "Thank you."
"Polite for a murderer…"
"I wasn't always one."
"Is the way of things, ain't it? Wasn't always homeless mysen, either."
"How'd that happen?"
"Too long a story. Too fuck'n drab. That's mah corner." The man pointed to the corner furthest away from the windows. There were some clothes there. Not much and nothing worth anything. "Pick another and sleep there. Or don't. Not got much on me worth takin but can't stop you. Just do me a favour and kill me first."
"I'm not going to…"
"What's the matter?" he jeered. "Not good enough for ya?"
"I'm only killing those who have wronged my fam-" He sighed. "I'm after those who wronged me, not people like you."
The beggar laughed hoarsely. "Fuck'n rich! Ah kid, if I went after all those tha' wronged me, half the city'd be dead by mornin'. How many more you gonna take with you?"
"As many as I have to," he replied. "But… as few as I can help."
"Ha. And how much can you help who goes after ya?"
Jaune stared at the ground. "Not much."
"Is what I thought." The man stood with a creak and crack of bones and joints. "I'd get gone by mornin' if I were you. About time they scoured the building. Last time they found me 'ere, said they'd break mah legs if they found me again."
"And yet you're still here…"
The man laughed bitterly. "Where else can I go?"
They were in the same boat. Jaune breathed out sharply as the man left, sitting more comfortably and warming his hands by the little stove already running out of dust. He'd gotten away for now but this wouldn't last, and he couldn't spend every day trying to survive or nothing would be done. I need to find Chivalric Arms. The carriage on the train had their weaponry. It must have been a shipment to reinforce their facility. Find that, or where they were headed, and he could break in. Adam would have called for a subtler approach, but that was gone now. Blake had taken that chance away.
Just as he couldn't leave though, so too couldn't the weaponry from the train. Risky as it was, he had to go back to it. The police would be there too, investigating his entry. There'd be no avoiding that fact. Jaune glared down at the hot metal as the last of the dust was spent, dimming it and swallowing the abandoned building back in icy cold and wet rain. His fingers curled, clenching tight as he pulled his hands in for warmth.
If the police and the huntsmen didn't get in his way, things would be fine. If they did...
The sirens continued to wail outside. Jaune dragged his knees up to his chest and huddled into the corner closest to the shattered windows, leaning his head on the cold stone. Dark blue eyes stared ahead unblinking, fingers caressing the metal of Mors. Sleep didn't come, only a cold and dangerous calm that settled over him like a cloak. Whatever came would come, and he'd deal with it as he had to.
I can't afford to fail. I won't fail.
His eyes dimmed and slowly closed.
No matter what it costs.
/-/
Blake stared at the scroll.
"Hello?" an obnoxious voice sounded, a widely smiling face appearing reflected in the surface. "You okay, partner? Been staring at that thing for almost an hour now." The blonde's smile grew. "Waiting for someone to call?"
A different blonde's face flashed before her eyes and she flinched.
"Blake?"
"No. It... It's nothing."
The scroll went down. Her one attempt to contact him had failed. Blocked. In a way she was relieved, because she wasn't sure what she was meant to say or how – if at all – she could explain her actions.
It was better this way. A clean cut. A clean break.
"Doesn't look like nothing…"
"Leave her alone, Xiao-Long. Can't you see you're crowding her? Really, you're as irritating as your sister." Weiss Schnee, the last person she'd expected to be on a team with, came to her defence, though more for her own purposes than any desire to help. "No doubt Blake had seen the news lately. That psychopath working with the White Fang is in Vale. Who wouldn't be concerned?"
Blake's heart lurched and her eyes snapped to the window. Nothing. No one there. Beacon was defended, away from the city and quiet. It was her first real night at Beacon and she was already jumping at shadows. To be fair, if one of those contained Jaune then she'd be dead before she could get a word out. His Semblance would make sure of that. It would kill all of them, all of Team RWBY.
"Blake…?"
They were all looking at her. Coughing, she forced a smile.
"Sorry. What was that?"
"We were talking about that criminal," Ruby said. "What do you think? Yang was saying that if he's hurt all those people before, it should be huntsmen and huntresses that go after him."
"No!" Her vehemence surprised them. "I mean…" Closing her eyes, she forced herself to calm down. "It's best left to the authorities. They…" Bile rose in her throat. "He's just one man. H-How tough can he be? It's best we stay away. Far away. Stay in Beacon."
"You want us to hide here out of fear of some killer?" Weiss demanded.
"Yes. He might be after you," she lied. "He's working with the White Fang after all."
"Hmph. As though I would ever be afraid of someone like him."
You should be. Jaune would have no problem with your glyphs. He wouldn't even notice them. Ironically, he'd have no problem with Weiss either, if he even recognised her as a Schnee. That wasn't the real problem. If he saw her… no. Clean break. They were done. Blake Belladonna was a huntress-in-training at the Academy of Beacon. She'd made her choice and he... she'd known he wouldn't, couldn't, make the same.
There had never been a Blake Belladonna who worked within the White Fang, nor one that ever knew a man like Jaune Arc. They'd never known one another. He… He was just one man. One among hundreds of thousands. A stranger.
It was no longer her business.
Okay so this chapter actually didn't end up shorter at all. My puppy is so woozy she's just laid by my side all day letting me write. Poor thing. So, I've had people asking me why I bash Blake. The question amuses me greatly since go back less than a year and people were instead asking why I love Blake so much I cram her into every story imaginable. "Stop favouring Blake! Stop making Blake every pairing! Stop kissing Blake's ass!"
Now it's "Omg you Blake basher!"
Huh…
Thing is, I don't hate Blake. I genuinely think she is the most important character in all of RWBY for the first three seasons. Nothing happens without Blake making it happen, be it drawing the characters into Roman, drawing them into the White Fang and even drawing Adam to Beacon. Without Blake in the show, RWBY is just a bunch of girls studying in school, then the school is randomly attacked and then the team probably wanders off to Vacuo with Team CFVY to continue their education, because there's no motive for them to chase after anyone.
It's Blake who provides almost all the plot and story in the first three seasons. Everyone else is just dancing to her tune, which is fortunate because without her, the show would have fallen apart. Ruby, Weiss and Yang barely have reason to do anything other than stay in Beacon and study. They'd react if attacked, but there's no reason for Ruby to just stand up and say, "Kay, let's go find and stop bad guys now!"
After all, Ruby's goal is to become a huntress and she's in Beacon. Job done. All she, Weiss and Yang have to do is graduate and they're gravy. It's Blake who can't handle that and has to run off to deal with the WF, dragging Team RWBY into the plot. In a way she's like Gandalf ( a very vague, edgy way, lol ) and Ruby is Frodo. Ruby may be the main character, but it's Blake who drags her into the plot until Ruby can find her own reason to be involved. Obviously Pyrrha-mir of Gondor makes an appearance too.
Anyway, that means I genuinely love Blake's use as a character, which is why she ends up being important for making plotlines work. In this case, take Blake out and Team RWBY and Beacon never has any reason to interact with Null, and he has no reason to interact with them. Again, Blake is working her poor little butt off to make the series work.
Do I think she's a hypocrite? Sure. Do I think she's at times selfish? Hells yes. Do I dislike her for that? Nope. I love that she's not just the usual goody-two-shoes look at me, aren't I perfect, protagonist we're used to seeing. Blake is a jaded little bundle of problems and psychosis, and I genuinely like that. As a person I'd dislike such blatant hypocrisy, but then I'd also hate Roman's attitude as a real life person.
As fictional characters they're awesome.
Next Chapter: 8th June
P a treon . com (slash) Coeur
Yes, I wrote "Jaune" instead of June. It happens more than I care to admit.
