Spark to Spark, Dust to Dust

by Cyclone

Reposted from Spacebattles. Barely a month into her time at Beacon, Yang Xiao Long made a fateful purchase. Little did she know that this would lead her into a war fought in the shadows and a life in which everything is more than meets the eye.

65. Int 3-4: You Are Cordially Invited, pII

Interlude 3-4: You Are Cordially Invited, Part II

---

It was not long after their return to the train that the Mistral Express was freed from the snow which had immured it. As promised, another train, with a snow plow, found them, signaling its approach to them with a shrill whistle, so that they heard it coming long before it burst through the snow bank to free them. It then backed away, moving backwards all the way to the nearest town and the next stop on its itinerary, at which point, it was finally moved onto a different track, leaving the rails ahead clear for the Mistral Express to proceed.

The Mistral Express blew its own whistle for them as they passed, saluting their rescuers as the train built up speed, beginning once more to devour the miles as they raced towards the eastern shore.

Though winter had come upon them, the snow was rarer as they cleared the mountains on their eastward progress; as they left the peaks behind, instead of snowbound fields, they could see out of the window vast grassy plains, plains over which the clouds hung dark and heavy, yes, plains which were dark and overcast thanks to those same clouds, and plains upon which some flecks of snow yet fell. But still, for the most part, grassy plains, great grasslands as far as the eye could see. This was the land over which the Great War had been fought, and yet despite — or perhaps because of — that fact, it remained the most underdeveloped part of the Kingdom of Vale. Towns sat almost entirely upon the railway line or upon the branch lines that split off from the main east-west line like tributaries of a mighty river. Where the rails ran, there was the Kingdom of Vale, so they said; beyond its reach, you might as well be outside the kingdoms still.

And yet, it was a beautiful sight to see from a train window, despite being undeveloped. Or perhaps it was because it was so undeveloped that it was so beautiful: the rolling grasslands, the tall forests of mighty trees that sprawled away into the distance, the rivers that the railway was forced to bridge. And upon the grassy plains, the buffalo, great herds of buffalo, hundreds strong, visible far off in great shaggy masses, roaming unhindered.

Sometimes, they came closer than far off; in fact, at one point, the train was forced to stop again due to a herd of buffalo upon the line, where they remained for several hours before finally getting bored and wandering off elsewhere, allowing the Mistral Express to continue on its way.

After being snowed in for most of a day, a delay of a few hours wasn't something to get worked up about.

Occasionally, the train slowed down due to frost on the line, but for the most part, it made good time, they were not snowed in again, and the buffalo on the tracks were thankfully a singular incident. And so, only slightly delayed, the Mistral Express arrived at Freeport, Vale's window on the east.

Freeport had been founded under another name, a long time ago in the early days of the Kingdom of Vale, during the first attempt to colonize the lands east of the mountains. It had been abandoned when that effort failed, but it had clearly been well-sited, for the Mistrali had chosen to use the exact same place when they arrived not long before the beginning of the Great War. They had established their first settlement in Sanus there, the capital of their new region.

The last settlement in eastern Sanus from which they had been driven out. The capture of the colony by then-Colonel Colton was often said to mark the moment when the tide of war turned against Mistral and Mantle.

Although the fact that the regional capital could be thus assaulted might be said to indicate that the tide had turned some time before that.

Now, it was Vale's capital in the region and the final stop for this part of the Mistral Express. In Freeport, a ferry was waiting to carry them over the straits to the Mistralian port of Piraeus, from where another train would bear them on the next leg of their journey, but Freeport was where Team JNPR and the train that had borne them thus far, the train which they had defended from the Grimm, would part company.

Vale's eastern capital was just that, a capital, a second metropolis sitting on the other side of the continent from the first. If Vale had sunk into the sea yesterday, if Megatron and his Decepticon legions had succeeded in their assault, if the Grimm had broiled up through the streets to take the city by storm, then the second heart of Vale would yet beat here in Freeport. Or so it seemed to Pyrrha as she stood upon the roof of the train, the speedy onward movement of the engine causing her hair to billow out behind her in a great scarlet stream, gazing upon the city as the Mistral Express made its final approach.

Freeport — she confessed she did not know the exact derivation of the name, how this city came by it — was surrounded by a rampart of gray concrete, mismatched patches of lighter and darker shades silent testaments to its history. Gun turrets were set within the rampart, their black barrels pointing upwards at forty-five degree angles, or near enough, ready for any danger to appear at a great distance across the plains that surrounded the city on two sides. To the east, behind Freeport and both out of sight and at the same time inescapable, there lay the sea, the glimmering Sapphire Sea that divided Sanus and Anima, Vale and Mistral; and to the north, flowing out of the ocean but not quite a part of it, there was a lagoon which would, Pyrrha guessed, impede the progress of any landward Grimm, though what the aquatic Grimm made of it, she could not say.

Atop the rampart sat lighter guns, pointed directly upwards: anti-air guns, ready for the appearance of any flying Grimm. Or flying Decepticons now, she supposed.

The train began to slow as it approached the concrete rampart, and Pyrrha could see before too long that this was because the way in for the railway was blocked by a great steel gate, painted in a warning red with white stripes along the bottom. The gate remained resolutely closed, until eventually, the train had come to a complete stop.

There was no movement from the train and no sign of anyone upon the rampart. Pyrrha guessed that the train crew were in communication with someone within the city, although from her vantage point, she was not privy to what passed between them.

And then, with a great grinding sound and the buzzing of an engine, the gate began to slide aside.

Pyrrha climbed down from off the carriage roof, her boots tapping upon the metal rungs of the ladder. She swung herself down and into the carriage just as the train began to move again.

"We're here," she announced to the others as she rejoined them in the carriage that she and the team shared, in case that wasn't obvious to any of them.

"What's it look like?" Jaune asked.

"So far," Pyrrha replied, "well-defended. We shall see more once we are past the outer defenses."

"It's kind of surprising that this place is so big, considering the other stops we've made getting here," Nora said.

"Freeport benefits greatly from trade with Mistral; it is the only reasonable place for seaborne traffic from Anima to call into port," Ren declared, from where he sat. "Unfortunately for the rest of the region, most of that cargo then moves straight west to Vale, and this part of Sanus sees little benefit from it."

"You know everything, don't you?" Nora asked.

"Not absolutely everything," Ren replied, a slight smile playing across his face.

Outside, the world went dark as they passed beneath the rampart. It took longer than Pyrrha had expected; she had thought that they would be plunged into darkness momentarily and then return once more into light, but instead, it was like going through a tunnel, several seconds passing before light returned and the city became visible to view once more.

The city's defenses must be even more substantial than they seemed from without.

Nevertheless, they were through them now, and Freeport itself was spread out before them for their eyes to behold.

The city itself resembled the more modern parts of Vale or Mistral, shorn of what might politely be called the "traditional" elements that preserved the history of those two mighty cities. Freeport, in its current incarnation, was newer, dating really only as far back as the Great War, and so there was no sign here of the the old temples to the gods whose worship had fallen out of fashion; there was no room here for ancient streets where the houses were tightly packed together and built up and out so that they overhung the road between them, so that it was possible to lean out from one window and take the hand of someone at the window opposite; the antique guildhalls and granaries raised by the philanthropists of days gone by that had seemed so grand then but seemed so small now had no place in this fundamentally modern city. No, Freeport was a city of glass and steel skyscrapers reaching up towards the sky, of post-war terraces and more recent suburbs, of shopping malls and wide roads built for cars and trucks.

And of the railway station, Freeport Grand Central, into which the Mistral Express pulled. Pyrrha caught a glimpse of a glassy structure, a great skylight rising above the brick walls, before the train descended underground to the platforms beneath.

As the conductor's voice echoed through the train, thanking everyone for traveling aboard the Mistral Express, the members of Team JNPR grabbed their bags and cases and descended off the train and onto the platform. Their fellow passengers descended with them, everyone milling around a little as they got their bearings, eyes following the signs as they worked out where to go.

Since they were all encumbered with heavy luggage, Team JNPR heeded the automated advice playing and headed for the elevators. As they walked, Pyrrha noticed that people — not passengers who had been on the train with them, but those on other platforms, disembarking from other trains — were staring at them, some taking pictures with their scrolls.

Nora waved to them, a bright smile illuminating her face; Pyrrha wished she could have believed that Nora was the one that really interested these spectators, but she was grateful for her friend's effort nonetheless.

And after all, Nora had competed in the two on two round of the Vytal Tournament; she had as much right to be recognized and photographed as anyone.

They got an elevator cab to themselves, fortunately finding one that was waiting for them, and they dragged their cases inside, bumping over the metal ridge between the platform and the elevator, before turning to face the doors as said doors closed in their faces.

Jaune pushed the button for the ground floor.

"Where to next?" Nora asked. "The docks?"

"I think we missed the boat," Jaune murmured. "What with being caught in the snow and all. But…" He pulled out his scroll, opening up the device as the elevator began to rise upwards. "I think I got a message from the train company if I can find it … yeah, we missed the boat, but because the train was delayed, they're giving us complimentary tickets on another boat leaving here in … three days."

"We'll need to find a hotel, then," Pyrrha said. "Or at least, if we could, it would be preferable to the alternatives."

"Do you know any good ones, Ren?" Nora asked.

"As I said, I don't know absolutely everything," Ren replied dryly.

"The Imperial House Hotel is supposed to be the best one in the city," Jaune declared, "which is why I provisionally booked us four rooms there, in case our train was delayed and we missed the boat."

Pyrrha looked at him. "You planned for this?"

He smiled. "Well, I am supposed to be a strategist, after all, and these things happen at this time of year."

Pyrrha chuckled. "How lucky I am, to have a future husband who is prepared for any eventuality."

"You're lucky? We're all lucky!" Nora cried, wrapping both arms around Jaune from his shoulder to his waist, embracing him from behind. "Our team leader has saved us from the halfway house and the Young People's Association."

"I'm sure we would have found somewhere," Ren said.

There was a moment of silence. "What's the matter, Ren?" Nora asked. "Aren't you grateful to Jaune?"

"I didn't say I wasn't grateful—" Ren began as the elevator came to a halt.

The doors opened.

"We should see if we can find a cab to take us to the hotel," Jaune said, leading the way out, dragging his case behind him.

Pyrrha, Ren, and Nora followed him out of the elevator and into the glare of a thousand flashes.

Past a certain point, the way into and out of the station concourse was barred by ticket barriers, but beyond those barriers — and despite the best efforts of security staff attempting to keep the way clear for passengers coming in and out — had gathered a small army of photographers, film crews, and what Pyrrha assumed by context to be journalists. The photographers had an array of cameras, large and small, and they were all flashing brightly, so many flashes like the fire from the muzzles of a platoon of infantry, all flashing in Jaune's face … and soon in the faces of the others as they joined him.

Jaune himself stood frozen in place, rooted to the spot as the gathered press pack seemed to have done what hosts of Grimm and towering Decepticons had failed to do: stun and intimidate the leader of Team JNPR.

Pyrrha sighed inwardly, but outwardly, she put on her best practiced smile, the smile that she had been wearing for the cameras in some form since before she had first won the Mistral Regional Tournament — and it had only gotten more practiced since then — as she stepped up to Jaune's side and put one hand around his waist.

It had the advantage of looking good for the cameras — a sweet, romantic gesture, and by the gods, she hated that she had to think about it in those terms, to pollute the sanctity of their affection with base questions of PR — but it allowed her to remind him that he was not alone. She was there beside him, as she always would be.

Jaune's head turned to face her so rapidly that she feared that he might give himself whiplash. "Pyrrha!" he yelped. "What's going on?"

Pyrrha's practiced, public relations smile did not quite reach her eyes; she allowed it to do so now, for his sake. "It appears that we are … rather famous."

"I know that we were getting some attention at the Vytal Festival, but this seems to be a bit of a step up!"

"Well, we did win the Vytal Festival," Pyrrha reminded him.

"You—"

"We," Pyrrha insisted, in a tone that brooked no argument. "We won the tournament, together."

"The four of us," Nora said. "Although everyone seems a lot more interested in you two. I guess everyone loves a good love story."

"And Jaune is the king, after all," Ren observed.

"I'm not the King of Vale, Ren," Jaune declared. "Or anywhere else, for that matter."

Ren raised one eyebrow, and Pyrrha almost thought that he looked amused for a moment.

Jaune glanced at the waiting paparazzi, who were presently completely barring their way out of the station. Beyond them, the other passengers, those who were also trapped or had struggled valiantly through the press, were beginning to stare at them as well, to point, to whisper, to get out their scrolls and take pictures.

"What do we do?" asked Jaune.

Pyrrha hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would be too bold, too selfish, too inappropriate in the circumstances. Too hypocritical, considering that she had mentally complained about the commercialization of their relationship.

But, on the other hand, they were in a relationship, and they shouldn't have to police their conduct in any direction; they should be free to behave as they wished, when they wished.

"We … we could feed them, a little?" Pyrrha suggested.

Jaune frowned slightly. "'Feed them'?"

Pyrrha answered him with a kiss, placing both hands upon his face, pulling him ever so slightly towards her as she raised her head to press her lips against his, her tongue in his mouth.

She felt his arms close around her waist, pulling her in, holding her close.

Her foot popped, rising up off the floor until she was making a 'y' shape with her leg.

Someone cheered. More than one someone; even though her eyes were closed, the bursting lights of their flashes flickered through her eyelids, sending green and blue lights dancing before her eyes. Questions were shouted along with their names.

Pyrrha barely heard them as she and Jaune pulled ever so slightly away from one another. She was out of breath, her cheeks flushed, her chest rising and falling.

He was an exceedingly good kisser.

"That…" Jaune gasped. "That was fun."

Pyrrha nodded. "Less importantly, I think they enjoyed it too."

She turned, pressing herself against Jaune's side, putting her arm around his waist once more, and with her other hand, she waved to the press.

After a moment's hesitation, Jaune waved too; so did Nora, waving both hands wildly up and down. Only Ren made no such gesture.

By this point, more security guards had arrived, along with police officers, and with a mixture of persuasion and sheer force of muscle, they began to clear the press away from the ticket barriers. Team JNPR picked up their bags once more and headed towards said barriers, which opened up to let them exit the station concourse.

The sunlight fell brightly upon them through the skylight, glinting off Pyrrha and Jaune's armor as the team walked towards the exit. They were dogged every step of the way by camera flashes and by the shouted questions they ignored, and as they walked towards the exit, the press followed them like scavengers, unwilling to get too close but dogging their steps nonetheless, as though they were waiting for one of Team JNPR to tire and fall.

There were several cabs waiting in a rank outside the station, and Team JNPR picked up their luggage and descended the steps towards the first taxi in the rank, a purple-painted vehicle that fortunately was about the size of a small van, able to fit them and their luggage quite comfortably.

Nora reached the taxi first, sliding open the door.

"The…" She trailed off, looking back at Jaune over her shoulder. "What was the name of the place again?"

"The Imperial House Hotel," Jaune supplied.

"The Imperial House Hotel, please!" Nora cried.

The driver, separated from them by a sheet of glass, was an aged-looking buffalo faunus, his horns just shy of touching the ceiling of the vehicle, with gray hair and lines and wrinkles on his face. "Imperial House Hotel, yes, ma'am, very good."

"Thanks a lot," Jaune said as they all climbed in; the cab was large enough that there were two banks of seats, one with their back to the driver and one facing him; Nora and Ren sat side by side with their backs to the driver in his compartment, while Jaune and Pyrrha sat, also side by side, facing his way, able to see through the glass, and through the windshield as well, to the road out in front of them.

They all buckled in as Pyrrha shut the door behind them.

Above the mirror, she could see the meter begin to run as the taxi pulled out of the taxi lane and onto the road, seamlessly joining the traffic heading … heading Pyrrha did not know exactly where, except presumably that it was heading towards their destination.

"Someone is popular," the taxi driver observed.

"Hmm?" Pyrrha murmured.

"They were taking pictures of us as we pulled away," Ren murmured.

"I didn't know we were that huge," Jaune whispered.

Pyrrha leaned a little closer to him, almost touching his shoulder. "Well … as Ren said, you are the heir to the throne of Vale," she said.

And I… Pyrrha didn't finish that thought. She didn't need to finish that thought, not in the privacy of her own head; she was well aware of what she was — what she was thought to be — what she was. There was no escaping it; it was not speculation but, rather, fact, although what those facts led onto was … something rather different.

The point was that her heritage, though far less noble than Jaune's, was nevertheless … it might be said to be no less notable. Certainly, it was worth the attention of the kind of people out there taking photographs, especially since she and Jaune were engaged to be wed.

She wanted to reach out and take his hand, but the fact that she felt in need of reassurance might give away that there was something on her mind.

She felt foolish for not having seen this coming. She had, to some extent, seen this coming; that was why she had kept Jaune from seeing any of the media coverage of them.

She should have seen the fact that it would be impossible to keep that up forever. Sooner or later, the truth always came out.

And the truth about her was…

She looked at Jaune. He had a hero's countenance. Now that she knew that he was the scion of so noble a line, she could see that same nobility reflected in his face. While she…

She was the scion of something else entirely. It was not something that she thought about, it did not dominate her thoughts, but it was there, like a wolf in the darkness, lurking in the shadows, out of sight but ever present.

And now it seemed it would come out to bite.

I am not my ancestors. I strive to be kind, I endeavor to be humble, I take commands and do not give them. I try to be selfless, even if I do not succeed. In my conduct, I reach for virtue and reject all vice.

And yet my blood is tainted with the sins of my forefathers.

Jaune was so kind. He would not reject her for the crimes of those who had gone before, would he? No, surely not. He was too kind, too noble, to treat her thus. And yet, nonetheless, might it not change his golden opinion of her?

She hoped not, but beyond hope, she would do her best to keep the truth hidden from him for as long as possible and hope he would forgive the dishonesty.

Pyrrha could see the taxi driver's eyes flickering towards the rearview mirror, and she guessed that he was looking at them as much as he was checking the traffic behind them.

"Are you Team Juniper?" the cab driver asked.

There was a moment of silence from the four passengers.

"Uh … yes," Jaune admitted. "Yes, we are."

"I thought I recognized you!" the taxi driver said. "My daughters talk about you all the time! You are their heroes! Aarna is filling up the house with those cereal boxes trying to collect your figurines!"

Nora chuckled. "How's she doing?"

"She has a Lie Ren and a Jaune Arc, but no Pyrrha Nikos or Nora Valkyrie; meanwhile, she's got twenty figures of someone she hates named Sunset Shimmer. I wish they would just put on the outside of the box which figure is inside; it's manipulative marketing."

Pyrrha smiled. "I'm sorry to hear that she's having trouble," she said. "We … do appreciate the support."

"My other daughter, Harini," the taxi driver went on, "she says she is going to go to Beacon and become a huntress just like you."

"Good for her!" Jaune declared. "Remnant needs good, brave Huntresses."

"I would rather she became a doctor," the cab driver grumbled. "She can save lives every day and be published in peer-reviewed journals."

It was not too long afterwards, having driven them through the wide avenues of Freeport, that the taxi came to a halt outside of a large, looming building, a great tower built out of white stone, with columns in the Mistralian style lining the front, giving way to a more austere, modern style the higher up into the sky the tower rose. The steps up to the doors were lined with a red carpet, and a greeter in a top hat and tailcoat waited there before the doors.

"Here we are, Imperial House Hotel," the taxi driver said. "That will be twenty-two lien … and can I have a selfie to prove I met you?"

The four members of Team JNPR looked at one another.

"Sure!" Nora declared. "We'd be delighted!"

"Thank you very much," the taxi driver said, before getting out and opening the door for the team. He helped them get their luggage out of the taxi — although it went without saying that they hardly needed the assistance — and afterwards, with all their bags and cases deposited upon the pavement, Team JNPR gathered around the cab driver. Nora and Ren bent down, while Jaune and Pyrrha stood above them, all smiling upwards into the cab driver's scroll as he raised it above his head.

"Everybody say 'champion'!" he declared.

"CHAMPION!" they shouted, Nora making a V for victory with her fingers as the scroll went off.

"Welcome to Freeport," the cab driver said as he got back into his taxi. "Enjoy your stay."

As he drove off in his purple taxi, Team JNPR carried their luggage up the steps towards the hotel door. The greeter, in his top hat and tailcoat, at first appeared to look askance at them in their Huntsman attire, with weapons visible about all their persons except for Ren, but he then seemed to recognize them; at least, he blinked twice, and a sea-change came over his whole demeanor thereafter: he bowed his head respectfully and opened the door for them.

"Welcome, sirs and madams; enjoy your stay," he murmured.

"Thank you," Pyrrha said softly to him, slipping him some lien — it was expected, after all — as they passed.

The interior of the Imperial House Hotel was decorated in a pseudo-Mistralian fashion, with ornately-decorated columns very much in evidence. A fountain, adorned with statues of frollicking nymphs scantily clad, sat in the center of the lobby, while trees encased in glass sat here and there, separated from the people passing to and fro.

A clerk, wearing a green velvet waistcoat over a white shirt, sat behind a large desk of varnished wood that sat so high he was mostly concealed behind it. As Team JNPR approached said high desk, the clerk looked up.

"Good afternoon, and welcome," he said, in a voice that, while polite, was very obviously rehearsed and rote to him; he spoke before he had finished raising his head, and only when he had done so did he catch sight of who stood before him, "to the Imperial House Hot- oh my gods!"

People in the lobby stopped what they were doing to look their way.

Jaune laughed nervously. "Hey," he said. "I, uh, I booked four rooms in the name of … Arc?"

"'Arc'? Y-yes, of course, sir; just let me check…" the clerk said, looking down at something — presumably a computer, judging by the tapping sounds that they could hear. "'Arc' … yes, sir, four standard rooms. You know, we have some king-sized rooms available, if you'd care to upgrade?"

"No, thanks," Jaune said. "I'm not sure that I could—"

"Put it all on my card, please," Pyrrha said, taking said card out of one of the pouches on her belt.

"Pyrrha," Jaune said, "you don't have to—"

"I said that I would pay for our trip to Mistral," Pyrrha reminded him, "and this is part of our trip to Mistral, I believe."

Jaune frowned slightly. "I don't feel like much of a groom, letting the bride pay for everything."

Pyrrha chuckled. "Welcome to the modern age," she said.

"Thank you, Madam; that all went through just fine," the clerk said, handing her back her credit card. "And may I say, congratulations, for everything. Now, I'll just get your room keys and have someone help you with your bags."

---

If he had been paying attention, the doorman of the Imperial House Hotel might have noticed a red sports car, stylish, with low clearance and a very large grill and slanted headlights that looked like an angry mouth and eyes, parked across the street from the hotel.

Or perhaps, even if he had noticed, he would not have thought anything of it, because this was a nice part of town, after all, and stylish sports cars were nothing new here.

A fact for which Knock Out was very thankful; he would have hated having to choose a vehicle mode that looked plain or pedestrian.

A car was not the usual choice for a Decepticon's disguise; most of his comrades preferred what were called airships by the inhabitants of this world. Ground vehicles, it had to be said, were more the Autobots' style.

Starscream, in a loquacious mood — and really, when was Starscream not in a loquacious mood? — had once speculated that the general choice in vehicles symbolized the difference between the two sides in this long war of theirs: the Autobots confined, weighed down by petty ideals and the chains of their obedience to Optimus Prime and his rules, scrabbling around on the ground in a constant, desperate struggle; the Decepticons free to soar, unchained by any restrictions, able to do as they wished, all directions open to them.

Of course, at that point, Lord Megatron had come up behind Starscream and reminded him that they, too, were bound to obedience to their own master, but still…

In any case, Knock Out's choice had been far more esoteric. He had chosen a car instead of a vehicle mode which would give him flight for the simple reason that cars were, in his opinion, better-looking.

These humans might be primitive in many respects, but their transportation possessed a very pleasing aesthetic.

"So, that was the famous Team Juniper," Knock Out said, his voice soft without being pleasant, a little too deep to be called nasal, but which might perhaps be called grating if one had to listen to it for too long. An erudite voice, belonging to someone who was fully aware of their own erudition. "Hmph. I can't say they look like much."

"They did hinder Starscream's operation," came the reply over the comm, from a voice smoother than that emerging from the red sports car.

"A half-witted scraplet could hinder Starscream's operation."

There was a chuckle. "True; nevertheless, Pyrrha Nikos is considered one of the greatest warriors in Remnant—"

"Then why aren't we interested in her?"

"We aren't interested in any of them. Our allies, on the other hand, are very interested in Jaune Arc."

Yes, of course, their allies. It was their allies that had brought Knock Out to Freeport in the first place. Work on the Vehicons could have proceeded practically anywhere, but allies had to be taken where they could be found. They still required assistance in obtaining enough dust to create synthetic energon — especially after the intense combat in the Battle of Vale; the sheer number of Decepticons deployed and the damage sustained to the Nemesis had combined to consume a great deal of the reserves accumulated up to that point — and it was clear that further cooperation from the Atlesians was unlikely to be forthcoming.

Fortunately, they had already found a new partner, one willing and able not only to supply dust, but also a supply of warm bodies to pilot the growing Vehicon armada.

Unfortunately, unlike the Atlesians, these new partners were not willing to be bought off with vague promises of advanced technology to be supplied at some future point.

They wanted favors now.

Which was why Knock Out was currently sitting in front of a hotel, watching as four young Huntsmen and Huntresses went inside.

"Well," he said, "you can tell our allies that Jaune Arc has arrived in Freeport. What is it about him that interests them anyway?"

"He has royal blood in his veins."

"You've been spending far too much time among humans if that means anything to you."

"It doesn't mean much to most humans, either," came the reply, "but a veneer of legitimacy is often useful. Ask yourself how many Autobots would follow Orion Pax instead of Optimus Prime?"

"A fair point," Knock Out conceded.

"Besides, we don't need to understand our partners' thinking; all we need to do is get them what they want, so that they give us what we need."

---

Pyrrha didn't know what the standard rooms at the hotel were like, but the king-size rooms certainly merited the name. Her room had, in addition to a bed which also warranted the description of king-sized, a wardrobe, a dressing table complete with a vanity mirror, and a round table with two chairs — and that was quite apart from the armchair or the chair that sat in front of the dressing table. It was, in point of fact, a fully-furnished room.

While she applauded Jaune's choice, Pyrrha had no idea how he had planned to afford this if she hadn't offered to pay; descended from the Kings of Vale the Arcs might be, but Pyrrha did not believe that made them wealthy.

The royal families had lost most of their ancestral wealth along with their crowns.

And a good thing too: it was blood money, tainted by the crimes that had sustained their kingdoms.

For some, at least. I don't believe the Valish royal family committed any crimes.

Yet they lost the wealth all the same.

Pyrrha put such thoughts from her mind as best she could and focussed on more pleasant things, like the comfort of this room with its amber-gold walls and elegant furnishings, or the dress that she had changed into for dinner.

None of them knew Freeport, and while tomorrow they would have a chance to go exploring, for tonight, they had opted to have dinner at the in-house restaurant, where they had been fortunate enough to get a table for four — Pyrrha hoped that nobody had lost their reservation to accommodate them, but from the clerk's attitude, she couldn't rule it out. And so, in the comfort of her room, Pyrrha had showered and changed.

She wore a red dress with golden scrollwork just above the hem of the floor-length but narrow — it was not even an A-line — skirt that covered her feet and ankles. A golden belt embraced her hips and bound them together, swooping slightly downwards as it passed between them. A line of gold ran across the sweetheart neckline, and descended beneath it, too, to pass beneath her breasts and around her back. The sleeves were long but opened at the sides, so that they hardly seemed like sleeves at all; they fell off the shoulders and hung down beside her past her waist so that when she lowered her elbows, they almost reached the floor, but her arms were left bare to the world.

About her brow, her gilded circlet glimmered, and from it hung her emerald drops upon their chains of gold. Her honor band sat in its accustomed place upon her right arm, just below the point at which her sleeves opened, while upon each arm, she wore a golden bracer which glimmered in the light.

And upon her finger, upon the ring finger of her left, closest to her heart, her engagement ring glittered brightly.

Pyrrha bent down a little to examine her reflection in the vanity mirror. Not too much, but quite nice nevertheless, if she did say so herself. Hopefully, Jaune would say so too.

There was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Pyrrha called.

"It's me," Nora called from the other side of the door. "Open up, quick, before someone sees!"

Pyrrha walked briskly to the door, her red dress pooling about her ankles in gentle folds. Nora stood on the other side, unchanged, and carrying a stack of magazines in her arms.

"Every one that I could find in the newsstand on the corner," Nora declared.

"You're a lifesaver," Pyrrha said. She glanced just out of the room and into the crimson-carpeted corridor beyond. There was no sign there of either Jaune or Ren. "You'd best come inside."

Nora came in, carrying all those magazines. "I'd say that you were going to owe me bigtime for all this," she said, "but we both know that my friendship doesn't come with a price tag."

"Nevertheless, you have my gratitude," Pyrrha said, "and my … if there is anything that I can do for you—"

"Like I just told you, we wouldn't be friends if you had to pay me back," Nora insisted. She put the magazines down on the table. She looked at Pyrrha. "You look nice."

"Thank you," Pyrrha said, smiling. "I'm sorry if I've kept you from getting ready yourself—"

Nora waved her off with one hand. "It's fiiine. It's not as if I have anyone to get ready for, anyway."

"Nora—" Pyrrha began.

"Someone's popular," Nora said, flicking one of the magazines off the pile so that it landed in front of Pyrrha.

The name of the magazine was Diana; it was originally from Mistral, although its popularity had spread to all four kingdoms of Remnant. On the cover, beneath the name of the publication in its elegant font, was a picture of Jaune and Pyrrha, posed as if for battle: Jaune was down below, half-kneeling, his shield raised and his sword drawn; Pyrrha was above, her shield drawn back as though she was about to throw it at someone, while Miló was in her other hand, gripped near the point, drawn back to strike.

Beneath them were printed in bold the words 'Power Couple' before the promise of exclusive revelations on 'this year's hottest new celebrities — and maybe more.'

A groan escaped from Pyrrha's lips.

Nora rested her hands on the table. "Can I ask you something?"

Pyrrha held up one hand as she used her semblance to pull the bin across the room towards her. She started to stuff the magazines into it. "Of course," she murmured. "You can ask me anything you like."

"All this time, you've been trying to stop Jaune from reading anything about the two of you," Nora said, "and I help you because I love you, but … I've never gotten why."

"Because Jaune doesn't need to read about our relationship; he's living it," Pyrrha declared.

"Yeah," Nora conceded. "But … what's the harm, then? It's not like he'll find out anything he doesn't know already."

"Your faith in the honesty of journalists is very touching," Pyrrha said.

"And like you just said, Jaune is living what you two have!" Nora cried. "Do you think that he'd believe anything he reads that isn't true?"

Pyrrha stopped throwing the magazines away. "No," she said softly. "No, I don't. But I'm worried … Jaune doesn't need the distraction, and he doesn't need to read about anyone saying that he's not good enough for me."

Nora chuckled. "Pyrrha, Jaune is the King of Vale now; are you sure you shouldn't be worried about people saying that you're not good enough for him?"

Pyrrha did not laugh. She did not reply, not for a moment. She turned away, clasping hands together in front of her, her fingers brushing against the engagement ring on her finger.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, that does concern me."

"Hey," Nora said. "Heyyy!"

Pyrrha felt a pair of strong hands upon her arms, gripping her tightly, but at the same time, gently too.

"Hey," Nora said again as she spun Pyrrha back around to face her. "I didn't mean … I wasn't being serious! I didn't mean to … you're not … what's up with you? What's up with this?"

She gestured to the pile of magazines that had not yet been discarded.

Pyrrha hesitated for a moment. She smiled faintly. "Would you … would you believe me if I told you that I had a dark secret?"

Nora snorted. "No! Pyrrha, I know you were getting pretty close to Blake by the time we left Beacon, but you are not Blake, and you are not the kind of girl who has dark secrets. You're the most open book I know." Her blue eyes narrowed. "Or are you?"

Pyrrha closed her eyes for a moment. "Nora … do you think … do you think that there is anything that I could … anything I could be that would make Jaune … love me less?"

Nora was silent. "Uh … a murderer maybe, I guess?" she ventured.

She frowned and let go of Pyrrha's arms, stepping around her to stand beside the table. With a swing of her hands, she swept the remaining magazines off said table, scattering them to the floor with a crash. She pulled out one of the two chairs and sat down in it.

"Sit down," she said.

Pyrrha pulled out the other chair and sat in it, smoothing out the folds of her skirt with one hand even as she let her sleeves drop to the floor.

"I don't know what this is about," Nora said, "and you don't have to tell me. But I do know that there is nothing you could be that would change the way Jaune feels about you because there is nothing that you are that Jaune doesn't already know. You might think that you have a secret, but whatever that secret is, it won't change who you are, and who you are is … is Pyrrha! Our Pyrrha. His Pyrrha. The two of you … it fits. It's like … ice cream and pie. You go together like pancakes and syrup. Like—" Her stomach growled. "Now I've made myself hungry."

Pyrrha chuckled. "We are going to dinner soon," she pointed out helpfully, "but thank you for the sentiment."

Nora grinned. "Hey," she said. "You enjoyed that kiss, didn't you?"

"I thought that if we gave the press something—"

"But you also enjoyed it," Nora said, a slight singsong to her voice.

"Well … yes," Pyrrha admitted. "That too."

Nora hesitated for a moment. "So, um, this is going to sound like a big ask, but…" She fidgeted, playing with her hands. "Could I kiss Jaune just the once?"

Pyrrha's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"

"Only the once!" Nora repeated. "Where Ren can see."

Pyrrha stared at Nora in silence for a moment, incomprehension rendering her quite mute. "Nora, I … Nora, I love you like a sister, but no."

"Aww, why not?"

"Because I don't want anyone else kissing my fiancé!"

"That's fair enough, I guess," Nora grumbled.

"Why do you even want to kiss Jaune?" Pyrrha demanded. "Not that he isn't very kissable, but—"

"I want to make Ren jealous," Nora explained.

Pyrrha blinked. "I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate."

"When Ren sees me kissing someone else, he'll get jealous!" Nora repeated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Then he'll realize that he has feelings for me and that he can't afford to just hang around and wait forever because I'm moving on. Then he'll confess his feelings and apologize for neglecting me. And we'll live happily ever after!"

She clasped her hands together behind her head. "Pretty smart, huh?"

"That's one way of putting it," Pyrrha murmured. "But, as a plan, it has two main issues. First of all, as I've already mentioned, I don't want you to kiss Jaune, and second of all, have you considered that, knowing Ren, if he thought that you were happy with someone else, he would probably stand aside, and let you be happy, never troubling you with any thought of his affections … whatever his feelings might be?"

Nora sighed, and her shoulders slumped. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Pyrrha rested her hands upon the table. "Rather than engaging in what I believe are termed 'shenanigans,' why don't you just talk to him?"

"And say what?" Nora demanded. "That I've loved him ever since we were kids? That I've followed him across Remnant waiting for him to realize that he loves me too? How pathetic is that?"

"It's not pathetic," Pyrrha declared. "Not in the least, it … Nora, you're the most selfless person I know."

Nora looked at her. "Me?"

Pyrrha nodded. "What would you do if Ren … if he didn't love you?"

Nora was silent for a moment. "I'd cry," she admitted. "I'd find something I could hit with Magnhild. And then I'd wish him all the happiness in Remnant, and I … I'd follow him anyway, because I wouldn't be parted from him, not for anything. Because I would rather be his servant than anyone else's princess."

"We Huntsmen and Huntresses are supposed to live for others," Pyrrha said, "but most of us, even the best of us, chose this life of service in the hopes of finding our own happiness in some form. But you … you live for another truly for their sake, not your own. That is … more admirable than I have words to say."

Nora stared at her, eyes wide. "That … Pyrrha that…" She looked away. "Come on, Pyrrha, you're really sweet and all, but there's no need to be ridiculous about it." She paused for a moment, her hand gently drifting, almost idly, across the table. "Thank you," she whispered.

Pyrrha placed her hand on top of Nora's. "Any time," she replied.

---

It was not long afterwards — but long enough for Nora to have departed to change — when Pyrrha heard another knock upon the door.

She got up. She had, almost despite herself, started reading what Diana had been saying about her and Jaune, and what they were saying made her feel fully justified in sending Nora out to buy up all the copies so that Jaune couldn't see what was written there. The criticism of Jaune was more mute — much more — than she had feared would be the case, but … but they knew who she was.

They knew what she was.

It was probably hopeless to think that she could keep Jaune from finding out forever — it wasn't as though it was a particularly closely guarded secret; anyone who cared to look could find out; it was her good fortune that very few people cared in this day and age — but if she had the chance to stop Jaune from finding out, then she would take it for as long as possible. If she could have him think her virtuously born, or at least born free of ancestral vices, then she would do so for as long as possible.

In any case, she got up and went to the door, looking out of the peephole to see Jaune standing on the other side, wearing a cream-coloured mess jacket over a white shirt and pants, with a gold bow tie and a bright red carnation in his buttonhole, which popped all the more for being a rare spot of color amidst the light.

Pyrrha smiled and reached for the door handle before she remembered the bin full of magazines that might be visible from the doorway. She stretched out her hand towards it, and with a flick of Polarity, she tossed it and its contents into the ensuite bathroom and out of sight.

She started to reach for the door handle again, and again thought better of it, retreating back a few steps to the vanity mirror to check herself one last time. She flicked her fingers through her bangs, arranging them precisely to her satisfaction.

"Pyrrha?" Jaune called from the other side of the door.

"I'm coming!" Pyrrha called back, before returning to the door and — finally — opening it.

"Hey," she said.

She had to admit, she rather enjoyed the way that Jaune's eyes traveled up and down her body, eating up what he saw there.

"Hey," he replied. "You look…"

Pyrrha smiled. "Thank you," she said. "You look very handsome yourself."

"Well … I try," Jaune said. He half-turned and offered his arm to her. "Shall we?"

The smile remained on Pyrrha's face. She reached for his arm with her hand and began to step out of the room and into the hall before she realized she had forgotten her bag, which was still sitting on the bed.

Pyrrha turned back and summoned the light red purse into her outstretched hand via an application of Polarity upon the gold clasp and chain.

She held the back tightly in one hand, feeling the red velvet crush a little beneath her fingertips, and actually stepped out of the room, gathering her skirt around her with her free hand so that it wasn't trapped as the door closed after her.

"My keycard is in here," Pyrrha explained as she slipped her hand into the crook of Jaune's arm. "I almost locked myself out."

"Well, if that happened, you'd have been welcome to sleep in my room," Jaune said.

"Jaune!" Pyrrha gasped.

"Where I would have slept on the couch, obviously," Jaune added. "Or, more likely, we could have asked at the front desk for them to let you in."

Pyrrha could not prevent her eyebrows from rising. "I thought you might have grown bold."

"Not that bold," Jaune replied. "I mean … I didn't think … I'd rather—"

"So would I," Pyrrha said, her voice soft and quiet. In truth, she was … a little nervous about the wedding night. It was not something that she … she would be grateful for the chance to ask her mother for advice before she had to cross that particular bridge.

She was glad that Jaune seemed to feel the same way. Such a gentleman.

Pyrrha hesitated, wondering if she ought to broach the subject with Jaune. It had a chance of … not going wrong, exactly, but … she didn't know whether she ought to mention it or not; there was certainly a case to be made that it wasn't her place to say anything, but … if Ren was not at all interested in Nora, then it might be better for her to know, rather than to hold out hope.

Whether Nora would want her to say anything was quite another matter.

"Pyrrha?" Jaune asked, as they began to walk down the corridor together. "Is everything okay?"

"What? Yes," Pyrrha replied instinctively. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know," Jaune said. "You just looked thoughtful for a second. It's not about—"

"No," Pyrrha said quickly. "No, it's nothing to do with that." She loosened her grip upon her purse slightly, though she still held it in her hand rather than letting it hang from the chain.

Well, we are engaged to be married, after all. I ought to be able to talk to my fiance about things.

"Jaune," she said, "do you and Ren … do you ever … talk about girls?"

"Pyrrha," Jaune said, a touch reproachfully as his pace slowed. "I'm a one woman guy now."

He managed to still walk forwards even while turning towards her, reaching out with his other hand to take her own free hand by the wrist. "It's you, now and forever."

"I know," Pyrrha assured him, looking slightly upwards into his eyes. "Rest assured, I promise you, I have no fears, no doubts. But … before, before we were together, did you … does Ren—?"

"Pyrrha," Jaune interrupted her, letting go of her wrist although Pyrrha hardly wished he would, "what are you saying? What's this about?"

"Does … does Ren ever tell you how he feels?" Pyrrha asked.

"I don't think Ren tells Ren how he feels," Jaune said. "Let alone me. Don't get me wrong, I like him, he's like the brother I never had, but … that doesn't mean that I know what he's thinking. Ren is…"

"A very private person," Pyrrha suggested.

"I was going to say that he's a closed book, but that works too," Jaune agreed. "I think the only person who might really be able to say with confidence what he was thinking at any given moment would be Nora."

"If only that were true," Pyrrha murmured.

"Ah," Jaune said. "So that's what this is about."

"I think that she…" Pyrrha trailed off. "No, I shouldn't say; I've said too much already."

"I mean, you don't have to tell me that she likes him," Jaune said. "I may be dense when it comes to the feelings of others, but I'm not dense enough to miss that."

Pyrrha hesitated for a moment. "I think that our … our engagement, our relationship … it's thrown a spotlight for Nora upon the fact that … that she and Ren have not … that she doesn't know if he wants to … she doesn't know how he feels. I wondered if he might have spoken to you, man to man."

"Well, now that you say it like that, I wish he had," Jaune said, "but he hasn't. If I knew … it still wouldn't help Nora much unless he was willing to say it to her, I guess. Do you think I should talk to him?"

"And say what?" Pyrrha asked. "You can't tell him how Nora feels."

"Do you really think he doesn't know?"

"I hope he doesn't know," Pyrrha replied.

"You hope?" Jaune asked.

"Because if he does know, and is choosing to ignore it, then that is simply cruel," Pyrrha replied. "I would rather not think that of him."

It became impossible to maintain that particular topic of conversation, as they met up with Ren and Nora outside of Nora's room. Ren wore a suit, quite possibly the same suit that he had worn to the Beacon dance, or certainly one very much like it . Nora's dress was pink, with a ruffled skirt consisting of many layers of fabric which, taken on their own, were almost sheer, but which taken together conspired to achieve a greater sense of thickness, even if they retained a gauzy sense of the opaque. The skirt descended to just below her knees, exposing lower legs encased in fishnet stockings and white pumps with pink bows upon the toes, the heels of which added a couple of inches to Nora's height. A sash of deeper, richer pink than the rest of the dress was wrapped around Nora's waist, tied into a bow at the back, while her bodice was shoulderless, with a sweetheart neckline swooping down to reveal the beginnings of her cleavage.

Pyrrha couldn't be certain, and perhaps it was just the fact that she and Nora had discussed this so recently — and she had discussed it with Jaune more recently still — meant that it was preying upon her mind, but she thought, and very much hoped, that Ren was sneaking glances in Nora's direction.

"Nora!" Pyrrha cried, as they approached. "You look absolutely lovely!"

"Aww, thanks, Pyrrha," Nora replied. "You look pretty good yourself." She winked.

Jaune reached across himself to put his hand on Pyrrha's hand, his fingertip brushing against the sapphire of her engagement ring. "We're a lucky pair, aren't we, Ren?"

Pyrrha thought that might have been a little too bold, and by the way that Nora's eyes started flickering back and forth, she thought that Nora might think so too. But if Ren found the question in any way unusual, he gave no sign of it.

Rather, he said, in a voice that was unchanged from its usual slightly stiff timbre, "We have always been fortunate to have such partners."

Nora looked for a moment as though she was either going to collapse in a heap on the floor or scream to the high heavens; Ren didn't appear to notice.

In actual fact, Nora did neither of those things, but managed to pull herself together commendably, putting a smile upon her face as she stepped lightly to Pyrrha's side.

Pyrrha could not help but feel it was unfortunate that Ren chose to stand on the other side, next to Jaune.

Nevertheless, thus arrayed, they descended in the elevator down to the lobby and made their way across the marble floor, the heels that Pyrrha and Nora were wearing clicking on the mottled tiles of black and white, towards the restaurant.

"Apparently, this is quite a historic establishment," Ren said as they walked.

"Really?" Jaune asked.

"There has been a hotel here since the Mistralian colonization," Ren explained. "It's said that when the Valish troops took the city during the Great War, they found the Mistrali guests — and many of the high officials — here in the ballroom, dancing one final waltz."

"That's … an interesting way to spend the fall of the city," Jaune remarked.

"I can think of worse ways," Nora said. "I mean, they were going to have enough reasons to be miserable soon enough anyway, they might as well have a good time while they had the chance."

They reached the entrance to the restaurant, slightly hived off from the hotel lobby by a curtain, half drawn back to reveal the polished tables and some of the well-dressed diners within. A man, wearing the same green livery as the clerk at the desk, was standing behind a lectern just before the curtain.

"Ah, Team Juniper, yes?" he asked, as the four of them approached. "A table for four?"

"Yes, that's right," Jaune said.

The man nodded briskly. "Would you like to go to your table now, or would you like to sit at the bar first? It was at this very hotel that the city's very own cocktail, the Freeport Sling, was invented."

"Never heard of it," Nora said.

"We are only just old enough to drink," Ren pointed out.

"I think we'll go to our table," Jaune said.

"Of course, sir," the man said, without missing a beat or showing a trace of disappointment. "If you'd like to follow me."

He gestured inside the restaurant, then — taking four menus from the lectern in front of him — turned away to lead them through the gap between the red curtains and into the dining room itself.

Once inside, Pyrrha could feel the eyes upon them, first from those sitting at the bar running down the side of the room, encroaching into the northeast corner, and then from the diners sitting at their tables. As Team JNPR followed the maitre'd through the dining room, passing between those diners already seated, Pyrrha could feel people stopping what they were doing to look at them.

As they did so, Pyrrha found herself looking around at them in turn. At the bar sat various officers in the uniforms of the Valish military, an even mixture of all its branches, land, sea, and air, drinking an array of cocktails, joined by a far fewer number of civilians in well-tailored business attire. In the dining room proper, the number of uniforms was reduced, and while the men were still mostly besuited, with some wearing Mistralian-style togas or changshan, the women had exchanged business dress for dresses, either in the Valish, the Atlesian, or some Mistralian style. Pearls gleamed, gold glimmered, and diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and emeralds sparkled in the light that fell upon them from the great crystal chandelier as every conceivable kind of jewelry hung around the women's necks or was clasped about their wrists or dangled from their ears.

They were all human; the only faunus that Pyrrha could see in here were the waiting staff bustling to and fro out of the kitchen.

Actually, no, that was not quite true: there was a group of faunus, seated in the farthest corner of the restaurant, and though they were as well-dressed as the humans in the rest of the dining room, they seemed to be receiving very little attention from the waiting staff, judging by the lack of food at some tables and the expressions that ranged from impatience to resignation.

What would Blake say if she could see this? Pyrrha wondered. What would Weiss say, for that matter?

Although, truth be told, it was Blake's disapproval that mattered more. She was not so close to Weiss.

"A toast!" someone called out loudly from the bar. "To Team Juniper: Mistral's pride and Beacon's glory!"

And then, all of a sudden, there were raised glasses all over the dining room, the light from the chandelier glinting off the champagne flutes as voices were raised in chorus, "Team Juniper!"

A round of applause built up like a gathering storm, building to a crescendo as it burst over the four members of Team JNPR, other diners rising to their feet as they clapped their hands together.

Despite her disapproval of the seating arrangements in the dining room — and the attitudes that underpinned them — Pyrrha's next actions were guided by … instinct. Instinct, and a sense of what had to be done in this circumstance.

She took Jaune's hand, and with her other hand, she took Nora's, and with that practiced, PR-friendly, only slightly-forced smile upon her face, she bowed.

The applause seemed to redouble in intensity, as Jaune and Nora — and then Ren last of all, as Jaune fumbled for his hand — all bowed as well, like actors on the stage coming out to acknowledge the acclaim of the audience.

Except, of course, in a play, the wedding would have come first.

The applause died down. The four Huntsmen straightened up. The maitre'd looked a little smug as he led them to an empty table in the center of the dining room.

"If you'd like to sit here—" he began.

"I'm sorry," Pyrrha said, before any of the others could speak, "but I'm afraid that this won't do at all."

The maitre'd paused for a moment. "If you would care for a different table—"

"Yes," Pyrrha said. "Yes, we would. In fact…" She did not leave it to the man to choose another table for them, but instead walked across the dining room to where the faunus diners were sat, in the darkest and most secluded part of the dining room, and put her hand upon a chair around one of the vacant tables there. "This table will do nicely."

The eyes of the maitre'd boggled. "That table?" he said. "But that table is for the…"

"For who?" Pyrrha asked innocently.

The maitre'd swallowed. Of course he couldn't say that this part of the restaurant was for the faunus; that would have been illegal under Valish law. "That table is … not the best. There are many better places to sit."

"Perhaps," Pyrrha murmured. "But this will serve."

The maitre'd glanced at Jaune.

"If this is where Pyrrha would like to sit, then it's fine by me," Jaune said.

The maitre'd looked as if he would have liked to roll his eyes, but did not. Instead, he cleared his throat. "Very well. Your waiter will be with you shortly. Have a good evening." He walked away in what seemed like a great hurry.

Pyrrha glanced down, away from the others. "I … I hope you don't mind that I did that without asking," she murmured. "There wasn't really time for a team discussion."

"Like I said, it's fine by me," Jaune said. "Although I don't understand why?"

"They're all faunus," Nora said softly.

Jaune blinked. "But that … oh. They really—?"

"I'm afraid I couldn't look Blake in the face again if I had ignored it," Pyrrha said. "I mean … not that she would have known, but … I couldn't have looked her in the face anyway."

Jaune smiled. "I get it," he said. "Even when we can't do something to change things, it's important not to just be complicit in them, right?"

"Indeed," Pyrrha said. "Although if this means cold food and poor service, I apologize in advance."

"They wouldn't do that, would they?" Nora asked. "I mean, they just applauded us!"

"That was before we sat down with the faunus," Ren said softly.

"Speaking of which," Jaune said and pulled out Pyrrha's chair for her.

Pyrrha smiled at him. "Thank you." She hung her bag on the back of her chair by its gold chain. Her shawl had been resting upon the crooks of her elbows; now, she adjusted it so that it sat upon her shoulders, and then sat down.

"Not at all," Jaune said as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek.

"I'm going to lose teeth from being around you two," Nora groaned good-naturedly.

Ren pulled out a chair and cleared his throat softly as he gestured to it with one hand.

Nora stared. She stared at Ren, and then she moved to staring at the chair, and then her gaze flicked back to being on Ren again.

A blush began to rise to Nora's cheeks. "Thank you, Ren," she whispered, before sitting down quickly, as though she was afraid that Ren might change his mind if she took too long.

She smoothed out her skirt with both hands as Ren pushed her chair back in towards the table.

As Ren sat down, Nora's smile was as bright as the chandelier above them.

Pyrrha found herself smiling too as she reached out and took Nora's hand, offering her a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

Perhaps there is hope for them yet.

Don't give up, Nora.

"I don't know whether to thank you or call you patronizing."

Pyrrha twisted in her seat in response to the voice behind her. It was a male voice, deep and gruff, and … to call it gravelly seemed to be underselling it; it was a voice with full-blown rocks in it.

Which was fitting, since the voice belonged to a veritable mountain of a man.

Two people sat at the table behind Pyrrha, an older man and a woman who could only be a few years older than the members of Team JNPR, if that. They were both faunus, and both had leathery wings sprouting from out of their backs; their outfits reflected the presence of said wings: they were both wearing what looked like white shirts, but the collars appeared to be what was holding the garments up, because the backs on both had been completely cut away to leave room for the wings to sprout and spread if necessary. The man at the table was enormous in every sense: tall, muscular, his bare arms ripped and corded and bulging out of his skin; his eyes were a fiery red, and although his hair was mostly turned to gray and white, a few flaming streaks remained visible. The girl was smaller and slighter in all respects, although her arms — and her back, which she was presenting to Pyrrha and the others — were not without muscles in their own right, comparable in size to Pyrrha's own. It was hard to tell, considering that she was sitting down, but Pyrrha thought that she might be taller than her.

Like her older male companion, her eyes were the color of smoldering flame, but her hair was a deep blue and arranged in spikes that looked almost serrated the way they stuck up in the center of her otherwise shaved head.

"Don't be hard on them, Dad; they're trying to do the right thing," she said, in a voice that was certainly easier on the ear than that of her father. She twisted around in her seat to regard Pyrrha and the rest of Team JNPR. "Hey. I'm Ember Summerfire, CEO of Summerfire Steel; this is my father, Torch."

"A pleasure to meet you," Pyrrha said, softly but politely. "May I introduce—?"

"Jaune Arc, Nora Valkyrie, Pyrrha Nikos, and Lie Ren: Team Juniper," Ember said. "We do get TV out here, you know."

"Of course," Pyrrha said, "but it would have been presumptuous to … presume."

"You walked into a restaurant and got a spontaneous round of applause; I think you're entitled to presume away with anyone who hasn't been living in a lava lake," Ember said. She smirked. "I bet you know what I'm gonna ask next, don't you?"

"Ooh," Nora said, "is it selfie or autographs?"

Torch huffed.

"Don't make noises, Dad; it's for Smolder," Ember said. She picked up a napkin from her table, and held it out towards Team JNPR. "If you could make it out to 'Smolder Summerfire,' that would be awesome."

"Of course," Jaune said. "Is she your little sister?"

"Technically, no," Ember replied. "You see, people like us didn't really do family names before the Great War and becoming a part of Vale; rather, the clan was our family. So, when we became part of Vale and it became clear that we would need to do the whole second name thing … the clan name became our surname, and we stayed one big family."

Pyrrha took the napkin from Ember's proffered hand and held it out towards Jaune.

He held up one hand. "You first."

"You're our team leader; it should be your name first on the list."

"You won the Vytal Festival; it should be your name first."

"Our team won the Vytal Festival together—"

"You're the most famous—"

"Oh, for the love of gods, one of you sign your damn name!" Torch snapped.

Pyrrha chuckled nervously as she scratched the back of her head with one hand. "My apologies," she murmured.

"Why don't we sign in team order?" Ren suggested, producing a pen.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Pyrrha agreed, pushing the napkin towards Jaune before he could object.

Jaune shook his head ever so slightly, but took the napkin from Pyrrha and the pen from Ren and scrawled, 'To Smolder Summerfire' upon it. He paused, looking up and at Ember and Torch. "What's she like?"

"Hmm?" Ember replied.

"Smolder," Jaune clarified. "What's she like? What kind of message should I leave?"

"She's a tough kid," Ember said. "Swears up and down she'll win the Vytal tournament herself some day."

Jaune smiled. "Okay then." He wrote 'Good luck in the Vytal Festival' upon the napkin and followed it up by signing his name.

He passed the napkin to Nora, who signed it, complete with a smiley face next to her name, and passed it along — or rather, across — the table to Pyrrha, who signed it herself before passing it to Ren, who added his name last of all, starting his name to the left of all the others so that the R in 'Ren' lined up with the J, N, and P to spell out 'JNPR' going downwards.

Pyrrha handed the napkin back to Ember.

"Thank you," Ember said, folding it up and sticking it in her breast pocket. "Smolder will be thrilled."

She paused.

"And thank you for … this." She gestured to where they sat in the awkward corner of the restaurant. "Not everyone might appreciate what you tried to do," — she jabbed her thumb backwards towards her father — "but I do."

"I don't know why we keep coming back here," Torch grumbled.

"Because not coming back here is what they want," Ember declared. "They want us to not come back; well, you know what, it's going to take more than this to drive a Summerfire away! Our people built this city after the war; I'm not going to be told that I can't eat in the classiest place in it!"

"Are you descended from the original inhabitants of this region?" Ren asked, sounding surprised.

"Not all of them, I hope," Ember answered, "but yeah, the Summer Fire Clan were here before Vale or Mistral, before either of them was even heard of around these parts. Both kingdoms tried to take our land, but when the war started, our people fought for Vale because they were the ones who weren't actively trying to make slaves of us. And in return—"

"In return, we didn't have all our land taken away," Torch muttered.

"Our people were semi-nomadic, Dad; it's not like we even had land to take away," Ember reminded him.

Torch sniggered. "Not that those fools from Vale realized that. My grandpa drew a line round all the lands that the clan used to roam, called it ours, and the Valish 'let him keep' half of it. In a stroke, we had a more solid claim on more territory than we'd ever had before." He laughed again. "And they think they're smarter than we are."

"Since then, we've played to our strengths," Ember said. "The Summer Fire Clan were always good craftspeople, metalworkers, smiths. We used to make swords and helmets that were prized throughout this area; now, Summerfire Steel makes girders, drill bits … and the great guns on your Hama from the battle."

"More your Hama than ours, I think," Ren said softly.

"Of course, Pride of Mistral and all," Ember said. "Can I ask you about those robots?"

"Uh, sure," Jaune said. "I'm not sure that we're the best people to ask — we didn't get to know them as well as Team Ruby did — but … sure, go ahead; we'll do our best."

Ember rested her elbow on the back of her chair as she leaned a little closer towards Team JNPR. "What are they made of?" she asked.

"Ember," groaned Torch.

Ember rolled her eyes. "What?"

"Don't go there," Torch advised.

"First of all, I'm allowed to be interested," Ember said. "Second of all, imagine if we could reproduce that material. I'm betting that it would be stronger than the finest steel that we can produce, and more flexible too; it would have to be in order to withstand the kind of maneuvers we saw from those things in the reports of the battle. If we could replicate that—"

"You don't need to stick your finger in every new pie that comes out of the oven," Torch said. "I left you a perfectly good company—"

"Fathers who step back from the business in order to concentrate on their golf should spend more time worrying about their nine-iron swing and less time criticizing their daughter's management decisions," Ember said sharply. "Especially since I'm not the one who bet three railroads on the result of eighteen holes and then got caught trying to cheat!"

"How was I supposed to know the caddy was a private detective?" Torch grumbled.

Ember shook her head. "If great-grandpa had been content to just stick with what was tried and tested, then our clan would still be roaming the countryside right now, telling the old stories and playing dress-up for the tourists like the Fall Forest Clan. We need to embrace the future; it's how we've thrived in a changing world, and right now, the future is living robots from outer space, and I am not going to be left behind."

"I'm afraid I'm not sure that we can help," Jaune said. "We're not scientists; we couldn't tell you anything like that about the Cybertronians. I think the only people who could are the Cybertronians themselves."

"Hmm," Ember murmured, looking a little disappointed. "I see. A trip to Vale in these conditions. Hmm. Right. Makes sense." She paused. "So, what brings the Pride of Mistral all the way out here to Freeport?"

"We're traveling home on the Mistral Express," Pyrrha explained. "For—"

"For the wedding, right?" Ember asked.

"Uh—"

"Like I said, I watch TV," Ember reminded her. "Very grand, very romantic. Of course, I'd die if anyone proposed to me that way in public—"

"You'd have to find someone willing to propose to you first," Torch said.

Ember pursed her lips; the fiery color of her eyes became more pronounced as her face contorted into a scowl suggesting that she was very much considering patricide at this precise moment.

"So anyway," she said, in a somewhat strained voice, "I hope you all have a great evening, a wonderful trip, and a fantastic wedding. If you like spicy food, I recommend the beef hotpot: prime cuts drenched in broth from a bubbling cauldron of dried chillies and mala butter."

She paused. "Actually, you know what, the sweat would ruin your dresses, and that would be a tragedy." She patted her breast pocket. "Thanks again."

"No problem," Jaune said.

Ember smiled, but the smile was starting to fade off her face before she had turned away from them, settling into a forced line as she stared at her father for several seconds before exploding out in gesture and voice. "Dad!"

"What?"

"You know I hate it when you say stuff like that!"

"It has to be said—"

"I am not that old!"

"You're older than that girl behind you."

"So what? Why do you have to be such a—?"

Pyrrha laughed nervously, as much in an attempt to drown out the sounds from behind them as anything else.

"So," she began. Unfortunately, finding anything to follow on from 'so' was a bit of a struggle, especially with the voices of Ember and Torch so close by and so loud.

"So, Pyrrha," Jaune said, raising his voice a little, "can we, um … who can … will there be any guests from your family at our wedding?"

Pyrrha blinked. "Hmm?"

"Well," Jaune said. He laughed. "I just … you know that … you've met my family, but … you know, I don't think that we've ever talked about yours."

Pyrrha frowned, creasing her brow because surely that couldn't be right. They must have talked about them at some point. She had certainly spoken to her family about Jaune, so it followed that she must have spoken to Jaune about her family. But when she tried to recall precisely when this conversation, which must have taken place, might have taken place, she found that she could not recall.

She was forced to conclude that it had not, in fact, taken place.

She felt her cheeks heat up slightly with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," she said. "I should have—"

"It's fine," Jaune said. "I didn't want to pry or anything. I thought that maybe…" He glanced towards Ren and Nora. "I wasn't sure how much there was to tell, but … now, with the wedding coming up, I think maybe I need to know … who to expect, if anyone."

"Of course," Pyrrha said. "Four guests: my mother, my father, and my two younger brothers."

"You have younger brothers?" Jaune asked.

Pyrrha smiled. "Twin brothers, Ajax and Teucer; they're ten years old."

Jaune grinned. "Was it a handful growing up with them in the house?"

"Not as much of a handful as I'm sure it was growing up with several younger sisters," Pyrrha replied. "The truth is, what with my training, tournaments, Sanctum, I haven't always been around much while they were growing up."

She paused, wondering if she might be going a little too far. On the other hand, if she couldn't talk to her fiancé about things, then who could she talk to? "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Jaune said at once. "What is it?"

"My parents … they worry about my brothers," Pyrrha explained. "They think that Ajax and Teucer aren't applying themselves, but I wonder if that … if that might not be more normal than … than me. Do you think … might that be possible?"

"It's difficult to say without knowing your brothers," Jaune pointed out. "But you do work pretty hard. Really hard; you take on responsibility that you don't have to, you push yourself, you don't let anything stop you. I suppose, compared to that, something more normal could look … I don't know, I shouldn't say when I don't know your family. " He paused. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything."

"Whose idea was it for you to compete in the tournament circuit?"

Pyrrha considered that for a moment. "Mine, actually," she admitted. "My parents would regularly watch the tournaments on TV or attend them live if they could. They were both tournament fighters themselves once, and with Dad teaching at Sanctum, well, a lot of his students went into the tournament circuit too. It was their way of showing support."

"You thought it was cool, didn't you?" Nora asked shrewdly.

Pyrrha flushed and ducked her head. "Maybe a little," she admitted. She tilted her head back, looking at the ceiling as she thought back. "When I first entered the ring … I'd never felt anything more exhilarating in my life, pushing myself, my training, my body to the limits." She lowered her gaze to look at her team. "It was … fun." Her smile faded. "Until it wasn't."

"What happened?" Jaune asked.

"It felt like…" She paused to gather her thoughts. "Somewhere along the line, I began to hit a wall. Not a limit to how far I could go, per se, but…"

"To how far you could test yourself?" suggested Ren.

"Something like that," Pyrrha agreed. "After a while, the arena lost its luster as my opponents failed to challenge me. Arslan was perhaps the only one who could begin to keep up. And then I started wondering what the point of it all was." She paused. "I'd spent much of my life honing these skills, and what did I have to show for it? A few trophies and plaques, some merchandising deals, and news spots? I thought, surely, my skills could be put to better use. I felt … I guess you might say I felt my destiny lay elsewhere, beyond the walls of the Colosseum or the Cthonium."

"So you chose to become a Huntress," Jaune guessed.

She nodded. "I suspect Mom was just waiting for me to come to my senses. Dad was always supportive; he didn't care what I chose to do with my life, so long as I put my all into it, into being the best me I could be at it, but Mom … looking back, I think Mom was concerned I was only in it for the fame and glory."

"Why would that bother her?" Nora asked. "Who doesn't like fame and glory?"

"I'm not particularly fond of either of them," Pyrrha pointed out softly.

"Okay, you went off them after you got them, but who doesn't like the idea of them?" Nora replied.

"Pyrrha's mother, apparently," Ren murmured.

"My mother is … a woman of very strong convictions," Pyrrha explained. "She was a Huntress herself once, although she gave it up to be a mother to me, and to my brothers, of course, but she … she has views upon the purpose and duties of a Huntress, and she doesn't … to put it simply, I think she finds the whole business of tournaments and the arena, the whole circus that has built up around it, to be rather frivolous. If you can fight with that sort of level of skill, you should be using that skill to protect the world, not aggrandizing yourself before the crowds. She never said anything, but…" She shook her head again. "She was so proud when I told her I wanted to go to Beacon."

Jaune chuckled. "What did your father think about all this?"

"Dad would have preferred me to go to Haven," Pyrrha admitted. "A great many people would have preferred me to go to Haven, truth be told. When I decided to go to Beacon, there were … very few supportive voices in that regard. Only Mom … she reminded me that it was my choice, and that since I was the one who would have to live with the consequences, I should make that choice for myself, not for my father or anyone else. To tell the truth … I think I would have hated Haven Academy, full of people who only saw me for my victories, my reputation, without … without any of you, or Team Ruby, who saw me for me, who accepted me for who I was, not what I was."

She reached across the tablecloth, placing her hand gently on top of Jaune's. "Who loved me for who I was, not what I was."

Her engagement ring glimmered in the light from the crystal chandeliers strung up above.

"Not to mention the headmaster being in league with the bad guys," Nora pointed out.

"Yes," Pyrrha murmured. "That too."

"Speaking of Team Ruby," Ren said. "Are they invited to the wedding?"

"Blake is certainly invited," Pyrrha said. "After all, she's my best friend—"

"Say what now?" Nora demanded.

"My best friend outside of this team," Pyrrha said, in a voice that was gentle but firm in equal measure, "and since Blake is coming from Menagerie, where Weiss is too, it would be strange not to invite Weiss as well."

There was a moment of silence amongst the four members, a silence in which they could once more hear the ongoing argument between Torch and Ember going on one table over.

"And … Ruby?" Nora asked hesitantly.

Pyrrha didn't say anything immediately. She half-glanced at Jaune, but didn't actually manage to look at him because … well, because she wasn't sure how he might respond if he thought that she was pressuring him upon this point. In a sense, it was far more his decision than hers. After all, Ruby was his ex-girlfriend, so it probably ought to be up to him whether or not she was invited to his wedding or not.

Except that it wasn't just his wedding; it was their wedding, and Ruby … Ruby was Jaune's ex-girlfriend.

She was also their friend, the leader of Team RRANNBW … and Jaune's ex-girlfriend. Jaune's ex-girlfriend who had treated him badly and yet who, at the same time, had intoxicated him.

Pyrrha did not consider herself a jealous girl, but she could admit — at least to herself — that she was a little insecure.

Considering how hard it had been for her to reach this point, considering how she had very nearly missed the proverbial bus and lost Jaune to Ruby, she felt that she had a right to be a little uncertain in her position in Jaune's heart.

And she remembered what it had been like to have to watch Jaune pursue … well, that had been what had made it so hard to watch, the fact that Jaune wasn't pursuing anything; Ruby was directing everything about their relationship with a force of personality that Pyrrha hadn't known she possessed up until that point.

She remembered what it had been like to watch Jaune drawn to the fire, even as it burned him.

She didn't really want Ruby anywhere near their wedding.

She hoped that didn't make her a bad person. She very much hoped that it did not.

She had no idea how she could — or even if it was at all permissible to — express all of those feelings to Jaune. If he wanted Ruby to be there as a friend, then how could she argue against it? After all they were friends, at least in a nominal sense, and Blake and Weiss were invited, and Ruby had been their team leader on an ad hoc basis. If Jaune wanted her there, to celebrate his wedding, then what could Pyrrha do but endure it for Jaune's sake?

"I … I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Jaune said. "Not to mention that I'm not sure Ruby would even want to come; I'm sure she's got tons of stuff to do in Vale, with her new brother and the Autobots and the aftermath of the battle. The same with Yang too."

Decorum prevented Pyrrha from letting out a sigh of relief, but she let one out internally nevertheless. She didn't know if there were any reasons for his decision beyond those that he had stated, but she loved him for it nonetheless.

She would have thanked him, save that that would have involved telling him what she was thanking him for and why.

"Not Ruby or Yang, then," she said softly, "but I should like to invite Arslan, and her teammates."

Jaune nodded. "And Verte's teammates, as well."

"Of course," Pyrrha agreed. "And all the rest of your sisters too."

"My sisters won't just be going," Jaune said. "They'll be throwing the whole party. Apparently, they want to make sure we get a 'royal wedding'?"

"'A royal wedding'?" Pyrrha repeated. Do they know? How did they find out?

"Yeah, what with this whole 'King of Vale' thing," Jaune groaned. "I tried to tell them that we didn't want that much fuss—"

"Why would you not want that much fuss?" Nora demanded. "This is your wedding, your chance to show how much you mean to one another—"

"I already know how much I mean to Pyrrha, and I hope that Pyrrha understands how much she means to me," Jaune said. "I don't need a blowout party with all the trappings of a title that I don't have and don't want to prove it." He paused, looking at Pyrrha. "Unless I do?"

Pyrrha smiled. "You prove it well enough already every day without."

"Good to know," Jaune said relievedly. "Unfortunately … trying to talk my sisters out of something when they've set their minds to it is like trying to stop the tide. We're getting a royal wedding, whether we want one or not."

"I see," Pyrrha murmured. "So, if you don't mind me asking, what does a royal wedding involve?"

"I don't know," Jaune admitted. "And honestly, that's what's worrying me the most about all this."

Pyrrha covered her mouth with one hand as she chuckled. "Well, I do know one thing: whatever kind of ceremony your sisters are planning, by the time it's over, you and I will be wed. You'll be mine, and I'll be yours, and that, at the end of the day, is the only thing that really matters."

---

They didn't all meet up for breakfast the next morning; rather, each member of Team JNPR got up, got dressed — or made themselves presentable, at least — and went down to the restaurant as they felt like it, with no pressure to get up for anyone who might want a late and lazy morning.

Late and lazy mornings weren't really Pyrrha's style, however, so she got up early, showered in the almost palatially spacious shower, including washing her hair, made up her face and got dressed in all her combat gear — all save for her weapons — before heading down to the restaurant.

Once there, she saw that she was the first member of Team JNPR to make it down, although she still asked for — and received — a table for four, just in case anyone else felt like joining her before she was done.

After all, she might have risen early, but that was no reason why she couldn't enjoy a leisurely breakfast.

"Can I get you anything to begin, madam?" the waiter asked as Pyrrha sat down.

Pyrrha brushed her long, trailing sash off the seat as she sat, so that it fell down to the floor rather than being sat on by her. "Yes, I'd like a cup of black coffee and a glass of orange juice to start with please."

The waiter nodded. "Of course," he said, before bustling away.

Pyrrha rested her hands upon the table and looked around the restaurant, which was mostly empty, certainly far emptier than it had been last night. She supposed she had gotten down here rather early; no doubt, others — including Jaune, Ren, and Nora — would be down later. Much later, perhaps.

Or not, because just as Pyrrha thought that, she saw Jaune come in, wearing what looked like the same suit that he'd worn last night, only shorn of his tie and with the collar open.

He smiled at her as he walked towards her.

He really did have the most wonderful smile. It made his blue eyes sparkle like sapphires.

Pyrrha rose to her feet as he drew near. "Good morning."

"Morning," he said, leaning forward to greet her with a soft kiss that brushed gently against her lips.

"You didn't feel like sleeping in?" Pyrrha asked.

"One advantage of us living together for a year already is that I know all about your sleeping habits. I know that you get up early, and I didn't think that would change."

"That didn't mean that you had to do the same," Pyrrha pointed out.

"No, but I'd rather have breakfast with you than without you," Jaune said.

Pyrrha smiled. "You're so sweet," she said. She glanced down at the table for a moment. "What did I do in my life to deserve such a sweet and charming prince to call my own?"

"Save my life?" Jaune suggested. "Teach me how to fight?"

"That wasn't…" Pyrrha hesitated for a moment. "It's true that I always … from the moment that we met and you didn't know who I was, I was … intrigued by you, and I suppose that a part of me was always hoping that you would notice me, but … I didn't train you so that I would have a claim on you or that you would think that you owed me anything. You understand that, don't you? That's not why I helped you."

"I know," Jaune assured her. "You helped me because … because, let's face it, I really needed the help. If you'd been doing it for any other reason, you wouldn't have kept on helping me when I was hitting on Weiss or dating Ruby." He paused. "All the same, I guess that didn't make me look too good."

"I never—"

"It's okay," Jaune said. "I know it doesn't make me look too good. I just—"

"Thought that Weiss was very beautiful?" Pyrrha guessed. "I can understand that. She is very beautiful."

"Well, yeah," Jaune admitted. "But no, that's not what I was going to say."

"Oh," Pyrrha murmured. "Forgive me, then; I should have let you finish."

Jaune chuckled. "You don't need to apologize. It's just … how do I explain this?"

Pyrrha waited, silent, patient; she couldn't help him work out how to explain whatever this was, for the simple reason that, well, she had no idea what it was he was trying to explain to her.

At that moment, while Jaune was pondering, the waiter returned. "Your coffee and orange juice, madam."

"Thank you," Pyrrha said softly as he put it down on the table in front of her.

"Will there be anything else?"

"Yes, I'll have two slices of wholegrain toast, scrambled eggs on one and mushrooms on the other, a grilled tomato and a side of avocado please," Pyrrha said. It was a more or less balanced meal, with just a touch of indulgence, since she was on a vacation of sorts.

"Of course. And for you, sir?"

"Uh." Jaune hesitated for a moment. "Can I start with … an omelet and a cup of coffee? Milk, one sugar."

"Right away, sir."

As the waiter moved away again, Jaune said, "I almost asked him if they had any Pumpkin Pete's."

Pyrrha covered her mouth with one hand as she giggled. "I don't think that's too likely at a place like this."

"No, you're probably right," Jaune agreed. He paused. "What I was about to tell you, what I was trying to tell you, was that … not everyone in my family takes this royal thing as … they don't all take it the way I do."

"Really?" Pyrrha said. "I can't say I noticed that when I met them."

"Well, it's not like we're claiming the throne or anything; they don't go around with their noses in the air … at least, not in Vale, they don't," Jaune muttered. "But you saw how Rouge was, and while not all of my sisters are quite like her, they're … a lot of them are; let's say that they're aware of what our family history is, what our … bloodline is. I mean they want to throw us a royal wedding, for crying out loud. And my parents…"

Pyrrha sipped at her glass of orange juice and let him speak at his own pace.

"My family has an estate in Mistral," Jaune told her. "It's good land, not far from the Haruiro-no-mori. It's very good land. It's … kind of idyllic."

"I can't say I'm surprised," Pyrrha murmured. "The Everbloom Forest is beautiful."

"You've seen it?" Jaune asked.

"I've been there, yes," Pyrrha told him. "To Colonus, for the Festival of the Kindly Ones, the guardian spirits who—"

"Who have dwelt in the forest since ancient times, so they say, protecting it," Jaune finished, "but who require to be worshiped in return. I always wanted to go to that festival. Is there a tournament as part of it, or did you just go to watch?"

"It's not a tournament," Pyrrha told him, "but as the champion, I was required to participate in the rites, as well as to take part in an exhibition match in honor of the Eumenides. I also got to watch the tragedies and the comedies, and of course, the forest itself is lovely to behold."

"Yeah," Jaune agreed. "It is. Although it's kind of a pity that I won't get to show it to you for the first time."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," Pyrrha said softly.

Jaune smiled. "Our land is … it's great. There's a stream on the estate, the soil is fertile for crops, the grass is good for grazing, and the woods nearby … we have horses, cows, crops, we lack for nothing. Absolutely nothing at all." Again, he took pause. "Of course, as you can imagine, land like that, it … it wasn't just lying vacant, waiting for us to move in, or it was, but … when my great-grandfather bought the place, it was from an old Mistralian noble family that had been practically wiped out in the war."

Pyrrha nodded. "That's not uncommon. The Great War decimated many noble families, great and small."

When the war began, many lords and ladies, their sons and daughters, had followed the august warrior traditions of Mistral's heroic past and rushed to the colors, taking up their ancestral swords and their shining spears, girding their armor on and taking their places at the heads of the new armies being called into being by the Emperor. The high lords who dwelt in Mistral had found themselves made generals, the commanders of armies and regiments, but the rural nobility who dominated the countryside had marched to war at the head of their tenants and their neighbors, the men and women of Mistral who had beaten their plowshares into swords to show the Valish and their king the meaning of Mistralian valor.

Not ours the blame, but when it came,
We could not pass the challenge by,
For credit of our honest name,
There could be but one reply.

Except that Mistralian valor, it transpired, meant very little in the face of the new, grisly, modern way of war that advancing technology had unleashed upon the world. Mistralian valor could not triumph over the machine gun and the shell, nor could ancient noble blood and ancestral swords or a tradition of chivalry going back a thousand years. True to their heritage and the duties of their exalted rank, the nobles of Mistral had led their people into the fires of war … and many, too many, had not returned.

And it was a black thing for the Emperor who ordered them to march into that fire, Pyrrha thought. Their ghosts must haunt him … and his line.

"As you can imagine, when he moved in, great-grandpa wasn't always very popular with the people in the village," Jaune said. "A Valish soldier moving into the house of their old lord."

"I have to say, it does sound like an … an audacious thing to do," Pyrrha murmured. She might have said that it sounded like a deliberate insult to all those left bereaved by the war, but she didn't want to sound as though she were insulting Jaune by saying so.

"I don't know why he did it," Jaune admitted, "but … he did. And he, and my grandfather, worked hard to earn the respect of our tenants and our neighbors. And so, even though we were originally outsiders, my parents, my family, take being the local landowner seriously. Even though my parents don't think of themselves as being the rightful rulers of Vale, they still see themselves as being nobles, even if only small ones. And so … all of this must seem like it has nothing to do with what we were talking about before, doesn't it?"

"I … am having a little trouble making the connection," Pyrrha confessed.

"When it seemed like I was just chasing the first girl I set eyes on," Jaune said, "I was really … okay, I guess I was kind of doing that, but at the same time, I was trying to find someone on my own so that my parents wouldn't set me up with a good match."

Pyrrha's eyebrows rose until they were in danger of disappearing beneath her glimmering circlet. "A … a 'good match'?"

She knew what the words meant, of course, but … they were not words one heard very often these days. One read them in books, history books in the main, but one didn't think of them applying these days.

Apparently, one was wrong?

Jaune rolled his eyes. "Someone suitable. Someone who could take over the estate. Someone of good family."

"I … I see," Pyrrha murmured, feeling cold sweat start to form on her back. "And you didn't want that?"

"No," Jaune said at once. "No, I didn't want some old blood daughter with a lot of ancestors and an empty bank balance who just wanted to be the lady of the manor. I wanted someone who wanted me. Someone," — he paused and smiled at her — "who had never heard the name 'Arc' before. I guess we had that in common."

"Yes," Pyrrha said, feigning a touch of amusement. "I suppose we do. But why didn't you say anything about it before?"

"That would have kind of defeated the point, right?" Jaune asked. "I knew that my parents wouldn't force me to break up with someone I was already in a relationship with — they'd only choose for me if I wasn't with anyone — so … I was trying to get with someone as quickly as possible so I'd have someone to show them." His eyes widened. "Not that that's why I've proposed or anything — I'm not rushing this for my own reasons — I just—"

"I know," Pyrrha assured him. "I know. I'm sure that our dating would have been sufficient for your purposes."

"Right," Jaune agreed. "I asked you to marry me because I love you; that's the only reason. I guess … what I'm trying to say is that … I don't know what I'm trying to say anymore, except that I'm really glad I met you."

"A nice, ordinary girl?" Pyrrha ventured.

"There's nothing ordinary about you, Pyrrha," Jaune told her, "but I'd take you over someone of 'good family' any day."

If only you knew, Pyrrha thought. Or perhaps it's best that you do not.

You're being ridiculous. He wasn't trying to tell you that he hates the idea of being married to someone of noble birth; that wasn't the point at all.

I know, but all the same … when he finds out…

It won't change who you are, like Nora said.

But who I am will be different from who he thought I was.

"Jaune," Pyrrha said, "there's something that I need to—"

"There you are! Great!" The voice belonged to Ember, the woman they had met at dinner last night, and it barked across the dining room as she bore down upon them. "I was hoping that I'd find you here. Where are Mister Ren and Miss Valkyrie?"

"They haven't come down yet," Pyrrha replied, more relieved than annoyed at the interruption.

"And they might not for a while," Jaune added. Nora in particular was hardly likely to refuse the chance of sleeping in. "Is there something we can help you with?"

"I hope so," Ember said. "I've got a job for you."

"'A job'?" Jaune repeated, a touch of incredulity on his tongue. "But we…" He paused. "What kind of job?" Because of course he would never abandon someone in need, never turn away from danger, no matter how convenient it would be for him to do so.

That was just the kind of man he was, and that was why she loved him.

Ember took a seat at their table, resting her elbows upon the polished wood. "After dinner last night, I had some visitors," she explained. "Local faunus; I guess you might call them community leaders, the foreman and the shop steward at the Summerfire steelworks here in Freeport amongst them. They came to me because I'm the boss for a lot of them, but also because I'm rich, and they think that makes me powerful."

She paused.

"I'm not actually that powerful," she admitted, cringing for a moment, "but I am rich, which means that you can write your own ticket if you'll help me out."

"Help you with what?" Pyrrha asked softly.

"The people who came to see me last night, the foreman, the shop steward, all the rest, they told me that people have been disappearing," Ember said. "I didn't realize; I've been out of the city on business … and pleasure. I've been away, anyway, so I didn't know, and it started not that long ago, but … it seems like it's getting worse. People are afraid to leave their homes at night. The factories are shutting down early so that everyone can clock off and get home before it gets dark; people are scared to let their kids walk to school, visit their friends … and people are missing. Nobody knows what's happening to them, where they are."

"What about the police?" Jaune asked.

"The police don't give a damn!" Ember snapped. "It's only faunus disappearing, after all. I swear, it's like they have a list of stock explanations for when a faunus goes missing: I'm sure your husband just ran off with another woman, your wife must have turned to prostitution, your kid has obviously run away to join the White Fang. Besides, a lot of our people don't like cops; they prefer Huntsmen because they might get an impartial one, or even better, they might get one of the good ones. Ones like you and your friends."

She paused. "Look, I know that I'm asking a lot. I know that you're on your way to your wedding and the last thing that you want is to stick around here hitting the streets, but I've promised these people that I'll do what I can to help. Only, I don't have the ear of the governor; I don't have a private army I can put on the streets. But I do know you're here, and I know your reputation: even if you are from Mistral, you still treat us like we're people. And you're capable; we need someone with the brains to figure out who's behind this and the brawn to stop them once they do, and I think that's you four. Please. I'll pay anything, anything at all, and I'll fly you to Mistral on the company airship once you're done, so long as you take the job."

"How many people are we talking about?" Jaune asked. "How many people have gone missing?"

"Does it matter?" Ember asked.

"No," Jaune replied, "but at the same time, yes. Ten people being kidnapped isn't worse than one, but it is different; it means different things."

"I think I see what you mean," Ember murmured. "Seventeen people have gone missing so far."

Jaune looked at Pyrrha. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Neither did she. Pyrrha understood perfectly, just as she believed that Ren and Nora would understand as well.

Jaune Arc wasn't the kind of man to walk away. Neither was she. How could they be wed knowing that they had abandoned people in need of their aid? How could she dress in the finest gown knowing that there were those in Freeport lost, trapped, helpless, alone?

How could they smile and dance and be happy, knowing that they had condemned others to misery? Pyrrha could not, and neither could Jaune.

It was not who they were; it was not in their nature at all.

Pyrrha gave the slightest nod of her head. Jaune gave the faintest smile before he turned to Ember.

"Team Juniper is at your service."

---

Author's Note 1 (Scipio Smith): More of me, here, as you might have been able to tell since neither Cyclone nor Cody would be shameless to rip off the Low Town subplot from SAPR the way that I've just done here.

One of the advantages of the fact that I don't talk on VOIP with Cody and Cyclone is that I can go back and look at what I wrote in the discussion channels and see how exactly we came to the idea of this subplot that will continue into the next part.

The disadvantage of the fact that Cody and Cyclone do talk on VOIP is that I only have my side of the conversation to look back on and I'm trying to piece together what prompted some of my responses. All I can really say is that we wanted to do something with Freeport that went beyond just having JNPR visit it, and we specifically wanted to do some stuff which… well, you'll have to wait and see for the next part, where everything will become a bit less familiar for SAPR readers.

Cody and Cyclone had already laid out the Freeport backstory in earlier chapters, but within that I had a lot of freedom to develop what it would look like now. I'm quite pleased with how it turned out, sort of one part west coast metropolis (sort of the LA to Vale's New York) and one part colonial stronghold.

Cody has reminded us all that it is RWBY's ten-year anniversary, and suggested that we might perhaps want to give our reflections upon the series as a whole.

I didn't start watching RWBY until mid to late 2018. I watched the trailers and then the first four episodes of volume 1. And then I stopped for a while. Then I started again, and I managed to get through the first ten episodes of volume 1 this time… and then I stopped again. And then I started the third time, and this time I managed to get all the way through the first three volumes, and then stopped two episodes into volume 4 because it was boring.

So, in case you couldn't tell, I'm not going to pretend that I was blown away by RWBY. And yet. And yet something has kept me here for millions and millions of words of RWBY fanfiction, so clearly there is something about this show or I would have forgotten about it by now.

I think that, out of the three of us, Cody, Cyclone and I, I am the one who could most accurately be called part of the so-called HTDM, and yet I often say that we don't hate RWBY (although, having said that, there are definitely some aspects to which I bear malice), we just love different things about it that aren't what you love: Ironwood, Atlas, Cinder and, of course, Pyrrha. Pyrrha is the 'something' about this show; Pyrrha is the reason I started watching (I can tell you exactly why I started watching RWBY and it was CelticPhoenix's video comparing RWBY to My Hero Academia and Little Witch Academia; just a quick clip of the Arkos kiss from volume 3 and I wanted to see what that was about); Pyrrha's absence is the reason volume 4 onwards are unwatchable garbage; Pyrrha is the reason I'm still here, millions of words later, Pyrrha is just incredible, in my eyes.

So, this is both the ideal chapter for Cody and Cyclone to ask me to work on, and at the same time possibly the only chapter that they could have asked me to work on, because I could never have felt the same enthusiasm working on any of their other planned chapters that I have for working on this one.

So, to sum up, I suppose… whatever my issues with RWBY, it is the show which gave us Pyrrha Nikos, and for that I will always be grateful.

---

Author's Note 2 (Cyclone): So, aside from editing and rewriting a few bits for continuity, everything here was written by Scipio; Cody's on break (and now has a new job) and I was working on stuff in a later part of the interlude. Turns out, after we storyboarded the little sideplot here, there was no way to get to any of the stuff I'd actually written, and Scipio writes like a machine.

So yeah, pretty much all credit to Scipio.

As for my thoughts on RWBY, given the ten-year anniversary, I was a latecomer, practically dragged into the fandom by Cody at a time when I really wasn't looking to get into any new fandom because he wanted to bounce ideas off of me for his still-mostly-unpublished Star Wars fusion. The two of us binge-watched the show together with a friend from the trailers through all six of the volumes that were out at the time, and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

It certainly wasn't without flaws — the writing had problems, there were serious pacing issues from the very first volume (ye gods, the Jaunedice arc), and even to this day, the CRWBY seems allergic to worldbuilding — but it had heart, it had character, and it had characters that I loved as characters, whether I loved or hated them as people. It's the concept and the characters that drew me in, more than anything else, even as time passed, and I became dissatisfied with the show itself, its flaws becoming more noticeable with Fridge Logic kicking in, especially after the writing started repeatedly going interesting places, only to turn around and ignore the boundless interesting possibilities they'd accidentally stumbled upon.

I've always held that the unrealized potential that comes when a good concept or a good cast is coupled with poor execution is the best fuel for fanfiction, and I suppose this — the longest 'fic I've ever had a hand in writing, by far — is proof enough of that, at least when applied to me.

This story was, as I recall, my brainchild, stemming initially from the name of Yang's bike — ironic, since we decided to replace Bumblebee-the-Bike with Bumblebee-the-Autobot — and it grew from there the more I thought about it. Dust and energon, the idea of taking Ozpin and Salem's eternal war and contrasting it with the even longer Cybertronian conflict, the similar styles of the show with the emphasis on a wide cast of unique characters with unique weapons and fighting styles, and the way the metaphysics of the two settings — aura and the variable durability of Cybertronians, souls and sparks, Semblances and Outlier abilities — all seemed to slot together so seamlessly, I couldn't not write this.

Especially after realizing what the lyrics at the beginning of Yang's V1 song, "I Burn" are:

Come at me
And you'll see
I'm more than meets the eye

---

Author's Note 3 (Cody MacArthur Fett): All hail, Scipio indeed. … Or not. Now I've got the song "All Hail Shadow" stuck in my head and that's not something he probably wants associated with him.

Of course, today isn't just the release of this new chapter. It's also the 10 year anniversary of the release of the "Red" trailer for RWBY. … Yeah, it's been that long. It's been a heck of a ride, hasn't it?

I've often gone on at length about all the various problems RWBY has, and how they keep growing with each new release. I've gone into specific detail about the many problems in the specific releases many times. I've gotten into quite a few shouting matches with people, and volume 7 was so bad that it made me physically ill. … And yet.

And yet. And yet. And yet.

And yet this world and these characters have sucked up more of my attention and effort than any other fandom out there. Neon Genesis Evangelion might be my favorite show, and I might have been a fan of Star Wars since I was a little kid, but I haven't written nearly a million words for either of those franchises. I have done that for RWBY though. I've commissioned nearly a dozen pictures because of RWBY when I wouldn't dream of spending money on art before. I've gone and created a Discord server where people are constantly chattering away on voice channel and text channels because of RWBY. I have made so many friends because of RWBY, and since I've finally started watching through my DVD collection with them it means I've gotten into other franchises because of RWBY.

For all its many faults this show has brought me countless hours of joy and its effects will linger long after it's gone in a positive way. In that way I can't help but be thankful for RWBY and the way things turned out.

This new job doesn't leave me with a lot of time, and with how my home situation has so radically changed I haven't been in the mood to write for months even in my free time, but all that will change.