The elderly doctor grasped a pale wrist lightly, but firmly in a steady hand. The other rested beneath the attached elbow, supporting it.
"Alright, dear, now raise your arm to shoulder height," she instructed, guiding the appendage along its path and nodding in approval as her young charge complied, wincing slightly.
"Again, please."
She repeated the motion.
"How high are you able to raise your arm without discomfort?"
The redheaded girl sitting on the bed slowly lifted an arm, stopping when it was about the height of her sternum.
The aged woman frowned, noting something in her clipboard in a messy scrawl. "Now is it like this all the time, or only after a flare up?"
"The discomfort is around all the time, but it's usually just a small nuisance. It only gets this bad after a flare up."
Another messy note. "Alright, dear, that will be all for the checkup." She consulted the patient chart. "There's a bit of swelling in your joints, but nothing else seems notable here. Your bloodwork shows no irregularities. Neither do the X-rays." She stood, offering the girl an apologetic glance. "I am sorry, but without knowing what's wrong exactly, there isn't much I can give you besides the usual advice. Do the painkillers help?"
"A little bit," Pyrrha admitted, "but not by much."
The doctor hummed thoughtfully. "I'll write you a prescription for a course of some stronger anti-inflammatories. We'll see if they help any. Does that sound good to you?"
Pyrrha nodded. "Yes, that sounds wonderful, thank you."
"Of course, think nothing of it. Now, will you be needing a note for class? I daresay you've missed the first period of the day. No? Well, off you go, then."
Pyrrha gathered her belongings, donning her student jacket and dark gloves. The discoloring at her fingertips had spread noticeably now, pallid and sickly, encroaching just past the first knuckle. She had taken to wearing gloves to ward off any worry her teammates may have upon discovering her injury.
As if in collaboration with her spreading ailment, the dreams had also begun to come more frequently. Scenes of that blank world were burned into her mind now to the point that she could actually recall them in her waking moments. They left her with an odd, empty feeling in her gut, as if something she desired deeply had been scooped out of her, though she couldn't, for the life of her, imagine what it may be. Worse yet, the unseen lurker in the vast emptiness had been making its presence more and more known with each visit to that realm. Pyrrha had never actually seen it, but the presence was undeniably there.
It was utterly tantalizing. Unspoken promises of power and knowledge lay just beyond the realm of her dreams, and she found herself wanting more and more to make contact with it, if only to sate her curiosity. Pyrrha wasn't sure if she truly believed in the Gods, but she imagined that if they really did exist, it would be something like this unseen being.
Still, she refrained from attempting contact. It was only her own rationale and the thin membrane of the world that held her back. Something, perhaps instinct, perhaps some other sense of great foreboding, made her hesitant, and she wound up waking on those mornings with a vague sense of disappointment and throbbing arms. A particularly painful jolt served to refocus her thoughts. She silently chided herself for succumbing to flights of fancy. They were just dreams, after all, nothing more, nothing less.
Pyrrha strode from the infirmary building, allowing the glass door to click shut quietly behind her. Her appointment had concluded just after noon, but already she was beginning to feel the now-familiar sluggishness creep over her. She wanted nothing more in this moment than to curl up beneath the covers and doze off. It always came on the days when she dreamed, as if coaxing her to revisit that white world posthaste, to hurriedly return and bask in the presence of that unknown entity.
But she had class. Combat, if she recalled her schedule correctly. She wasn't too worried. Though Pyrrha did not like to boast, she was confident that she could still hold her own against most of her classmates, despite her current state. Who knows, perhaps some exercise would help disperse the fog that had settled on her mind.
Trudging wearily through the arch-covered courtyard path, she arrived at the sparring rooms, swinging the door open noiselessly. Professor Goodwitch acknowledged her presence with a small nod before returning her attention to the current bout, and Pyrrha took her seat with the rest of her team.
It seemed that her leader had been selected for this particular match. She observed his movements. They were clumsy, only barely coordinated, but they still held some semblance of structure.
She winced as he bore a heavy blow with his shield, throwing him back bodily through the air. He quickly recovered, settling into a solid, defensive stance, shield held squarely before his chest, body tilted slightly away from his opponent, one leg placed further behind to brace the rest of his body.
His opponent, normally so cocksure and arrogant, was snarling in frustration, rivulets of sweat streaming from his face. He rushed in, flailing his mace wildly.
Pyrrha checked the scoreboard. Ten minutes had apparently already passed since the start of the round, and both combatants had only just begun tottering into the yellow. She scanned the room. Bored and unfocused faces surrounded her, and she couldn't help but empathize with their plight. As much as she respected the leader of her team, even she could acknowledge that his style was, for lack of a better word, infuriating.
Someone, likely the elusive "master" he occasionally referenced, seemed to have taken Jaune's training down a peculiar path. Rather than expose him to a well-balanced curriculum of swordplay, they had instead opted to leverage his prodigious reservoirs of aura and his weapon of choice, eschewing all other aspects of the craft, almost entirely.
Jaune had mentioned that his training had been swift and incomplete. It was highly likely that his master had known this would be the case, and intended to hone his strengths before mending his shortcomings. Unfortunately, circumstances had disallowed the latter half of that plan. As it was, Jaune's style was one that focused so intently on defense that most skirmishes extended well beyond their usual length, until either his aura had been whittled down sufficiently, or his opponent had given up in disgust or exhaustion.
In a team setting, it worked well. Every grimm that he could keep off of them–and that number was quite a few–was a grimm his team didn't need to worry about. In a spar? It was hell. To expend such effort for so long, only to inflict such minor damage had to be quite frustrating. For those with a shorter temper, like Jaune's current opponent, the combination of fatigue and annoyance would likely lead to mistakes that a more seasoned fighter would be able to capitalize on.
However, Jaune was not a seasoned fighter, which was part of the reason why this match had become so protracted. Cardin had long passed the point of mere mistakes. He had thrown all caution to the wind, pent-up fury goading him into a wild rush of frenzied attacks.
It was a straightforward assault, lacking all grace and finesse. It should have been a simple matter to wrest victory from him then and there, but Jaune was simply too green to realize this, as he cowered behind what protection his shield could convey. Truth be told, he had never actually won a bout–his technique and experience were far too sloppy to allow that. All of his matches thus far had led to a victory for his adversary, though he certainly made his opponent work for their win.
As it was, Pyrrha could sense the tide turning against him. Cardin gradually managed to dole more and more blows that found their mark. It would seem that Jaune's defeated streak would not end here.
Wicked steel arced cleanly through the air only to impact concrete. Moments later, a violent explosion tore chunks from the rent ground and sent them flying in every direction. Both competitors only barely registered the sting of shrapnel hitting their aura.
Another swing came, which he couldn't avoid, and Jaune parried the brutish weapon, shoving it to the side with a great gasp. The blow was heavier than he expected and he staggered, unable to retain his footing.
"Again"
He could almost hear that stoic command seared into his brain, berating his still-sloppy technique. Silently he cursed and righted himself, spreading his feet solidly and lowering his center of gravity, shield planted firmly in front of his chest..
Cardin rushed forward again, face twisted in a savage snarl, but Jaune was ready this time. He deflected the incoming strike with a heavy shield-bash, sending Cardin's arm careening awkwardly across his body. He followed through with the motion and locked Cardin's weapon-arm with the shield. Crocea Mors flew like a needle, targeting the now-exposed flank, and a flash of red bloomed for a scant moment as the blow landed true.
But he had tarried for a moment too long, unable to extricate himself from the deadlock. With a heaving growl, Cardin threw him off, almost lifting him bodily off the ground with a bestial burst of strength.
"Again."
An audible groan escaped his throat. He had lost track of how many times he'd had to pick himself up off the ground in the match. His body ached. His breathing was ragged. Sweat kept wicking into his eyes, salty and stinging. This was fine. Cardin had been pressing the attack the entire fight; whatever Jaune was feeling, surely he was feeling much worse. All Jaune had to do was keep on getting back up.
Easier said than done.
The fatigue he had accumulated thus far stole quite a bit of his mental alacrity, and he found that he was forced to block more and more blows head-on, as his reflexes failed to divert or otherwise mitigate them.
A particularly brutal strike of the mace, followed by an answering explosion proved to be his undoing. His foot slipped and his knee buckled, and in a flash, Jaune found himself in an unfavorable position once more, this time kneeling beneath the thundering hail of steel upon his shield.
"Again."
But he had no more to give. The savage flurry of blows left Jaune no respite or opening to counter and he could only cower behind his shield, each fall of the mace forcing him backwards and whittling incessantly away at his aura.
Cardin had forsaken any sense of strategy and now resorted to thrashing with wild abandon like a wild beast. It was all Jaune could do to brace firmly against his shield. It would be a battle of attrition, he recognized grimly. Which would give first, his aura or Cardin's stamina? If he could just hold out long enough...
A buzzer sounded.
"That will be all, Mister Arc, Mister Winchester."
The bruising impacts ceased, and Jaune peeked cautiously over the rim of his shield, dumbly scanning the room to see Cardin glowering foully down at him. Had his aura fallen so quickly? A quick reference towards the scoreboard confirmed that it had.
"Mister Arc's aura has fallen into the red, Cardin Winchester wins the match," Professor Goodwitch announced. With practice ease, she immediately began dissecting the minutiae of their performance, detailing their failings, as well as their successes. She began with Jaune.
"As you can see, Mister Arc's strategy of allowing the opponent to wear themselves down can be quite effective. However, knowledge of how to effectively take advantage of lapses in your opponent's judgment is crucial when employing such stratagems. I suggest you focus your efforts on that aspect of your training, Mister Arc."
His nod of acceptance went unnoticed, as their teacher immediately turned her attentions to the other boy.
"As for you, Mister Winchester, your choice of subduing your opponent with sheer, overwhelming power is a simple, yet effective strategy, provided you have the means to back it up. While your strength is indeed impressive, I heavily encourage you to not rely on this one strategy alone, as it may not always prove successful. That will be all gentlemen, you may return to your seats."
Cardin nodded stiffly, marching to his seat, not even sparing Jaune a second glance. Jaune trudged up to rejoin his team, despondent expression brightening slightly upon catching sight of Pyrrha.
"You did well," she whispered as he claimed the seat to her right. "You're improving marvelously."
A wan smile flitted across his face. "Thanks, how're you feeling?"
"Better now, though I'm still a bit tired. How was the first period? Did you see Team RWBY this morning?" She asked. "How are they doing?"
Jaune shrugged, "Same as usual; Oobleck lectured about the Great War for an hour and everyone else zoned out."
"I think that may just be you, Jaune."
"As if. You and Weiss are the only ones who bother trying to keep up with the lesson. As for Ruby's team...Well…" He trailed off, a frown returning to his features in full force. "Things between them have been strained since…" Jaune hesitated. "Well, you know."
"Yes," she agreed sadly, expression downcast. "Have they heard any word from Blake?"
Team RWBY's relationship had begun making some progress in recuperating following the initiation incident. Slowly, but surely, they had begun to to spend more time in each other's presence, spurred on by the encouragement of the team leader and, surprisingly enough, the Schnee heiress. Though it was a far cry from being completely comfortable with each other, they at least looked like an actual team now, as opposed to the haphazard collection of students they had been at the start of term.
Unfortunately, all of this progress had been undone by the simple revelation of Blake's lineage, something the Schnee heiress had apparently taken quite personally. As it was now, Blake had disappeared and the remaining members of the team were awkwardly skirting around each other once more.
Jaune had wanted badly to offer team JNPR's assistance in their search for their missing classmate, but had been talked down by Pyrrha. It was an internal affair, it wouldn't be proper to meddle unsolicited, they may just make things worse.
Still, he was a worrier by nature. Standing by on the sidelines just didn't sit right with him. At the very least, he took comfort that Blake was likely still in Vale. What was the worst that could happen within the city's walls?
Junior kicked open the back door of his club, trash bangs in both hands and an ever-present scowl adorning his face. Why was everyone that worked for him so useless?
The part-timers he had hired due to his currently understaffed team were absolutely hopeless at even the most menial tasks, leaving him to pick up the slack on most of the grunt-work while they tended to the customers. Poorly. He owned the place, damn it. He should not have to be the one lugging trash out to the back.
He slung the black bags haphazardly into the alley dumpster, allowing the lid to slam closed with a resounded bang. Lacking help aside, he couldn't help but be glad that he had enough business to even warrant hiring the extra hands. His income had taken a hit, and the fact that the bar was finally up and running again was one of the few things keeping him out of the red at this point.
It had begun to drizzle lightly, not altogether uncommon for a Valean Autumn, and he strode back to the bar, only to pause. Like a ghost in the darkness, a figure emerged from the alley, the hood of their white sweater pulled up over their face. She stood silently, observing his movements intently.
Junior reciprocated the action, eyeing her narrowly before grumbling and taking shelter beneath an awning. Might as well just take his break now. He reached into his coat pocket.
The figure stiffened at the movement, hands straying down to her waist where two holstered firearms sat, but Junior only produced a fat cigar and a cigar-cutter.
"You've been taking out my boys left and right, I was wondering when you'd bother paying me a visit, too." He called derisively, punctuating the statement with the sharp snip of the razor. The clipped end of the cigar landed on the wet ground with a plop. "You know, you've got some nerve showing up here after all the trouble you've put me through. What exactly is your plan, kid?"
"I could take you in, for starters."
An attempt at intimidation then? Junior noted her voice, high and feminine, and her lithe physique. Almost certainly a fresh graduate, if not a student. He stowed the cigar-cutter back into his coat pocket, swapping it with a cheap lighter.
"Yeah? For what, exactly?" He wasn't feeling particularly worried. He could handle himself in a fight. In any case, she had far more to lose than he did if they came to blows. "In the eyes of the law, I'm an upstanding citizen. I follow the rules and I pay my taxes, which is more than I can say for you."
He spun the wheel of his lighter several times, cursing when he only managed to produce sparks. Eventually, a flame caught, and he held it beneath his cigar, not enough to catch alight, but just enough to gently toast it. Carefully, he rolled the object between his index finger and thumb, ensuring an even burn.
When he was satisfied with his progress, he placed it between his lips, speaking around it as he did so. "See, the thing about vigilantes is that you lot are criminals, same as the ones you like to catch. Without hard evidence, nothing you do is going to stick."
He took a long, languid drag, releasing an acrid plume of smoke with a sigh and a single, stifled cough. He savored the exotic woody aroma. Vacuo's finest. The arid weather and harsh landscape that made growing other crops untenable were perfectly suited to the particular strain used in these cigars; they could be found nowhere else. Between the already-high price of the item and the exorbitant tariffs, he had parted with a sizeable amount of lien to obtain a box of these beauties.
He returned his attention to his companion after admiring the smoldering object in his hand for a time. "Let's say, for a moment, that you beat me down and drop me off in front of VPD headquarters like you did with all my men. What do you suppose would happen after that?"
The figure hesitated, crossing her arms in thought or consternation.
"My record's spotless," he continued when he saw no response forthcoming. "I'm just a humble business-owner trying to make ends meet." He jabbed the cigar in her direction, sending a small bit of ash wafting from the tip. "Meanwhile, you've been a thorn in VPD's side since you've shown up. They're going to let me go, none the worse for the wear. Meanwhile, the parasites at VNN are going to catch wind of our little altercation, and soon people will know that the 'Moonlight Huntress' goes around beating up innocent business-owners for no reason."
"I don't care what the news says about me," she stated crossly.
"No," Junior acknowledged, "but you should. Public opinion is a scary thing, kid. Once the rabble gets riled up, things get much, much harder. Right now you're on the VPD's 'safe' list. If you don't stir up too much trouble, they won't go out of their way to try and catch you. It's a waste of time, and they may not like you, but they can't deny that you're at least helpful, even if they'd never admit it publicly."
He paused for a moment, partially to take another long inhalation of smoke, partially to allow the weight of his words to sink in.
"Now, if word gets out that you're just a common thug and the public starts demanding your capture...well, I think the cops would suddenly be a lot more eager to get you off the streets, especially considering how famous you are now. It would be quite a bit of trouble for you, I think." He spat a globule of phlegm onto the asphalt to accentuate his point. "So, now that we've got the niceties out of the way, let's try this again. Why are you here, kid?"
She was silent for a few moments, before finally saying, "I'm looking for information."
Junior raised a brow, almost in amusement. "And I suppose you're going to be paying me with the lien you lifted off of my men?"
She shifted her gaze guiltily. It had been necessary at the time, and she had rationalized that they were deplorable criminals, and that it was her compensation for getting them off the streets, but the words sounded hollow in her own ears. "I didn't think that far ahead," she admitted.
"By which you mean that you were hoping I'd put up a fight and then you'd have a reason to beat me up and question me?"
Her silence spoke louder than any words she could have mustered.
"Figured as much. Why is it that girls keep coming to my place of business looking to pick a fight? I swear, no one bothers following the rules these days." His small rant cut off as he noticed the figure turning and sulking off back into the shadows. "Hey, where are you going? I never said I wouldn't give you information."
She turned hesitantly, and he could see, behind the hooked mask, a heavy dose of suspicion in her eyes.
"I could be persuaded to part with some information for an enticing enough offer. It doesn't have to be money," he offered.
"What did you have in mind?"
"My business." He stated flatly. "I don't know what you hope to accomplish by taking out small-time crooks, or if it's just a hobby for you. Whatever it is, leave my men out of it. I've got enough troubles without you running around playing hero."
What little he could see from her expression and the subtle tightening of the corners of her mouth spoke volumes of what she thought about his proposal.
"They're mostly just doing petty larceny jobs anyway," he defended the unsaid accusation. "No one usually gets hurt as long as everyone keeps their cool." He shrugged, "If any of them're stupid enough to go around causing serious trouble, you have my blessing to go after them. I don't need that kind of heat to begin with." He arched an eyebrow in her direction. "Clearly, you need this information, and I can give it to you for the low, low price of your cooperation. Do we have a deal?"
"...Fine," came her grudging acceptance.
"Good, I'll hold you to it. Ask away. Of course, it all depends on what you want to know."
"The White Fang. That's who your men were getting the dust to, right?"
Junior actually paused mid-drag at this, grey wisps wafting listlessly from his mouth and nose.
"You're targeting the Fang next?" He shook his head. "Kid, I can't tell if you're brave or just stupid." A thoughtful expression adorned his face. "Though this could work."
"What?"
"The Fang's been causing all sorts of trouble around here for the past few months. It'd actually be pretty good if you could go rough 'em up a bit. And hey, if you get yourself killed, no skin off my nose." He frowned thoughtfully, "though I can't say I'm privy to their inner workings." He pointed to his head, indicating the lack of bestial features, "As you can see, I'm no faunus, and they've only been in Vale for a few months, at the longest. Hardly long enough to compile a comprehensive dossier through my networks, considering how exclusive they are."
She made a dissatisfied noise in the back of her throat, but otherwise just waited impatiently for him to continue, sensing an unspoken 'but' in his words.
"Do you like books, kid?" He suddenly brought up after a bout of uncomfortable silence, seemingly out of nowhere.
The shadowy figure seemed genuinely taken aback by the abrupt change in topic. Confused, she shook her head.
"No? Shame. There's a quite good used books store on Twenty-Seventh Street."
"What are you talking about?" The frustration in her voice was evident now, and Junior took some small amount of satisfaction from that.
He continued, ignoring her mounting irritation. "The owner's a nice fella. Faunus by the name of Tukson." For the first time in the exchange, his gaze flickered up to properly meet hers. A steely glint in them seemed to nudge at her to put the pieces together. "Ask him if he's got 'Third Crusade' in stock. It's quite the read."
Kiana's mind churned, deciphering the meaning behind his words. "I...see…" She finally managed to grind out hesitantly.
"Do you? Good." Junior took one last, heavy drag of his cigar before pushing off the wall he was leaning against and adjusting his suit carefully. "If he says he doesn't have it in stock, ask him to check the back. He might have a spare copy lying around." He checked the gold wristwatch on his arm. A quarter past six. "He closes early on the weekends, but you might be able to make it right before closing. He might even let you stay a bit past hours to browse."
"...Thank you." She stated, as Junior moved to re-enter his establishment.
Junior carefully put out the end of the cigar, frowning when he noticed that it had burnt halfway over the course of their conversation.
"For what?" He asked dismissively. "I'm just recommending a bookstore that I like, that's all." A sly smirk almost managed to pull at his lips. "If those White Fang hooligans end up taking a beating later on, well, that's just an extremely convenient coincidence, don't you think?"
He extracted the tin from his coat once more and deftly replaced the cigar. Poor etiquette be damned, these were expensive. He wasn't going to throw out a perfectly good smoke.
"...Yeah."
"Good, good." He nodded distractedly, the chaotic noise of his establishment seeping from the slightly-ajar door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Miss Huntress, I have a club to run." Without further preamble, he allowed the heavy, metal door to shut behind him.
Junior made his way back to the bar, dreading whatever mess he would likely have to deal with after taking such an impromptu break. He was pleasantly surprised to see that everything was still running smoothly, despite the harrowed expressions on his part-timers' faces. So they could be useful after all.
He took his usual spot behind the bar, but froze upon noticing one particular patron sitting there. His face promptly drained of color.
She was the very picture of composure, heavily contrasting with the blaring music and strobing lights, and despite her bizarre raiment, none of the other patrons paid her any mind.
"Good evening, Hei Zhong. I have some things I would like to ask you."
It seemed like it was going to be a long night.
282, 27th Street. Tukson's Book Trade.
Kiana read the gold-embossed sign displayed proudly on the storefront. The building was humble and small, and, from what she could see from the large, street-facing windows, crammed full with bookshelves. Raising a hand, she pushed open the door, eliciting a small jingle from the bell fastened to it.
"Welcome!" came a greeting from the back of the shop. The shop owner was a rather tall gentleman who spoke in a smooth, rich baritone.
Kiana had opted to leave her weapons and mask in a backpack stashed in the alleyway behind the store. They were rather conspicuous attire, and the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself in broad daylight.
"Err, hi," she responded awkwardly. The shopkeeper seemed friendly enough. Was this really the right place? "I was wondering if you carried 'Third Crusade?'"
Almost immediately, a change seemed to wash over the larger man. His countenance grew wary, his brows knitting together, carving deep furrows in his forehead. Perhaps this was the right place after all.
"No…" He spoke slowly, eyes scanning her form more carefully now. Tension seemed to gather in his shoulder blades, lending his body a stiff, rigid expression, like a spring wound too tightly. "No, I don't believe I have that one in stock."
Just as Junior had predicted. She proceeded with the latter part of the instructions, "Could you check in the back, just in case, please?"
With each word, his face grew stonier, his words becoming less warm and more curt. His smile became taut and forced, stretching a bit too widely, and exposing overly-sharp canines.
"Now, why would you be looking for that book in particular?" He asked quietly.
"Well, someone recom..."
RING
The jingle of the bell on the door sounded again, cutting off her explanation as it swung open for the second time that night.
Immediately, Tukson wheeled in that direction. Kiana managed to catch a flash of relief dance across his face for a scant moment. "Welcome!" He called to the newcomers, perhaps a bit too hastily, seemingly eager to distance himself from her.
It was a pair: two teens around Kiana's age.
The male, grey-haired with narrow eyes and a bored expression, was grumbling, apparently in irritation at having to be in a bookstore, of all places. He picked a random book up off a shelf, flipped through it, then shut it with a loud clap, tossing it down in apparent disinterest.
"Mercury, shut up a little." His companion, a dark-skinned girl with pale-green hair chided, before addressing the bookseller. "I was wondering, do you have any copies of 'The Thief and the Butcher'?"
Tukson answered in the affirmative, fully directing his attention to the new customers and prompting Kiana to tune out the conversation as the other girl began to rattle off a list of books. Her partner carelessly browsed the shelves and occasionally interjected in the conversation. The obnoxiously loud clapping of books wore on Kiana's nerves, and she found herself taking a dislike to the disrespectful boy.
"Oh, no, wait!" The other girl, exclaimed triumphantly, seemingly having reached the end of her list. "What about…'Third Crusade'?"
Kiana froze at the last name listed, her attention fully focused. From behind an open book, she surreptitiously examined the pair more thoroughly.
The girl was armed, a pair of firearms holstered at her lower back. The boy didn't have any visible weaponry on him, but may have something stowed in the confines of his grey jacket. Her eyes then darted to Tukson, to find that the tenseness had settled upon his form once more, and he glared uncomfortably at the green-haired girl in front of him. Occasionally, his eyes would flicker to the lax form of the other interloper, but would immediately return to the more pressing threat mere feet in front of him.
"Miss," he called softly to Kiana, his voice a low rumble filled with danger and warning. "We're closed now, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Kiana hesitated, quietly replacing the book she held on a desk. "What about them?" She asked.
"Oh, don't worry about us, we're good friends with Tukson here, so we're just going to have a bit of a friendly chat." Mercury shot the man a look, who nodded hesitantly after a beat.
"Good friends," he parrotted lamely, "Best run along now, miss."
"You don't seem too friendly," she directed at the boy. In her periphery, she heard the sound of a stifled snort emerge from the girl.
Mercury's face twisted in displeasure. "Well that's not up to you, scram." Mounting irritation could be heard in his voice, and his partner flashed him a warning look. Play nice. Keep a low profile.
From behind him, Kiana could see the larger man subtly shaking his head and indicating desperately towards the door with his eyes, clearly distressed. She noted the ugly sneer on the grey-haired boy's face and the thinly-veiled malice in the green-haired girl's eyes. She had the oddest sense of deja vu; It was like that night at Dust til Dawn. She made up her mind.
She attacked, and all hell broke loose.
It turned out that the grey-haired boy did have a weapon, as Kiana expected. Shotguns, mounted in his boots. As for herself, she was unarmed and, thus, at a disadvantage. Her adversary had apparently noted this, and was abusing the fact as much as he could. He seemed to prefer smaller, faster skirmishes, darting in and out of combat at will.
Kiana bound forward, attempting to rush in close, only to have her efforts rewarded with a rapid counterattack. She jerked her head to the side, just narrowly missing the heavy boot aimed at her face. The immediate, thunderous retort of gunfire so close to her head caused Kiana to clap a hand over a ringing ear.
She staggered backwards, trying to put some distance between her and the assassin, but he hounded her relentlessly, not allowing a reprieve. At the other side of the store, she could see the burly shopkeeper attempting, unsuccessfully, to slash with clawed hands at the girl in green. She danced nimbly around him, answering his strikes with her own, except these actually landed. With each successful hit, his aura flashed and his expression grew more strained.
But Kiana could not observe them for long, as Mercury quickly advanced, loosing a volley of kicks with acrobatic ease. He was incessant in his assault, and one of his attacks eventually found its mark. The blow was heavy, enhanced with a burst of gunfire, violently sending the girl reeling backwards. Luckily, the angle of the strike meant that the pellets flew wide, sparing Kiana the trouble of having buckshot embedded in her body.
"Wow, you don't even have your aura unlocked?" Mercury crowed wildly, "Bad time to be playing hero, girly!"
The momentum of the kick had nearly knocked Kiana off her feet, and she crashed bodily into a bookcase, toppling it, but managed to remain upright. The force had torn through the sleeve of her jacket, depositing an ugly, bruised and bleeding gash upon her arm. She could feel sticky warmth trickling down her fingertips. Experimentally, she flexed her fist. It hurt, but luckily, the damage was superficial.
Frustration bloomed in her breast. This was getting nowhere.
Instinctively, she raised her uninjured hand. Her head throbbed. Once, twice, thrice, mounting in intensity each time.
But she froze.
She recalled vivid crimson ichor pooling beneath the body of a man. She had been responsible for that. She recalled devastated earth and a sundered landscape. That had been her fault as well. Was she really going to do the same thing here?
She allowed her arm to fall.
"What?" Mercury taunted, noticing her inaction. "Need a breather? Since I'm such a nice guy I'll give you a few seconds to catch your breath."
"Dammit, Mercury, stop screwing around and deal with her. The big guy wont go down!"
He shrugged in mock apology. "You heard the lady, looks like there won't be any time-outs."
Kiana was glowering at him now, mind furiously churning, trying to find a way to resolve this. She cursed her decision to leave her weapons outside. She didn't think they would be necessary, it was a bookstore! How often did places here get robbed, anyway?
The tight confines of the shop were not in her favor, and the scattered books and other miscellany upon the ground made footing tenuous. As strong and fast as she was, the boy in front of her was managing to at least match her in speed. On top of that, he had the advantage of a ranged option, which he utilized liberally at any given chance.
She clenched her fist. She still could do one thing, but she couldn't control it very well, and actual contact was necessary–something that she had been failing miserably at for the past few minutes. The first strike would be crucial, while the element of surprise still nestled in her corner. She needed an opening.
"What? Gonna hit me?" He spread his arms widely, invitingly. "I'll give you a free shot," he jeered.
An opening that her opponent had just freely provided. Internally, Kiana couldn't help but bless the boy's arrogance.
She rushed forward, chambering a blow. Mismatched orbs scanned every minutiae of his movements, watching for any subterfuge on his part, but could detect none. He remained unwavering, with that stupid, mocking grin splitting his face. It seemed that he truly intended to give her one free shot. Her lack of an aura seemed to embolden the teen, though not without reason. After all, how much damage could an auraless civilian possibly inflict?
She crossed the distance in the blink of an eye. Within moments, she was well within arm's reach, her right arm shooting forward, aimed at center mass.
But she didn't strike him.
Instead, she planted her palm on his chest and shoved. Not with any excessive amount of force, but with enough power to send him staggering several steps back. A brilliant glow poured from her off-colored eye, and a black void yawned open behind him in answer.
"Wha-"
Mercury's exclamation of confusion was immediately cut off as he toppled into the darkness. And then the void disappeared, taking him with it.
"Mercury!" Emerald shouted, sparing a moment to glance wildly about the shop for her suddenly-missing comrade. Her concern was quickly directed back towards herself, however, as she was now faced with two adversaries slowly advancing, backing her into a corner.
In front of her, Tukson snarled, fangs and claws bared. To her left was a solid wall, and her final point of egress was now obstructed by the girl in white.
She was trapped.
And then she was gone.
Kiana and Tukson blinked simultaneously. The corner was empty.
The remaining combatants looked around warily, but the ruined bookstore was undeniably unoccupied, save for themselves.
The large man sighed in what Kiana could only assume was relief. The claws retracted back into his fingers, and he ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame the wild mess it had become over the course of the battle. He gazed forlornly at the tatters of the establishment that he had treasured.
"What did you do with the lad?" He finally asked after a momentary silence.
Kiana grinned cheekily, "I sent him straight to the middle of VPD headquarters."
"Handy semblance, you've got," he commented idly.
"If you say so," she responded evasively.
"So, miss," his tone became harder, more professional, "why were you looking for 'Third Crusade'?"
Kiana stuttered to a halt, the grin dropping from her face before admitting sheepishly, "I'm looking for information on the White Fang. Someone told me I could get it here."
He scrutinized her intensely, watching for any telltale hint of deception before sighing. "I suppose there's no point trying to hide it after that little spectacle just now. I'll tell you what I can, but if you're looking to get recruited, I think you may be missing some crucial components there. Wouldn't recommend it, either. Their healthcare coverage is awful." He cracked a strained smile at the attempt at a joke, which Kiana mirrored.
"Are you with them?" Was her first question.
"Many years ago, aye," he admitted. "Not anymore. I left after they started getting violent. I still get traffic through this shop sometimes, though. It's usually members that need to lie low or a place to temporarily store goods. That was part of the deal for letting me go."
"Do you know what they're doing?"
"Aside from stealing every speck of dust that they can get their hands on? Not a clue." The grumble that wormed its way into his words spoke volumes of just what he thought about the Fang's recent endeavors.
Seeing her downcast expression, he appended, "Though I've heard through the vine that Vale's expecting a huge SDC freighter in a few days, chock full of dust. I'm not much of a betting man, but my guess is that if the Fang were to make their move, it would be then. One second." He pulled a page from a small notepad and neatly scrawled something onto it before folding it into quarters and handing it to her. "That's the date of the shipment. Dock fourteen."
"Thank you," Kiana said in surprised tones. It was more information than she had dared to expect. "But what are you going to do now? Your shop is wrecked." She waved a hand in a pointless gesture. The damage was already plaing to see.
"A shame, really," he sighed in response, glancing sadly at the ruined remains of shelves and books strewn about the floor. "I spent a lot of time and money to find some of these; it was one hell of a collection in its prime. But I suppose it's time to move on. I should have left Vale ages ago." He spared her a wan smile. "Thank you again, miss, for the assistance. I would've been a goner if I were alone. I won't pry into why you're asking around about the Fang, but be careful and don't do anything foolish, alright?"
Kiana promised she wouldn't, but had a guilty, niggling feeling that she was going to wind up breaking it very soon.
"So, Blake is your friend?"
Following Blake's revelation and the subsequent catastrophe, the remaining members of team RWBY had split into two groups to scour the city for their missing compatriot. Yang had paired with Weiss, while a new acquaintance, Penny, had cheerily joined the search, pairing with Ruby.
"Yes, Penny." If the other girl noticed the slight bite in her tone, she happily ignored it.
Ruby liked to consider herself a tolerant person, but her companion's constant queries were quickly challenging that notion. For the past hour of their traversal through Vale's streets and back-alleys, the other girl's barrage of questions had been unceasing. They ranged across a wide variety of topics, most of them quite mundane. She could not bring herself to fault her strange companion, as the questions seemed quite earnest, if basic. Even still, her patience was in tatters, and she had long since stopped trying to mask the exasperation in her tone.
"But you're mad at her?" Penny seemed slightly perplexed, as if she could not reconcile both options to be true at the same time.
"Yes," Ruby replied, before correcting, "well, I'm not. Weiss is."
"Is she friends with Blake?"
"Well…" Ruby wasn't certain how to answer that question, settling on the most diplomatic option, "that's kind of up in the air right now."
"But why?"
"Well, you see, Blake might not be who we thought she was…"
Penny's eyes widened, her tone becoming hushed and conspiratorial. "Is she a man?"
"No!" Ruby's tone rose sharply, before tapering back into a patient one. "No, Penny. She's," she struggled momentarily to find an appropriate word. "I don't know what she is," the girl admitted. "She didn't exactly talk to us before she decided to run off."
The news seemed to sadden the strange girl. "I don't have a lot of friends," Penny began thoughtfully, as if piecing together a particularly troublesome puzzle, "but if I did, I would want them to talk to me about things."
Ruby couldn't help but nod dejectedly in agreement. "Well, she wouldn't be the first to just vanish without a word," she admitted softly, some small hint of bitterness apparent in her voice.
"What do you mean? Is someone else missing?"
Ruby's head bobbed up and down in confirmation. "Our friend, Kiana, went missing a couple months ago. She just disappeared from Beacon's infirmary one day." Her face twisted in dissatisfaction at the reminder. "Not a warning or anything. Just there one day, gone the next." She laughed hollowly, the sound devoid of any humor. "Story of my life, I guess. People just disappear without even a 'goodbye'."
She expected that particular bit of news to elicit the typical over-the-top reaction from the odd girl, and braced herself for the inevitable flood of questions, but found her words met only with silence. Confused, she turned to find that, though she had continued to walk, Penny had frozen in her tracks several paces behind, her expression oddly neutral, like a doll.
"Penny?" Ruby jogged back to her friend, worriedly studying her strange behaviour. The girl made no reaction to her own name, nor to the hand being waved in front of her face. It was perhaps a trick of the light, but she thought she saw a jolt of electric-blue flash across emerald eyes for the briefest of moments.
"Penny, are you alright?" Ruby lightly shook her shoulder. It was oddly rigid and hard. Perhaps she wore some kind of body armor beneath it? At the very least, the gesture seemed to do the trick.
Slowly, the girl's gaze came back into focus, and she glanced blearily around in confusion. "Oh, Ruby, my friend! Did something happen?"
"Uh, yeah. You kind of just stopped moving."
"Did I? That is most unusual!"
"Uh, yeah, I guess?"
"My apologies, Ruby, but what were we doing?" Her odd trance seemingly had lingering effects, as she swung her head cheerily to and fro, without an idea as to what she was supposed to be looking for. She beamed cluelessly at the smaller girl.
"We're looking for Blake, Penny."
"Ah, right!" She proudly marched down the road once more, and, after several paces, asked, "So, Blake is your friend?"
Ruby suppressed a groan.
"It would seem that my orders were not as clear as I had thought." A young, raven-haired woman stated, surveying the other people occupying the room. As her eyes jumped between her two compatriots, each studiously refused to meet her gaze.
The next phase of the plan, the SDC freighter robbery, was tonight. As was customary, the instigators of the heist were sat together for a final conference. This time, however, was different. The air was thick with tension, and one of their members was missing.
Cinder paused, noting the absence. "Where is Mercury?" She directed the last question at Emerald, who had arrived conspicuously alone.
The girl hesitated. "...arters," she finally muttered inaudibly. She sat ramrod straight on a metal folding-chair, her gaze downcast and her hands clenched tightly into fists resting on her knees.
Cinder frowned at the girl's nervous mumbling. Something seemed to be wrong. Amber eyes narrowed. "Emerald," she commanded, "Look at me. Where. Is. Mercury."
The thief complied shakily, scarlet orbs flashing with fear as they shot up to lock with the older woman's. "Police H-headquarters," she managed to stutter out.
The man leisurely leaning back in his seat to her right choked in surprise, cursing as he lost his balance and nearly toppled from his chair.
"What." Cinder ignored him completely, opting instead to lean the full weight of her ire upon her subordinate. "I thought I told you both," her tone was dangerously quiet. The room seemed to become uncomfortably warm. "That you were to maintain a low profile while we were in Vale."
"I know! But…" Emerald sprung to defend herself, but was cut off almost immediately.
"You know." The words came out as a near snarl. "Then kindly tell me what part of being arrested constitutes keeping a low profile?"
"It wasn't our fault!" Emerald adamantly insisted. "We went to take care of Tukson, but someone else was there. She must have had some sort of portal semblance, because she pushed Mercury through it and now he's at the precinct."
The temperature in the room only seemed to increase at this new tidbit of information. "I was under the impression," she began, the mounting rage in her voice almost tangible, "that Tukson was your job, Roman."
The man yelped, now bearing the brunt of the furious glare. "It was! I thought I still had some time for that! At least until after the SDC freighter raid!"
"The timetable has moved up." Cinder's frosty tone contrasted sharply with the overbearing heat she was producing.
"Well, how am I supposed to know that?"
"You should have been informed."
Emerald looked away guiltily. It had slipped her mind.
"Never mind." Cinder restrained her surging emotions with visible effort. "What's done is done. You will continue doing your jobs, and this time, I want them done perfectly."
Frantic, eager nods from Emerald.
"You know, it would be a lot easier for me to follow along if anyone bothered telling me what we're doing," Roman demanded irately. "Why are we even moving the timetable up? We're already on a time crunch." He made a large, sweeping gesture to the dimly lit warehouse around them. It was piled high wall-to-wall with shipping containers. "This isn't something that can be rushed, you know."
"Because, Roman," she responded, her voice deceptively patient, "I've come across some interesting information."
"Oh? Do tell," he drawled, the sarcasm in his tone apparent.
"It would seem that we have a tail. Someone in Vale has been asking around about our dealings. Specifically, they've been asking about the dust robberies that you have been in charge of."
"Ah, haha…" Roman's laughter suddenly took on a nervous tint, trailing off awkwardly. "Would you have heard who, by any chance?"
"As a matter of fact, yes." Cinder threw a copy of the Daily Vale on the desk, its edges singed and smoking. The front page article parrotted the same thing it had for the past several issues, accompanied by a grainy, dimly-lit picture.
Emerald scoffed. "The 'Moonlight Huntress'? What's she going to do about it? She's probably just some kid pretending to play the hero."
Immediately, she regretted her choice to interject, as those cruel, amber eyes were now fixated on her. When Cinder spoke, her tone was smooth and sharp, like shards of glass. "Be that as it may, I do not like variables introducing themselves into my plans." She spoke softly, but the rocketing temperature in the vicinity spoke to her irritation. "If one vigilante has the sense to trace our dealings all the way to the White Fang, who's to say there aren't more?" Her gaze flitted to each member in the room. "There have been too many mistakes made, as of late. Let me be clear. I want no trouble on tonight's shipment. Am I understood?"
"But...what about Mercury?"
"What about Mercury?"
Cowed, the girl could only shake her head nervously. "N-nothing. Understood."
"Good. Roman?"
"Would it hurt to give just a little information here, like what the plan is?" The man complained. "So far, I've been groping around in the dark, no wonder everything's gone to hell."
Cinder's lips stretched into a facsimile of a smile. "Patience, Roman. Have a little faith," she cooed, brushing the fingers of her right hand on his cheek. They were far too warm to the touch, uncomfortably so. Her words dripped with poisoned honey, and Roman averted his gaze from her lurid orbs with a grunt of discomfort.
"You'll know what you need when you need to know it."
Prologue has been rewritten.
If you've been following CN news for Honkai, then you'll understand what I mean when I say that it has given me a lot of food for thought. If you haven't been following along, then you're in for some spicy content in the 5.0 update.
I am a bit undecided on things regarding the update. The divergence point between canon and this fic is likely around the ch23 mark, so it'll take some finagling to include that content in a meaningful way, if I choose to do so. We shall see.
Chapter's a bit on the short side this update. I opted to split it into two smaller chapters instead of one big one. Hopefully I'll have that up in two weeks or so. There's really no reason why this chapter's taken this long, and I'm still not particularly happy with some of the structuring and dialogue. It's been getting warmer, and the heat really wreaks havoc on my productivity. I probably should've held off on posting until I've got a clearer head, but it's already overdue as it is.
TEMPORARY EDIT: FF's doc manager messed up the formatting a bit. It is late and I need to sleep. Will fix formatting in the morning.
