Gears.
Lots and lots and lots of gears.
Ozpin's office was unique in a multitude of ways. However, the most unique of them was the innumerable amount of literal gears that made up the near entirety of it. The only solid aspect of the room was the forest-green carpeted floor beneath his feet. Above him gears of various sizes spun in an intricate fashion, turning the hands of the large clock that sat outside the window.
Sitting in a chair ironically made up of bent and molded cogs, Ozpin eyed the young man in his office. Jaune mindlessly wandered around the room, observing the spines of books on a large dark-oak bookshelf.
Jaune was unsure of what was more disorienting; the room quite literally spinning around him in the forms of cogs, or the incessant clicking that just wouldn't go away.
Jaune pulled out a random book from the shelf, an old leather-bound tome labeled The Inquisition.
"So, after a hundred and some odd years, the old hermit and the heir apparent are reunited," Jaune commented.
He turned to Ozpin, who was leaning back in his chair with hands folded across his abdomen. "The Lord Commander. My mentor spoke highly about you." Jaune replaced the heavy leather-bound tome on the shelf, meandering over to the Headmaster's glass desk.
"I was under the impression that you've received naught in terms of vocational training," Ozpin idly noted.
No idle chatter here.
Jaune scoffed, "Been watching me, have you? I'm surprised Maisie never mentioned me in her reports."
"Master Huntress Talis and I don't exchange communique as often as you'd believe. Most of the status reports of the lodge are filtered through the subcommander or other administrative staff. I typically only receive reports that are urgent enough for my direct attention or from some select Huntsmen in the field," Ozpin explained.
Jaune sat in one of the plush chairs across from Ozpin, its leather gently creaking. "And I assume a Pathfinder would constitute 'select' Huntsmen."
Ozpin's brow raised in query. "To meet a Pathfinder is quite rare. The only Pathfinder up that far northwards is…"
"Was Crowley Venandi," Jaune finished for him.
Ozpin's face turned somber, his bright golden eyes dimming at the honest reality of the matter. "Crowley had mentioned in passing about a potential apprentice he'd taken a liking to. I suppose I should've connected the metaphorical dots and recognized the garment on your back. How absent-minded of me," he admonished himself.
Jaune uncomfortably shrugged. "The past is the past, best to leave it there. But yes, I am the prodigal son, so to speak."
Ozpin inclined his head slightly. His peering eyes wandered over Jaune's form. Crowley's Pathfinder cowl hung from his shoulders, connecting to a dark leather and lightweight armor-plating amalgamation. The armor pattern wove to his arms and legs, however, dark steel armor plating covered his forearms and calves. Blatantly Ishgardian in nature.
Golden eyes finally landed on the dark spear that sat across the boy's back.
"Tis a lance I've naught seen in many, many years," a gentle melancholy formed across his features.
Jaune unhooked the lance from the small aura-triggered lock on his backplate, reverently placing it on the glass desk. "You'll have to thank Aymeric for that. I suppose he's also owed thanks for my spontaneous disappearance. Guess he saw fit to drag me away to Ishgard."
Ozpin ran his hand along the length of the lance, absently listening to Jaune. "It's been over a thousand years since I've laid my hands on this glaive, let alone seen it with my own two eyes," he breathlessly commented.
Jaune sat down, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair. "Ishgard is a few stones' throw away for those who know how to find it."
Golden eyes glanced up into cerulean-violet. Ozpin gracefully rose from his chair, turning to look out at the setting sun. "Some two-hundred years ago, your great-grandfather Avus and I engaged in a tremendous battle, the likes of which have not been witnessed in this realm in nigh four millennia. In the end, my soul was… damaged, for lack of a better term. It has left my connection to the Light and thus my magic severely fractured."
"Creating the four maidens as a lock and key measure for the relics took more out of me than I first assumed. In my naivety, I never considered the deep correlation between magic and the soul. In giving the maidens my magic, I in turn tore parts of my soul away. It is why I've continued to grow weaker."
Ozpin turned to face Jaune, who eyed the man with indifferent consideration. "I cannot leave the proximity of the tower and by extension the Crystal for long periods of time. I fear my soul has begun to unwind itself."
Jaune absently nodded, his mind working through the possible solutions. "Why haven't you used the Crystal to repair the damage done?"
Ozpin sighed, glancing at the lance on the table. "The Crystal answers to the King. Not his servants. I can't use the Crystal's magic. Not since Avus passed."
Jaune appeared nonplussed, instead holding his right hand up, showcasing the faint glow of the Ring on his finger. "Well. We'll have to see about rectifying that."
Ozpin's eyes widened imperceptibly, but just enough for Jaune to know he'd caught the man off-guard. "To think you'd be capable of such advanced eldritch already… remarkable." Ozpin breathed out.
Another snort from Jaune. "The only thing I'm good at is warping and lightning manipulation. I wouldn't have the first clue on how to repair a soul. I can barely even understand if mine is my own anymore."
"However, I believe there is someone who may just know how to perform such a feat. Your dear friend Somnus would be more than willing to repair an old friend's soul, no?"
Ozpin leaned against the glass window, brow raised in rapt attention. "You've spoken to Somnus?"
Jaune shrugged. "Sometimes, but not for long. I mostly see glimpses of his memories, but sometimes he offers comments in passing, typically regarding my training in the arcane. It's… difficult to pick out my ancestors. Some come much easier than others, yet it feels as if there's a void where some should be."
Ozpin nodded. "I am uniquely qualified to give you advice on this subject matter. You're about par for the course in terms of communicating with your ancestors. It takes months, sometimes years, before a Ring-bearer is able to do that. You need remember that there are one-hundred and thirteen souls residing within you. Masters of aura manipulation struggle to even 'see' into their own singular souls."
With a snap of his fingers, dark-green flames swirled around the office, engulfing the outer circumference. Overhead, a bright blue galaxy of stars stretched into an endless expanse. In some spaces, there were gaping voids of darkness, holes where brilliantly illuminated stars should have shone.
"You and I are unique. Your early ancestors and I spent countless years studying how to make it easier for both their descendants and myself to communicate and control their dense and populated souls. The solution was creating a reality within the soul- a place wherein one could easily visualize and physically commune with their soul."
"This world-space should be familiar to you. This world, excluding some aesthetic differences, are quite very much the same in principle."
Jaune looked around him in wonder, taking in the differences between the reflected reality of Ozpin's soul and his own. "I don't suppose you've a name for this place. I've relegated myself to calling it my Throne World. Seeing as there's an actual throne in mine."
Ozpin nodded. "The reflected realities of our souls is called Cosmogony." With another snap, the two magic-users found themselves back in the naturally lighted interior of Ozpin's office.
Sitting back down in his chair, Ozpin studied Jaune carefully. "So, what now, your highness?"
"Well, there is something I wished to suggest. I haven't quite thought it out all the way, so pray forgive me if I ramble for a bit." The immortal inclined his head, and Jaune once more had the metaphorical stage.
"We've been on the back-foot ever since Avus died. Between the disappearance of the Arcus rule and your inability to take the fight to the enemy, we've been pushed back right up to a very uncomfortable position."
Jaune stood, placing his Scroll on Ozpin's desk. A holographic projection of the Saunan continent appeared, the west end cut off at the Vacuoan border. The map was highlighted into fourteen different zones, eight of which currently had a Master Huntsman presiding over them. The other six were greyed out, representing areas mostly comprising the eastern seaboard, the far northeast, and the far south.
"You're well familiar with the Lodge's provincial map, so I needn't explain it, obviously. The Lodge is down to eight provinces, including Vale proper. Even then, Crowley had his suspicions that we've been downsizing due to unusually aggressive Grimm activities along key parts of our provincial borders."
Jaune gestured to a large range of mountains that split the northern end of Sanus into east and west. "We've lost everything east of the Dravanian mountain range. Grimm incursions into east Coerthas and Ishgard proper are becoming more frequent."
He pointed to his hometown of Arkend in the northwestern region which was located south of a narrow gap between Beric's cove and the northern end of the Dravanian Mountains. "The primary raid group is positioned here, at a choke point." Then, at the southeast end of the Dravanians, he continued, "And the secondary is stationed here at Titan's plains. These are the only two areas large enough for a Grimm horde to pass through to gain access to western Saunus."
He pointed to Mountain Glenn. "With Mountain Glenn being a literal Grimm-city, we've been pushed back in our southern provinces, slowly but surely having our settlements and towns cut-off from trade ways and larger hub settlements for the regions."
Jaune glanced at Ozpin, who looked on with his full attention. With no sign of him interrupting, he continued.
"We simply don't have enough Huntsmen. The Valean Council will absolutely refuse to send the military outside of the immediate vicinity of the Kingdom, even though they state there's no immediate threat," another snort. "There's also the issue of the Council fighting the Lodge on jurisdiction. They want Huntsmen to operate under the oversight of the Council in Kingdom territory, which puts a hamper on making any sort of play."
Ozpin cleared his throat. "It's hard enough for our Rangers to engage in policing activities in Vale. The Council wants the Lodge under their thumb and there's simply no hiding it. I fear it won't be long before the fools will be marching on our doorstep with an army."
The young heir nodded in agreement. "So, yeah, solution to that."
Ozpin leaned forward with a vested interest.
"The Council can fuck off. The people's opinion is what matters in the end."
Ozpin uncouthly snorted, covering his mouth with his hand in good manners.
Jaune began once more. "We utilize the teams here at Beacon to the absolute pinnacle of their potential. Completely reforge the way the academy works. The four-man teams are a great idea, but we can take it a step further now that we can go back on the offensive," Jaune eagerly explained, now standing and pacing about.
"A swell idea, but what do you have in mind?" Ozpin inquired.
"Do you remember long ago when you first arrived in Ishgard? As an exile from your former homeland?"
Ozpin slowly nodded. "I could never forget my days in Ishgard. Never."
Jaune nodded. "We reform Beacon into something new. We take what Ishgard was to you, and we apply it to Beacon for the weary and lost. We expand the academy grounds, turn it into a hub for not just Huntsmen-in-training, but for Huntsmen and other adventurers from across the world. We officially make Beacon the headquarters for the Huntsmen Lodge and to that end, make it the focal turning point in the war."
"The Grimm that are closest to us pose the least threat in terms of combat. Imagine this- taking two adept and promising first-year teams and merging them into one rapid-response strike team. Trainees could be ready to respond to anywhere within a reasonable distance of Beacon at a moment's notice, with the combat risk being low, but not low enough to allow for students to garner worthwhile field-experience."
Ozpin looked as if he were ready to interject, but Jaune preemptively cut him off with an excited finger pointed his way. "Now, I know what you're going to say about sending students off to do a Huntsmen's job. The dangers, so on and so forth."
Jaune tapped a button on his Scroll, which highlighted the locations of the provincial Lodge stations. "These students are already Huntsmen. They're just inexperienced and in-training, but they are capable. We can reallocate Huntsmen in the field to link-up with our strike-teams on the ground, show them the ropes and the region. If we really felt like it, we could put different strike teams on rotations. This way, we're not running students ragged in the field and letting them get plenty of lecture-time. We can have the capability of surgically responding to incursions and fighting back."
"What's the long-term solution? We can't fly students from Beacon hundreds of miles away the further we re-expand." Ozpin asked.
Jaune tapped another button on his Scroll. Ozpin's eyes visibly widened at the changes on the holographic map. Mountain Glenn was highlighted in green instead of the red "X" that had been over it. Ishgard had also been highlighted green.
"You want Vale to reclaim Mountain Glenn?" Ozpin asked with no small amount of incredulity.
"No. I want Beacon to reclaim Mountain Glenn. However, this is a plan for months, if not years down the road. If this proverbial army is to come to Beacon's doorstep, there are only two places for the Huntsmen to go."
"You don't mean to imply…"
"That Ishgard become the fallback point for Huntsmen? Yes, that's precisely what I'm saying. If we build Beacon up like I mentioned and heaven forbid some army comes knocking, we pack up camp and rebuild elsewhere."
"I digress, though. There's a lot to these plans, and it's already sundown. I think I've given you enough of the big picture for you to figure out where to take it from here. The bad news is that I'll need time before I can attempt to repair your soul. I just don't have enough of a connection established with Somnus for me to try anything. I'm sorry." Jaune regretfully intoned.
Ozpin wearily smiled at the young man, "I've been in this realm and others for years and years and years. From one battle to the next, so the vaunted Warrior of Light goes. If there's one thing I've learned on my journeys over the millennia, it is patience."
Standing up, he walked over to Jaune, motioning him towards the exit. "Come now, the night is young. Go and mingle with the other students and worry not about this old man. Tomorrow afternoon is a big day, after all."
Grinning up at the man, Jaune stood, leisurely walking towards the elevator. Upon approaching it a light ding sounded, the metallic doors subsequently sliding open.
"Oh, and Mister Arc. One last thing, if I may?"
"If you're going to forge transcripts, acquiring them from anyone else aside from my former teammate would be a better first step. Do enjoy your night."
Jaune turned to face the Headmaster, a cheshire grin plastered on the man's face. Feeling the inordinate amount of heat rising to his cheeks, he sputtered out a dignified response.
"R-right, well! Uh! Lali-ho!"
And with that, Jaune gracefully stumbled over his own feet, mashing all the buttons he could reach on the panel before he fell down. The door gently snapped close with another gentle ding.
Weiss Schnee was having a good-ish day.
Ish.
She found herself meandering wondrously on the academy grounds, a cool breeze in the air. The sun was beautifully beginning to set on the horizon, casting a brilliantly illuminating glow on the garden she had found herself in. Beacon's famous tower ironically towered behind her.
Beacon was a breath of fresh air she'd long needed. The air was cool and humid, a stark contrast to the bitter cold and stale winds in Atlas. Her sister Winter had given her a new perspective in terms of having a pseudo-second-start at life. 'Do away with the mask. Embrace the liberties and freedoms you've long sought and enjoy them to the fullest extent."
Winter was wise, if not poetic.
Her first impressions of Beacon were rather positive. The people, more so. Jaune Arc had been an… interesting person, if not friendly. She found acting like a normal person was easy around his carefree mannerisms. It wasn't overly difficult changing seventeen years' worth of schooled and practiced social skills, but it would take time before she would be the person she wanted to become.
Speaking of the proverbial devil, she could see the familiar mop of blond hair exiting the grand tower set before her. It seemed he had spied her from afar too, for he began to leisurely walk over to her. She however cocked her brow in confusion at his sudden change in attire. It hadn't been but two or so hours since she saw him last.
Gone was the armor, instead replaced with a dark ensemble of semi-formal attire. A black jacket with padded shoulders and arms covered a white shirt tucked into casual black pants, two thigh guards strapped to his legs. Tall, knee-high black boots did his legs quite the justice if she had to say so herself. A gentle dark-golden trim wove itself throughout the outfit, completing the ensemble quite nicely. The cloak was a nice added touch, as well.
The blond boy moseyed on up to her, an impassive look on his face.
"You change quickly," she commented.
"Well, I'd rather not go to Vale wearing armor and carrying a lance around, so." He returned.
She crossed her arms under her chest, the beginnings of an accusatory look forming on her face, "We have initiation for one of most prestigious combat academies in the world and you want to spend the night gallivanting around the town?"
"Well, considering initiation isn't until three in the afternoon, yes, I fully intend to hit the town, get some food, and a very nice round of drinks."
He slowly walked past her, craning his head back to look at her "You gonna stand there all night like a lost puppy or are you gonna come with?"
Tiny fists balled and shook at her sides, her pale face reddening with the anger of a raging sun. "I am not some lost puppy!" She screeched.
His only response was two short whistles.
"Jaune Arc so help me Halone, I will skewer you!"
His purposefully obnoxious laugh echoed throughout the garden, along with the telltale sound of heels angrily clicking on the ground.
The Bullhead trip was a short and uncomfortable one. For all the gravity-defying feats he performed, Jaune Arc despised aerial transport with the highest and most burning of all passions.
Weiss Schnee had looked on in utter delight over his nauseousness the entirety of the trip. He hadn't the composure to glare at her as much as he wanted to, but he supposed it wouldn't be fair if she was the punchline for every joke.
The heir-apparent-in-secret had led them on a short walk to a nondescript restaurant. It was but a short jaunt away from the docks- silent, but companionable. For a Saturday night, the place looked like it wasn't too busy.
Before him sat a monstrosity of a cheeseburger. Next to it a very tall mug of some local ale. Surprisingly, his white-haired companion also ate the same form of monstrous cheeseburger, three empty glasses of some fruity drink aside the plate. He looked on with mild interest.
"Is there any particular reason why you're looking at me as if I've grown a second head?" She challenged, ice-blue eyes narrowing.
Jaune rolled his eyes at the non-threatening kitten glare sent his way. "I assumed you were more of a 'oh no, I can only eat salads, oh, my figure!' hoighty-toighty rich girls."
She paused just as she was about to take a bite, sending Jaune a glare of unholy hellfire. "I was raised sheltered, not uncultured, you insolent, barbarian!"
"So freedom from high society enables you. Got it."
Her unmarred eye twitched. "If I didn't have food in my hands right now, I would be using them to strangle you right to Hades' sweet embrace."
"Eh, he's a family friend anyway, if not erstwhile estranged."
Twitch.
Silence was struck between them, the only noise being that of the restaurant's ambiance.
"That scar on your eye is fresh. Was that the price of your freedom from high society?" The question was calculated, and far from an innocent one.
This time, her carefully crafted mask cracked, her eyes narrowing into a frigid glare. It was tenfold, nay twentyfold more frightening than the one she'd given him when they first met.
"That giant stone on your finger must mean you're either a nosy asshole, or you're a nosy asshole promised to receive the riches of high society. Oh, where are my manners? I forgot I was already in the company of high society. A thousand pardons upon me, Lord Arc." Every word was a scathing bite, more fearsome and penetrating than that of any Grimm.
"Oh," the word was sarcastically drawn out. "Princess is very sensitive."
"How rich is it that the girl who has quite literally had everything in her life handed to her on a silver platter thinks that I did as well? I mean everything except that scar, of course. That was steel."
Her eyes widened, the hurt evident but quickly buried by rage and indignation.
"If you really must know, this 'hunk of rock'," he began, shoving the galaxy-within-a-stone in front of her face, "Will be the death of me. It is the contract of my death, signed by Hades himself. If I don't die at the hands of powers so evil and malevolent, powers you cannot even begin to comprehend, I will be killed by my fellow man!"
He retracted his hand, matching her earlier glare with a suppressed rage that was long overdue to come through the proverbial cracks.
"You have a scar. I'm lucky if I get to see the next four years of my life, let alone twenty."
An angry retort was on the tip of her tongue, but was interrupted with the sound of glass breaking. Jaune paused, looking around to see if he'd accidently intoned his magic. Finding no such instance, his eyes veered outwards to the Dust shop across the street.
A small figure in black stood in the roadway, a wicked red scythe in their hands. A group in black suits had surrounded her, weapons drawn and at the ready. There was a certain familiarity to the group, one that he couldn't quite place.
His eyes then landed on the flame-colored hair of a man in a stylish white overcoat.
Oh for the love of-
He was up and moving out of the door, his argument partner's yells falling on absent ears. The girl outside was small, her weapon easily nearly twice her height. He caught a glimpse of her surprised silver eyes, but paid her no mind.
"You've a penchant for finding yourself in uncomfortable situations, don't you? Shouldn't you be up in the high castle, far away from here?" By voice alone, he could've named the person it belonged to out of a million.
"Roman. A pleasure to see you again. I couldn't help but hear the commotion from inside. Was just making sure everything was alright out here," Jaune swallowed a nervous gulp, sizing up the group in front of him.
"What are you doing?! He's a criminal!" A feminine voice called out from behind him. He didn't bother turning around, instead pushing her back a few steps with his arm.
He craned his neck around towards her, "A criminal? I don't see one around here. In fact, I only see someone who is more than capable of killing you if you don't shut up." The last part was said under his breath, but he knew better than to assume Roman couldn't hear what he said.
Roman rested his hands on his cane, impassively eyeing Jaune. "By my good graces, I will allow you to leave with your limbs and your body intact. Little Red, however, has not earned the mercy of being in my good graces."
"You know she's just a kid, Roman. A stupid, dumb kid, who's out way beyond her bedtime. I think you should let me take her home and you can get right back to your business. No interruptions," Jaune said, keeping his voice as even and unwavering as he could.
"My business has already been interrupted and now I have to deal with a moronic upstart of a young Huntress and a fool who doesn't know when to run and live to see another day."
"Get out of my way! He needs to be stopped!" The voice truly fit that of a petulant child.
Jaune sighed a ragged thing, looking up to the broken, moonlit sky in exasperation. "So, that is how it would be, then."
He eyed the stars above, imagining the most brilliantly burning ones as a visage of his past ancestors. 'Ancestors, be with me.'
His senses sharpened, the latent power of lightning-spected eldritch brimming at the surface of his mind. He slowly reached behind him, as if pulling a gun from the back of his waistband. Underneath the cover of his jacket, he materialized Memento. His left foot slid forward.
He drew Memento, resting it easily at his side. The Ring hummed, magics untold waiting to be set free. Roman's men trained their weapons on him instead of the girl behind him.
'Not that it'd help her, with no aura to protect myself, let alone her,' he thought.
"Roman. I'm not asking you to walk away from this. I'm asking you to let us both walk away so you can be on your merry way. A fight won't solve this." Jaune pleaded.
Roman narrowed his green eyes at Jaune. "You know what I'm capable of."
"I do."
"You know what the outcome will be."
"I do."
"Then you will die just like every other Huntsman in history."
Jaune bounded two steps and blinked. Roman had crossed the space between them in a single step, his cane crashing against the Vytalian steel that was raised against it, futile as it was.
Roman smirked at the blond, "Bringing a gun to a sword fight? How cliche."
Jaune leaned into the contest, throwing what weight he could into it. "We put on a show, I grab the girl and you finish doing whatever you were doing. I'll owe you another favor. Deal?" Jaune quickly said under his breath.
Roman devilishly grinned. "There you go again, living up to my expectations. You're starting to learn how the game of the real world is played, Arc. Deal."
Jabbing out with his free left hand, he sought out Roman's exposed flank. A deft hand caught his wrist, effortlessly holding him at bay. Electricity began to spark between Jaune's fingers, the eldritch once brimming below the surface taking form. Lightning arced from his hand towards Roman, who had already begun to disengage.
Too little too late, for none could outrun lightning. Roman attempted to catch the attack with his metal cane, but the impromptu lightning rod proved futile against eldritch lightning. The magic caught Roman square in the chest, knocking him back some feet.
Giving the thief no chance to recover, Memento sung the familiar song of death, the pseudo-cannon deafeningly echoing throughout the narrow street. With a deft twirl of his cane, the bullets were deflected, various windows and walls breaking due to the ricochet.
Reaching into his belt to 'grab' the cylinder to reload Memento, Jaune reloaded the weapon. Not a beat later, Memento's elegy continued. A quick fanning of the hammer brought Roman's thugs to the embrace of unconsciousness and the asphalt below.
Roman snorted, his cane in a fencer's ready position. "Woefully unprepared, my ass," he mocked with a grumble. Roman made to move forward, stopping when a faint red glow appeared below his feet. In less than a blink of the eye, he dashed to the side, doding the geyser of flame that roared from the snowflake-shaped glyph.
Jaune looked to his left, his forgotten companion standing in the roadway, an assortment of Dust crystals held between her fingers.
"I don't believe I was quite done speaking to you, Arc."
"Whatever Princess, you can strangle me after we run and live to see another day!" he yelled, grabbing Little Red's arm and beginning a full-tilt sprint to and past Weiss.
"Hey!"
He didn't pay attention to which begging-for-death girl indignantly yelled at him, instead continuing to run down the dimly lit street. He turned back towards Roman, firing off Memento at him. As expected, they were all deflected once again, but the distraction proved enough for Weiss to easily catch up with him, aided by her aura.
Once Weiss had caught up with him, he sent another arc of lightning towards Roman. Weiss added in the suppression with a torrent of large icicles. She followed up with a blast of Steam Dust, the combination of Water and Burn Dust providing a large smokescreen of cover across the street.
The trio continued their sprint towards the intersection. Unlike the street they were currently on, the intersection and road behind it had no lighting. He could vaguely make out some form of a figure in the intersection, but the shadows had concealed them, obscuring his perception. The light yielded no answer, as if the figure was a nonexistence.
Jaune chanced a glance behind him, only to see the business end of Roman's cane a foot away from his face. He instinctively called upon his magic, feeling the familiar sensation of warping overtaking his body.
Before he could complete the art, a resounding clang of steel rang out, a concussive wave of force knocking him and his compatriots clear off their feet. He ungracefully slid across the asphalt, the dirty roadway tearing into the fabrics of his clothes. His heart hammered in his ears, the thumping noise within running a mile a minute. With wobbly legs, he rose to his feet to see what caused the blast.
Roman's cane was caught by a massive bastard sword, as black as a starless night. The owner of the sword held it with two hands overhead in a defensive posture, yielding no ground. Roman pushed against the interloper but was easily forced back with a sweep of the sword.
Dark leather armor adorned the man's form, shadows seeming to cling to the wearer. The tousled, greying hair was an immediate giveaway as to their timely rescuer. Not wanting to be one to be stuck between two ex-teammates (who just so happened to be the pinnacle of the Huntsman profession) fighting each other, Jaune scrambled to his feet, grabbing both Weiss and Scythe and continuing to run to the only place he knew in Vale.
Roman Torchwick was having a wonderful day. In fact, his day only got more wonderful when his wonderful ex-teammate, Lord fucking Commander of the Huntsman Lodge decided to show up and throw an even bigger wrench into his plans. First, it was Little Red Riding Hood, then it was blondie, and now it was him.
Roman glared at the armored form of his former teammate, a familiar claymore resting on the man's shoulder.
"After all these years, you've finally decided to leave your ivory tower. Come to finally clean your conscience and pray for forgiveness, have you?" Roman mocked.
Ozpin rested his claymore over the back of his shoulder, evenly eyeing Roman.
"No… no, that's not quite it, is it now? You don't intervene. You never have. No, no, you sit contently and move all of your little chess pieces, all of us around. Yet here you are. A murderous bastard of a traitor, in the revolting flesh."
Roman began to pace to and fro, an angry glare leveled at Ozpin. "It's hard to believe that you would ever leave your humble throne. You left our teammate to die without a second inkling of a thought, yet here you are in the middle of downtown Vale. Coincidentally during a small-time robbery, might I add."
Roman idly twirled his cane. His mind was running miles a second, deciphering every possibility and avenue as to how events unfolded as they did. His face betrayed naught, an uninterested gaze rolling around the street before him.
"No, no, there is no such thing as a coincidence- only inevitability at the ends of incalculable chance and mayhem. First, the Arc scion comes seeking entry to Beacon on the same day Raven's parakeet comes seeking her. Then, my heist is foiled by not just a girl with Silver Eyes, but the Schnee heiress and the Arc boy.
Resting his cane in front of him, Roman inquisitively peered at Ozpin's unmoving figure.
"What has transpired that a descendant of Estinien, the child of Summer Rose, and the son of Morrigan the Starfeller all are gathered in the same place at the same time? And to top it all off, you're here as well. Just who in the world is that boy and what is going on?"
Ozpin mimicked Roman's stance, leaning on his sword, the point digging slightly into the asphalt below.
"Revolution."
Roman raised an eyebrow in question.
Ozpin remained silent, indifferently eyeing his former teammate.
Turning on his heel, Roman began walking away. He called out over his shoulder, "I wonder what will kill him first. Your treachery or hers. I can't wait to find out."
With a flick of his wrist, a Dust crystal was dropped on the ground, enveloping Roman's immediate vicinity in smoke.
Jaune continually scanned his surroundings, intermittently glancing over his shoulder. Relief never came, even though the expected visage of Roman Torchwick was nowhere to be seen. His hands still trembled, albeit it lightly. His newfound companion's complaints fell on deaf ears as he continued to run towards his destination.
Rounding one last corner, he eyed his destination from afar. It was an ordinary-looking multi-story brick building, crammed between many others on a typical "main street" Vale road. He slowed as he approached the steps, absent-mindedly releasing his hold on his impromptu companions. Fishing a key out from his "pocket", he deftly unlocked the front door. Little Red and Princess followed.
A quick jaunt up the stairs led them to an unlocked door which opened into a large loft-style space. Dark hardwood floors blended in with the mismatching brick on one side of the apartment and drywall on the other three. The space was quiet and homely, with planters hanging from the second-floor landing adding to the homeliness of it.
"Oh, how wonderful, we've traded a rogue Huntsman for a kidnapper. Lovely." Weiss commented.
Jaune turned on his heel and approached her. Her cheeks were flushed, but whether it was from the running or alcohol was too indeterminable. He raised a clenched fist above his head and with swiftness delivered a solid bonk to the top of her head.
"You're welcome for saving your life. If you would prefer, I can always take you back so you can take the most dangerous man in Vale out for dinner, assuming he doesn't kill you first. Oh, wait! He already did try to kill you, you insufferable, flat-chested dimwit!" Jaune exclaimed with no undue amount of exasperation.
Little Red loudly snickered to herself, which turned into snorts.
"Ha-ha, he called you flat."
Weiss turned on her heel, nursing the goose-egg on her head with all the dignity and poise she could muster. She shrilly asked, "And just who in the hell are you!? We wouldn't have even been in the mess to begin with if it wasn't for your… your…dangerous attempt at upholding the law by self-appointment!"
"I believe they call that vigilantism," Jaune commented.
"Like the people who do that stuff at church?" Little Red asked.
"No, that would be holding a vigil."
"So, like keeping watch in the field?"
"That would be being vigilant."
"So, like the teachers in class watching to see who cheats?"
"Those are invigilators."
"Ah. Okay"
"It's okay, there are a lot of words that have vigil in them. Very confusing stuff." Jaune helpfully intoned.
"So uh, vocabulary lesson aside, who are you exactly?"
"Oh! My name is Ruby Rose! I'm a student at Signal Academy. I was trying to buy some dust earlier, but some jerk decided to rob the store. I was totally going to beat them up, too…"
Ruby looked like a cheery and pleasant girl if you took away the black and dark red gothic clothing she wore. Jaune thought someone with her personality would be wearing something a little more… not that?
"My name is Jaune. The drunk wash-board is Weiss" he replied, pointing a thumb over at Weiss, who seemed slightly redder than usual. How peculiar.
Deigning not to give a verbal response to such childish remarks, Weiss primly sat herself down on the leather sofa, instead electing to reply non-verbally with a very unladylike gesture.
"Yeah, you can just ignore her. She's just a little moody because of an extremely unnecessary near-death experience. Totally not her fault whatsoever, mind you."
Jaune motioned towards the bar stools in the kitchen but was promptly interrupted by a sharp sequence of knocks on the door.
All heads turned on a dime towards the door. Weiss drunkenly stumbled, turning around to face it, while Jaune and Ruby froze in their tracks.
The door was swiftly kicked open with an almighty thud. In the doorway stood the tall, well-dressed form of Headmaster Ozpin, an impassive look on his face. His dark armor still clung to his form, but his sword was nowhere to be seen.
"I respected your privacy as a citizen of Vale by knocking but asserted my authority as your extremely less-than-pleased Headmaster by coming in anyway" Ozpin spoke, his leg still outstretched.
Jaune gave an exasperated sigh, sitting on the closest barstool to him. "Gods man, you have a key, you could've just, I don't know, used it!"
Ozpin's lips upturned at the ends imperceptibly. "Where would the fun in that be?"