A subtle symphony of buzzing echoes gently across an enormous field of young sunflowers. A tentative breeze conducts millions of miniature musicians through eternal dissonance that is unflinching, unchanging, but with a melody that is never quite the same. The sound swells and sways as the conductor spins and slows with little synchronicity. Up close, this chaotic composition would be cacophonous.
But from where Yang stands, it is perfect.
…Or, it would be, if it weren't so hot and stuffy inside her dad's spare beekeeper suit. Her own breathing and heart rate rudely interrupt the soothing sounds of the Xiao Long-Rose apiary with each clumsy step along the cleared path through the field.
"Put it on inside," he had said. True, he had also said, "Trust me, you don't wanna end up with anything zipped up inside with you," but that was beside the point. Even with the mesh ventilation around her face, the sturdy cotton weave of the enclosed suit makes it tremendously uncomfortable, and frustratingly awkward to move around in. She much prefers the practical comfort and freedom of her usual flannel shirts and loose-fitting jeans when working, or even better, her more casual tank tops and shorts. Plus, the only other time she would ever permit her mane of remarkably yellow hair to be half as smothered as this would be nestled within a brand new motorcycle helmet – her possession of which is, according to the increasingly ostentatious countdown on the dry erase board on their refrigerator, only a few weeks away.
She sighs. Focus, Yang, she chides, picking up her pace. How had Ruby put it? "It'll be worth the wait but you have to do the work first." She slows briefly to chuckle to herself, rolling her eyes somewhat fondly at the memory of one of her younger sister's seemingly random bursts of simplistic wisdom. Ugh, you sound like Dad…
As she passes the final row of sunflowers, she finds herself at the edge of the apiary, looking out on a dozen miniature homes, each belonging to tens of thousands of honeybees. It's a modest set-up compared to the Pines' farm another ten kilometers outside of Vale, yet the honey and wax products supplement the Xiao Long-Rose family's income well enough that Yang has been able to pocket a good chunk of the profit from the farmers' market as an allowance of sorts.
The hypnotic haze of honeybees before her is always captivating, and though she still feels a bit anxious about walking into the swarm (even in the suit), she smiles at the coordinated chaos, having learned that that they are actually able to communicate effectively enough with one another to allow them to coordinate their activities on an incredible scale. I wonder if this is where the term "hive mind" came from…
She approaches the nearest hive at a forcibly steady pace, her smile stiffening as the cloud of insect activity gently envelops her. Every so often one of the wandering workers collides with her suit, and some hang on for a few seconds to inspect their visitor before going about their business elsewhere. Despite her nearness to their home, they don't appear to be bothered by her presence... Yet. They're kinda cute when they're not trying to stab you with their butts. She stifles an involuntary giggle at the mental image that follows.
Now situated a few feet in front of the hive, Yang clumsily produces a matchbox from the outer pocket of the suit, and unclips a battered tin cylinder from a belt loop at her hip. Attached to the tin is a small bellows, which she idly squeezes to reassure herself that it still works. After a few flimsy attempts with her gloves on, she successfully strikes a match and drops it into the tin, where it lazily ignites the partially-charred remnants of some dried grasses gathered weeks ago.
Testing the bellows again produces a soft puff of smoke from the tip of the tin smoker, and she hesitantly approaches the hive, applying gentle bursts of smoke to the entrances at the top and bottom of the stack of wooden frames. The bees, uncertain about the new arrival, have become audibly agitated, but after a few seconds of exposure to the calming clouds, they seem not to mind Yang's presence.
She sets down the smoker in the grass below the raised hive, and gingerly reaches for the outer cover. "Just checking in… nothing too crazy…" she murmurs, tension creeping into her voice as she wonders just who it is that needs the reassurance.
Their father, Taiyang Xiao Long, had shown both Yang and Ruby the basics of beekeeping, and while Ruby was less interested in the creepy-crawlies and the stuffy suits, Yang had initially been drawn to the danger of working with the swarming, stinging insects. She learned quickly though that the danger involved is tremendously overstated, particularly when the proper precautions are taken. Still, something about the process captivated her and despite some lingering hesitancy and misgivings, she had grown fond of their many million miniature neighbours.
Today is the first time Taiyang has asked her to inspect them alone, and a few choice words of exasperation linger in the back of her mind - though she knows that if she's going to actually be of any help with the bees she'll have to start doing things on her own eventually. If she can't handle a few bees on her own, what business does she have riding around Vale on her promised birthday bike? I'm going to earn that bike.
With the inner cover now removed, she gently pries apart the frames of the top super, pleased with the relatively even spread of workers and the occasional larger drone crawling around on top. This had seemed like such tedious, unappealing work the first time Taiyang had opened it up with her, but she finds herself enjoying the relative simplicity of the motion more and more in light of the fascinating work going on inside the hive.
For all his hyperactive (and frequently annoying) doting on them for most of their lives, he had made things work for the three of them. Things hadn't been easy since the original farmhouse had burned down, but he had somehow held things together enough to keep his daughters fed, clothed, and educated - including showing them how to maintain aspects of the farm on their own, which gave him breathing room for his primary vocation as a martial arts instructor.
A sudden dynamic increase in the ambient buzzing snaps Yang out of her reminiscing, and she responds with a few more puffs from the smoker, before continuing to replicate her father's method of inspection - one frame at a time. Nothing seems out of sorts along the honeycomb, and she smiles excitedly at the weight of the middle frames, the edges of which are visibly bursting with honey - she'd have to come back tomorrow to gather the excess.
As the word "honey" echoes in her head, she is reminded of her morning at the market - just a few hours ago - and finds herself frozen in place by the fresh cringing sensation shuddering through her core. She is involuntarily treated to a memory of the perplexing purple-sweatered stranger she had unwittingly upset. The woman with eyes of honey, who she had scared away with her fool mouth…
Or, maybe, just maybe, that old guy had interrupted a situation that she could have saved? If that creepy dude hadn't been there maybe I could have apologized. Maybe we could have talked… Ugh! Focus, Yang!
Her self-reminder comes a moment too late though, for in her stationary state she had failed to notice a visitor crawling through an unseen tear in her right glove.
An eerie tickling sensation on the back of her wrist startles her into a squeak and an impulsive jump that causes her to drop the last frame in the grass in front of her. Smoke or no, the current inhabitants of the frame are visibly upset, scrambling to assess the damage, or perhaps searching for their assailant.
The intruder, also jostled by her jump, responds in kind by delivering a piercing pinch to her wrist. Yang yelps in frustrated fright, swatting her wrist on impulse - aw, dammit. A bitter wave of disappointment courses through her veins as she realizes the damage she has wrought between the hive and the innocent insect.
"Sorry, guys," she sighs loudly, hoping that maybe, just maybe, her noisy neighbours would accept her apology and understand her attempts to respect their space. Judging by the sound, there is no sympathy returned by the swarm. Not a great day for making friends, I guess.
After another, more defensive series of puffs from the smoker, she carefully brushes away the grass and dirt stuck to the contents of the final frame and reinserts it into the top super before dejectedly closing the hive.
She continues to work late into the afternoon, inspecting each of the hives in a similar fashion, albeit more carefully - forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.
After a routine evening of assisting and appeasing her selectively studious sister and desperately doting dad, she has all but forgotten about her embarrassing encounter with the golden-eyed girl.
All week, Blake is tormented by a single, terrifying choice.
In truth, she had already made her decision. But she needs to decide whether it was a good decision, and it makes for a week of loathsome lectures, stunted studying, ruined reading, and uninspired ideas in her own writing.
It's silly, really. It's not unusual for an attractive person to catch her eye once in a while. Despite her circumstances and her pact with herself to stay focused on school, she had (eventually) acquiesced to Sun's incessant invitations during the winter months. While she had eventually rejected pursuing romance in their relationship, he had respectfully remained a close friend she could count on, and she was happy not to have to think about anything like that again until she's ready - maybe in a few years, when she has a degree, a secure job, and more things… figured out.
But for all Blake's efforts to keep calm and avoid such complications, the woman with the sunflower hair and the sunshine smile stubbornly refuses to leave her mind.
On Friday night, as she sits curled up as comfortably as possible in the single threadbare armchair in her small single room at Beacon University's Autumn Residence Hall (or "Fall Hall," according to Sun), she sips a hollow, honeyless chamomile tea, and anxiously resigns herself to follow through with her initial decision.
The next morning, she opts for more summer-appropriate attire, even though the casual chill of lingering late spring breezes would normally prompt her to stay cozy in her purple sweater. Layers were good for all sorts of things, after all - temperature control, yes, but also concealment and, in some worst case scenarios, protection.
A subtle tremor in her stomach stirs as she stares at her version of summer-appropriate in the mirror: black, low-heeled boots with a sharply flared opening just above her ankles; a favourite pair of dark purple leggings; a fitted black crop top; and an off-white cardigan with a pair of thin horizontal black stripes accenting the wrists and waist area. She debates adding her bow to the ensemble to hide her faunus ears, but concludes that it might be cause for confusion, or unwanted conversation - well, not that she wants to avoid conversation, just… certain conversations, just in case. There may not even be a conversation to begin with, so-
Relax…
Blake sighs, halting her thoughts before they alter her decision any further. After one final once-over, she meets her own rich golden eyes in the mirror. Ready to make a new friend? she silently asks herself. A careful smile forms in her reflection, doing its best to dam the doubts clamoring to be acknowledged.
Carefully, she compromises with her distressed conscience. You're just trying some local honey. If you make friends with her in the process, all the better… but this is just another stop at the market. Her reflection's smile relaxes, and as she turns to leave, the woman in the mirror starts humming a pleasant, lyrical melody in anticipation. The tune follows her out of the residence.
Without a book in her face, Blake's walk to the farmers' market goes by considerably quicker than anticipated. Now in sight of the sprawling marketplace - a loose grid of tarps and trucks and tables and umbrellas expanding out from the small central indoor space - she feels her stomach turn over again, doing its best to squeeze its way out of her throat. She stands her ground, fists clenched, and breathes deeply to settle her nerves.
Just getting honey.
She retraces her steps through the market as best she can, which flusters her when she realizes she hadn't actually paid attention to where she was going either time she passed through; on the way in, she was deeply engaged in a climactic battle of wills between secret ninja lovers, and on the way out she was just trying to get away from the honey vendor with the-
Yellow umbrella.
And just like that, there it is, leaning out from around the bend, seemingly doing its best to get her attention despite its faded, tattered cloth.
Suddenly conscious of her slightly exposed midriff, she hugs her cardigan around her and does what she can to secure it under the single strap of her satchel. She swallows, trying to drown the butterflies, and fights the urge to turn around and leave - a tremendous task, considering the deafening doubts quietly screaming in the back of her mind.
Here goes nothing.
She steps tersely towards the table where she knows the yellow-haired woman will be sitting, smiling, waiting, and hopefully, as eager to make her acquaintance as Blake is. She queues up her greeting - an admittedly cheeky, return-to-sender sort of gesture.
A middle-aged couple - both visibly human, unless the taller man's sun hat is hiding anything - retrieve their purchase from the table under the umbrella, thanking the vendor for her service. Blake walks up behind them, keeping a respectful distance, getting in line for her own purchase. She casually glances around, trying not to stare in the direction of the vendor. In the din of the marketplace she isn't completely sure, but her faunus ears pick up a high-pitched chuckle and a few final words of appreciation from under the umbrella.
The couple steps away happily, wishing the woman underneath the umbrella farewell. Blake turns toward the vendor, hastily spewing forth her prepared greeting: "Hey there, h-huh?"
A petite woman - younger, maybe a teenager? - with large silver eyes looks up at Blake with a cheerful smile. A short, jagged curtain of dark hair, tinged with streaks of red, frames her pale face with pleasing asymmetry. There is something familiar about her, but she is definitely not the woman from before. She wears darker clothes with splashes of tasteful patterns and grim images - which reminds Blake of a starkly stylistic high school niche, minus the attitude.
"Hey there, friend!" chimes the new girl, tilting her head ever so slightly as a hint of curiosity exposes itself in her expression.
Once again, Blake stands looking at the honey vendor with her mouth wide open in surprise - only this time, the feeling is almost reversed. Her stomach feels heavy and unsettled, as if she really had drowned a swarm of butterflies inside, and she can't tell if her face has paled in horror or reddened in shame.
She takes too long to respond, and the girl's eyes shift to the sides, unsettled by the silence. "Sooo… wanna buy something?" the younger girl hastily inquires, hoping to break the spell.
Blake blinks rapidly, realizing her mouth has dried out, and clears her throat as discreetly as possible (although she's pretty sure she sounds like a cat about to cough up a hairball). "Hi, yes, uh…" she stammers, fumbling with the fringe of her cardigan. "Um… you sell honey," she states plainly, freezing in place again. She is immediately overcome with the urge to bite her own tongue off.
The obvious observation is met with a casually awkward chuckle. "Yup, we sure do! Farm fresh!" the girl replies, smiling with unmatched innocence, as if even this horrible mess of an interaction could be forgiven. She gestures to the array of jarred honey in front of her, and rests a hand - almost protectively - on a jar of strawberry-flavoured honey. "Do you… want to try some?"
Blake manages to avoid hesitating too long, subtly nodding her way into motion again as an uneasy smile takes shape. "Sure."
The girl reaches over to a covered plate at the edge of the table, and eagerly reveals about a dozen samples of cubed rye generously topped with different flavours of honey. "Try the strawberry!" she exclaims excitedly, then half-whispers conspiratorially, "It's my favourite!"
Blake's smile widens as she gingerly retrieves a sample skewered with a light red-flagged toothpick. Immediately, the smooth sweetness and subtle strawberry undertones revive her dry mouth and she visibly relaxes as she savours the sample.
"Good, right?" the girl asks, beaming and bouncing on her bench.
Blake nods appreciatively. "Thanks…" Friend? She remembers the girl welcoming her with that term, but is unsure whether it would be appropriate to return it in kind. Besides, it's not like they actually know each other at all. What am I doing…
The girl picks up the conversation again, oblivious to Blake's doubts. "Any time! We've only got two jars of strawberry left at the moment," she says with a semblance of sadness, "but we'll be making more by the end of the month!" She rapidly perks up again.
Wait. We?
"We'll also be selling wax products too at some point, if that interests you. I don't know exactly what or when, since Dad and Sis do most of the work, but-"
...Oh.
"Oh! Do you know my sister?"
The puzzle pieces snap into place. Despite their very different aesthetics, Blake now realizes that the radiant joy in the girl's face is familiar because it is so startlingly similar to how she remembers the blonde's smile. They're sisters - a family business, then.
"No- well, not really. I… was hoping to buy from her last weekend, but I ran-" No, no, "I ran out of time-" A student on a Sunday? "and money," she fumbles with her words, tripping over her own honesty and into a blatant lie.
To her relief, the girl seems unfazed by her jumbled delivery. "Ah, I know how that is - last time I went shopping I lost my wallet! Girl pockets, right?" she shrugs casually, offering a sympathetic smirk. "Anyway, I'm Ruby! Yang's my older sister."
Yang…
"She's usually the one who comes to market, but for some reason she was super grumpy this morning, and said she didn't wanna come…"
Didn't want to come?
"...which is so unlike her, but she's brought me along before and I'm pretty much an adult already anyway so I said I'd take care of it and she could take the day off, so hopefully she's feeling better later, and I'll make sure to tell her you came by, maybe that'll cheer her up!" the girl, Ruby, squeaks out the last few words as her lungs nearly give out on her mid-ramble. She smiles up at Blake as she takes a wide-eyed recovery breath.
"Oh, no, you don't… you don't have to. We're not really... friends, or anything. S-She probably doesn't even remember me, honestly," Blake tries half-heartedly to maintain her fading smile as she registers a dampening sensation throughout her body - more drowned butterflies.
Ruby's eyes flick upwards briefly - undoubtedly to Blake's cat ears, which she's sure are unhelpfully giving away her disappointment. "Are you… sure?" Ruby asks, genuine concern reshaping her previously pleasant expression.
Blake nods, desperate to preserve what she can of this interaction before she ruins this potential friendship as well. "Yeah," she manages quietly, fighting to keep what little of her smile she has left. She points to one of the two jars of strawberry honey, an unflavoured jar, and another jar at random. "Those three, please," she says, pulling her wallet from her satchel.
They complete the exchange, and Blake forces out one mostly-genuine smile at her new sort-of-friend, Ruby, younger sister of Yang (who inexplicably didn't want to come today), as they share final words of thanks and goodbye.
Ruby's infectious smile stays with Blake until she rounds the corner, as she had done one week prior, and immediately she feels herself deflate, bitter disappointment threatening to take the reins as she skips her usual tea stop and starts her return trip.
Why didn't she come today?
If last weekend was half as awkward for the sunflower-haired woman - Yang - as it was for Blake, then she supposes she could understand wanting to avoid further contact. But the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes how silly her immediate conclusion sounds. She's the one selling things. I might never have come back. If anything, I should be the one avoiding seeing her again.
Blake sighs, her stormy demeanour diminishing slightly as she reasons with herself.
Maybe it's just a coincidence. At least I got to meet Ruby. She seems nice. The girl's viral smile cracks Blake's mouth into a tiny smirk once more. She sighs, exhaling more of her negative thoughts in the process, but a familiar one remains - and it threatens to strangle her strengthening mood.
Hoping for the best will disappoint you…
"Your friend bought some honey today," Ruby reports cheerfully, stepping casually into Yang's bedroom.
"Which friend?" Yang inquires flatly, spread-eagled perpendicularly on her yellow-themed bed. Her hair is more of a mess than usual, and she hasn't changed out of her pajamas - a loose orange tank top and snug black shorts.
Ruby's breath hitches loudly, her pleasant expression crumbling spectacularly. "OMIGOSH I TOTALLY FORGOT TO ASK HER NAME! NOOOO…" she wails, her lower lip rolling out into a comically disappointed pout. She folds over, arms hanging lifelessly as her continued wail decrescendos to a low grumble of frustration.
Yang continues staring at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded and unfocused - although it occurs to her that Ruby knows all of her friends at least well enough to easily remember names, so who is she talking about? Yang leans her head back enough to view Ruby standing on the "ceiling," her defeated posture now causing her to appear desperate to stay out of gravity's reach.
Just barely cracking a smile, Yang further prompts, "Well, what did she look like?"
Ruby springs back to life, seemingly glued to the ceiling only by her mismatched ankle socks. She rocks back and forth in thought, as if trying to break free and fall back to the "floor." Her eyes narrow as she carefully recalls her marketplace encounter.
"Umm, she might have been about your age, a bit shorter than you, long black hair… oh! She has cute little kitty ears, and her eyes-"
"Honey?" Yang interjects, suddenly rapt, as she rises to her elbows. "I mean, they're yellow, sorta like honey, right?"
"Yeah! That's her. She seemed kinda shy, like she wasn't sure you'd remember her…"
Remember her? How could I forget… Yang's pulse has doubled, a small burst of anxious adrenaline making its way through her limbs, giving her more energy than she had felt all day.
"...but, uh, I guess she doesn't have to worry about that!" Ruby chuckles in satisfaction. Her smile twitches as she finally appears to register Yang's state. "You feeling okay?"
Okay? How long… Yang's head snaps towards the open window before her. A feeble breeze rides in on the sun's rays, which hint at the later stages of afternoon. A pang of hunger reminds her that she hasn't eaten anything at all today, and as the adrenaline wears off she recognizes her own over-rested stiffness. She frowns as the reality of her wasted day settles over her.
Ruby, having waited several seconds for a response, begins to voice her concern again, but Yang interrupts, "Yeah… better now, thanks." She doesn't fully believe her own answer, but as long as Ruby does, that's all that matters. She offers her younger sister a weak smile to enhance the sentiment.
Ruby breathes a sigh of relief. "That's good! Dad's started making dinner, so you can keep relaxing if you need!" Her smile lends its strength to Yang's own, and they share a contended nod before Ruby turns and slips out towards her own room.
Now sitting upright, Yang readjusts to lean back on the headboard, her arms resting on her knees. She returns to a neutral, pensive expression, and after a minute she hears the dull thumping of Ruby's music rumbling in the floorboards of the farmhouse.
She came back?
The question floats distractingly above the sordid swamp of thoughts she had been wading through ever since she had opened her scroll that morning. There was a quick "inspirational" snapshot from her friend Nora Valkyrie, of her benching an absurd amount of weight at an equally absurd morning hour; a social media update from the young local pseudo-celebrity Coco Adel; and a single text message from Qrow Branwen.
She had not opened the text message.
Still, she could not bring herself to swipe away the notification, so there it stayed, taunting her even now.
It could be anything, really - but deep down she is pretty sure she knows. It's inevitable, barring some bizarre turn of events. An intense twisting of her gut had taken hold, a horrible mix of panic and frustration seizing her up. It was not especially hot that morning, but she had broken into a sickening sweat just lying there.
Now, though, she focuses on Ruby's news. The potential irony is not lost on her, but she tamps down her bubbling excitement. She bought some honey. That's all. She didn't come for me. It occurs to her that the honey-eyed woman may not have even thought to buy from them if she hadn't so rudely gotten her attention.
Desperate to linger on this fresh distraction, Yang begins filtering her fingers through her hair, smoothing out her tangled bedhead. She could come back again, though. If the woman had been there two weeks in a row, maybe she's a regular. Maybe she lives nearby. Maybe I'll see her again.
A genuine smile sneaks its way into her expression. It's hesitant, but she allows it to ignite an anxious spark within her.
Maybe I can try again.
Hello again!
First of all, thank you so much for the positive remarks to the first chapter! In just one week, the first chapter of this eclipsed my 7-month-old, 9-chapters-so-far, pseudo-canon Yangst fic in just about every way. I'll keep bringing it up in hopes that you'll check that one out too but either way, thanks for your readership!
I had a lot of fun writing Ruby and Blake's interaction. You could consider it my way of addressing the painful lack of canon Ladybug interactions, which honestly has so much unexplored potential even as a platonic thing.
This whole chapter became longer and angstier than I initially imagined, though, and I'm sorry to play with your hearts like that… but there is a method to the madness that's slowly being realized and I hope you'll appreciate it as it comes to fruition.
What are your thoughts? This is the first time I've written from Blake's perspective and I'm actually really enjoying shifting between the two of them. Any and all commentary is very much appreciated - I look forward to hearing from you all!
Cheers,
-kms