HUGE thanks to elfcow and Reeves3 for the continued support, feedback and beta reading!
Finished revising this just in time to post at the very end of Bumbleby Week Bonus Day! Please enjoy.
The following Thursday is grimly grey, and after finishing the morning chores (mostly involving cleaning up her family's breakfast mess) Yang collapses onto the forest green couch in the farmhouse living room, limbs spread wide. Only the muted light of the smothered sun seeps through the partially-drawn curtains as Zwei's soft, breathy snore wafts through the distilled air.
There is work yet to be done outside, but Yang is confident she can finish between lunch and dinner. Instead, she rights herself on the couch and allows her hair to partially spill over the backrest, which is just tall enough for her to tilt her head back on and rest comfortably.
With her eyes half-focused upwards, the smooth ceiling offers only a few soft lumps and stress fractures as distractions from her restless brain, and even then they only hold her attention for a scant few seconds before rich yellow irises and modest violet eyeliner framed by shadowy locks materialize in her mind for the millionth time.
Was her hair even that long? She tries to squint through the fog from her memory of Blake's visage, but precise details continue to elude her. Was that eyeliner or eyeshadow? Maybe both? Or maybe none? She doesn't seem like the type for makeup. Eventually Yang is left dissatisfied with all aspects of her recollection, save for the eyes. She knows she won't be forgetting those eyes any time soon. Just to be safe, though, she closes her own eyes in an effort to safeguard that image. Against the dark backdrop of her own eyelids, Blake's warm yellow irises seem to glow before Yang lets the image fade into the back of her mind once more.
And for a while, Yang just breathes.
She doesn't count or try to match Zwei's snoring; instead she has her own measured, meditative pace that puts some of her swirling thoughts to rest.
Still, the muddled memory of her new almost-kind-of friend's face and features pulls Yang's lips down in a pensive pout. Why can't I get it right? Her pout sours further into a frown as she registers the distant ticking of the kitchen clock. What am I doing? How long have I been sitting here?
It occurs to Yang that with so few and such brief interactions to go off of, she could be making up a lot of what she remembers, or subconsciously altering it to appease herself… I'm fantasizing about Blake. I don't even know her, or remember her face, but look what's happening; I'm fantasizing about a stranger!
She jerks her head forward, snapping out of her trance and scowling at herself. Her elbows find her knees and her face finds itself buried in her hands, as if hide from her own frustrated shame.
That's enough of that. Maybe I'll get some work done now.
Rising to her feet, she stretches her arms above her head as she assures herself that a peaceful nap will come much easier to her following some more physical labour.
Just as she reaches the stairs to go change, something tickles her hip, and a tinny disco-rock beat blasts from her pocket. In her surprise, despite attempting to smother her… fascination? with Blake only moments earlier, a small part of her wonders if somehow the faunus had acquired her number and is trying to reach her – "Hey Yang, sorry for running off the other day, let's meet up over coffee some time!" – but quickly remembers that her scroll is set to vibrate, with one exception.
A sudden seriousness overtakes her wild curiosity and she snaps the scroll open.
"Dad?"
"H-hey, sunshine…" croaks Taiyang's voice, as if through half-clenched teeth. Worry washes over Yang, but he chuckles tightly. "I uh… ow. Not doing… too good."
Yang releases an exasperated breath, equal parts relief and further concern – he typically only called during work hours in an emergency or some other unusual circumstance. It's him on the line, and he can talk, she surmises. Well, mostly... so that's okay. But continued worry warps her relief just as quickly as it came. "Talk to me, Dad. What happened?"
"Heh, I… stairs, I think. I slipped in the, uhhh… studio. Hit my head pretty good right before the first day of the… the first class of the day, hah. Uh, everything's concuss- dammit, I mean, cancelled," he reports unsteadily. His unusual verbal blunders aside, his tone remains somewhat upbeat, as if the whole incident were a minor inconvenience that he would be laughing about the next day.
Concussed? Yang curses silently, meandering over to the couch again and gripping the backrest tightly with her free hand. If it is that, things might be rough for a while…
Breaking her silence for her, Taiyang continues: "Your lie, that friend… er, your friend, Lie? Uh… Ren? He… uh, he's gonna drive me to the studi- hah, no, the, uh… hospital."
Lie Ren? Yang recalls the young man's peaceful face and tastefully traditional Mistrali aesthetic with clarity; however the word friend seems a bit strong considering they'd only spoken maybe four words to each other, ever. She could tell he was a compassionate soul, but surely he has better things to do than babysit her clumsy father all day? She's the one who should be taking him there, but… well, their only vehicle is with Taiyang at the studio.
Yang glances longingly into the kitchen, where she can see her own whiteboard artwork proudly indicating: "ONE MORE MONTH!" Beneath the immense, ornate text, Ruby has scribbled a tiny stick-figure bicycle in solidarity with Yang's anticipation.
She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tries to plot a course of action that would get her to the hospital, the truck back from Ren, Ren back to wherever he needed to be, Ruby back from Beacon, Ruby to an evening "secret band practice," and (hopefully) their dad back from the hospital before too late.
"Dad, let me talk to Ren," she finally decides with a strained sigh.
A groan of anguish rasps its way through her scroll. "Agh… he's bringing the truck up front already. Hold on…"
Several seconds pass, in which some shuffling, creaking, and muffled voices hum over the line. Finally, Yang hears a low baritone voice murmur affirmatively, and after one last shuffle, Lie Ren speaks, his tone calm but direct: "Hello, Yang."
Even his simple greeting emanates a maturity she has yet to witness in anyone else their age (at least, she's pretty sure they're within a year or two of each other), and not for the first time, it catches her off guard. "Uh, hey. Thanks for taking care of my dad," she starts. She has more to say, but she cannot find the exact words to navigate this peculiar exchange.
Without missing a beat, Ren fills the silence. "Of course. You have nothing to worry about; we'll be leaving for West Vale General Hospital immediately. He fell on his way down the stairs but he doesn't appear to have sustained any notable injuries beyond what is most likely a mild concussion; maybe a bruised tailbone – but he says it doesn't feel that bad. He's mostly just confused about how it happened."
Yang takes another few seconds to digest this information – and the sudden increase in dialogue between them – before letting out a faint sigh of relief. "That's good. Listen, Ren, I know you're already going out of your way to get him to the hospital, but can I ask you for a huge favour?"
Without hesitation, the young man's warm voice resonates over the line once more, further easing the tension in Yang's shoulders before she even processes his words. "Of course, what is it?"
BVVVFT.
Blake's scroll invites her gaze up from her textbook, having spent the last ten minutes trying to absorb a particularly wordy paragraph describing the history of the legal system in Atlas - the words as dry and cold as the northern country's landscape.
It's Wednesday evening, and she has thus far avoided corresponding with pretty much anyone since her third (and final, if I can help it) visit to the farmers' market. Sun had not texted her since (good riddance - he's got a new "friend" to keep up with, after all), although she hadn't kept her scroll on much over the remainder of the weekend and hadn't used it much even after that.
When she did finally peruse her notifications late Sunday evening, she had discovered a single Facebook friend request from a "Ruby Rose". The unwelcome reminder of Saturday's events had made her sick to her stomach, so she had simply closed the app.
Giving her scroll another chance now, her pulse quickens in alarm as she reads the new notification: a Facebook message, which she tentatively thumbs open.
"Ruby Rose: Hi blake! Its ruby from the market! Hope your doing well!"
Blake hardly registers the contents of the message, more alarmed that she was able to receive it in the first place. Have the privacy settings changed again? Resolving to re-examine her account settings, she focuses on a few deep breaths to calm herself before rereading the message.
That's a lot of exclamation marks, she remarks, cracking a faint smile, but that definitely fits her. The thumbnail of the sender's profile picture appears to be a crooked selfie of a red-scarfed Ruby smiling cartoonishly wide at the camera. Seems about right.
Wary of taking too long to respond after letting the message register as "seen," she quickly thumbs Ruby Rose's profile open. The girl's profile is fairly open and accessible – she should be more careful, Blake muses – and reveals that they share a small number of mutual friends. That might explain how she was able to message me.
Before Blake can investigate who they have in common, she catches glimpses of bushy yellow hair, brilliant smiles and lilac eyes in many of the pictures and posts readily available to her prying eyes.
A sudden curiosity gets the better of her, and she indulges in a more careful examination of these images. Most of them appear to be surprise selfies in which Ruby's mischievous grin dominates the foreground while her older sister is caught unawares with a spade in the ground, or mid-sentence lounging on a green couch, or laughing in a tight hug. In several photos, nature fills in what little of the background can be seen – budding plants, rows of tilled soil, a sea of sunflowers.
The sunflowers in particular complement the elder sister's aesthetic so well that Blake catches herself staring for several seconds at the wholesome, joyful images of the two Rose sisters. A reluctant butterfly takes flight in her stomach as her eyes linger on the blonde's own – frozen in the moment but somehow conveying timeless joy.
Blake's chest feels warm and tight, and she registers the tips her feline ears twitching anxiously. She rapidly blinks away her stupor, aggressively thumbing the back arrow on the screen, and looses a frustrated breath of air, as if somehow she might expel the butterfly from its home – no, not home, she thinks, or else I'm going to need to call pest control.
She snorts softly at her own brand of humour, and follows with a sigh. She taps the "Accept Friend Request" button, and spends upwards of two minutes deciding how best to respond. Ideally she'd be able to placate the excitable girl without prompting any kind of follow-up, especially anything that might involve her sister.
It occurs to her that a Facebook request from the blonde may not be far off, but she refuses to think about that possibility any further, and instead refocuses on her response to Ruby. Realizing that at this point she had "seen" Ruby's message 13 minutes ago, Blake hastily thumbs the most accessible, relatively neutral response she can find at a glance.
A big yellow hand fills the chat box, waving pleasantly. Good enough, I guess.
She closes her scroll but leaves it in front of her on the desk, bracing for the dreaded small talk that is likely to come.
Two minutes later, she sighs again, this time in relief, and returns to her textbook, albeit with a bittersweet tinge of disappointment.
She returns to her textbook with a subtle snarl, but finds herself freshly focused on the contents. She pauses occasionally to take notes and highlight specific passages – an act that still causes her to cringe, but she justifies with the notion that anyone who bothered to write a textbook (especially about Atlas) probably didn't care about the readers' treatment of the individual books, especially if they were putting out new versions with minimal changes every year.
After a surprisingly quick half hour, another BVVVFT interrupts Blake's tea break. Here we go…
Once more, curiosity prompts her to slide her scroll towards her on her desk, sliding it half-open to examine the cause of this most recent disturbance. She is already brainstorming polite conversation-ending responses to potential small talk from Ruby, but-
"Ilia?" she vocalizes in soft surprise. They almost never talk outside of their weekly get-togethers, which usually included Sun - and which I completely blew off last week, she recalls with a frown. I hope she's not too upset.
She taps the new message open.
"hey blake! we missed u last week :( "
Just as she finishes reading the first message, another appears:
"how r u? I talked to sun yesterday but he said u were busy"
The sorry smile that Ilia's concern had only just brought to Blake's face snaps into a suspicious frown. Is that all he told you? Her expression softens slightly as she realizes that Sun might not be doing so well himself, but she shakes her head in anticipated exasperation. I wonder if he's already having girl trouble.
Cautiously, she sends back: "Hi Ilia. I'm fine, you?" Then, after waiting a few seconds, quickly adds: "Did Sun seem okay?"
"better now, talking to u!" Blake smiles again, Ilia's kind words having a similar effect on her. "dunno. I guess he was a bit less enregetic than usual. y, u guys fighting again?"
No, but… Her smoldering frustration flickers as she stubbornly tries to stoke it further, however the concern edging its way into the forefront of her mind dampens it considerably. He's clueless, and reckless, but… not stupid. Certainly not stupid enough to get too involved with Ruby's sister. He's probably okay, right?
"No, but I need to apologize to him for something."
As she continues to mull over these thoughts, another line of text from Ilia appears: "ok. u coming tmrw? if u want i can give u two some time to talk while i run to the library first"
Blake considers the offer, wary of taking too long to respond; their renewed friendship still feeling delicate at times.
"No, that's alright, but thank you."
"ok! c u tmrw :) "
Blake mirrors the emoji in Ilia's text, satisfied with her progress. Glancing around at her desk, she eyes the current page number in her textbook, and her smile grows. Not bad for the most oppressively boring textbook in Remnant.
Rising from her desk, she closes the textbook and begins returning her materials to her satchel for Thursday's classes – but she pauses when she finds her multipurpose notebook in her hands. Within its coil-bound pages are all her lecture notes, colour-coded by course with sticky notes and different pens. But scattered throughout, in margins and between lines of regurgitated text, she occasionally finds herself scratching away with a neutral pen colour at a random doodle, quote, or sketch: a pattern of alluring swirls, a flowery border… sometimes even faces.
She is not especially proud of her amateur skill with a pen, but it allows for some creative release where other methods fall short; especially when a preferred method becomes insurmountably inhibiting.
Stroking the cover thoughtfully, she seats herself once more, flipping to the first page she can find that has a few empty lines. Retrieving a newer, dark orange pen, she draws in satisfied silence late into the night.
Blake rises from bed the next morning with an unusual amount of energy; instead of grumbling and fumbling for the "snooze" button on her alarm, her eyes snap open readily and she rises comfortably with her first alarm. Going about her morning routine, her mind catches up with her body mid-shower, a good half hour before her morning tea would usually perk her up.
Maybe I should talk to Sun first, she considers, letting the ever-changing Fall Hall water pressure erratically ease the lather of shampoo out of her hair. If he is having… trouble… then it might be best not to involve more people in whatever mess he's gotten himself into. Growing impatient, she coarsely combs the water through her hair to speed up the process, making practiced sweeps past her faunus appendages to avoid flooding her larger ears.
After towelling off and dressing for the day, she thumbs out a message to Sun: "Hey. I'll be at lunch early today if you have extra time to talk." She allows herself a small, prideful smirk at her own clarity and efficiency, although she wonders if maybe she should have mixed in her apology already.
As she finishes her meager breakfast and sips the remains of her first tea of the day, Sun responds.
"aayyyyy! cool c u then ;) "
Looks like he's no worse for wear, she thinks mid-eye-roll. Which "then"? Early or the usual time? she wonders, but shakes her head as she brings her dishes to the tiny kitchenette, recalling his usual tardiness. "Early" will just mean "on time" anyways.
The morning drags on predictably; with most of the coursework now already covered, exam preparation takes up the bulk of each class. However, despite a growing sense of dread at the coming confrontation, Blake remains focused (if unenthused) throughout the lectures.
Thirty-eight minutes before noon, she heads for the Campus Center, a cathedral-like rectangle of a building with a heavily-slanted roof and immense glass windows around the perimeter, stretching from the low second floor to the ceiling several stories higher.
Once inside the split-level cafeteria, she meanders around the outer ring of the first floor, passing by the inward-facing campus-approved food vendors on the north and west sides of the building. She gets in line at A Simple Wok, the ever-popular ramen joint, where she obtains her favourite tuna-laden noodles and finds a vacant table on the east side, partially obscured (both visually and aurally) by a set of stairs to the second floor campus businesses and stores.
She methodically picks away at her meal, setting her scroll beside her suspiciously sticky cafeteria tray. No new notifications.
The building dread fights for her attention as Sun shows no signs of actually coming early. Reluctantly, she resigns herself to the duty of holding the table meant for four people by herself, for the better part of the next hour. Unwilling to face the expectant stares of other students searching for seating space on the first floor, she buries herself in her latest novel.
After an eternity of minutes struggling to focus on the story in front of her, her shoulder is lightly tapped by a friendly fist.
"Wow, you ate already? Guess you weren't kidding about early, huh?" Sun smirks down at her.
He appears as unbothered as ever, tail flicking mischievously behind him as his hands weave together behind his head, completing his trademark casual posture.
Blake glances at her scroll. "Two minutes early. Not bad, for you," she deadpans at first, but they share a knowing smile and he chuckles. He seems fine. Maybe I was worried for nothing.
Sun drops his bag in his intended seat across from her, tail gesturing towards A Simple Wok. "I'm gonna get my lunch. Want anything for dessert? Those weird little fortune cookies are kinda neat," he offers.
Blake shakes her head, thanking him as he strolls away. Maybe we don't need to talk about it? she muses with a splinter of hope, though deep down she knows she's fooling herself.
"Room for one more?" a soft voice calls from above.
Blake turns her gaze upwards, searching for the source. What little she can see of the second floor balcony presents few options; mostly the heads of strangers bobbing around as they walk past the nearby staircase.
"Ilia, you can come out now," she calls back to nowhere in particular, another smile relaxing across her lips.
The petite Ilia Amitola breaks away from her cover, a passing crowd of students who had just descended the stairs. She grins playfully at Blake as she hastens to the table with a bounce in her step that causes the twin locks of hair framing the sides of her face to sway. "That never gets old!"
"Maybe not for you," Blake says, rising to return the inevitable (if still tentative) hug that her oldest friend offers her.
"You're no fun," Ilia teases, pouting as she deposits her compact backpack in the seat next to Blake. "You talk to Sun yet?" she asks, gesturing at his bag.
"Not really, no," Blake responds, her smile trading itself in for a pensive expression. Maybe we should have? Noticing the budding concern in Ilia's expression, she adds, "but it's fine."
Ilia looks a lot more convinced than Blake is. "Alright, well I'm gonna use our friend to jump the line, then," she declares, smirking in Sun's direction.
A few minutes later, all three of them are seated together, beginning their Thursday tradition anew. The familiarity kindles a welcome warmth within Blake's stomach.
Blake fields and facilitates small talk with them between their remarkably similar noodle-slurping. A few annoyed shoulder punches are traded here and there, which requires some reaching across the table, and in turn causes a few minor spills that then lead to more shoulder-punching. Despite their obvious visual differences, Blake has to suppress a soft chuckle as she effortlessly imagines them as quintessential rival siblings.
They reach a break in the conversation as Sun and Ilia simultaneously finish their bowls, and the comfort of the familiar atmosphere compels Blake to say her piece.
"Sun, I… I'm sorry about the other day," she begins, staring down at a puddle of broth on the table. "I got really upset with you for really childish reasons and didn't let either of us explain what we were thinking."
Ilia's eyes flit between them expectantly, clearly unsure of her place in this conversation but immensely curious.
Sun covers a belch with a napkin-wielding tail, unperturbed. "Hey, no worries. I still don't really get it, but silly reasons are still reasons, right?" He shrugs, doing his best to impress his own relaxed smile upon Blake.
It almost works, but the heart of the issue remains, and on this clear-minded day she figures she'd best get this confrontation over with. She's not sure she completely agrees with his assessment either, but focuses on the task at hand.
"I just want you to be careful. Someone like Yang… not everybody values us for who we are. Some people are only interested in what makes us different," she explains, her voice forcibly calm. "And for too many people that 'interest' is only skin-deep." She wants to add something to the effect of "We've had this conversation before, albeit in different words," but feels it would be snarkier than the situation merits, given that she's the one trying to apologize right now.
Despite her attempted clarity, Sun looks confused, with his arms crossed and single eyebrow raised.
Ilia, on the other hand, is wide-eyed with impetuous curiosity. "Who's Yang?" she asks, turning to Sun with a teasing grin. "New girlfriend?"
This seems to snap Sun out of his confusion. "Huh? Heck no. If anyth- Wait," he pauses. "You thought I was interested in Yang?" His own eyes are wide now, a new understanding dawning on him as he stares at Blake, dumbfounded.
Blake remains silent, trying to keep her expression neutral, but feels her bow stretch against her faunus ears' attempt to flatten themselves.
Like an untied balloon eschewing its compressed contents, Sun bursts into obnoxious laughter. Blake and Ilia exchange a sidelong glance of mutual confusion, though something seems to click for Ilia, and her eyes widen once more – this time with something akin to shock.
His impressive air supply depleted, Sun wipes at his eyes with his tail, hands splayed out on the table in front of him as if steadying his balance, despite being comfortably seated on stable ground. "Whew! Blake, I think I get it now."
Unable to contain herself any longer, Ilia slaps her palms onto the table (narrowly missing the broth puddle) and cranes her neck forward to assert her interest in the conversation. "What the heck are you guys talking about?"
Blake, on the other hand, is frozen in frustrated panic. What is Sun talking about? Yang was practically all over him the second I introduced him. Why is this so funny to him? This is hardly a joke… UGH, why do I even care at this point?
"Blake's got a crush on her new market friend!"
Sun's declaration brings the kettle to a boil. Blake feels her bow start to slip off as her cat ears sulk against her skull. The scene in front of her blurs as heat radiates from her whole head and neck. Her palms seem to slicken with sweat almost immediately, trying and failing to grip the edges of her seat for support. A confused cross between a furious roar and a wistful whimper groans in her throat.
Before she can direct her hurt and anger back at her so-called friend, he relaxes enough to see the signs and interjects, hands raised in tentative defense, but still smirking. "I'm pretty sure she was interested in you, Blake. She kept asking about you. In fact, she seemed pretty relieved when I told her we weren't… uh, together."
In a dizzying instant, the metaphorical kettle freezes over, though several dozen stomach-butterflies seem to have missed the migration memo. The dull roar of the cafeteria at peak hours fills the silence between them, and Blake's hands instinctively rush to her hair to adjust her bow, now thoroughly displaced by cautiously perked ears.
Otherwise, she is still.
Sun leans back in his chair, returning his hands to their favourite resting position behind his head. "She's pretty hot, sure, but I'm not into blondes," he remarks, but reconsiders with pursed lips, adding "usually."
"It sounds like Blake thought Yang was interested in you," Ilia says softly, which turns both heads to face her. Her hands are clasped in her lap, shoulders forward, and though her eyes are looking in Sun's direction she seems to be seeing something… else. Blake recognizes the posture as Ilia's self-restraint: given enough emotional duress, Ilia's skin and features changed colours like a chameleon, which often proved to be a startling and off-putting revelation to the unsuspecting human, and even some fellow faunus. Something about the nature of this revelation has put Ilia on the edge of shifting colours.
Before Blake can dwell on her observation or confirm Ilia's own, Sun is again surprised into speech. "Whoa, really? So…" he comments, piecing together the picture Blake had stubbornly refused to let him see. "Wow, Blake, sorry I didn't pick up on that. I really got mixed up here, heh."
"N-no, it's fine… I…" she starts, but buries her face in her hands, cutting herself off. I can't believe I misread that… so badly.
Ilia's hand finds her shoulder, and through it she feels her friend's faintly sympathetic laughter. "Blake, that's awesome. Don't worry about the awkward stuff; if Yang is awesome enough to have caught your eye – and if you've caught hers – then you've got nothing to worry about." Her smile is timid, but genuine.
Blake's face feels raw from the heat of the rapidly alternating sensations of fury and shame, but Ilia's supportive words bring a comfortable smile to her own face nonetheless.
Not content to linger in any moment too long, Sun leans forward and launches into an entirely unrelated conversation. "Hey, so, Neptune invited me to some thing next weekend. He won't tell me what it is, but he… well, he's not gonna let me not come. I figure it's probably one of those lame artsy events he keeps trying on, so I'll be bored out of my mind – but he said I could bring some friends along!"
Still cooling off from her embarrassment, Blake only half-follows his story. Ilia removes her hand and eyes Sun warily. "In the middle of finals?" she asks dubiously.
"Yeah, it's probably some poetry thing again, but, and I quote: 'It'll be rad!' Like who even says that anymore?"
"Could be interesting," relents Ilia, tilting her head in consideration. "What do you think, Blake?"
Blake is lost in her own thoughts, too focused on just breathing normally to acknowledge the proposition. I completely misunderstood Yang's intentions.
"Yeah, Blake! You could even bring a date!" laughs Sun, eyebrows waggling.
Have I been dreaming this whole time? This is ridiculous. How did I fool myself into this situation?
"Well, how about it, you two? Care to join me for some mystery fun next Saturday night? Dates optional," he reiterates.
"Actually…" Ilia responds, slouching a bit, "I think I have exams both days, so maybe I'll pass this time…" Her disappointment is evident – if odd, given her relative disinterest at first.
Blake, finally catching up with the present, nods slightly. "My exams are fairly spread out, so it shouldn't be a problem," she offers. And keeping you company at an "artsy" event is the least I can do to make up for my behaviour. Of the two of us I might actually enjoy it.
"Sweet! But uh, y'know, I'll try not to get in the way if you do bring Yang along," he winks, poking her knee under the table with his tail.
She rolls her eyes, but smiles at his earnest humour nonetheless. "I'll have to actually talk to her at some point then," she confesses, fighting a blush.
Sun gets a kick out of this, and together they laugh away the earlier confusion. Before long they part ways for their afternoon classes, promising to meet up again next week.
The rattling and rumbling of Taiyang's aged pickup truck punctuate the silence in the cab. To Yang it sounds (and feels) no worse than usual, but judging by his white-knuckled grip on the wheel, Lie Ren is less confident in the vehicle's vitality. It's his only tell, though – after she tumbled into the front seat back at the farm, he had greeted her politely and they had confirmed their plan, and then… quiet.
CH-DNGK.
Relatively.
"Is this normal?" the dark-haired young man asks, voice as steady as can be given the jostling of the cab. Again, strangely calm save for his grip, which Yang hadn't even noticed until a pothole shook a careful sigh out of him a few minutes ago.
In his simple, functional work attire, Ren looks more like a first-time combatant in a local martial arts tournament: anxious on the inside, but mustering all previous training and discipline to the forefront of his mind to maintain the illusion of calm. But she knows better than to underestimate the taller youth's peaceful demeanour.
"Hm?" she responds, turning her focus outward from her concerns and the hopeful plan for the rest of the day. "Oh, the truck? Tchyeah, it's got its quirks, but it'll hold together, promise!" She aims a smile his way, adding a thumbs-up for good measure.
Still fully facing forward, Ren's right eye meets hers for just a moment, seemingly skeptical.
"Trust me, I worked on it myself," she adds, crossing her arms with a smirk.
His eye meets hers again, as if searching for a lie. While maybe she hadn't worked on it alone, after their latest nigh-catastrophic tune-up she is more confident in her own assessment of its functionality than Taiyang "The Fixer" Xiao Long's. She raises a daring eyebrow at her temporary driver, whose eyes return to the road – but a small smile shakes his inscrutable image.
"That's good, then," he says, shifting his hands on the wheel to a more relaxed position. "Your father speaks highly of you, you know."
Yang's eyebrows further contort with cautious curiosity before dismissing the comment with an eye roll. "Duh. He gushes about us to anyone who'll listen. I'm sure your family must be proud of you and your apprenticeship or whatever," she prods with a smile.
Ren brings the truck to a stop at one of the few rural traffic lights. A deafening silence ensues as even the truck seems to catch its breath. Yang glances over to see the young man's eyelids drooping to match his wan smile.
"I suppose they might be, if they were still with us," he murmurs.
Yang's arms slide into her lap as a chill numbs her core. In the time it takes for her to notice her own slack-jawed stare and regain her composure, Ren has returned his eyes to the road and brought the truck up to a comfortable (and careful) speed. The cab resumes its clamorous clacking.
"Ren, I… wow, I had no idea. I'm so sorry," Yang stumbles over the sentiment, her eyes still wide in the wake of Ren's tragic revelation. She watches him more carefully, trying to discern his thoughts or sense his present feelings on the matter, but he resumes an eerily neutral expression that she decides is either so frequently practiced and for so long as to be second nature, or an impressive shield to resist recent pain.
Her father had never gone into detail (if he even knew?) about how Ren had come under his wing so many years ago, and they rarely saw each other or had more than passing interactions until… well, today. And even in those moments… I don't think I've ever seen him with anyone else... How long has he been alone? A familiar tug on her insides causes her fists to clench on her knees in front of her, her shoulders tight.
"It's okay; it was a long time ago. I've had a lot of time to reflect, and while I don't remember them as well as I'd like… I think they'd be happy to know I'm helping a friend," he explains gently. His faint smile returns as he glances at Yang.
Once more she is stunned into silence – this time by his rapid recovery as much as his generous use of the term "friend" – and an urge to deliver some form of comfort or reassurance overwhelms her.
"Absolutely," she half-shouts, which is met with a similarly surprised eyebrow raise. "I mean… they absolutely would be. Happy. And proud." She reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder as a gesture of solidarity, despite a sliver of shame shouting in the back of her mind: You don't know anything about him after all these years! Who are you to assume anything about his family? You barely know your own!
Ignoring the doubts, she persists: "Whatever time you did have with them shaped you into who you are now, and… well, we're not close, but yeah, your friend appreciates the help," she points her free thumb towards herself emphatically. "They must have been really awesome to have brought a friend like you into the world."
It's Ren's turn to stare, although an aggressive honk from behind them snaps him back into focus, continuing from the latest stoplight at the edge of the city. Yang returns her left hand to her lap, though her friend makes no indication of discomfort.
"That's very kind of you, Yang. Thanks. I should say the same about you and your family," he replies, a new layer of warmth in his tone. "Taiyang has been very kind and understanding and I owe him a great deal. That kindness obviously runs in the family."
It's not just him, she thinks. Though I doubt genetics has much to do with it. "Oh, we do our best," she concedes, doing her best to laugh off her darker thoughts. "Seriously though, thank you for doing this."
Ren murmurs in acknowledgement, turning them onto the overpass that would take them to the hospital.
Curiosity bubbles up within her again though, and as casually as possible she asks, "Soooo… where do you live, then?"
Immediately she fears she has pried too far with such a personal question, as Ren takes a long breath in, shoulders rising defensively. His face, however, merely flushes pink as his eyebrows raise – not an expression of anger, more like… "Uh, well, actually…" he stammers, which utterly fascinates Yang. Is he… actually embarrassed? No, maybe that's not quite it… "I've actually been living with a friend of mine for the last nineteen months." The words leave his mouth faster than Yang has ever heard him speak, but he relaxes towards the end. "Prior to that, we actually looked out for each other on the street for a while."
I've been exchanging pleasantries and small talk with a homeless orphan for half my life and I had no idea. "That must have been hard," she offers, unable to find any other words to adequately express her bewilderment, or her sympathy.
"Sometimes, yes. But…" his posture tightens up again, as if by explaining any further he might jinx his own words, "…when you have someone to share even the worst of times with, things aren't always so bad." Again, he relaxes at the end of his sentence, as if forcibly accepting the release of his words into the world to wreak whatever havoc he seems so wary of.
Someone to share…
"What about you, Yang?"
The question catches her mid-thought, dispelling a half-formed image in a figurative cloud of purple and black, with the occasional glint of yellow. "Huh?"
Ren continues: "You've lived most of your life out in Patch, haven't you? Do you have any plans?"
Plans… "I don't really know," she admits softly, toying with the ends of her hair. "There's a few things I think I… need to do on my own, as soon as I'm able. I haven't gotten to travel much yet, but…" That will change soon, but he doesn't need to know details. "One day."
He merely nods, letting her words linger. In the relative quiet she ponders the many other possible answers to such a question.
Plans, huh… hard to make plans with all the work that needs to be done on the farm. The thought holds no trace of bitterness, although she can't help but wonder how different her life might be without all her existing responsibilities tying her down. "I don't really have… plans though," she admits, tugging at a rare split end.
"A dream, maybe? You said you have things you need to do, but what do you want for yourself?" he inquires, guiding her thoughts seamlessly.
A dream… She recalls a treasured photograph framed on her dad's bedside table, in which four friends are caught mid-laughter. That one image is the only memory she has of the dark-haired woman standing next to Taiyang, and despite the anguish that aches through her whole being when she sees the resemblance in her reflection, it reinforces the one question that has haunted her so horribly as to spur her to action: Why?
But she has long since acknowledged the likelihood that the answer may not be satisfying or fulfilling at all, if there even is a definitive one, or any at all. That's hardly a dream, she posits with a pensive pout.
"I don't know," she finally manages.
"Hmm," murmurs Ren. "That's okay. You have skills, and you have the spirit to back them up." His tone is casually optimistic, but the genuine assessment doesn't dissuade Yang's doubts. Smiling, he continues the thought: "I'm sure that in time your experience and attributes will open up new possibilities; perhaps things unimaginable to you even now."
"Maybe…" she mumbles, then jolts towards the side window as she realizes their proximity to the hospital parking lot. "Oh, I guess we're here." She is relieved at their arrival (for several reasons), though she regains her smile as she briefly reflects on their drive. "Thanks again for the ride!"
He nods as they search for a parking spot, swiping some lien in a drive-by ticketing machine that produces a perforated paper to place in the window. Once parked, Ren turns off the engine and hands her the keys without a word.
Puzzled, Yang waits a beat before pocketing them. "Uh, aren't you gonna be driving again after?"
He gestures to the simple digital clock on the dashboard. "You won't get to Beacon in time if we drive to my place after this. I've arranged alternative transportation for myself," he explains nonchalantly.
Glancing at the clock, she withholds a curse as she realizes the time. It hadn't taken them very long to get to the hospital, but the initial arrival and processing had taken longer than expected and Ren hadn't left Taiyang until well after lunch. She knows he will understand her words are rhetorical, but she responds out of courtesy: "Are you sure?"
Expectedly, he nods, unfastening his seat belt.
"Thanks, Ren. You're a good friend," she remarks, concluding their conversation as she follows his example. She allows her concern to take over, fuelling her rapid exit from the truck and determined steps into West Vale General Hospital, her new-ish friend close behind to guide her to her father.
Blake, while physically present in her afternoon lectures, is so absent from reality that dismissal catches her completely off guard. The focus on reviewing course content for the upcoming exams makes it easy to zone out here and there with little consequence, but she could have sworn she had just sat down in her final class before being dismissed.
At first she chides herself for her foolishness, but the burgeoning sensation demanding her attention refuses to back down. It's familiar, but the why and how are indistinct. Like unearthing a once-treasured tome lost to the disorganized depths of any book-lover's home library, she is captivated by the sheer scope of possibility: If she were to explore the text once more, would it be as exciting as it once was? Would she still be intrigued by the little details? Would she find pleasure within the pages as she once did? Would the journey be worth the effort?
Or… would it reveal itself to be misremembered, showing its true face as a simplistic mockery of the genre? Would it lead her along only to reject her emotional investment? Would it challenge her beliefs so far as to shame her core values? Would it eventually deny her the comfort and security she once found inside? Would it be better left alone, untouched, unread, so that it might never scar another soul with its charmingly harmful words?
With some reluctance, Blake allows the feeling to feed the growing kaleidoscope of stomach-butterflies, and their frenetic fluttering further eases her uncertainty. As a result, she flips back through her notebook to find an absurd amount of dark orange sketches among her usual sparsely patterned doodles. For every line of course-specific text there is a half-page of haphazardly drawn images: a few generalized profile shots of random, clueless individuals with distinctive facial features; a few attempts at busts of characters from a recent novel, with some interpretive touches; a few mystery persons of her own design… but for all their variety, the subjects increasingly have more and more in common.
Oh gods.
The newest portrait – a generous word given her skill level, but no less appropriate for this particular image – has a radiant smile, framed by gentle bangs with a bushel of a ponytail sticking out in the back. The eyes in particular are eerily realistic despite the lack of colour, and look back at her in greeting: "Hey there, honey!"
Blake slams the notebook shut, choking down an involuntarily noise: somewhere between a gasp, a growl, and… well, considering her barely-contained grin… a giggle? Ugh. I hate that word. Still, she gives in to the positively anxious energy coursing through her, smiling sheepishly despite herself.
Returning to reality, she realizes most of her classmates have left. She quietly quickens her packing process to leave the room before the slowest stragglers to avoid any potential small talk with the professor on the way out, and to her relief, no one seems to pay her much mind.
She maintains her heightened pace out the door and down the lengthy marble corridor, through ever-thinning crowds of fellow students, eager to make it back across campus to process her… what, exactly? Flowering feelings? Potential friendship? Hopeless romantic? Is that really what this is? A crush? Am I seriously crushing on someone who's practically a complete stranger?
"Hey, watch where-OOF!"
Blake stumbles backwards, barely maintaining her footing following her unintentional impact with a newer, more shrill-voiced stranger. Her own satchel swings safely at her side, but the dull clatter of someone else's textbooks tumbling down a flight of stairs still causes her to cringe as she finds her balance, sputtering: "S-sorry, I wasn't-"
"Looking? Yeah, I noticed," snaps the young woman in front of her, also readjusting her own stance. She is at least a few inches shorter than Blake, but her rigid posture and tightly crossed arms evoke militant discipline – and probably undeserved privilege, an impulsive thought whispers in the back of Blake's mind.
The stranger is turned slightly away, an icy blue eye glaring indignantly down at what must be her books scattered across the stairs. But even without a full view of her face, recognition dawns on Blake as she takes in the rest of the woman's appearance, which is predominantly (ridiculously) white: pale skin (spotless and well-moisturized); a pre-faded denim blouse with neatly rolled sleeves over what appears to be a lacy black tank top; a small, simple two-toned off-white purse; a snow-white pleated skirt that only barely obscures her knees; elaborate white wedges; and an asymmetrical, pure white ponytail that is at least half her height.
Flawless diamond snowflake earrings confirm Blake's hunch, swaying violently as the young Schnee whips around to face Blake squarely with a scrutinizing stare. Blake returns the stare as unflinchingly as possible, but says nothing – though a thousand snide comments of her own stand ready to fight an all-too-familiar, defensive battle. Remembering the bow atop her head, she finds some immediate relief as she realizes this encounter may not go as badly as it could.
A dull pain in her palms brings attention to her fiercely clenched fists, which she consciously slackens (if only slightly). Widening her awareness of the scene, in her peripherals she recognizes the stairway as the one she had intended to take to the ground floor, but had been so distracted by-
"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" the girl demands, as if Blake had shattered something of significant monetary value and would be expected to pay for its full value – through a life of modern day slave labour in the Schnee Diamond Company mines, no doubt. Before she can filter her disgust into actual speech, the Schnee girl brings a rigid, manicured finger to a sharp point and aims for Blake's sternum, as if literally jabbing her would prompt a more productive response. "If you're not going to say anything you could at least help me recover my-"
"It's okay Weiss, I got it!" pipes up an even squeakier voice from the stairwell. Blake makes a very conscious effort not to let her faunus ears move too much within her bow as she recognizes the cheerful tone of her newest Facebook friend, Ruby Rose.
Weiss turns back towards the stairs, and this time Blake follows her gaze to see a smattering of loose pages of course outlines and handouts, several neatly labelled notebooks dramatically spread across the marble with their spines up, and a pair of textbooks with dozens of multicolored miniature sticky notes peeking out from the tops and sides in immaculate condition (save for a fresh dent on the back cover of one) leaning precariously against the bannister. And then, scrambling up the stairs to snatch up the mess, a red-jacketed Ruby smiles broadly and waves in Weiss' direction.
Blake holds back an exasperated groan. You've got to be kidding me. Not only has she stumbled into a physical altercation with the heiress of the Schnee Diamond Company, but said heiress is apparently a friend of Ruby, who Blake had only just decided would be nice to see again. Not like this… I need to leave, before-
A deafening gasp echoes through the stairwell. "BLAKE?! Is that you? Omigosh, HIII!" Ruby crams the remaining papers into her arms while Weiss glances between them with narrowed eyes, grimacing at the sound of her notes crumpling.
While Ruby sprints up the stairs (a considerable feat given her very skinny jeans), Blake summons the most polite and coherent words she can to her lips. "Oh, hey, Ruby, uh, sorry for…" she trails off as Ruby meets them in the corridor, unfazed by Weiss' re-crossed arms and shift in stance – the heiress is leaning to the right, her judgement palpable in the way her hip now juts out.
"You two know each other?" Weiss asks, the venom in her voice progressively lessening with each word spoken. I should be asking you that, thinks Blake, struggling to comprehend the reality of such a cordial relationship between such absolute opposites. Eyeing Ruby for an explanation, Weiss uncrosses her arms once more as her… friend? makes to hand over the dropped belongings.
"Yeah, she's a friend who comes to the market sometimes!" exclaims Ruby, dumping the pile of papers in Weiss' outstretched hands, which prompts a practiced eye roll from the latter. If Ruby sees this, she does not react, instead turning her attention back to Blake. "I'm so happy we finally bumped into each other on campus! How are you?" she asks, that infectious Rose smile already whittling away Blake's defenses.
"I'm okay, thanks. It's good to see you, too," Blake responds, her defensive hostility retreating behind her own growing smile. She sees Ruby's eyes flit towards her bow, so she turns quickly to Weiss while she still has a mind to wrap up their incident without escalation. "Sorry again for… running into you, like that. I was… kind of in a hurry." She bows her head in mostly-genuine apology, hoping Ruby has tact enough to refrain from prying about her concealed appendages.
Weiss' seemingly endless scowl lessens in intensity as she straightens up once more. "As I said, I noticed… but," she pauses, her eyes meeting Ruby's briefly, and the faintest of sighs escapes her lips before her next words, "it's okay. I'm sure you didn't mean to make me drop all my things."
It's not overtly accusatory, but Blake still bristles at her choice of words. Before she can bite back, Ruby sighs loudly: "Weeeiiissssss! If you'd just use a backpack or something…"
Weiss sighs back, but bows her head in defeat. "Sorry, I know you didn't mean any trouble," she half-mutters, crossing her hands politely in front of her and returning Blake's apologetic nod.
Blake is silent and still for a few beats, disbelieving the sight before her. I just literally bumped into the heiress of the SDC and she's apologizing to me? And she's friends with Ruby? Gods, if this day gets any weirder… Maybe this is all just a weird dream?
"Sooo… what's up?" asks Ruby, nervously glancing between them. "I was just walking Weiss to class, but it's not for another half hour," she explains, placing exasperated emphasis on the time and attempting an eye roll of her own.
"You know I like to be there early. And I can walk myself to class, thank you very much. I'm not going to stop and wait for you at every drinking fountain along the way," Weiss responds with less frustration than her words would suggest, having made a slightly less crumpled mess of the stack now hugged to her chest. "And… Blake, is it?" she looks at Blake, this time with impressive neutrality, "She said she was in a hurry."
"Oh, well, actually…" Blake stammers, "not to anywhere important. I'm done for the day, so I was just heading back to my dorm." She throws in an attempt at a laugh for good measure, yet again caught in a half-lie (yet again involving Yang, sort of) in front of Ruby. She tries to relax her own posture so as not to appear eager to leave, even though she is… but also kind of isn't…
Before Weiss' neutral expression has the chance to shift to what Blake anticipates to be suspicion once more, Ruby bursts into excited clapping. "Great! Let's all hang out for a bit!" she cheers, but stops suddenly, noticing Weiss raising an eyebrow in her direction. "Uh, if you want to." Weiss' raised eyebrow is replaced with the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.
What in the world… She swallows her bewilderment and instead considers the offer. Weiss… Weiss Schnee. "Hang out" with Weiss Schnee. The absurdity of the thought almost overwhelms her once more, and so she reassesses the offer from a different angle. Hang out with Ruby Rose. And maybe…
"Sorry, Ruby, I'm going on ahead. I need to review my notes before class," Weiss says, beginning to step away, but turns back to Blake, a look of careful deliberation on her face. A faint vertical scar crossing her left eye glistens in a sliver of sunlight. "It was… nice to meet you, Blake," she decides, before turning away.
"Aww, fine. See you tonight, Weiss!" Ruby calls after the heiress. Without turning back, Weiss waves a single hand back towards them in acknowledgement, then rounds a corner. Almost immediately, Ruby's silver eyes light up. "Oh! Now that Weiss is gone I can invite you to our concert!" She rubs her hands together expectantly.
The plot thickens, Blake muses. "What concert?" she asks, turning a more relaxed smile back towards Ruby.
"It's a secret, but… well, not really a secret. We're kind of a secret, but the concert is kind of a big deal. Er… well, yeah, only kind of…" the smaller girl rambles, before refocusing. "But yeah! You should come! It's next weekend – which, I know, is like, right in the middle of finals, but it's late on Saturday!"
Next week, Saturday… Same as Neptune's "thing." Still… Blake weighs her options. I have no idea what this "thing" is, but I promised Sun. Also… going to a concert where Weiss Schnee is involved? Blake vaguely recalls encountering an obnoxious online SDC ad in which a grossly bedazzled woman sings a silly song in an operatic style to the man she loves about how a single SDC product would be more worthwhile to her than all the "lesser" jewelry she is already wearing. The singing didn't quite line up with her lip movement, however, and thinking back on it… I guess that was Weiss' voice. If that's at all what the concert's going to sound like…
"Sorry, Ruby," she starts, pausing only to begrudgingly acknowledge her mirroring of Weiss' rejection only moments early, "I actually have other plans that night." Immediately, Ruby's entire body seems to wilt at the declination, and a wave of sympathetic guilt crashes down on Blake. "Maybe another ti-"
"Ruby! There you are!" calls another somewhat familiar voice from the stairwell. Blake feels her cat ears straining against the fabric of her bow, having honed in on the source with almost magnetic resolve.
Blake's mind goes completely blank, save for one whispered thought that echoes in the void:
Okay, I'm definitely dreaming.
Pocketing her scroll for what seems like the hundredth time in the last hour, Yang storms through the marble corridors of one of the oldest buildings at Beacon – King's Hall? Something like that, she briefly recalls, nearly careening into a pair of way-too-nicely-dressed-for-any-kind-of-school students.
"Sorry," she half-shouts, without turning back towards them. This is ridiculous. Some less considerate words lie dormant as her main objective continues to dominate her thoughts. I'm pretty sure this is where she said Weiss' class was. I just hope I don't have to go knocking on doors.
She nears the far stairwell, glancing upwards as she launches herself up the steps – and then, from the middle landing, she sees her sister's unmistakable red hooded jacket and way-too-big hiking backpack through the bannister rails. She stops, gathering a large breath of relief and frustration, then shouts: "Ruby! There you are!"
Ruby whips around, a puzzled look on her face. "Yang?"
Yang rushes up the remaining stairs to meet her sister in the corridor, summing up what little patience and energy she has left to explain to her and Weiss what's going on. Bracing for Weiss' attitude, she approaches her sister and companion with a purposeful stride… and then halts abruptly.
That's not Weiss.
Not-Weiss's not-human ears seem especially large and dark today… until she recognizes the tips as the points of a black bow. She is so confused by not-Weiss' not-ears that she only catches the tail end of an expression that she is weirdly sure mirrors her own: wide eyes, open mouth, raised eyebrows, and silen-
"Yang, what's wrong?" inquires Ruby, concern mixing with her confusion. Her companion's expression retreats behind something more neutral – cautious, even. Honey-colored eyes, slimmed by relaxed lids, stare unblinking.
"Uh… Blake," she utters plainly, but cringes at the connotation. "I mean, uh, hi, sorry,"
"Hello, Yang," not-Weiss replies coolly. Was she always this… calm? Or did I just imagine her being more… emotional? Yang almost greets her again in response but nods instead, finally remembering her whole reason for finding Ruby in the first place.
"Right, uh, sorry, we gotta go now," she explains. "I tried calling but you never answered, so I came looking."
Ruby inhales sharply. "Oh! I never turned my phone back on after class! Whoops, hehe…" she chuckles innocently, but trails off when she notices Yang's revised expression of seriousness. "Wait, why? Where's Dad?" Her eyes widen with the onset of panic.
"He's okay! But, uh, if we don't leave now we'll probably get towed, and we kinda need the truck if we're gonna get back to the hospital."
"The hospital?" Ruby's eyes start to shimmer with moisture, and Yang's waning "gotta-find-Ruby" adrenaline rush kicks into "gotta-comfort-Ruby" mode, though she's running on fumes.
"He's fine, it's just a concussion!" And a bruised tailbone. "We're gonna go see him right now, okay?" she says with as much calculated urgency as she can muster, trying to steady her words for her sister's sake.
Ruby just looks at her for a moment, overwhelmed, then blinks the excess moisture away and nods determinedly. "Okay."
They both turn to Blake, who has been watching them quietly, only her occasionally raised eyebrows hinting at any sort of reaction. Ruby opens her mouth in apology but Blake beats her to it. "Don't get towed," she says, a wry smile prying up the corners of her lips.
The sisters nod a silent farewell as they launch themselves down the stairs.
Of course this is how we meet again. Now I'm the one running off before we even get to talk. This is ridiculous, Yang laments. At the halfway landing, she looks back up to catch Blake watching them with a look of muted fascination.
This is stupid. Just as Yang's momentum is about to carry her down the remaining stairs and out of sight, Blake raises a hand in a tentative wave.
Yang grabs the handrail in a death grip, which jerks her to a halt. Her insides are keen to continue on without her, and she is half-winded by the effects of inertia. That, and something clawing her throat shut.
This is so dumb.
"See you at the market this weekend?" she calls breathlessly, momentarily frozen in place.
If she hadn't been so still she might have missed it – but she's pretty sure Blake's bow twitches. The faunus nods curtly, the independent motion of the bow almost obscured by the gesture.
"Yaaaaang, come on! Where did you park?" Ruby's voice reverberates from below.
Yang leaps down the stairs, catching up with her sister at the doors leading out to the main campus thoroughfare. She's pretty sure she answers Ruby's question, but as soon as her legs start carrying her back towards her loading zone parking spot, her focus turns inward. Her mind seems to be sprinting faster than her body, fumbling with the memory fragments of the scene she just (almost literally) flew from.
Was she smiling just now? What was she wearing? Why the bow? Why not at the market? Will she come again? Why didn't she say anything? Why was she there? Does she have classes there too? Have they met up before today? Is she cool with Weiss? …Is Weiss cool with her? Why hasn't Ruby told me about this? Has she already declared Blake her next BFF? I wonder if they ever talk about me…
"Yang, look!"
Panting, Yang's gaze snaps to a wiry grey-haired man in a campus security outfit biking leisurely down the road ahead… about fifty feet from the loading zone where the family truck lies in wait, hazard lights blinking patiently. Cursing, she pours what little adrenaline she has left into a full-on sprint, desperate to close the roughly equidistant gap. No tow truck, but I can't afford a ticket. Not now.
Somehow she approaches the truck before he does, and she slows abruptly, hoping not to draw his attention as she approaches the driver's side door with the keys in hand. He pedals closer, and she casually offers him her best "no worries, I was just leaving" wave, fighting hard to keep herself from gasping unceremoniously for breath.
The security officer raises a few fingers in her direction, which she figures is acknowledgement enough, as he passes by. Yang unlocks the doors and heaves herself into the driver's seat before letting out an enormous sigh, dropping her forehead to the steering wheel.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP-
In an instant Yang is bolt upright in the seat, her entire body rigid. Profanity ignites on her tongue but she clenches her jaw shut as she spies the security officer glancing back over his shoulder, no doubt annoyed or at least curious as to which jerk just honked their car horn at him. She waves a stiff arm at the man once more, who shakes his head as he continues on his route.
"I'm coming, I'm coming…" mutters Ruby as she catches up, also climbing into the cab.
Yang is too busy catching her breath (and evading her embarrassment) to apologize properly or explain, so she just sticks the keys in the ignition, beginning the return trip to the hospital.
Ruby allows approximately eighteen seconds of silence (or, what silence can be found given the truck's rhythmic clunking) before instigating her interrogation about the day's events. Yang does her best to relay in brief what the doctor had told her, her voice periodically straining with consternation (at one point resisting the urge to cuss out a driver who neglected to signal before entering the lane immediately in front of them).
"A whole month? For his butt?" confirms Ruby, crestfallen.
"Tailbone, yeah. Maybe just a couple weeks if he takes care of himself. The concussion's pretty mild but it could still take anywhere from a week to several months to fully heal," Yang sighs.
"And Ren is really okay taking over at the studio?"
"Yeah, surprised me too, but he's really grateful for the opportunity. It's only a handful of Dad's classes, and as soon as he can move around comfortably on his own he can at least supervise."
Ruby smiles, silver eyes sparkling with renewed hope. "That's not so bad!" she exclaims, but her enthusiasm diminishes once more as something else occurs to her. "What about the farm?"
Yang frowns, once more trying to make sense of the complications to their daily routines. "No hard labour for a while, so I'll be taking care of the essentials and whatever else I have time for. He's going to need a lot of attention for the first day or two at least, just to monitor his fluid intake and sleep patterns, in case the symptoms get worse. So…" she trails off, fingers drumming quietly on the steering wheel. "Tonight, after your secret band practice or whatever, we'll take him home. But that means tomorrow I won't be able to drive you anywhere."
A beat of silence. With her arms crossed and head tilted forty-five degrees, Ruby scrunches up her face in concentration. "Hmm…"
Yang had long since accepted the drawbacks of living outside of the city, but the limitations still evoke feelings of helplessness at times like this. Ruby still has classes tomorrow, and exams are coming up…
Before she can voice any of her half-hearted suggestions (most of which involving ludicrous costs or immense favours), her younger sister simply says, "Okay!"
Yang is taken aback, her brow furrowing. "Okay? Don't you have exams, like, next week?" She bites back a further comment regarding Ruby's gaming habits.
"Yeah," Ruby shrugs, "but tomorrow's classes are all review classes anyways, and I've been doing fine." She turns away a bit, mumbling, "They're just first year courses anyways…"
Again, Yang is surprised at her sister's nonchalant attitude. Something about it rubs her the wrong way - perhaps Ruby's lackadaisical approach to her studies ever since graduating early and getting invited into her dream program with what amounted to almost a full ride for up to four years. She had worked hard to get this far, sure, but that was on top of her existing affinity for mechanical sciences, and her journey through higher level studies had only just begun…
The low whooshing of oncoming traffic is the only sound for a while as they wait out a turning light at an intersection. In this relative quiet, Yang struggles to find an appropriate response to her baby sister's… arrogance? No, not quite - complacency? I've never had her kind of innate talent for anything…
It strikes her that her own feelings are bordering on jealousy, which makes her sick to her stomach. That's not fair. We're just different people. I can't blame her for her success. What do I know, anyway? I've been out of school for over a year now. Maybe first year university courses really are nothing to worry about.
Yang sighs, trying to breathe her misgivings away. "Okay… if you're sure you'll be fine. Do you need to call in or something?"
"Pffft, naaah," Ruby dismisses with a loose wave of her arm. "Even on a normal day, most professors don't seem to care who's there or not."
"If you say so," Yang smirks through tight lips. In a further effort to put her concerns to rest, she turns the radio on to her favourite station for full-on rocking out, only to catch a commercial break. She huffs in defeat, slouching in the lumpy driver's seat.
Ruby politely turns the volume down, picking up where they left off their previous discussion. "So one of us will have to stay home with Dad over the weekend, too, right?" she asks, her tone steady and focused – the sort of momentary maturity that still surprises Yang from time to time. Where was this Ruby a minute ago?
"Yup," Yang responds, popping her lips at the end of the word.
As if on cue, a thought pops into her head as she remembers her last words to Blake at Beacon. I need to be at the market.
"Okay, then I'll stay with Dad!" Ruby announces.
Yang shivers involuntarily at the immediate relief to her almost-problem. "Uh, you sure?" she asks, careful to sound just as casual… as if she didn't care either way.
"Yup!" Ruby responds with a pop, an eager echo of her older sister. "You're better at handling customers," she adds, "and I think you have a date."
Yang whips her gaze towards Ruby for a full second, witnessing a truly devilish grin and twinkling silver eyes blinking suspiciously. "Ruby Rose, what did you just say?" she demands, though her voice warbles nervously. Her cheeks flush with heat, and she glances at the temperature control knobs on the dashboard - surely the air conditioning must be failing again.
"You invited Blake to the market," Ruby responds with a shrug, as if that were a full recount and explanation in itself.
Yang grips the steering wheel tighter, the cracked leather creaking ominously. Out of the corner of her eye, a bright blue "H" towers above several high-rise office buildings, only a few blocks away. "Yeah, so? We've only just met. She comes by often enough that I figure I should get to know her a bit. I didn't really get to talk to her last week when we met Sun, so…" she trails off as she turns onto a side street, scanning for free parking.
Not for the first time, it occurs to her that Ruby already has plenty of opportunities to see Blake, given that they both attend Beacon - but again she does her best to swallow the seeds of jealousy before they take root. What am I even worried about?
"Mhm," hums Ruby, her head bobbing along to the dim beats of whatever is currently playing on the radio.
I didn't "ask her out". I just asked if I'd see her there…
Once parked, Yang lets out another tense breath as Ruby hops out of the cab. She follows, locking the doors.
She nodded. That's a yes, right?
Yang pockets the keys and leads Ruby inside to check in on their father.
It's a date.
Hello again, and Happy Bumbleby Week!
Tumblr has been alive and well with scores of fantastic Bumbleby creations and I'm relieved to be able to contribute even this much as a part of it. I'm always amazed at the sheer quantity of work that people are able to put out - I've had a hard time committing time to finishing this chapter because I've been so drawn in by others' works! Check out bmblbweek on Tumblr to see what I'm talking about.
So, I'm actually a month behind my semi-secretly self-imposed schedule (sorry about that), but I cautiously hope to return to monthly updates. The feedback so far has been very encouraging, so thank you (and please continue)! Meanwhile, since it's been so long, a few things:
First, while we're on the topic of awesome creations by other awesome people, I commissioned gabecebro on Tumblr for a cute little inspirational Honey scene for myself that you can see on either of our blogs (it's also the thumbnail for this story on FF). They were very receptive to my idea and my constant adjustments, and it turned out far more wonderful than I imagined, so I am incredibly thankful for that!
Second, as this story grows and continues onwards, I'll be updating tags and ratings as best I can. If you feel like there's something I should be tagging or warning about, please let me know. While so far the most dramatic stuff has been pretty much just self-imposed angst, there may come a time when things get a little more intense, and I don't want that to be a shock to anyone. I strongly doubt the general rating will ever need to be raised beyond "T" but there may be a chapter or two with some more mature or graphic content, so consider this an early heads-up.
Finally, there's a lot of fan work that has influenced my own take on the characters in every way, and while I don't think I've made any direct references yet, it may so happen that with all of these amazing images imprinting on my memory, something like an outfit I describe might be taken from someone's art. If I do that consciously I will be sure to acknowledge that person (or seek to)! But if you feel I have ripped off someone else's creation (likely unawares), please let me know and I'll make adjustments and give credit where credit is due!
That's enough out of me for now, though if you wish to follow up, your best bet would be to find me on Tumblr (thomsenator-kms).
Cheers!
-kms