To a well kept mind, nothing was out of place. Nothing was disorderly, and you would know where everything belonged.

He thought he had a well kept mind, and it's possible that he was, in fact, correct in that asumption, but he had an awfully active imagination if he were.

Of course, his mind was clearly not batting a hundred, as the hair in his eyes was blond, and he'd always assumed himself a brunette.

"God, I need a smoke." he groused. Awkwardly shambling his way to where he vaguely thought he knew was a general store, he was soon complete with a carton of cigarettes, though he'd had to sneak them into his pocket to avoid the law, as he could see in any mirror that he was too young to indulge in his calming habits.

He snapped his fingers and lit a cigarette casually. The small inhalation of the acrid smoke was just the calming influence he needed to get to some hard thinking.

The most pressing was that he still had his abilities. He may be a shit man, but it felt a lot better to be a shit man with tools than a shit man with no options.

The kid he found himself as was named Jaune Arc. He was in some fuckhole place with monsters everywhere, and he was 17 years old with both parents and more than half a dozen sisters.

He was Booker Dewitt, and for being in one of those different timeline kind of places, his head was remarkably clear. No headaches or missing memories, save maybe what happened after... his daughter killed him. Grand.

"Least I have the damned Vigors." he grumbled again. Devil's Kiss, Undertow, Shock Jockey, and Murder of Crows. It took some practice, but he'd managed to get the things to act a little less rigid as they'd been to start, hence being able to light his cigarette without dramatically conjuring a ball of fire, or that goofy looking effect where his hand looked like it melted.

This kid seemed to have been living a relatively unassuming life up until this point, and rifling through his own pockets gave him a little bit of money, some kind of fancy phone or gadget... and some paperwork inducting him into some school.

Booker sighed. "Damned kid. I probably gotta go." he grumbled, looking to find a map he could use to find this 'Beacon Academy'. At least these cigarettes were pretty nice. The package proclaimed itself to be some kind of 'Dust'.

~Line Break~

The airship wigged him out a tad, but when he was clearly able to see he'd be dropped off on a high cliff with a building on it instead of an airborn city, he was much less pessimistic about his future prospects.

A cigarette should calm him down. He lit one up and took a deep draw.

"That's a disgusting habit." some girl said from behind him.

How familiar. Too bad he wasn't the nostalgic type. "Well, it's this or getting drunk. Still better than reading porn in public though, yeah?"

The girl didn't reply, but she did go out of her way to hide the cover of the book. Booker was honestly surprised he'd got it right. Not like he'd recognize porn from a book, but he just guessed because the cover was black and the title was discrete. Book covers were supposed to sell the story, and that one hadn't been.

"Hey, could you stop that? I don't need Ruby around that kind of crap." some blonde girl groused.

"Then it probably doesn't help to bring her closer to me, then does it?" Booker retorted.

The riveting conversation halted when a video played over the windows, announcing they'd land soon.

"Finally." Booker remarked, drawing a deep breath from the cigarette, and filling the air with noxious smoke. He walked away while the girls waved away the atmosphere he'd created.

His cigarette spent, he dropped it and crushed it under a shoe to put it out. As with the other smokes in this world, it fizzled and sparked colorfully under his boot before finally going out.

The vehicle landed smoothly, and opened up to reveal the illustrious Academy and grounds, complete with a long path towards a front door that looked to be nearly a mile away.

Booker was one of the first to depart, but anxious teenagers, as they were, mostly passed him in their haste to be on time to the introduction. He, instead, lit up another cigarette. Normally he'd be a lot more conservative with the things, as he'd never been much of a chimney before, but the smoke had a good kick, was helpful in restoring the potency to his vigors, and was easier to focus on than his own troubled memories.

Plus he'd found some kind of allowance for essential combat supplies, and he already had some limited permission to use school money or resources to keep himself topped up on the things. Real helpful to be somewhere where people had weird abilities, he couldn't help but note.

The dark haired girl from before looked at him with a scowl, before pushing her book deeper into a bag and walking more quickly away from him than she had been before.

No skin off his back. It wasn't like he wasn't obviously a grumpy guy, with his dark hair and permanent scowl... except he had some punk kid's face. Damn, it was usually the chiseled jaw with the five o'clock shadow that really sold it, and blond was the opposite of intimidating.

He probably looked like some kid who thought he was hot shit instead of actually being so.

"Whatever." he grunted. Best get used to it. Life never offered him many advantages, and it only took so many kicks in the gut while you were down before you had a backup plan.

Being a mean son of a bitch helped a lot.

An explosion rocked the ground and cleared up the silence, and he decided to check it out. Either there was some kid who was playing with bombs, something to fight, or a good range to nick stuff from.

As it turned out, as he got closer, it was actually some spoiled girl who carried volatile substances around, and seemed very upset for someone not having the grace to avoid her... large pile of belongings.

"You dolt! You need to be more careful! Dust is highly reactive! Gods, we could have blown half the school off the cliff!"

The other girl was very clearly apologetic, and he almost kept going when he realized something. Dust? Like his smokes?

This seemed to be somewhat basic knowledge, so he'd have to approach this very carefully.

He missed some of the conversation at his wonder, as well as the arrival of the dark haired girl. "She's an heiress, actually. Of the Schnee Dust Company."

The white themed girl perked up like she loved attention.

"The same SDC that is rumored to have corrupt and awful treatment of their Faunus workers."

Maybe he should keep going, this was a little dramatic for his taste.

Oh, wait, they were both leaving in opposite directions. They left that younger girl in her small crater though.

Booker debated for a few seconds on the merits of leaving, but when the girl dramatically flung her arm over her eyes, he sighed.

"You okay, kid?"

The girl moved her arm and looked at him. "Oh, uh, totally!" she said, trying to hide her emotional distress.

"Hmph." Booker obviously didn't buy it.

He offered a hand to her, and she smiled as she took it.

Then she opened her mouth, and Booker wished he hadn't bothered. The girl talked like she didn't know what peace or silence were.

He tried to walk towards the school, and she walked next to him, chatting about everything from how pretty a bird was she just saw, or how cool everyone's weapons were, or how she was accepted into the school early, and all sorts of white noise.

There was finally a break in the wall of sound, and he looked at her.

"So, uh, I have this?" she said, thankfully slower, only to pull out some kind of obscene metal package that flipped out into a giant scythe nearly instantly, and embedded a huge hole in the concrete path they were on.

"It's also a High Caliber Sniper Rifle! I call her Crescent Rose, she's my baby!" the girl said, cuddling the weapon like it was a lover.

"Huh." he replied. "Neat."

"And you? What do you have?" she asked.

Booker would've liked to have his skyhook, but it was hardly an effective weapon when it wasn't needed as a tool as well. It was the need for both that made the hook any good.

"Sword. Shield. Pistol." Booker said shortly.

She leaned down to look at the sword on his hip. "It looks old."

"Sword doesn't need to be new to work." he replied.

"Huh, I like it. A classic."

"Kids today... a sword is a sword. A gun is a gun. You should only mix your tools up if they benefit from doing more things. A knife made to fillet a fish isn't going to do well at skinning a bear, and trying to make one do both means it'll do both less well." Booker grumbled. It was something he thought of every time he saw some kid with a rifle and a bayonet.

You put a knife on your gun, and you'll think that you should rush in at some point. A bayonet is for if someone jumps you, not for trying to get close.

"So... you don't like my scythe?" she asked, sounding sad.

"If it works for you, it works. I like having my weapons do one thing, my tools do another. If you can use a weapon in two ways, then you have to think about which way you should use it. If a tool can be used as a weapon, then that's different. Like a good folding shovel."

The girl tilted her head. "Huh, that's how some of the teachers at Signal would talk, and my dad, too."

Booker just grunted, and finally lit another cigarette.