-(=RWBY=)-
Chapter 15
-(=RWBY=)-
Deciding to mull the ethics of emulating his headmaster some other time, Jaune continued his discussion with Corsac Albain all through the next hour, over the man's proposed approach to winning the coming by-election.
There were no obvious risks to Blake from the plan as described, but Jaune found himself harbouring deepening suspicions over Corsac's motivations all the same. Jaune didn't think that the revelation about Blake's history was just mere happenstance. In all probability, Corsac was hoping to get Jaune to bring the matter up with Blake – thereby conveying to her that Corsac knew her secret, and that if she didn't want it outed, she had to do him the favour of running as his candidate.
It was all a lot to process, so after Jaune concluded the meeting with Corsac, and began heading over to the hospital, he took the time to think things through.
On his way back to the train station, it began to rain.
Jaune could have taken shelter, and waited for the rain to pass, but he didn't want to be late, and so chose to forge onwards, heedless of the bad weather.
That was a decision he soon regretted, for in no time at all the drizzle became a deluge, and from the blackened heavens rain came pouring down, sheet after sheet of water pounding the ground.
And with the end of winter still weeks away, the storm was bitterly cold; it wasn't snow, nor even sleet, but all the same the temperature was but a few degrees above zero.
All this conspired to ensure that Jaune was shivering terribly, by the time he made it back to the train station.
It was to great relief when Jaune finally got to step through the station entrance, into the warm, heated air that circulated within the place.
As water continued trailing down his face, Jaune threw back the hood of his rain-drenched hoodie, and pulled off his thoroughly wet beanie. The rest of his cold, wet clothes clung to him still, but he had little choice but to soldier through. Ignoring the unpleasant way his hoodie stuck to his body, he dropped by the convenience store located at the station, to pick up a bouquet of flowers and some tuna; gifts, for whom he was visiting.
And with that out of the way, Jaune caught a train ride into town. It was a long journey, and inconvenient – not just from the stares his unconcealed face drew, but from the complicated navigation he had to undertake. The journey required first commuter rail – and a series of switches from one line to the next – before he could board a short-distance, rapid-transit line that finally brought him to his destination.
It being the commercial district, and a Saturday to boot, the train station he arrived at was crowded; and it was a packed platform and busy ticket gantry that Jaune walked through, as he tried locating the right exit.
The station was large, with multiple exits, but with the help of a series of signs, Jaune eventually managed to figure out where the exit leading to the Vale General Hospital was.
Taking that exit, he came up to street level once more. The rain had stopped, though the street was still wet, and slick, and littered with puddles all around.
Following a nearby covered walkway, Jaune began making his way onto the hospital grounds.
Everywhere, there were non-descript white buildings – par the course for hospitals, and utterly indistinguishable from each other save for the large name signs outside each.
Heart disease. Cancer. Ophthalmology. Dental.
The hospital's various specialist medical centres covered a number of areas, some less serious, others more so.
As Jaune made his way through the hospital grounds, he was overcome by a fit of morbid humour, and could not help but think –
Well, at least I'll never need to come here.
He was under no illusions about the spy business he was caught up in – this game, where all moves entailed deceit and double-dealing, and where death was the price of failing.
He stood a good chance of dying, that much he knew – but not from anything as peaceful as cancer or heart failure; his was a more violent fate, involving perhaps a blade through the heart, or a bullet to the brain.
Chuckling to himself, Jaune found his mood paradoxically improved, as he entered the lobby of the hospital's main building, and joined the queue at the front desk.
Once his turn arrived, Jaune greeted the receptionist politely,
"Hi, my name's Jaune Arc. I believe you'll have my name down as a registered visitor for a Miss Blake Belladonna."
For all his politeness, Jaune was, in quick succession, subject to surprise, then distaste, and then finally a cool, wary detachment. All this happened in the span of mere seconds, as the receptionist realized who he was, failed to control her initial reaction, before eventually putting on the mask of professionalism.
"May I have some identification, sir?"
Jaune nodded, as he called up the virtual identity card on his scroll, before sending it over to the receptionist – who then began verifying his identity and registering his visit.
Running his hand through his damp hair, Jaune patiently waited for the registration to be done; which it was, with gratifying speed.
"Thank you, sir."
The receptionist looked up from her desk-mounted scroll and – almost looking regretful that he couldn't be turned away – gave a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"You can head in. Second floor, the neurology ward, room seven. The lifts are that way."
Jaune nodded in acknowledgement, before heading in the direction the receptionist gestured towards. Tapping through the entry gantries – security being unexpectedly rigorous at this public hospital – he took one of the lifts up the second floor.
From there, Jaune began navigating his way to Blake's ward.
The corridors were wide and spacious in the hospital; all the better for gurneys and the like to be pushed around, he supposed. Walking through them for a while, Jaune then came upon an open area; to the left was the neurology wing, and to the right, there was the maternity ward.
Glancing at the latter, Jaune could not help but feel that its location was incongruous. The two wards made such a contrast – in one, people were dying; in the other, new life was getting brought into being.
Pushing these pointless thoughts aside, Jaune entered the neurology wing.
And perhaps it was the intensification of that distinctive hospital smell – that scent, of death and disinfectant – but Jaune found himself increasingly unnerved.
The prospect of dying didn't scare him; it couldn't, not after all he'd seen and done – but all the same, Jaune didn't like think too much about mortality. It reminded him of others dying, and consequently of his own failings.
Blake, in that sense, was just the latest in a long line of people he had been unsuccessful in saving. His teammate, of course, was still alive, but even so...
Jaune stopped by the reception area of the wing, and asked to be directed to room seven. The nurse was happy enough to oblige, and in short order, Jaune found himself standing in front of Blake's hospital room.
Jaune hesitated, just for a moment – before knocking lightly on the door, and pushing it open.
Blake Belladonna was sitting upright on the hospital bed, looking listlessly out of the window at a dull grey sky.
"Hey, Blake."
Jaune spoke quietly as he entered, but his words were sufficient to make Blake turn her head in surprise.
"Jaune."
The room was unbearable cold, but Jaune ignored the discomfort. Walking in, he deposited the flowers and the bag of canned tuna on a nearby table, before going over to the side of Blake's bed.
His old teammate looked gaunt and haggard; as was only to be expected, for a person who had barely escaped death not too long ago.
"I'm sorry it took so long for me to visit. No one told me you had finally woken from the coma, and I only found out yesterday."
Blake brushed off his apology with a shake of her head.
"Don't worry about it. Just tell me what happened at Rothenburg."
Rothenburg.
The word hung, heavy in the air.
What happened that fateful day made for unpleasant conversation, but Blake had – out of everyone alive – a right to know the truth, as much as was safe to share.
Dipping his head, Jaune said,
"Sure."
Pulling forward a nearby stool, he took a seat. Then, without further delay, he launched into a careful explanation of events as they had transpired.
"The Grimm attack wasn't just bad luck, Blake; it was engineered by a Grimm cultist called Hazel Rainart. Apparently, he has a grudge against Headmaster Ozpin, and is consumed by the idea of revenge against him; we got caught up in that, I think. I also suspect that Rainart helped cause the Domremy Collapse, during which my family died."
There was both dismay and sympathy in Blake's eyes, but Jaune did not dwell on them, instead continuing his account of what happened that day not so very long ago.
"For what it did, I killed Rainart. Wrecked the village in the doing, but I managed it all the same. Stabbed him right through the heart, and made him bleed to death as I watched."
It was poor consolation, whether for Blake, who had nearly died, or Pyrrha, who had – but it was all the comfort he could offer to his teammate.
Blake seemed to gladly accept it. Baring her teeth slightly, she said, sharply,
"Good."
There was real venom in her voice, and Jaune nodded in understanding. He would have hated Rainart too, in her position; there was no other emotion appropriate, against a man who had murdered your teammate and then skewered you with your own weapon."
"The village is safe. We succeeded, Blake, even if..."
He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.
Blake too, grimaced, and said that which he could not say.
"Pyrrha died. I..."
Blake faltered. Swallowing nervously, she seemed to have to push through deep unease, before saying,
"I – I'm sorry, Jaune. I couldn't do anything to help her. That huge man was so strong, it was unreal. He caught us off guard, broke Pyrrha's aura with one punch, then with the second, he put a hole in... in..."
Blake choked up, and Jaune was feeling little better himself.
"I know, Blake. You don't have talk about that if you don't want to. I was there, afterwards. I saw what Rainart did to Pyrrha. I wished so hard, then, that it was just a nightmare; I really did... but it just wasn't."
Blake shook her head. After taking a few seconds to recover some measure of composure, she replied,
"No, it's fine, I'll continue. You need to know what happened. The man punched a hole right through Pyrrha's stomach. She died instantly, I think, so at least it wasn't... it wasn't too painful."
Jaune bowed his head. It was but a small solace, that Pyrrha hadn't suffered, but he would take would take whatever consolation was proffered.
"The man came after me next. I was frozen and couldn't react, and he just smashed me into the village wall, and then pinned me to it with Miló and Gambol Shroud. All I remembered after that was pain, before passing out."
Blake described all this in a very matter-of-fact manner, belying the sheer horror of what happened.
Jaune himself could still remember, that grotesque way Blake had been skewered to the wall; and at that moment, he could almost taste, fresh on his lips, the vomit he puked up back then.
Trying to be optimistic, Jaune decided to say,
"Still, you didn't die, Blake, and that's what matters."
The reminder, that she was at least alive, did nothing to cheer Blake up. Still as despondent as ever, she stated,
"I'm alive, but everything else is..."
Her remark petered out, as if the enormity of all that was wrong could simply not be put into words.
But in the end, just as Jaune suspected, she managed to focus on the most glaring issue, by asking,
"Jaune, why are you being blamed for the Grimm cultists' attack on Rothenburg? Why is the headmaster saying you abandoned us for glory, or whatever? Nothing like that happened – you went to stop the Necrovalock, while Pyrrha and I were successfully cleaning up the Grimm. Everything was fine until Rainart ambushed us. I told the headmaster so when he visited last week, but he just didn't listen."
It was an unsurprising question for Blake to ask. She was one of the three people still alive who had first-hand experience of what went down in Rothenburg, and however compelling a yarn Ozpin spun for the general public, she was never going to swallow it.
Nonetheless, for all that Jaune appreciated Blake's righteous anger on his behalf, there was nothing good that could come of it.
Shrugging with deliberate dispassion, Jaune carefully said,
"Someone needs to take the blame for the fiasco, or people will start questioning the system, and whether the huntsmen really can protect them. And even though he's in charge of Huntsman Command, and responsible for the defence of the Kingdom against the Grimm, the headmaster was never going to admit culpability, was he? So I'm the scapegoat, I suppose."
Blake was watching him, very carefully. Her eyes never left his face even a single time, all the while she heard his explanation, and gauged his emotions.
And it was because she was paying such close attention to how he appeared to be feeling that she seemed confused.
"I don't understand, Jaune. You aren't upset? Over this? Over being expelled and getting your name dragged through the mud."
Once more, Jaune could do little but shrug.
"Of course I don't like it – but I don't have a choice. And anyway, after a lot of thinking..."
Jaune looked out the window, to glance at a sky without life or colour.
"... I figured that if Ozpin and people like him are the ones running the Kingdom, maybe I don't want to be a huntsman. Maybe I don't want to be a hero. And maybe – just maybe – the real problem is elsewhere."
Jaune sighed.
"Anyway –"
Deciding rather unsubtly to change the topic, Jaune pivoted to asking,
"– how are you? You're recovering well, I hope. No permanent injuries or anything, right?"
As he expressed his concern for her health, Blake's right hand moved, unconsciously, towards her stomach area, over the spot where she had been pierced through.
Slowly – almost uncertainly – she said,
"Ah... yes, the physical injuries are mostly gone. There's scarring, but the organ damage is healed."
Jauned nodded; he'd known the prognosis, but it was good to hear it from Blake herself, and to hear it confirmed that the healers had succeeded without too much complication.
His teammate had been lucky, there was no denying that. Healing semblances were some of the rarest ones out there, so much so that those who had them were almost as much critical national assets as the Champions themselves. People who had the power to heal others were hired at exorbitant wages by the state, and had their semblance usage subject to extremely complex industrial engineering and mathematical optimization, of the sort Jaune could barely manage to understand.
From what he knew, experts in the Ministry of Health looked at the number of remaining years patients were projected to live, as well as the probability of healing actually succeeding – so as to calculate the benefits in terms of prospective years of life saved, from dedicating healers' limited aura reserves to any one patient.
All this was necessary, because prioritization was necessary; because the healers only had so much aura available, and only so much healing they could do each day.
The upshot was that patients had to be ranked, from those with the greatest prospective number of years left to live, down to the fewest, with the healers' time and aura reserves assigned accordingly, with the highest priority being those who could have the most years of live saved.
It was all very rational, very efficient, and very utilitarian, working as it did to save as many years of lives as it was possible to save.
There was just one catch – it was discriminatory, enormously so. Faunus inevitably ended up at the bottom of the prioritization list. Being poor and discriminated against did that – you almost certainly suffered from worse health, and could be expected to die earlier anyway. Saving such a person didn't see much of a gain in terms of years of lives saved – and wasn't all that good a use of limited resources, all things considered.
In the normal course of events, Blake wouldn't have been prioritized. Even leaving aside issues of discrimination, and even though her youth meant she could potentially have many years ahead of her, she had also been near death. Even with healing, her probability of surviving was low, and any hour dedicated to healing her probably saved less prospective years of life, than if it were spent saving someone else.
That was where Ozpin came in, Jaune knew. The headmaster had pulled some strings, to ensure that the healers prioritized Blake. Jaune was not so naive as to think this was born of especial concern for his student; the headmaster just didn't want the diplomatic fallout from having the daughter of the Chieftian of Menagerie dying on his watch – nor did he want to risk Blake's death igniting yet more public criticism, over anti-faunus discrimination in the healing prioritization process.
Jaune wondered if Blake knew how she been favoured, and why – and then he figured that she didn't need to know, regardless. The last thing he wanted was to make his friend and former teammate feel guilty about her survival, especially with her already having survived when Pyrrha had died.
Instead, he asked,
"So why are you still stuck in the hospital? Do they just want to observe you for a bit more, given your week-long coma?"
Blake nodded.
"Yes, the doctors want to make sure there hasn't been brain damage or loss of mental functions, but so far I seem fine – so don't worry."
Blake's words were reassuring, and Jaune nodded in relief.
Indeed, he was put at ease sufficiently that he was in the mood for a joke –
"Ah, that's good. So no loss of taste or anything?"
Blaked looked mildly bemused at the strange specificity his query.
"No –"
"– not even your taste for tuna?"
Blake's face fell into an unimpressed flatness, which told Jaune all he needed to know about what she thought of his joke, but he felt a smile tug at his lips all the same.
And lest he forgot –
Jaune stood, heading over to the table to retrieve what he bought and brought for Blake. Proudly displaying the dozen cans of tuna he purchased, Jaune said,
"I actually did bring some canned tuna for you."
Blake's face did brighten somewhat, and she allowed,
"Fine. Leave them there; I'll have them later."
Jaune nodded, putting the cans back into the plastic bag.
Then, he settled back onto the stool; and while neither he nor Blake immediately moved to continue the conversation, the silence was far from awkward. In fact, at that moment, Jaune got the feeling of being closer than ever to Blake Belladonna.
They had never been friends per se, only teammates – especially after Blake had rejected his overtures of friendship in the library, all those months ago. Now, however, they were bound by tragedy; united, by trauma. Their mutual survival, of death and disaster, could not but bring them closer together.
And for that reason, it was a companionable silence that settled over the room – the sort comfortable with its own existence; that didn't demand filling, by either insincere pleasantries or idle chatter.
It was hence with deep reluctance that Jaune broke it, to steer the conversation into deeper, murkier waters.
"Blake."
"Mmm?"
Peeling her eyes away from the tuna, his old teammate looked back at him.
"I've actually been volunteering for the Faunus Justice Party – helping them out, for the upcoming by-election."
Blake sat forward, her interest no surprise. Without giving him time to offer elaboration of any kind, she asked, with badly-concealed curiosity,
"The FJP? Why?"
Jaune shrugged.
"Well, my current apartment is in a poor faunus-majority area within the industrial district. Living there is quite sobering. Seeing all that poverty, and all that discrimination – it makes me want to do something. So I volunteered with the FJP."
Blake looked thoughtful.
"That's... good. It's usually easier for humans to ignore how hard faunus have it. The FJP, though... they're running for that assembly seat which opened after that assemblyman got exposed for groping his staff, right?"
Blake was well-informed about politics, though Jaune shouldn't never have expected otherwise from the daughter of the Chieftain of Menagerie... and a former White Fang member.
"That's right."
Jaune nodded, in acknowledgement of Blake's words
The democratically-elected Valean Assembly and its four hundred and sixty-four members made laws for the Kingdom; they also appointed judges to interpret those laws, and selected who sat on the Council to run the government, keep order, and enforce the law.
It was that power – that opportunity, to shape legislation and policy – that the Corsac Albain and the FJP sought.
Nonetheless, Blake didn't look particularly convinced, and her face betrayed her doubt, when she pronounced –
"The FJP isn't going to win."
Jaune disagreed, and pointed out –
"But this particular district – the Vale 14th – is majority faunus."
Blake brushed the objection aside. Moving to explain, she said,
"Yes, and the faunus are pragmatic people. When all you're used to is poverty and discrimination, and all the progress you experience is slow and incremental, you just don't believe radical political parties like the FJP will be able to make the big changes they promise. You're rather go with the boring centre-left politician who doesn't promise as much but who can wheel-and-deal and has a track record of making your life better through the occasional legislation that benefits faunus."
Jaune nodded thoughtfully. Blake's words made a lot sense, and he had no doubt that her own lived experience as a faunus – as well as her intimate knowledge of what others in her community felt – informed the frank assessment was giving now.
Nonetheless, Jaune persisted.
"What if the FJP could run a very popular candidate who could overcome people's ingrained scepticism?"
Blake still looked doubtful.
"Who?"
"You."
Confusion – followed rapidly by suspicion – blossomed upon Blake's face.
Moving to get a word in before she could reject the suggestion outright, Jaune tried to explain.
"I was speaking to Corsac Albain, who's the –"
"– head of the FJP, I know."
"Right. And he's confident that they can win this by-election in the Vale 14th assembly district, if you stand as their candidate."
Blake looked utterly unenthused at that thought.
"Jaune, why would I want to do that?"
That was the question Jaune had been waiting for Blake to ask; and his answer came, swift and fast.
"Because it'll benefit your fellow faunus?"
The powerful reason, and the bluntness with which it was delivered, served to quieten his former teammate – giving Jaune the time and space to make an even stronger case, for what he was asking from Blake.
"I'm not a faunus, and I won't pretend I know what it's like. I do know, however, that as a matter of fact, your people are discriminated against – stopped by the police for no good reason; arrested at higher rates; punished harder, and sent to prison longer, compared to humans who committed the same crime."
It was the same litany of grievances Corsac had aired earlier, and Jaune listed them now, for Blake to hear.
"And part of the problem, as I'm sure you agree, is that faunus don't have much say in the way Vale is run – not just because they're a minority, but because their votes are diluted by gerrymandering. Because they're heavily packed into individual districts like the Vale 14th, where for all their numbers they have limited say. And that's why Corsac Albain and his party want to bring about electoral reform. Instead of assembly seats tied to individual districts, they want seats allocated proportionally, on the basis of how many votes a political party receives throughout a city or town – you get 70% of the votes in Vale, you get 70% of the seats; 50% of the votes, 50% of the seats; 30% in votes, 30% in seats, and so on."
Blake was listening to Jaune speak, without herself reacting. Jaune himself, meanwhile, was furrowing his brows, as he tried to remember some facts from the readings Watts had been recommending, and that he been doing, in preparation for this task.
It really was ironic – he was being made to study and understand far more complex matters now that he was expelled from Beacon, compared to back when was actually in school.
"If I recall correctly, where it's been tried, this sort proportional system has been good. Gives minorities like the faunus more political representation, which allows them to push back against discrimination and protect their own civil liberties. It also helps keep the peace – by giving the faunus a fair say in the decisions that affect them, they have less reason to resort to violence –"
"And less reason to turn to the Fang."
Blake's voice was quiet, as she made the observation that went to the heart of the issue.
"Right."
Jaune could remember Adam Taurus – his rage, his anger, all burning at an intensity that threatened to destroy both himself and others.
And as uncomfortable a fact it was to admit, Taurus's anger did not lack for justification, born as it was out of injustice and oppression. That meant preventing the sort of violence which men like Adam Taurus threatened, had a solution as simple as it was moral – which was to provide justice, after which would follow peace.
Summing up the argument he was trying to make, Jaune said to Blake,
"These reforms will leave the world a freer and more peaceful place. And isn't that worth fighting for, Blake?"
His former teammate looked conflicted. Her eyes were narrowed, and her forehead drawn into a frown, as she seemed to struggle over his words.
In the end, after much indecision, she settled on saying,
"There are different ways of making the world a better place. For me, that's being a huntress, and protecting innocent people from the Grimm."
Jaune had to a hide a grimace upon hearing that.
And the first thing he thought, then, but did not say, was –
And how's that working out for us, Blake? Weiss is now working for a father she hates; I'm expelled; you're in a hospital bed; and Pyrrha is dead.
Still, Jaune knew better than to slip into such corrosive cynicism, which ultimately did no good and helped no one. Almost feeling distaste against himself, for being tempted to say such cruel words to a friend, Jaune instead countered Blake's argument with –
"The huntsman corps is the biggest it's ever been, and far from shorthanded. There are more than enough huntsmen and huntresses to defend the world's cities and towns and villages. And while it's always good to have more people capable of fighting the Grimm, they aren't really necessary. Once the few kilometers around a settlement are cleared of any Grimm, and the nearest monsters are too far away to sense people's negative emotions and be drawn in, adding more huntsmen to the local garrison really doesn't make the population centre much safer. Unless you're a Champion or at least an elite huntsman, you're not making much of a difference."
All this, Jaune felt, constituted a fairly banal observation, and smart as Blake was, she couldn't fail to not see it too.
However, as he finished speaking, Jaune found Blake strongly displeased, and with a harsh frown to show for it.
"Jaune, enough. This is my life, not yours, and what I do isn't up to you to decide."
Blake was blunt, and almost curt to the point of cutting.
Jaune wasn't offended, however. He knew, that beneath the steely words, and all that admirable determination, it was an altogether different emotion motivating Blake's rejection –
Fear. Fear of her past. Fear, of it coming out were she to become a public figure.
Jaune was at an impasse.
He couldn't overcome raw fear by mere logic and reason –
– and so, he reached for a darker solution.
His heart wasn't in it, but his mind saw the bright, clear line from where he was to where he needed to be.
It all came back to the fact that had to complete this task, if he wanted to gain Salem's trust. And, as far as Jaune could tell, Blake herself would come to no harm. through her participation in Corsac's scheme. But above all, even if Jaune didn't go through with this, Corsac Albain or even Watts himself would do so, and Blake would be left without choice regardless; hence, it was better that Jaune handle things, and at least put his friend's mind to ease.
Grimacing slightly, Jaune took out his scroll. For what came next, he needed it.
Some secrets were too perilous to speak aloud; too dangerous, to say when others could be near, and when the walls could well have ears.
His fingers danced across his scroll, as Jaune typed out a quick note on his device's text editor. Then, he brought the scroll up, so Blake could see what he had written.
[Corsac Albain knows you used to be in the White Fang.]
Blake's amber eyes widened in shock – before the fear took over, and her hands gripped her bed's blankets, so tight her knuckles turned white.
"No! I – how –"
Whatever doubts Jaune might have had, over whether Corsac Albrain was telling the truth about Blake's being in the Fang, they were eliminated now. Blake's guilt was so painfully clear; her reaction betrayed her, for such panic and alarm would – in the innocent – have been quite inexplicable.
Even as Jaune proceeded to discard the unsaved text – leaving no evidence it was ever written – Blake began looking around wildly, as if looking for an exit, and for a way out.
There was, however, no escaping the past.
"Blake. Calm down. I have a plan."
She spun her head back to look at him, and like a drowning person grasping the single rope thrown to her, she seized his offer of hope, and demanded,
"What do you mean?"
With a slow, deliberate calmness, Jaune began to explain.
"I understand your trepidation with helping out the FJP. You're afraid that the secret –"
The ambiguous phrasing denied any eavesdroppers the chance of learning the truth, even as both he and Blake were perfectly aware of what was being alluded to.
"– will be revealed by the White Fang, yes?"
Blake nodded, shakily.
It was a perfectly reasonable fear, that as retaliation for her defection, the Fang would tell the world of her past involvement with them – which would not just torpedo her political campaign, but leave her at risk of arrest and imprisonment.
"I discussed this with Corsac Albain. He's of the opinion – and I agree – that Sienna Khan is a politician at heart. She believes that violence is required to advance the cause of faunus equality – but she also understands that peaceful politics is necessary. The entire point of the White Fang's violence isn't just to directly stop the terrible abuse of faunus in certain Atlesian and Mistralian dust mines, but to more broadly intimidate the human Kingdoms, so they undertake the sort of political reform that will guarantee equal rights for faunus. But that sort of peaceful reform needs to be articulated and advocated by faunus politicians within democratic politics itself – so that humans are presented with a better alternative to just doubling down on violently suppressing the White Fang rebellion.
"And that's why Sienna Khan isn't going to just reveal the secret and sabotage the political campaigns being conducted by peaceful faunus politicians. To succeed in her aims, she needs people like you and Corsac Albain to be a friendly face for the faunus, and to propose reforms that look like a very reasonable price to pay, to undercut the Fang's support amongst the faunus."
By this point, Blake looked to have calmed down a bit, even if she didn't look too convinced by his words.
The next part of Jaune's argument, however, would sway her – that much Jaune was certain of.
"But really, it's not Sienna Khan you have to worry about – it's Corsac Albain."
Whatever calm Blake looked to have regained vanished then, as Jaune's words hit home, and as she was reminded that Corsac Albain was all but blackmailing her.
Pressing on, Jaune said,
"So here's my suggestion – help Corsac. Run as the FJP candidate, and win. And then what can he do to you? Reveal the secret and blow up his own party's credibility? They'll never recover, from... well, you know."
From having it revealed that their own assemblywoman was a former White Fang member – that was the part Jaune left unsaid.
Blake, however, knew exactly what he was talking about; and her eyes widened, in both understanding and hope. Relief colouring her voice, she said,
"And they can't use that as blackmail anymore!"
"Exactly."
It was a beautiful plan; and Jaune was quite pleased at himself, to have thought of it – of binding the FJP's reputation so close to Blake's own that Corsac's blackmail became worthless; like a gun pointed at his own head just as much as her's.
Seeking to wrap things up, Jaune asked Blake,
"So, do you agree to run as the FJP's candidate?"
Blake hesitated, but swallowed whatever remaining reservations she had, and made her commitment with –
"Yes. Yes, let's do this."
That was Blake's agreement secured, and Jaune hated to admit, he was good at this. It was, perhaps, no coincidence, that it was not his skill with the sword but his intelligence and political acumen, that had persuaded the headmaster to let him into Beacon.
From the corner of his eye, Jaune caught sight of Gambol Shroud, propped up against the wall, and well within easy reach of Blake.
The presence of his teammate's weapon reminded him of the absence of his own – a sign of the times, where he had to do his fighting with wit and words, rather than with steel and sword.
It was unusual, but not unpleasant, and Jaune did not know if it was optimism or pessimism that made him realize –
Compared to combat, politicking is paradise; because when I manipulate and lie, at least no one dies.
-(=RWBY=)-