-(=RWBY=)-
Chapter 17
-(=RWBY=)-
The remainder of the Polendina lecture Jaune spent in brooding silence. Penny herself was subdued, her usual cheer nowhere in evidence; instead, she seemed deep in troubled thought. Jaune left her to her ruminations, caught up as he was with dwelling unhealthily on Domremy, and on the past more generally.
He didn't pay too much attention to the latter half of Professor Polendina's lecture, which covered the technical and scientific aspects of the Atlesian cybernetics programme.
It all passed in a blur, and when the lecture finally came to an end, Jaune found himself bidding Penny goodbye in a rather melancholic mood. They traded contact details, and Penny extracted a promise from him to keep in touch, but otherwise, Jaune left the college in a manner not too dissimilar from how he had arrived – alone, and with no one with whom to speak his mind.
Making his way over to the nearby train station, and catching the commuter rail back into the industrial district, Jaune headed to his next destination for the day.
The train journey itself went by in silence, and soon enough Jaune was walking past factories and heavy vehicle parking lots, as he made his way over to Junior's club on Sandflower Road.
The Pub and Club looked the same as ever, one big warehouse amongst many others.
With it still being early in the day, the first floor – and the nightclub it hosted – was closed. The pub on the second level, however, was open for business; with a quick detour down the nearby alley, Jaune then scaled a steel flight of stairs attached to the side of the warehouse, and pushed his way through the secondary entrance to Junior's establishment.
One of Junior's men was standing guard, and Jaune offered a nod in passing, as he headed into the pub itself.
The place was traditional in design, its darker ambience, wooden furniture and cozy cubicles all standing in marked contract to the glitz and glamour of the nightclub below.
Junior himself was tending the bar, as was his custom when his busy schedule permitted it. Jaune suspected that the man found the bartending a welcome break from the stressful work of running a gang and its business empire.
Jaune made his way to the dimly-lit bar, speaking as he did.
"Junior."
"Arc. Here to mooch on my food again?"
"Oh yes."
Despite his words, Junior's tone was amiable. He and Jaune got along well enough, and their arrangement – where Jaune provided protection against the other gangs, and Junior supplied information and resources in support of Jaune's more illicit activities – was a mutually beneficial one.
There was also the perk where Jaune also got to wine and dine on the house at The Pub and Club, so all things considered he had little to complain about.
As Junior poured out two glasses of Mistralian whiskey, the bear of a man continued the conversation.
"You wanted to use one of my meeting rooms. Room four of the third floor is free this afternoon."
Jaune nodded in acknowledgement.
"Thanks. And how's business, Junior? No trouble?"
Junior did not answer immediately, instead pushing one generously filled glass of whiskey over the bar countertop. Jaune picked it up, and Junior did the same with the glass he had poured for himself, before the two enjoyed a draught of fine Mistralian whiskey.
Only after that did Junior reply – slowly, deliberately –
"Business's good. No trouble, no... problems. Things are quiet, peaceful."
Jaune nodded, satisfied. The subtext would have been missed by anyone unfamiliar with Junior's role in the criminal underworld, but both Jaune and Junior knew very well what the other was talking about. Jaune wanted to know if his public association with Junior's Axe Gang had helped intimidate the rival gangs into ceasing their violent incursions into Junior's turf, and the man himself had confirmed as much.
That was only one side of the equation, however –
"And your boys, Junior? No trouble from them either, I expect?"
"No."
Junior smiled grimly.
"They've seen the video of you fighting Neo. Beheading her. Heard the rumours of you doing Hazel Rainart in, too. My boys know that if they act up, there's nothing stopping you from doing the same to them."
Jaune nodded agreeably, before draining the rest of his drink.
"Very good. Well, do tell me if any of your... business rivals... are expanding their market share. I'll be more than happy to see to it that things don't get too ugly."
The euphemisms got the point across, and Junior nodded his understanding.
That concluded any business Jaune had with the man, and so –
"Talk to you later, Junior."
"Mmm."
Jaune left the bar, to wind his way through the various sturdy oaken tables, and reach a cubicle at the back of the pub.
Settling into the comfortable upholstery of the private booth, Jaune immediately began calling over the waitress, so as to order his lunch.
He got the house special – fish pie – while deciding against another whiskey. He generally tried to limit his drinking to only a few days a week, and in any case wanted his mind clear, for when he video-called Weiss later. They had so many things to catch up on, and so much business to talk; the last thing he needed was to be lectured by her on his drinking habit.
Idly glancing around the bar, Jaune was half amused and half disturbed to realize that the other patrons had none of his moderation, and little of his discipline – for almost all of them were drinking, heavily, with a good few were already deep in their cups.
Men and women, faunus and human, huntsmen and civilian – there were all sorts drowning their sorrows in Junior's pub. Some were young and some were old – the former failing to realize that they were ruining their lives; the latter knowing that all too well, but having sunk too deep into despair to still even care.
It was disquieting, and Jaune silently resolved to never end up like them – or like Qrow, for that matter. Drinking was pleasant, and a convenient way of alleviating his frustrations and boredom – which was fine, if done if moderation; otherwise...
Jaune watched a man pass out on his table, and another nearly tip his glass over in a failed and drunken attempt to grab it.
... otherwise, that.
Having had enough of the dispiriting sight, Jaune turned his attention away from the sorry state of the pub's clientele.
Instead, he began absent-mindedly surfing the web on his scroll, all the while thinking about how to approach the coming conversation with Weiss.
He had contacted her, and set up a meeting between them, after Watts had given him the task of persuading Jacques Schnee to fund the Faunus Justice Party's electoral campaign.
Of course, the first step towards that end was persuading Weiss herself, so that she would be willing to introduce Blake and him to her father, and to help them convince him to agree to their request. Admittedly, it would not be easy to persuade Weiss of the merits of helping the Faunus Justice Party – but Jaune was optimistic. There were good, impartial reasons to assist the FJP in achieving their aims – reasons related to freedom and fairness and the common good; reasons that Weiss was too clever not to recognize.
Of course, she hated the White Fang, and Blake's past vastly complicated things, but Jaune thought he could finesse events his way.
And at the end of the day, all the compelling logical arguments Jaune could muster didn't truly matter; nor did Weiss's personal history really threaten to become an obstacle – for the decisive consideration in all this was the brute fact that he needed to complete this task for Watts, so as to work his way into Salem's trust.
This was something he had not been – and would not be – able to explicitly tell Weiss. Whether they were messaging each other or speaking via a video call, there was too high a risk of their electronic conversations being monitored, especially given Watt's incomparable hacking abilities.
Jaune would have to pull out the euphemisms, and rely heavily on insinuations and implications, to get the point across to Weiss later, that he needed her help in this.
And in truth –
Not saying what we mean, and being dishonest about feelings... that has defined our relationship, hasn't it?
Jaune suppressed a rueful, self-depreciating grin. He could still remember that last day he had managed to spend with Weiss at Beacon, before she had to fly off to Atlas. He could remember his half-assed, equivocal confession; Weiss's own ambiguous reply; and them finally agreeing to go travelling after all this blew over.
Even now, Jaune could recall how Weiss passionately described a particular location in Atlas she wanted them to visit.
"In Atlas, there is this place in the mountains, a week's journey from the city proper. There, a river falls from the peaks down into the vast lake beneath, and in winter that river freezes. That frozen waterfall is the most beautiful thing in the world. I'll like you to see that, one day."
The mere thought of a vacation with Weiss brought a smile to lips, and lifted his spirits considerably.
It was hence with good cheer that he thanked the waitress, when she eventually came over to serve his meal.
Digging into his lunch, Jaune savoured the crunchy pie crust, and the rich, thick white sauce, and all the succulent seafood, from the cod and salmon, to the haddock and prawns.
He continued idly browsing the web on his scroll, and reading the news – but nothing was particularly interesting, save for the announcement of an upcoming summit discussing the future of Mistral. There was talk of greater federalization, and more autonomy to the Mistralian provinces – and it didn't take a genius to realize that the Mistralian Council was in a panic about Raven Branwen. They wanted to appease the restive backwater regions, especially the faunus-majority ones, for fear that they would simply throw their lot in with Raven Branwen and the de facto kingdom she was building.
As Jaune mused about the Mistralian Council's gambit, however, a woman walked into a pub, her scarred face dismayingly familiar.
Jaune felt disquiet settle over him as he realized that it was one of the huntresses he had attacked during the White Fang's raid on the airbase – specifically, the rapier-wielder who was leader to the team he had fought on roof
Jaune was glad to see she was up and about – clearly, her broken arms and leg had been healed – but all the same, he felt some consternation, at the possibility that she could recognize him in turn, as the man who attacked her team that night.
Jaune didn't think it likely; he had neither shown his face nor spoken aloud to his victims that night, and it was notoriously difficult to identify people by aura. Recognizing a specific aura signature as belonging to a particular person required spending a lot of time in close proximity to that person, and with one's own aura active and engaged no less. In practice, that meant huntsman could really only pick out the unique aura signatures of their teammates. Jaune himself could only identify Weiss and Blake by their aura – and perhaps also some of his other first year Beacon schoolmates – but that was it.
Still, just to be safe, Jaune wolfed down the rest of his fish pie, threw Junior a parting nod of acknowledgement, and then made a beeline for the stairs at the back of the pub.
It didn't escape his attention, however, that the huntress looked over at him as he began descending the stairs, and that her eyes lingered on him for longer than was strictly normal.
Jaune suppressed his doubts; she was probably only recognizing him – Jaune Arc – as the disgraced former trainee huntsman whose glory-hunting ways had gotten his teammate killed during the Rothenburg attack.
Making his way down the stairs, Jaune caught a glimpse of the darkened nightclub on the first floor, before continuing his descent, to arrive at the basement of The Pub and Club.
The converted warehouse which housed Junior's establishment had an underground floor – a drab, dreary place that was all gray concrete and non-descript doors. Junior kept his stores here, and as Jaune strode through the long corridor leading deeper into the basement, he passed both the food-filled pantry and the wine-stocked cellar.
The warehouse was a large place, and so was its basement. One whole section had been turned into a gym, allowing Junior's men to work out, and to receive some rudimentary but regular combat training. Jaune himself was a regular visitor here; it beat having to pay for a commercial gym membership, or having to train while the stares of the other gym-goers burnt a hole into the back of his head.
Right now, however, Jaune was not looking to practise his sword techniques, nor to lift weights or do agility drills. Walking right past the underground gym – from where he could hear the grunts and chatter of Junior's men – Jaune headed right to the back of the basement.
The room he was looking for was right at the end of the corridor, with a thick, almost vault-like metal door providing the only way in or out.
Pulling the door open, Jaune entered the airless, empty room.
There was nothing within the chamber – literally, nothing – beyond the four gray walls, a gray ceiling, and a gray floor, the last of which was inlaid with the irregular whorls born of the careless settling of concrete.
The chamber was, in short, the perfect place for Jaune to practise his semblance, without having to fear setting everything in the vicinity afire, or to risk murdering bystanders just through the radiant heat his flames emitted.
Coming to a standstill in the middle of the empty room, Jaune took a deep breath.
Bringing up both his hands, he held them out in front of his chest, as if they were grasping an imaginary sphere.
Then, he called the fire –
– and the fire came, a ball of white hot flames blazing into existence.
Jaune concentrated on making it burn even fiercer, even hotter, and more intensely than ever.
Given his semblance's intrinsic weakness – where any use of it, great or small, drew down a significant portion of his aura reserves – Jaune needed to maximize the effectiveness of each individual instance of usage. That meant generating sufficiently intense flames that could burn right through any defence, and vaporize just about any attack.
Fiercer. Fiercer. Fiercer.
The miniature sun raged within his palms, the heat it was radiating so utterly intense that –
! ! !
His aura sense screamed a warning, and Jaune's neck prickled, in that telltale sign of dawning danger.
Without hesitation, Jaune dismissed his semblance. His flames disappeared in an instance; snuffed out, like a candle in the wind.
It was just in time, too, as the scarred huntress from earlier stomped into the room, naked rapier in hand.
"Arc! You..."
Her speech was slurred, her gait unsteady. The woman was drunk – that much was clear. Equally apparent, too, was the fact that she was spoiling for trouble. Aura senses did not lie – if they warned that someone was intending you harm, and that there was a threat, then you were under attack.
Jaune himself was unarmed; but for all that, he was unafraid. Even without his sword in hand, his physical abilities were far beyond the woman's own, and the day he feared losing to such an unexceptional opponent was the day he hung up his blade and became a farmer, like his ancestors had been before Jeanne d'Arc decided she preferred killing to tilling, and heroism to harvesting.
Instead of feeling fear, therefore, Jaune was busy cursing his own carelessness. It was the height of stupidity and negligence, to have failed to lock the door. Had the huntress seen his semblance, she could easily have realized that Jaune was the mysterious assailant aiding the Fang at the airbase that night. After all, Jaune had used both his sword and his semblance during the attack, and it was no great leap of logic to infer that the attacker was one and the same person as the disgraced former trainee huntsman with pyrokinesis for a semblance and a sword as his main weapon.
As it was, the woman already seemed to suspect him, and Jaune was starting to worry that he was going to need to take some very extreme measures to keep his secret safe.
Still, best not to jump to conclusions.
Ignoring the naked steel being brandished about by the huntress, Jaune asked, bluntly,
"What do you want?"
The question seemed to only infuriate the woman even more; with her eyes narrowed to flints and her mouth bared into a snarl, she snapped,
"You fucking traitor. Why are you helping the White Fang?"
Jaune tensed.
"They can't beat us humans in an honest fight, so they turn to politics instead – and you're helping them; helping these animals seize power so they can stab us huntsmen in the back!"
Ah.
Despite the diatribe directed straight into his face, Jaune relaxed.
The woman, meanwhile, continued her rant.
"Don't deny it! It's been all over the grapevine! The faunus terrorists are trying to win that election, and you're helping them."
Jaune could not help but smile, as he let both his relief and contempt show.
He had feared the worst, initially; he had thought that the woman had put two and two together, and had come here to confront him, over his role in the airbase raid.
But now, Jaune saw that it was not knowledge, but ignorance, that had brought the huntress here. The woman's unadulterated bigotry, and her hatred for the faunus – it was those that had compelled her to challenge him.
Sharply, Jaune retorted,
"The Faunus Justice Party isn't the White Fang. And if you can't tell the difference between the two, then maybe you're a massive racist who are causing the very problem you say you hate – faunus resorting to violence instead of peaceful methods of change."
The woman's face reddened even further.
"You piece of shit. How dare you make excuses for the faunus? We're the good guys; they're the terrorists. Just two weeks ago, Adam Taurus and his bunch of pscyhos attacked the airbase my team was guarding! They crippled everyone, broke arms and legs, like, like..."
The woman choked up, her outrage leaving her unable to put thought to words.
Jaune's jaw tightened, as the woman unwittingly threw his crimes into his face.
He knew that what he had done was for the best, but all the same he felt some regret – not about his actions per se, so over necessity of them.
Still, the knowledge that he was responsible for the severe injuries of the various soldiers and huntsmen moved him to adopt a more conciliatory tone.
"I heard about the attack. I'm sorry to what happened to you and your team. But not every faunus is White Fang. You can't blame a whole race of people just for the crimes of a few –"
The huntress didn't even let him finish his sentence.
"Of course I'll blame the whole lot of them! Where do you think the White Fang gets its support from? And they have the nerve to claim they're discriminated against? My teammates are lying in crippled in Vale General right now, because there aren't enough healers; and I know from the hospital doctors that this is because that Belladonna bitch – your teammate – got special treatment. Vale's best healers, a whole team of them, burnt three full days on her, leaving a huge backlog of patients. And what about my team? Why do they have to wait, and she doesn't?"
Jaune grimaced.
He was glad that Blake was alive and well, but there was no denying that Ozpin's intervention had come at a cost. The triage system existed for a reason, to allocate limited healing resources to the best uses; and when healers were pulled away to cure one person, that meant another going unhealed. That Blake did not, strictly speaking, deserve high prioritization, only rubbed salt in the wounds of those who got the short end of the stick. With her near fatal injuries leaving only a low chance of survival even with healing, Blake needed a disproportionate amount of resources to be saved – resources that would almost certainly have been better spent saving a greater number of other people.
Had Blake been anyone other than the daughter of the Chieftain of Menagerie, she would have been left to die – of that, Jaune had no doubt.
To the angry huntress, Jaune sought to gently explain matters.
"Don't blame Blake. She didn't ask for special treatment. It just happens that she's the daughter of the Chieftain of Menagerie, and either Ozpin or the Council decided they didn't want to risk any conflict over –"
The huntress interrupted Jaune once more, her voice cutting through the air harshly.
"Fuck Menagerie. Fuck the animals. I hope they all die."
Whatever sympathy Jaune had for the huntress dissipated, the slur and the hatred instead deepening his distaste of this woman who could only be described as a raging bigot.
Continuing her rant unabated, and lacking even the slightest sense of shame or reserve, she said,
"Those animals have been killing us humans for ages. My father and grandfather both died in the Faunus War, murdered by those animals at the Battle of Fort Castle. If only the cowardly politicians hadn't lost their nerve after Lagune shit the bed, we could have won, and killed them all. If Ghira Belladonna wants to make a fuss over his daughter dying, and if he wants conflict, then bring it. We can put him and his little zoo in their place –"
"Enough."
Jaune's quiet voice rang out, to stop the huntress's utterly unhinged ravings before they could go even further.
"Spew your hatred elsewhere. But do it in front of me any longer, and I will rearrange your face with my fist."
The threat unnerved the woman, but only for a moment; her face soon settled into a sneer, and she jeered,
"Try that, and I'll skewer you like a pig. You're not the one in control here."
In the blink of an eye, Jaune was seizing the huntress by the forearms, his hands pressing down upon her flesh, at the exact spots where, two weeks ago, he had shattered the bones in both her right arm and her left.
She gasped in pain, the force Jaune was exerting upon her recently healed injury forcing her to drop her rapier, and to almost collapse to her knees.
Jaune gave it another second, and then let go, even as he brought his right foot forward to step on the fallen blade.
"Leave. If you want your weapon back, leave your address with the bartender and I'll get them to post it back to you."
Even as she staggered back, cradling her trembling arms, the woman shot him a look of pure venom.
"This isn't over, Arc. Watch your back."
With that parting threat, she then stumbled out of the room.
Jaune released a sigh.
This was another enemy he didn't need; but perhaps it was an enemy he wanted. The amount of hatred the huntress held, against faunuskind – it was staggering, and Jaune was half-certain that the woman was one mental break away from just going around to beat up random faunus.
She was nothing more than the other side of the coin to Adam Taurus; both were fools blinded by their hatred, and who could only see others as members of a group and not as individuals.
Well, not much I can do about that.
With a shake of his head, Jaune turned his focus back onto his semblance training.
After making sure that the door was locked properly – unlike the first time around – Jaune proceeded with his training, and with trying to get his flames to as great a temperature as possible.
With how aura-intensive his semblance was, Jaune could not maintain the intense flames for more than a minute at a time. Even with generous breaks in between attempts, the whole training session ended up taking less than half an hour –
– which was right on time, as his scroll beeped to warn him that it was ten minutes to one.
Picking up the huntress's rapier, Jaune made his way out of the basement, and back onto the second floor of the warehouse where the pub was. After depositing the sword with a bemused Junior, Jaune then climbed his way to the third and final floor.
He had been here before a fair number of times, for when he needed to talk business with Junior in private. Using his decent familiarity of the layout of the place, Jaune made his way over to meeting room four.
It was a small room, with a table capable of seating perhaps eight. Shutting the door and locking it for good measure, Jaune then settled down on a chair at the head of the table, right across the large display terminal mounted on the wall at the front of the room
He could have done the whole video call from his own rundown apartment, but he preferred speaking to a full-sized image of Weiss, compared to hunching over his scroll and squinting at a thumbnail.
Linking his scroll to the display terminal, Jaune then opened up the integrated messaging app on his scroll, before instantiating a video call with Weiss –
– which was accepted virtually immediately, as Weiss appeared on the screen.
With her hair white as winter snow, and the furious scar over her eye leaving her imperfect and flawed and exquisite all the more, Weiss Schnee looked as beautiful as ever.
At the same time, there was a tension around her eyes, and a tightness to her shoulders, that Jaune was not used to seeing in her.
Softly, Jaune said,
"Hey, Weiss."
Her blue eyes met his.
"Jaune."
Business, and the affairs of state, could all wait. Instead, Jaune inquired,
"How have you been?"
She seemed to give his question some consideration, before taking a deep breath, and then exhaling.
"I've been better. Work has been exceedingly busy, and my father... is not easy to work with."
"Ah. That bad?"
"As bad as ever. He's unreasonable, dishonest, hypocritical, rude and dictatorial."
Weiss's voice got progressively tighter and tighter the longer she spoke, and the more she held forth on her father's appalling behaviour and utter lack of character.
Jaune was not unfamiliar with the matter, Weiss having spoken about why she had left Atlas in the first place; but the intensity of the abhorrence she now evinced towards her father was on another level altogether.
Quietly, Jaune offered,
"I'm sorry to hear that, I really am."
Then, to break the tension, he added,
"Sounds difficult, working with people who are unreasonable, rude, and dictatorial. Unless of course, they're a pretty girl, in which case it's weirdly endearing – as I know all too well, isn't that right, princess?"
His words caught her off-guard, and it took a second for them to truly register.
When they did, Weiss looked torn, between outrage and amusement; shaking her head,
"As much an ass as ever I see, Arc –"
Her face then settled into a more serious aspect.
"– but it's good to see you again, truly. How have you been, yourself?"
Jaune gave an ambivalent shrug.
"The whole of Vale hates me, which isn't great, but whatever – being disliked isn't the end of the world."
"That's good to hear."
Weiss seemed pleased that he wasn't getting too bothered by the public censure; Jaune, meanwhile, moved to speak again –
– before hesitating. It was a sensitive topic to bring up now...
... but he needed to be certain.
Speaking up, he asked,
"And how are you holding up over Pyrrha's death, Weiss?
Confusion flittered across his friend's face, as she tilted her head to the side and pursued her lips.
"A strange matter to bring up, Jaune. I am... fine? Pyrrha's death was tragic and terrible, and I grieve for her. However, dwelling on her passing will not bring her back to life. It is better that we look to the future, and devote our efforts on making the world better."
Jaune took in Weiss's words in silence, his eyes never leaving hers.
He himself was uncertain as to how to proceed.
The view Weiss was expressing was deeply reasonable, and highly mature –
– but knowing that it was irrational to wallow in grief was very different from actually being able avoid it.
Jaune could do just that, easily; his life had been so full of death and tragedy that he was used to it all by now. He was an old hand at mastering his grief, and at turning it to something productive.
Weiss, however... by all accounts, she ought to have been badly despondent, at best, and emotionally traumatized, at worst. She had, after all, just experienced the brutal death of a friend and teammate; and it was only human to be scarred by that, and to have one's mind return – obsessively, constantly, inescapably – to that which caused one such great distress.
"Weiss, if you feel the need to talk about Pyrrha, or anything else at all, I'm here for you."
Despite the sincerity of his offer, Weiss squinted at him, her eyes betraying a potent mix of suspicion and worry.
"Thank you for your concern, Jaune, but I genuinely don't require your help or anyone else's on that front. Though I cannot help but wonder..."
It was now Weiss's turn to hesitate, until she summoned the resolve to push through, and say,
"... why are you asking this, Jaune? Are you yourself struggling to come to terms with your partner's death?"
Jaune shook his head.
"No. You know what happened at Domremy –"
Most of it, at least.
"– and you know I'm no stranger to the deaths of people close to me. For better or for worse, I'm quite good at managing grief by now. But for you... it's just that I thought you might have a harder time, being unused to –"
"Jaune –"
Weiss interrupted him, one eyebrow raised in scepticism.
"– what makes you think my childhood left me unfamiliar with death?"
That stopped Jaune short.
He got a sense of where Weiss was coming from, and what she was referring to – the White Fang's attacks against the SDC had been brutal, and growing up in such a climate of fear would well have accustomed her to the reality that was human mortality.
Nodding slowly, he said,
"I understand."
When no further response from Weiss was forthcoming, Jaune got the hint, that she wasn't interested in sharing more about the matter at hand – a choice Jaune respected. Everyone had secrets, not least him.
Deciding to shift the conversation away from the personal, and towards business, Jaune asked,
"Anyway, how has your work been progressing? Do you expect to make substantial headway on reforming the SDC?"
The question prompted Weiss to smile, mild amusement bringing a gentle curl to her lips.
"Jaune, it's been two weeks. How much progress could I have made? My father has appointed me an advisor in the CEO's office, so I can watch how he runs the company and prepare how to do the same in time. This position gives me some influence – but I don't have enough real power to force through reforms, and that's not going to change any time soon. It'll take years for me to prove myself, and to show that I'm smart and capable and ruthless enough to be trusted with greater power and responsibility. Then, only then, can we talk about change."
Jaune nodded in understanding; and then, cautiously, he segued into asking,
"But you do agree that the SDC needs to change, right?"
Weiss had long been in denial about the violence and virtual slavery happening in some of the Schnee camps – and it took Ozpin himself bluntly telling her that it was all true, for her to start accepting reality.
Just as the headmaster had given Jaune a mission, so too had he assigned one to Weiss. And whilst Jaune's was by far more consequential – as the fate of the world rested on his getting into Salem's inner circle – Weiss herself was burdened with grave purpose. She needed to gain sufficient power within the SDC, so that she could reform its abusive labour practices, and remove one of the chief reasons that faunus supported the White Fang.
Weiss took some time to consider his carefully-worded question; and it was only after long seconds that she finally allowed, grudgingly,
"Yes, of course. While I do not believe the abuse is as endemic as the Liberty International reports and muckraking newspapers make it out to be, it definitely does exist, and must be stopped."
Jaune nodded, reassured. Unseemly as her hedging was, and hesitant as she was being, at least she accepted the existence of the problem – a far cry and vast improvement from her early days at Beacon, when she would hotly deny that faunus were being at all mistreated in the Schnee camps.
Again choosing his next words with care, Jaune put forth –
"Yes, all those beatings and rape and mutilation are terrible. But admittedly, most faunus face an altogether more mundane sort of discrimination, right? Random stops and shootings by the police, high arrest rates, more severe punishments than what's meted out for humans.
Weiss nodded, vigorously.
"They do! And yet these matters aren't as widely discussed – because the press and the people prefer the sensationalism about the SDC."
Jaune smiled; this was what he had been working up towards, and he was not disappointed.
Before bringing up the Faunus Justice Party and their electoral campaign, Jaune wanted the very discrimination they were fighting against fresh in Weiss's mind. And to the extent that the existence of such injustice made the Schnees look better – by giving them companions in guilt – Weiss was all the more inclined to agree that this sort of discrimination was a problem, and stood in need of solving.
And so now, Jaune brought the conversation to the very thing that had made him call this meeting.
"I'm glad you agree that this sort of discrimination is serious; I think so too. That's why I recently volunteered with the Faunus Justice Party, to serve as an informal advisor for the upcoming by-election in the Vale 14th district. The FJP is keenly aware of the injustice they face – the arbitrary stops, the endless arrests, the disproportionate imprisonment – and are looking to change all that, through peaceful political participation; and all this despite gerrymandering and the whole electoral system being rigged against them.
"That said, the FJP is desperately needs funding with which to run their campaign. And that's why I would really appreciate it if you could set up a meeting with your father for me, so I can pitch him the idea of supporting the FJP."
Weiss's eyes had narrowed the moment he first mentioned the FJP; and the initial creasing of her brow only deepened into a full blown frown, as he finished his brief by asking for campaign funding.
Sharply, she asked,
"And you are certain that this crowd you've fallen in with, this Faunus Justice Party, is free of White Fang sympathizers? And that the candidate they seek to field does not secretly approve of terrorism?"
"The candidate is Blake."
To say that Weiss was surprised would have been an understatement; incredulity blossomed on her face, her mouth falling open and her eyebrows racing up to meet her hair.
"What? That's..."
Weiss trailed off. Then, despite her initial exclamation of surprise, a thoughtful look began to overtake her face.
"... that's perhaps not too surprising, come to think of it... Her father is a politician, and I suppose it's not strange that Blake would similarly choose to go into politics and peacefully promote the interests of her people. Yes..."
Weiss seemed altogether more relaxed now.
"... yes, if Blake is involved I don't see..."
"Blake was once a member of the White Fang."
Jaune delivered the bombshell bluntly.
"What?"
If Weiss had been surprised before, she was disbelieving now.
"If this is a joke, Jaune, it isn't funny. Or do you mean she was a member of the White Fang when it was under Ghira Belladonna and still peaceful –"
"No."
Jaune shook his head, and moved to extinguish that misconception.
"I mean that Blake was literally part of Sienna Khan's militant White Fang until last year."
Horror twisted Weiss's face; and then the rage took over, cold and thrumming.
Her eyes hard, and her tone harsh, she demanded,
"If that's true, why are you asking me to help?"
Jaune exhaled, and ran a hand through his head in agitation.
He was telling Weiss the truth about Blake, not just because Weiss deserved to know, but because it could well come out further down the line, and the repercussions of concealing such a thing...
... it would have been ugly, and would have threatened the success of the campaign, to say nothing of their personal relationship.
Weiss needed to hear this now, and from him.
Doesn't make it any easier, though.
Slowly, and picking his words with the greatest of care, Jaune said,
"I understand that you're angry but –"
He never had the chance to finish, for the next moment, Weiss's self-control disintegrated, and she herself exploded.
"I can't believe you're asking me to help a terrorist! And Blake! She's White Fang? These brutal, bestial, insane, inhuman murderers? These animals? Don't you know what they've done to me, to my family?"
Jaune tried to speak, but Weiss did not give him the chance, as she continued her seething tirade.
"Do you know how many people close to me, close to my family, have been killed by these subhuman criminals? And in such absolutely abhorrent ways?
"Family friends would have dinner with us one day and then disappear the next – only to come back, piece by piece, their dismembered body parts mailed to us one small part at a time! The head one day, the torso the next, the arms follow, then the hands, and finally the legs when nothing else is left."
Jaune was no longer trying to speak at this point; and for all that he was capable of ruthless brutality, what Weiss was describing left even him queasy.
And she was still not done.
"Board members! SDC directors! Lower level managers! Kidnapped, and executed. And do you know how they were executed? The depraved, degenerate White Fang kidnappers made the captives themselves choose who should to die! They had to vote on who amongst them got to live, and who had to die. The last moments of life these poor people had, and they were manipulated into arguing with each other, turning on each other, betraying each other. And of course, the White Fang sent us a video of all this happening. I saw some of it, and it was sickening – seeing these people clamber over each other in an unseemly scramble to survive; watching these unfortunate souls be reduced by despair and desperation into becoming something less than human.
"Who thinks up of such an evil, inhuman scheme? Only sadists. Only monsters. And that's the White Fang, Jaune. That's who they are. That's Blake Belladonna."
Finally, Weiss fell silent.
The rage had burnt its course by now; and all that was left was a cold, abiding hate.
Then, softly, and with her words laced through with dark mirth, Weiss added,
"You asked me earlier, whether I was coping well with Pyrrha's death... and I told you, I'm quite familiar with death. Well, now you know why. You're not the only one whose childhood is piled high with corpses."
Jaune felt cold.
Numb with horror, and sick with pity, he did not know what to do, nor what to say.
He dipped his head, and stared vacantly down at the table.
Remember why you're here.
It took real mental effort – and a marshalling of all his determination – to make himself look up again.
Weiss was bright-eyed; almost animated – like the recounting of her past, and of the terrible tragedy that had made her desire the destruction of the Fang, had somehow made her feel more alive than ever.
Like her hate had reaffirmed the worth of living itself.
Jaune forced himself to focus. Gathering his scattered thoughts, he said,
"I understand why you hate the Fang. And I understand why you would resent Blake. I won't make excuses for her past, but I will say that, as a purely practical matter, we have nothing to fear from her. She might have joined Sienna Khan's White Fang, but the organization's violence and brutality eventually disturbed and disgusted her so much that she left.
"She of all people now knows that terrorism is evil, and never justifiable. The fact that she has turned her back on her past should be clear from the fact that you're still alive. If Blake were truly still a Fang sympathizer at heart, she could have easily killed you at Beacon. She could have shot you while your slept; put a bomb in our bunk; or even sabotaged Myrtenaster so it blew you up the next time you tried using the dust within it.
"Blake has changed, Weiss. So as a politician, she's not going to defend the White Fang's actions as understandable, or imply to other faunus that violence is acceptable."
Jaune could see Weiss's lips curl up in absolute disdain; anticipating that she wanted to say something cutting, he raised a hand, to buy himself some time to say the next, crucial bit.
"But be that as it may, ultimately, I don't have a choice in this, Weiss. Ozpin might have expelled me, but I'm not going quietly. As I might have told you before, I'm doing this particular... influential lady a few favours, and in return, she will help me get even with the headmaster. Are you going to help me, or not?"
It was a none-too-subtle reference to the Salem mission – and the invocation of a decisive reason that would compel Weiss to lend her assistance.
Jaune waited.
Weiss was glaring at him, her lips pressed into a thin line; clearly, she didn't like being strong-armed into aiding their former teammate the former terrorist with her electoral campaign.
However, Weiss had no choice, and it was a foregone conclusion that she would say, angrily –
"Fine. You wanted to meet my father? I'll get you a meeting. But Jaune –"
There was malice now, so unlike anything he was used to hearing out of her.
"– I don't forgive terrorists. One day, when Blake thinks her past is finally buried and her crimes forgotten –"
Weiss's blue eyes were clear as the winter sky, and just as bitter cold.
"– I will dig them all out, and tell the world the truth."
-(=RWBY=)-