Chapter Two: Scars of the Past

A teenage Yang laid sprawled on the dirt, dull, lilac eyes gazing up at the welkin. Black smoke covered the midday sky, bellowing in from miles away. Her whole body had finally given up, and she now laid helpless on the grassy plain. Her battered figure throbbed with a searing pain: muscles torn, contusions beyond her count, and at least two broken bones to her knowledge.

She had never before felt so helpless, so weak. Bravado aside, Yang was aware of her strengths and weakness; she knew she was not the best fighter in the world, but this was something else entirely. This was an entirely new level of failure to the seventeen-year-old, something which wounded her very soul.

But, she was not the only one. Scattered about the plain she was in were five others, all in varying levels of suffering; some were worse than Yang, some better, but all defeated just as thoroughly. They could even be unconscious for all the teen knew, given their still bodies and quiet breathes. Destroyed remnants of what were once weapons also laid with them, damaged just like their wielders.

"I warned you. I warned you all," a sweet sound reached Yang's ears. It was the small, feminine, unassuming voice of her little brother, standing behind her lying form. "I didn't want this. I never wanted things to go this way, but you and everyone else loves speaking as if they know everything!"

The sound of crushing grass told Yang that the fifteen-year-old was walking towards her, not that she could do anything about it. Some movement happened just beyond her periphery, but the shadow that fell over her told her everything she needed to know: Ruby was kneeling down.

"You all are too damn stubborn to listen. So goddamn arrogant and sure!" Ruby's angry voice was almost alien to Yang. Such soft and soothing things weren't meant to be in any sort of distress.

A head blackened Yang's vision, blocking what little light seeped through the dark clouds over head. "I'm only going to say this once, you stubborn ass," a second later a pair of small lips pecked her forehead. "I'm sorry." Yang could feel droplets of water drip and run down her own cheek to her earlobe.

"I love you, big sis." And then nothing.

Gone was the person she loved most, and in his place a cold, sinking pit in her gut. Yang could not vocalize anything, be it because of the severe beating she'd just endured or the emotional baggage clouding her mind, so there was only one way for her body to express these conflicting passions that tore her psyche apart.

She cried. Tears ran down her red cheeks as she closed her eyes. Images of the past flashed through her thoughts, ones of them. Ruby's sixth birthday, the day Yang had given her first gift to anyone; the day Yang taught Ruby how to sneak out of the house and go swimming in the lake; and the numerous time a small and not so small Ruby would climb into her bed during thunderstorms instead of their parents bigger one.

And this is how it turned out. The years of bonding, happiness and sibling ribbing to shreds this day as Ruby expelled himself from everyone's lives.

Why? What reason could he have to not only leave, but do so in the way he did? What dark thing could have happened to turn the sweetest thing in the world so sour? There was no way their parents didn't know something. No true parent could miss or ignore the drastic change Ruby has had in the past month. What skeleton was everyone trying to hide?

Even the sound of her uncle's smooth voice calling out for her in worry didn't stop the flowing tears. So many questions raced through Yang's sob-choked mind, and each one implied something worse and worse for her dearest baby brother...

A blaring horn of an oncoming car brought Yang back to reality. A quick jerk of Bumblebee's handlebars swerved the bike into the right lane of traffic with the screeching of rubber tires tearing at the highway's asphalt, scraping past an incoming hummer by a matter of inches, narrowly avoiding a devastating marriage of crumpled metal.

Yang let out a breath of relief inside her helmet. Her heart was doing somersaults in her chest, a sudden adrenaline rush having shot through her body. That was a bit too close for comfort. The last thing she remembered was getting on the highway after Weiss had told her about Ruby's last known location, and then she suddenly comes face to face with bright headlights and a blaring car horn in her ears.

Even as a self-admitted thrill seeker, that was not something she ever wanted to experience again.

Yang took a few more breaths to calm her jumpy nerves as she threaded her way between moving traffic, now back in her proper lane. Her sun-kissed hair billowed with the speed of rushing air that pelted her hunched body, flapping the tails of her coat excitedly.

Bumblebee's smooth, aerodynamic frame purred a low hum as Yang rid it in between clusters and pairs of cars and trucks, never once turning into an overly loud rumble that most motorcycles are known for. The single headlight shined brightly upon the surface before Yang, giving her the ability to see in this overcast night when not near other vehicles.

She still had a long journey ahead of her until she reached the others. Yang would make sure that her mind kept focused on the road. This was the first lead they had gotten on Ruby in years, and she was not going to miss it for anything.

She refused to die before reuniting with her younger brother.

As it turned out, the bar that Cinder had mentioned was on Tukson's left hand side, right under the shadow of the balcony. A literal few steps to the side. Given this information, Tukson was now sure that Cinder's orders to "show him" was another way of saying "don't let him out of your sight." Not exactly the most comforting of thoughts, but one he understood, at least to some degree.

The bar was L-shaped, nestled neatly into the crook of a corner. The shorter end was parallel to the wall with the curtains Tukson had just walked through, and the longer portion was apart of the adjoining wall. Behind the glossy granite countertops was the area where the bartender worked, a man's whose name tag said he was "Junior," and behind him was the main attraction: shelves upon shelves of the finest liquor Tukson had ever seen.

Beautifully decorated bottles made to sparkle under artificial lights, each protected by the polished oak shelving that housed them securely behind panes of glass cleaned to transparent perfection, bordering on the invisible. The faunus wasn't a heavy drinker himself, but the bottles looked tempting even to him.

"Junior, two of my regulars," Mercury asked the suited man as he sat on one of the cushioned high back bar stools.

The man behind the counter was big, dressed in a black suit vest and white dress shirt. The formal attire definitely fit with the decor, Tukson thought as he sat down on his own stool, leaving one in between him and Mercury, situating themselves at the longer of the two table lengths.

"Afraid you're gonna have to wait on the expensive stuff," Merc grabbed one of the two glass bottles that Junior had placed on the counter. "Until then you can settle for this." He passed the other bottle to him, sliding it across the bar's smooth surface. It was a well-known brand that could be bought at the store, one that the faunus particularly liked. Odd that he'd find it here.

"I can't stand that fancy stuff," Mercury answered, as if reading Tukson's mind. "A nice bottle from a good brand will get the job done just right for me." Merc pulled the cap off with no discernible effort, not even bothering to twist it.

"It's like wine," he continued. "A lot of those 'high-society types' gorge themselves on it daily. Personally I think its tastes like piss." He took a swig from his glass.

His charge decided to follow his lead and the second Tukson twisted that bottle cap off and he could hear that familiar hissing of pressurized air, his fluttering heart seemed to slow. Funny how something so mundane yet familiar could ease his mind, like he was just hanging out with his buddies at a bar. The feel was definitely helped by the male bodyguard's casual demeanor and frankness.

After taking several chugs Tukson rested the bottled beer on a coaster that sat on the cool granite top. The beer, bitter with an underlying sweetness, was definitely helping. The flaring nerves of his body seemed to finally be cooling themselves. Whether because of the drink, the atmosphere around Mercury, or simply getting over the shock of this place, his anxiety was finally starting to lessen.

"Hey Tukson," a voice called out to him. When the man turned he met with the red eyes of Emerald, who was now leaning against the bar with her bare, dark-skinned forearms, two bar stools-worth away from him. "You said you were moving to Vacuo, right? How can you be so sure that the Fang can't get to you?"

Well, he hadn't been expecting that. He was actually surprised that she'd been listening back when he was explaining things to Cinder at all. "Well that's a bit hard to explain…"

"I've been curious about that as well," Junior spoke as he wiped the shorter end of the bar with a white towel. "I hear the White Fang is almost non-existent over there. How come?" He flipped the hand towel over his left shoulder, completing the image of an almost stereotypical bartender.

"Uh, okay I suppose. I'll try to explain," Tukson rubbed the back of his neck while he collected his thoughts. "Umm, lets see here, do any of you know Vacuo's unofficial 'law of the land', I guess you could call it?"

The expressions of all three of his onlookers told him their answer. "Okay, well the mindset in Vacuo is—or was, to be more accurate—very simple: the strong make the rules and the weak follow, or die trying to change it."

Tukson took another swig of his drink before expanding on his statement. "Back in the old days, before the Great War, whoever had the most power had the most influence, and they determined the rules for the people in their borders. If someone or some group ended up being marginalized by whatever regime was in power, it was up to them to fight."

Tukson sat his beer down, resting his back in to the cushioned leather of his chair. "To put it very simply, whenever a power oppressed the faunus in Vacuo, the faunus overran it. In doing so they proved to everyone that they were no less than them, and in Vacuo that was enough. All one needed was power and the will to use it."

"Okay, I get that," Tukson swiveled his char to look at Mercury, who was just then finishing off his own beer. "But what about now? I get the idea that the faunus more or less showed that they would beat the shit out of anyone who tried to step all over 'em, but how does that affect the White Fang nowadays?"

"Because the Fang is as pointless as it is despised there," a familiar voice, a natural mix of intimidation and seduction, cut into the conversation to answer Mercury's inquest.

All color drained from Tukson's face at her reappearance, even though she was not before him. A shiver raced through his spine as goosebumps prickled the back of his neck and arms. And just like that, his heart rate began to flutter and recoil in terror, seemingly increasing with every click of a heel upon the hard stone floor.

"Outside of Menagerie itself, Vacuo is the most accepting of the faunus, due to what he just explained," the sound of the heels were getting closer. Emerald's face turned towards the their direction and lit up with glee, but spoke nothing.

"On top of that the majority of its faunus have repeatedly denounced the Fang as a group protecting those too weak to fight or, even worse, too lazy to do the work themselves." A hand rested upon the man's shoulder, and his shivering began anew. "After all, faunus are not objects or borders that need military assistance, they are thinking individuals."

Tukson turned a hesitant glance at the woman's amber eyes, shaking in both terror and rage at the accusatory tone that laced her smug words. But, just like before, he was too sacred to act against the force of nature that mockingly stroked his broad shoulder. "Why shouldn't those individuals fight for their own rights? Why should they rely on others to guarantee not just their own safety, but that of friends and family?"

Cinder's hand patted the faunus's back in an insultingly superior way. "Why let a group of terrorists doing more harm than good infantilize their species? That is the philosophy you were talking about, is it not?" She asked, not bothering to even hide the fact she already knew the answer. Her condescension was palpable.

"Any word from Ruby?" Merc asked Cinder as he handed his empty bottle to Junior for disposal. Everyone in the room knew Tukson was not going to respond, so he tried to change the subject to avoid that despised awkward silence. Whenever Ruby was gone for a prolonged period, Cinder's sadistic streak got a bit out of hand. It was a pitfall one got to know quite quickly when working with the couple.

Cinder removed her hand from Tukson, leaving him to quietly stew in his own mixture of terror and seething anger. "Unfortunately, no. But Roman should already be en route to the airport. As much as I would love to hear her voice now, it really is no big deal," she shrugged. "We'll just have to wait another hour or two I suppose."

Cinder sighed in a sullen manner. "Oh-how its been difficult sleeping without her next to me," she shook her head, speech bordering on outright pouting. "But enough of that..."

The woman's piercing amber eye looked down at the sitting faunus in front of her, and she smirked in a naturally poshest fashion. "Come with me, Tukson. Things are taking a bit longer than expected, so we're going to go ahead and start the negotiations now."

He obeyed without hesitation, his drink lost in a torrent of thought and conflicting emotions as he stood. Walking behind the shorter woman, Tukson was led to a door situated at the far end of the same obsidian wall as the bar, which seemed to promise even stranger sights. Cinder swiped a card through a slot over the lever handle before turning it.

"Keep close, we don't want you going missing," she pushed ahead. As he walked through the door, the man could see Cinder sheath her card into the top portion of her pantyhose. The split side of her rust-red dress served some—albeit mundane—purpose after all, he thought.

What he saw on the other side was almost as expected.

A long, straight forward hallway greeted them. The walls seemed made up of the same strange, black, crystalline material as the chamber on other side. More sconces affixed themselves to the surface, lighting themselves aflame at Cinder's presence in a way that threatened to give Tukson a strange sense of déjà vu. However, these didn't flicker out after she had passed. They stayed burning even after Cinder left them, unlike the ones in the stairwell from a few minutes ago.

But, it was when Tukson's eyes wandered overhead that his breath was stolen.

The ceiling was not obsidian crystal, nor was it just plain stone or even marble as expected, but one giant art piece that spanned the entire hall. The style and presentation reminded him of some of the great murals that truly show what a simple brush is capable of. Whoever painted it tried their hardest to emulate the style of the great renaissance masters, and succeeded beautifully.

But, it was the subject that truly blew the faunus away. It depicted sexuality in all its forms: man and woman, man and man, woman and woman, even faunus and human, all were indulging in the pleasures of flesh in some way or another. Almost uncountable positions and acts were displayed grandly, from the mundane to the exotic, some even bordering on the debauched showcased without any hesitance, ranging from one individual to many in orgiastic thralls.

Despite its graphic nature and content, Tukson could not come to think this piece as porn. It would be too ignorant on his part to believe such an obviously false statement. Every brush stroke, every painstaking detail made showed love and passion for the subject; something as simple-minded and utilitarian as pornography could never possess something so, ironically, intimate.

This fresco wasn't made with the purpose to titillate or arouse anyone, it was made as a celebration of the acts on display. Even to laymen like him when it came to paintings, that much was as vivid as the colors exhibited.

Cinder noticed how taken he was despite not looking. As they continued to walk in silence, she could practically feel his awe. As, in her mind, he should. Her love spent the better part of three years making it, her magnum opus. Every time a newcomer looked at it for the first time and they express that amazed, borderline dumbstruck expression, Cinder felt the great amount of pride she had in her little gem grow even more.

As the pair walked towards the end of the hall, Tukson never once tore his eyes away from the masterpiece above his head, which caused him to miss several doors to his sides. Most closed, but a few were slightly ajar. Had he taken a closer look between the gap of one particular door, the man would have seen an indented hole in the center of a floor covered with lush carpet, filled to the brim with pillows and cushions.

An unknowable amount of time passed before the sound of a turning knob forced his head away from the painting above. As soon as he fixed his eyes to Cinder opening a door he felt a sting of pain from his cramped neck. How long had he been looking up? How long had they even been walking? It was unusual, even as a lover of many arts, for something to entrance him so thoroughly.

With those thoughts in the back of his mind, he walked through that last entrance.

The room was lit with more modern, Dust-powered lights which stood high on elaborate, gilded stands. No candlelight. In the center of the ceiling was a giant chandelier with many golden swirls, topped with even more glowing crystals. There was a plush sectional sofa arranged in a semi-circular shape on either side of the stone-floored room, both with an ottoman in the center of their reach.

The sofas were excellent at directing a person's vision, as Tukson' eyes were almost immediately guided straight to the center back wall, where Cinder was walking. A large computer desk made from polished wood, with a comfortable chair in the back and two in the front.

The faunus was starting to notice a theme that these people seemed to love: old, medieval style furniture and designs. He can't say it didn't work. Ever since Tukson had entered the main chamber he had developed this sense of history, as if he had taken a set back in time. In fact, it was such a potent perception that seeing these modern tools and creations here seemed almost wrong, like they were out of touch with reality.

But, there was more to this room than that, he eventually noted. Four exquisitely carved sculptures sat in each of the room's four corners. Each one chiseled from smooth white marble, and all seemingly designed with similar sort of motif.

The one that caught his eye immediately was a four-limbed and effeminate, but still androgynous being with a crown of four beautiful horns topping its head. Two hands held swords, while the other two holding up the heads of slain monsters. It's only articles of clothing were the pieces of armor covering each of its six breasts, and a loincloth that did little to hide its taloned feet. The sculpture's jewel-like eyes sparkled sapphire, and its face was maiden-like, seemingly innocent despite lecherously hanging its jewel-studded tongue.

The other three followed similar ques; all being androgynous though slightly feminine in appearance; they sported multiple arms, and each were slender and sinuous in nature, as well as wearing clothes of warriors and posed as if in the mists of battle. All seemed to have been made with the idea of being simultaneously seductive and alluring, while still bringing in an element of horror or fear.

The sculptures weren't the only decorations. Giant paintings framed in golden metal adorned the walls. Masterpieces depicting, war, nature, and debauchery hung proudly; beautifully drawn and painted, undoubtedly the work of the same master which created the fresco in the hall. Each of the monsters sculpted appeared in at least one of the portraits, such as leading an army into battle or directing a town towards carnal pleasures. But once again, the best outshined all else.

Behind where Cinder now sat at the desk, it loomed over the entire room. The largest painting in the room, easily twenty-feet wide, framed it polished amber. The focus was a monster similar, but very much different from the sculptures or anything else in the other paintings.

It too was an androgynous being, though much more human looking than the rest. The right side of the creature's body was feminine, with a single breast and a rounded hip. Conversely, the left side of the body was more masculine, with a pectoral muscle (no breast), and a harder, less rounded hip; it showed no sign or hint of any genitalia despite no clothing being worn.

The creature had pure white skin, with golden lines crisscrossing all over its smooth body in intricate, hypnotic patterns. Like most of its body, the eyes were white and featureless, having no visible iris or pupil. Atop its head of golden, sweeping hair was a platinum halo where six, arrow-shaped protrusions jutted out.

The angelic being was floating high in the cerulean sky with a great white light radiating from its body, almost eclipsing the entirety of the firmament itself. Below it was a heavy industrialized city, with the assumed inhabitants, numbering in the hundreds, bowing before it in the streets as if it were a god.

What were these things? And why was the painter so obsessed with them? It was odd, Tukson pondered, as most who create multiple pieces of art—from stories to paintings and everything in between—featuring or highlighting a specific idea or theme generally have a personal attachment to it. At least, that was true from his experience of reading hundreds if not thousands of books.

What could these things mean—or better yet, represent—to their creator? It was a fascinating thought exercise if nothing else.

"Now, Mister Tukson," Cinder snapped her fingers to bring the faunus's attention back to her. "As much as I love the looks you are giving my rose's art, due remember we have things to do. You can stargaze after we've finished our business."

Bumblebee rested in a vacant parking garage, its rider sitting on the leather saddle as if it were a chair, arms crossed in an irate manner. Gloved fingers, restless with Yang's impatient tendencies, tapped themselves against her leather-covered forearms in a vain attempt to keep the woman still.

While the Huntress would have said she'd been waiting for hours if asked, it had actually only been in the ballpark of five minutes. Had Yang known that Weiss was going to keep her here this long she would have stormed the airport herself. Every single tick of her watch wasted by sitting around doing nothing all the while Ruby continued on to who knows where.

With only the sounds of the watch on her left wrist and the droning of distant traffic in the background, Yang could not tell how long she had sat before something, anything happened. Her nerves were alive, excited and restless, itching for anything to provoke some sort of movement at a seconds notice.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," a woman spoke behind her, "had trouble finding the right level. This place in like a maze."

She jumped off Bumblebee hurriedly. Behind Yang and her beloved bike, Weiss strode towards her friend with all the grace of a dancer despite her high-heels, arms crossed, dressed as elaborately as ever, not that Yang had time to care. Her heels were surprising quiet compared to their usual noise, though Yang's busy mind was the most likely culprit.

It was an odd dichotomy, seeing such a formal party dress being worn in a run down parking lot past midnight. Weiss's elegant blue gown practically glittered under the dim hue of lights hanging overhead, complimenting her snow-colored hair. Even on cool nights like this one, Weiss always did dress with looks taking up the priority, rather than comfort.

"Any word?" Yang rushed Weiss, her gaze antsy gaze fixed onto her friend's depthless blue sockets.

"Oh for the love of—! Space! Yang!" Weiss placed her delicate, pale fingers on Yang's shoulders and gently pushed the woman from her face. Not even two sentences in and her old friend had put her face mere inches apart from her own while barking out questions. It was not a good precedent to set so eagerly.

"Where are the others? Where's Jaune, Coco, or hell even Cardin? We need all hands on deck here!" Yang continued on her rant at Weiss, not bothering to have even a breath in between her inquiries.

"Yang!" Weiss shouted, causing an echo in their vacant vicinity. "Calm. Down. At least give me a chance to answer one question before asking more. Geeze!" Weiss removed her hands from the now silent woman.

"Okay, what was the first once again? Oh, right, update." Weiss rubbed smooth circles over her temples, already feeling the onset of a headache forming. "We were able to look over the security footage; it could be him, definitely, but it's so grainy we can't make any guarantees out of it. Blake is attempting to find and gather details from the attendants as we speak."

As for the others: Jaune is having dinner with Pyrrha and her family, Coco wants Ruby locked up, and Cardin, well, he's Cardin! He'd be happy if Ruby got stuck behind bars or even killed for what he did, preferably the latter. Do you really want him here?" Weiss raised a questioning brow.

Yang's eyes, normally a pale violet shade, turned a deep red as a simmering rage ignited at that last comment. "I better not see Cardin! If that cock sucker gets anywhere even close to Ruby I'll wring his neck!" She roared. Wispy, almost ethereal, flame-like streams emanated from her body. Her Aura was reacting to her volatile anger as-per usual.

Weiss quirked one of her thin, white eyebrows again, this time in an amused manner. "Really Yang, you are calling who what? Isn't that like the old 'pot calling kettle' idiom?"

Yang crossed her arms stubbornly and sat back down at her bike, her angry-red eyes now back to their lilac tone. She huffed. "Oh-shut up, it's just an expression. As if you don't know that, little-miss-god-damn dictionary."

Weiss smiled. That had worked better than planned. With Yang's infamous temper, not to mention the current situation, the corporate leader was surprised at how quickly she had distracted Yang from her diatribe. It was a nice surprise, as well as something that she'd keep in mind for the future.

"Besides," Weiss continued, "if things are anything like they were nine years ago, then I don't think any of us can beat him alone, least of all Cardin." They both laughed, circumstances aside. They were small and half-hearted things, but still there.

A long, uncomfortable silence followed them.

It felt odd to reference such an event so casually now. Weiss had come to think of that day as her awakening, the day she truly grew up. Being born a Noble, a Schnee on top of that, had inflated her ego to a dangerous degree. She admitted that now, but back in the day she'd rather yell than admit it to anyone.

But after Ruby had beaten them all to the point of hospitalization, single-handedly no less, that arrogance had shattered. In the days following, as she laid bound to a bed by medical tubing and casts, Weiss had finally come to grips with her own weakness and abandoned her proverbial high-horse.

Yes, that day truly changed everything for them all, and only reinforced just how big of a blow Ruby's absence was, both in power and in family.

None of their elders, save Ruby's own parents, could ever understand the three of them. Blake, Weiss and Yang didn't want Ruby hung from a tree for his crimes, but simply wanted to bring him back into their lives. They did not desire vengeance like everyone else, but forgiveness and understanding.

Surprisingly Weiss, who was known for being hard and calloused at times, could not bear any hatred towards Ruby, despite his actions. Something had changed him. She had known the small boy since they had both been in diapers, friends straight from the cradle.

Despite being the type of prodigy that comes once in several generations, he had been meek and indecisive, awkward and unsure of anything and everything he did. Insecure to an almost debilitating level. Yet he was also the sweetest thing imaginable, more so than the candy he gulped down by the handfuls.

A bleeding heart begging to help everyone, someone who's life goal seemed fixated on giving love to those abandoned by society; that was the Ruby Rose Weiss knew. Even after that stern, cynical thing had taken him over in the weeks before that day, she still believed that the Ruby she knew was in there, somewhere, and she vowed to make right whatever trauma had stolen the lovable little dolt, no matter what.

"So," Yang eventually broke the silence in an unsure timbre, "you said it could definitely be him? On the footage, I mean." Yang said awkwardly, almost like she was afraid to ask something so simple.

Weiss looked up from the stone ground and nodded. She was smiling fondly, as if remembering a cherished memory. "Yeah. The details on the face are almost nonexistent, but the overall shape and clothing style seem to match." The woman then snickered. "But I have to say: if it is Ruby, then puberty missed him by a long shot."

Yang chucked as she rested her head on Bumblebee's handlebars. "Yeah, that sounds about right. What was he, like 5'1 or something?" She laughed again. The awkwardness crumbled, and with it a flood of back and forths came following. It felt nice, a relief, to talk about things to distract both of their minds, that gnawing sense of anxiety that neither of them were used to.

Was this truly him? If it was, would he fight back like last time? Could he be persuaded to rejoin them? What would the elders do if he did? And if things did end in a fight, could they win? Almost a decades worth of repressed or outright ignored "ifs" and "but" scenarios came shooting to the surface. These were things all three of them shared, but none really talked about with any length.

And that was okay. For now.

The two friends continued their banter for another great number of minutes, passing the time with witty banter and recounts of the past, of both tearful and joyous occasions, as well as some embarrassing ones. They sat there, Weiss joining Yang on her bike to rest her aching legs, waiting for Blake to call them with any new information.

Had they been more vigilant in the hours they sat on Bumblebee, the women would have seen a black SUV with a familiar face resting at one of the back, rolled down windows. A car which passed their position without notice. A car which held the one they sought so desperately.

(End of Chapter Two)

Author's Notes: I have to say, I'm quite surprised with the response this project has garnered. From my experience reading RWBY fics, I got the impression that this wouldn't break double digit followers within a week, let alone the over seventy I got, (though I guess I'll wait and see how many of you leave after this chapter...). I'm amazed in all honesty, so thank you for that!

But this actually leads me into a question I want to ask: why? Because, as I stated earlier, I thought this would be doomed on arrival. It's not listed as a romance or adventure, the characters are a lot older than usual —not counting the immortals out there—and hell, Jaune isn't even listed in the character tags or summery*. So if you could tell me what it was that made this something worth reading I'd really like to know, both for future reference as well as just personal curiosity.

* Seriously, out of the first 25 results for the most favorited stories on RWBY, 24 had Jaune in the tags. Only one did not list him! And just because I'm me, I went ahead and checked the second page as well: 19 out of 25. That means out of the top fifty most followed RWBY fics, 43 list and/or star Jaune Arc; that's 86%. Why? I mean he's not bad or anything, I just don't get the abundance.