"The Abyss is the collective where all repressions reside—that which man does not want to face. Dark impulses and thoughts, urges that contradict the morals of ourselves and that of our society—all bleed through the cracks of every Id and into our own ideal Hell. Look within the pit of your soul to see it: a monster with no concept of faith or morality, an alien which understands nothing of restraint or fear. Observe as it desperately chews at the bars of your sanity, and realize the depths of your own evil. Walk the Tree of Qliphoth*—confront your festering darkness and embrace it, integrate it; control it before the beast lashes out. Do not deny this aspect of your soul no matter how repugnant or disturbing, for it is the purest expression of you."
— Excerpt from Ruby's speech during the grand opening of Sitra Achra*.
Chapter Three: Monster of the Abyss; Sascha; Return
The parking lot was bursting at the edges with bikers and their respective machines. Dozens of them, all grouped together, chattering, laughing, drinking and smoking boisterously. The obnoxious noise vibrating the air didn't deserve the title of music: it possessed no rhythm or harmony, and the lyrics were spoken rather than sung, not that they were interesting on their own to begin with.
Ruby scrutinize them with the disdain of a scholar looking down at a gaggle of frat boys. Even as Roman shut the door of his SUV behind her, she could feel worms of rage writhe in her soul. It had been months since she had indulged her urges, far too long, and now they were lusting, yearning to burrow into her consciousness and feed. Hands trembling with excess adrenaline, Ruby's own restraint was the one thing stopping the frenzy.
She took deep breaths to calm them, to ease them out of her mind for the time being. Her heartbeat slowed to its normal thumping rhythm; her hands began stabilizing as well Ruby would let the rage flow free soon, but not here, not now. It was as difficult as any addict prolonging the bliss of their vice, but she beat them down into submission as she would any rabid beast.
This was the price she had to pay for unifying her mind, soul, and shadow: when not fed the monster got viciously desperate for its current obsession. This time it seemed to hunger for anger. It wanted her angry. So angry that Ruby could punch a brick wall until her fists were smashed nubs of bone and meat, and still keep going. The last time it wanted her humiliated and degraded, and the time before that it wanted her in screaming pain. Such a volatile mental fragment it was, with a particular hunger for self-destruction.
Upon opening her eyes Ruby was met with the knowing heterochromatic gaze of Neo a scant few steps in front of her.
To many of their friends Neo and Ruby were sort of counterparts to each other. The two were alike numerously, the most obvious being the diminutive size. Of course there were other similarities such as styles of combat, as well as a certain affinity for sweets. However, the two were best known for one particular similarly: being unnaturally, sinfully endearing.
But, ironically, that adjective was also the biggest divider. Ruby was the only one to really use that trait of theirs, with Neo opting for simple teases here and there instead. Ruby was well aware of the psychological and even neurological effects that so-called 'cute' things had on humans in general, so she exploited her elfin body for all its worth in that regard.
A few bats of her silver eyes and some tears have been enough to twist the wills of people of all varieties. Even rogue Huntsmen have been hesitant to lay so much as a finger on her when in the midst of life-or-death combat.
At the heart of it, personality was the biggest border between Ruby and Neo: one was a manipulator, able and willing to pit friends and family against each other with no more than a few honeyed words or a small quivering voice, while Neo poked and prodded, teasing and insulting despite not uttering a single word, goading others into uncountable furies.
Ignorant people would call them 'cute', but that was too shallow of a description for these two; superficial with no real substance. In the end, their minds were the farthest thing from such a weak, unassuming term.
"Don't worry," Ruby spoke to her concerned friend, "I'm fine. It's just going to have to wait for my welcome home celebration to be exorcised."
"Well isn't that a comfortable thought," Roman spoke as he wrapped an arm around Ruby's shoulders, drawing her into his side. Being so close as to be resting on Roman's upper arm, the height difference between the two was comically stark.
"You must be on a damn steep edge for something like this to mess you up," the older of the pair observed, looking down at her with worry-laden eyes. While it was true Roman had gotten used to Ruby's 'quirks' over the years, some things never ceased to worry him. Ruby possessed a level of self-understanding and control over herself that most would be envious of, but that came with the caveat of having to keep the urges fed.
There have been times when, due to circumstances, Ruby had been unable to feed those urges, and, of course, even the most docile dog will turn savage when starved. To someone who is uninitiated in the ways of Qliphoth, it was hard to truly understand the mind of Ruby. Roman still couldn't grasp the physical transformation that had happened six years ago— the day Ruby had gone from a human, a boy, to… something beyond expression.
Ruby smiled sweetly at Roman's thought-filled expression. In nine years, Ruby's three-month stay in Haven had been the longest she had been separated from them, and their anxiety showed. Their concern warmed her. These two were the first people she bonded with after exiling herself from Vale's faux royalty. Her longest companions, most trusted followers; Ruby loved them both, truly and deeply. She hadn't been unaffected by the separation either.
Her bones still chilled at the memories of rainy nights so long ago, and how they would all huddle together in shivering tangles of limbs to keep any semblance of warmth, sheltered by any vacant home or dumpster they could squirm their way into. Those times were so long, so difficult.
These two had been there when she reached apotheosis upon completing the Pilgrimage, yet they did not abandon her. Neo and Roman were always by her side; even when she became the monster feared by so many, the thought of leaving was never even imagined. Even Cinder, despite their relationship, realized there was an intimacy born from their history that she, Ruby believed, could never truly equal.
One arm gently reached up to grab Roman by the back of his head, black nails threading through his orange hair with care as to not knock his hat off, while another wrapped around to reach the comfortable, soft small of Neo's back. Ruby pulled them to her body in a cherishing embrace.
"I've missed you guys too," she responded to their unvocalized statements. She knew them. There was no need for Roman to state the obvious. Ruby gave both an unchaste kiss, the voice in her head silenced by these two who she held so dearly.
"Damn it," Roman suddenly cursed. He was patting his hands all over the pockets of his jacket and pants."Don't tell me I left my lighter at the airport." It had been a gift from Ruby, an old fashioned flip lighter which she had personally engraved. In the last five years not once had he used another lighter, and the thought of losing it actually hurt a bit.
Ruby laughed it off, giving Roman another kiss on the cheek before releasing the two. "Oh, stop worrying. We'll look when we come back. Now let's hurry and get this over with, this jet lag is killing me."
The unruly mob was large and varied, with the one commonality among the men being an insignia embroidered onto leather jackets: a skull holding tombstones in skeletal hands, with the words "Grave" and "Kings" respectively written on them in the stylistic form of graffiti.
A handpicked few of the women also carried the jackets, but the cuts were obviously not their own, being much bigger for their thin frames by a minimum of several sizes—some opting to drape them over their shoulders like coats. The women were the center of attention in their own little groups of men, ranging from half-to-over a dozen per, lapping up the attention and cat calls with pride-indulgent glee.
One particular woman was revving the motor of a bike while sitting in the lap of a much older and stout man. With each flick of her spindly wrist the motor went from low humming to a blaring rumble, barely overtaking the music outside in intervals of several seconds.
Jewel went to rev the engine into another growl when she noticed stillness in her periphery. The crowd around her had suddenly stopped. The music still beat the air with pounding drums in the background, yet all were looking towards the road in unison. No one spoke. No one moved. Even the man whose lap she occupied was still, lecherous eyes having been ripped from her at the time every else had grinned to a halt.
Was that fear in his eyes? Was this hulking enforcer, whose broad body completely encased her own, shivering in fear?
Jewel turned to the direction which held the captivation. A black car had stopped on the opposite side of the road, right in front of the forest. Halfway between the bar and that car, walking on the cracked and pockmarked asphalt, a trio approached them all with no fear. Not the slightest reservation hindered their steps as they crossed the road and entered the packed parking lot.
The oldest of them was dapper man, complemented with a bowl-shaped hat with a feather, of all things, tucked into a band. His more formal attire was a stark contrast to the surrounding bikers, making him stand out vividly. His face as well, being more boyish and smooth, stood out against the bikers who had more rugged appearances, many with square jawlines and more meaty proportions.
She knew who he was. Jewel, while new to this venue in particular, had heard rumors and stories sporadically over the years. Most of them came from her addict of an ex who, supposedly, did some jobs with him from time to time. Roman was his name, a man whose greatest claim to infamy in the underworld was association...
Sascha. The alias used by Vale's monster was, in itself, power. Its mere utterance was enough to still a frantic room. The name of the one who had carved out the cancerous officials and organized crime which had once rotted the downtown sections of Vale, leaving a body count worthy of the warlords of old.
Accounts of Sascha vary wildly, absurdly so. Those few who survived the 3rd Street Massacre described an adolescent girl barely at the cusp of puberty, yet those who witnessed to the 26th Scouring—an event in which an entire cul-de-sac had been lit aflame—described a teenage boy at the center of the ensuing gang war. Others still have attributed Sascha with an angelic innocence or a sadistic malevolence, or even both at the same time. A few stand-out crazies have even laid the claim that Sascha would transition in the span of a conversation, both in terms of personality and, even more ridiculously, sex.
Only one thing was constant across all descriptions: silver eyes—big and endearing, perfect for a face that stirred a parental instinct to protect and nurture, or an instinctive urge to violate every inch of such an embodiment of purity. The interpretation differing, depending on the one speaking at the time.
Jewel had never actually believed the rumors. Ravings of people who had seen tragedies, bitter and resentful of being beaten and defeated, some forced to live in squalor just to escape the sight of the individual who had butchered their organization—to some, their family. The potential for madness in that situation: knowing that even the policing institution was partnered with the perpetrator; forever on the run with no way of knowing if or when the monster would finish what they themselves ran from like cowards. Most would break.
But when she saw the last of the trio, however, Jewel questioned her stance on the matter. As the group entered the throng of bikes and riders, this one strode confidently ahead of the other two, leading them without need for words or signs. Something of an almost alien beauty it was, a sculpted body of polished alabaster with supple skin pulled taut over fine-drawn lines of defined muscles.
Possessing a facial structure that was at once both male and female, yet neither; it was a natural freak of nature, unblemished by the artificiality of a doctor's mutilation or inch-thick layers of cosmetics. Man and woman, indivisible.
As they walked uncontested by the mob around them, people saw the leader differently. Like an interpretation of an ink-blot test, the men and women surrounding the bar saw their own desires and fears, molded by years of life, grafted onto this inhuman human.
A small and delicate little girl to replace a daughter lost to disease; a virile young man with a slender body, perfectly made to be passionately rutted; the face of a best friend who could be told anything and understand; a weary veteran who still possessed a palpable aura of power and dominance that forced heads down in respect; and so many more. All of them true—to an extent.
Parting like a sea from some extinct mythology, the crowd made room the group to travel. Most had already put together whose these people were, and the few who didn't were pulled away like stubborn brats by more informed peers, doing everything they could to keep from antagonizing the one with silver eyes. There was an exception, though.
Jewel now moved within the individualistic sea as best she could. As a woman of unexercised muscle, forcing her way through the fear-struck masses was an impossible thought. Even with a running start, Jewel had no hope of pushing around even one of these men, let alone the dozens now haphazardly herded shoulder to shoulder. The only hope of escape the young woman had was to squeeze her way through spaces wherever found, bending and contorting her generous curves as best she could. It wasn't comfortable in any respect, but it had been her only shot.
Jewel slipped out between two links in the fence of stunned humans in a clumsy, uncoordinated and unflattering mess of movements in front of the stairs. She hadn't intend that. A miss step onto a thick boot had thrown the young woman off balance. Such a mundane thing, one simple mistake, had put Jewel's life on the line, face-to-face with an alien cast in human flesh.
Fight or flight is a fickle instinct. In one situation it can save one's own life or that of others, discarding the need for rationalization and fear, focusing not on the situation as humans tend to, but on the response. Untapped strength and endurance can be thrust into the light in these dire situations, helping to overcome what would normally be certain death. It is an invaluable instinct, it has to be said.
In other contexts, however, the response is unnecessary and detrimental. Such as a man punching a friend when spooked, despite being an obvious prank when given even a half-second's worth of thought. Jewel found herself in one of these situations upon meeting the gaze of Sascha mere inches away.
In a different situation, on a different day, maybe Jewel's instinct wouldn't have been triggered. Had she stayed back with her latest conquest, she could have admired this thing walking among them. She could even see herself being enthralled by such haunting beauty. Now, however, with fear bogging the air and the legends of Sascha's brutality crying at the back of her mind, Jewel did what was objectively the worst thing to do, but, in the heat of the moment, needed no justification to a brain spitted on barbs of terror.
The twenty-year-old threw what was her first punch at the monster's face. A poor choice of action.
Before the pathetic excuse for muscles sprang forward, one of Sascha's pale hands suddenly grasped the elbow of the arm winding back. The movement was too fast, beyond even a blur. Despite this, they weren't in anger or in any sense of danger, but rather simple actions with no emotions backing them. A mundane response to a simple attack.
Knuckles shot Jewel's throat, crushing the airway completely. She hadn't even noticed the other hand preparing for retaliation. The woman was in the middle of her first feeble breath when she was struck again. The palm of the same hand that had stolen her breath rammed into her temple with fatal force. She landed on the dirt, right side of her face smashing against the first of five wooden steps. She stayed there, limp and unmoving.
All within a single second.
One of the ignorants protested the actions from behind Sascha, yelling some foolishness about how no man who hits a woman would get away with it, before a fellow biker knocked him to the ground with a fist to the face. Several more dog piled onto their downed member, yelling expletives about "shutting up," and something along the lines of "you'll get us all killed," et cetera.
Ignoring the rabble behind her, Ruby turned to Neo on her left. "No one comes in, no one leaves." Gone was the light tone of a soul-bonded friend, and in its place was the stern command of power incarnate.
Neo nodded, combat-eager smile across her face. In one fluid motion she turned to the anxious crowded and slammed the tip of her parasol into the ground as if a sword. The crowd became silent once again, looking to the mute now.
Roman and Ruby entered the bar, stepping over the lax body without a second thought, their sentry looking out at the fearful, waiting for any excuse to draw her blade.
An old door opened with the sound of creaking hinges and rickety wood. On one side Ruby and Roman, and the one opening it was a man, an old friend. Dressed in a black and red suit which complimented his hair; annoyance hidden by a decorated mask which covered his eyes and forehead, Adam greeted the two. He was the owner of this little bar, a small cover business with only one real purpose.
Ruby's way of communication went beyond simple words. Roman had seen it countless times over the years, and now was no different. It was hard to explain, even to himself. Roman just knew it was different. The way Ruby acted changed subtly from person to person, reflecting a personality archetype that seemed to resonate with that respective person on an emotionally intimate level.
To Adam, for example, she came off like a doting mother. A nurturer to the core, Ruby touched him tonight with a firm, yet gentle care. She greeted him at first with hands grabbing onto his biceps, welcoming him with a sweet "hello" before bringing him down for a hug.
"How was your trip," Adam asked as he raised himself her the crook of Ruby's neck.
"Productive," she responded happily. Such an infectious smile she had. "Lionheart is with us now. Come by Saturday and we'll work out the supply chains and bunker locations."
"That sounds wonderful, but I'm afraid we have a bit of an issue right now," Adam motioned behind himself, ushering the two through the doorway before shutting it. The room was cramped, bland and small. A little office space for a manager or owner to do paperwork in and little else, although the candles perched on the sparsely used bookshelf did breath a nice sent into such a stale room, and Ruby appreciated the thought.
Roman noticed somebody else was in the room, one short of stature and proportion, similar to Ruby in several aspects. A blackened suit of navy constricted itself tightly around her torso and thighs like a second skin—ideal for stealth operations, blending into the night and shadows alike. Her skin seemed tanner than Ruby's ghostly likeness, possessing a tropical-like shade from long hours in the sun no doubt.
The oldest in the room couldn't help the chuckle to himself when he noticed her arms and legs; slender and brittle-looking, they were not the limbs of a warrior. They were skinny and weak even for her small body. Ruby stood before him with crossed arms, casual and lax, yet her two exposed limbs showed more shadings of muscle than this child's legs. Whoever she was, this girl was obviously the weakest of them, but she still attempted to carry an authoritative posture: back straight and arms clasped behind her back, looking at them with mask-hidden eyes.
Roman couldn't believe this one Adam called Ilia was that arrogant, or even ignorant for that matter. She had to be aware of it. She had to know just how helpless she was in this room; a toddler sitting amongst grownups. Who in their right mind would send someone so weak and inexperienced to deal with them?
"So you're the one that called me," Ruby stated rather than asked, closing the distance between herself and the masked girl to just a handful of feet. Roman stayed at the door's side while Adam went and sat on the barren desk, resting his sword between his spread legs.
Ilia gulped before speaking. "Yes. It's an honor to meet you, Sascha-—"
"Ruby, please."
Ilia nodded at the request, somewhat startled at the interruption. "Oh, okay then. It's an honor to meet you in-person, Ruby. Word of your progress in Vale has spread wide."
"Please, Ilia, I'm sure you're aware of me being away. I just got back from a long trip and I so desperately want to be home. Why did you have Adam contact me?" Every word Ruby spoke was lethargic, weighted down with a need for sleep. How much of it was exaggerated and how was a genuine need Ilia couldn't tell..
The faunus girl inhaled a calming breath. It didn't stop her shaking hands, still hiding behind her back. "Well, I'm not sure if you're aware of what your associates have been doing in your stead, but recently a White Fang brother was seen being driven by a couple of your workers and escorted into your club."
Ruby nodded, seeing where this was going but letting the girl continue on. Cinder had called her a few hours ago and told her about the new client named Tukson. "You see, this man is a traitor, and we believe is seeking protection under your banner. I talked with Sienna as soon as I became aware of this and we both believe it would be better for all if we simply requested his custody."
Ilia brought her hands in front of her in a pleading motion. "We of the White Fang acknowledge all the good your organization has done for the faunus in this area, so we believe just handing him over would be enough to square everything away before anything gets out of hand."
Still there was silence. Ruby just stared at her, unreadable expression obscuring any thoughts she may have had. It was unnerving, and only put the girl further on edge. She pressed further. "The man you are protecting is a deserter. So the White Fang asks you, out of respect for you and your accomplishments: please give him to us. Traitors need to be held accountable for their actions, don't they?" Ilia tried to reason.
"So if you do get a hold of him, what are you going to do?" Ruby finally responded. "Kill him? Torture? Or maybe you're going to go a more classy route and just stick with blackmail; which is it?"
"That's—" Ilia was cut off again. The momentum of the conversation was now starting to swing.
"You White Fang are no different than rabid beasts. Why bother propping up your own race when it's easier to vent on helpless civilians, and now that someone wants out of the mindless violence you want to put him in the ground. Your kind are too spiteful to learn, and will justify your own race's destruction."
"How dare you!"
"No! How dare you delude yourself into thinking Sitra Achra is under any obligation to you White Fang." Rwby's tone was laced with a tempered anger, simmering just under her controlled persona, just waiting to be unleashed. "The only reason why I have allowed you curs to operate in Vale is because I have higher priorities, but let me tell you right now: continue as is and I will crush every branch operating in the kingdom, do I make myself clear?"
Ilia wanted speak. She wanted to retort to such an arrogant statement, respond to that insulting slur, but the tone Ruby used was intimidating—they were as knives to her neck, stopping any words from her dry, gulping throat. Ilia's lips moved in twitches and the vague motions of syllables, desperately attempting to say something, anything, but nothing could come out, not even the pleading of mercy.
When Ilia looked to Adam, her fear magnified ten-fold. A man known for his passion and hatred of humans, yet he sat there statue-still, not even bothering to look at her. There was no restraint on his face as Ruby insulted not only their cause, but referred to them with such slurs, and yet there was no reaction from the man most reactive. Adam was not being neutral, or restraining his thoughts, but rather he was calm, completely unaffected by her statements, as if he knew Ruby was not speaking to him personally..
"Well? Have I made myself clear?" Ruby gracefully walked to the shivering girl, the commanding posture she once had already broken, now looking at the floor like a punished child.
The sound of shuffling feet came to a stop in front of Ilia. Hesitantly looking up, she met the otherworldly face of Ruby, somehow looking down at her despite being the same height. The faunus's fight or flight instinct suddenly kicked in upon meeting the silver gaze; the gaze of a predator looking at its prey. That's when she saw it.
Ruby's shadow, cast by the dim glow of candles and lamp light, was different now. It was larger, broader, with horns now sprouting from the head. The shape was so big that it folded at the junction between the wall and ceiling, looming its upper half over the whole room. When Ilia looked down, back at Ruby, her breath stalled.
It was the span in between the beats of Ilia's heart; she couldn't process what had happened before the rushing sensation of falling, along with sudden pain radiating from her right cheek. The back of Ruby's unringed hand had bashed into the side of her masked face, knocking Ilia off her feet and plunging to the other side of the room, back-first against a wall.
Ilia was lost in the moment even as she fell. When had Ruby even moved her hand? The speed was absolute to her eyes. Had Ruby known she was reaching for the weapon stripped to the back of her belt? How? Ilia had just resolved herself to reach for it when Ruby had struck… was that blood running down her chin? Ilia prodded the back of her teeth with her tongue; two were loose, one almost to the point of falling out completely. She didn't have time to think about how that was possible.
Whipping around, snatching Lightning Lash off the ground, Ilia thumbed the activation button. A blade not unlike a rapier extended outward from the hilt. Electricity crackled along its length, powered by the Yellow Dust inside one of two chambers.
Adam was moving now, a blur of blackened motion. He was charging, sword still sheathed but prepared to strike anyway. He was not running at Ruby. In a mad panic Ilia pulled the trigger of her weapon's hilt. Extending like a whip, Ilia swiped Lightning Lash in a vain attempt to keep what distance she could in such a cramped area.
Adam rolled under the weapon, hissing static making his hair frizz from the closeness, into Ilia's space. Continuing his motion in one fluid arc, not once letting the momentum lose steam, the butt of Adam's sword cracked upwards into Ilia's chin with bone-snapping force. Her entire body shimmered as her Aura wavered under the blow. The back of her skull slammed into the wall behind her, right into the dent Ruby had caused mere seconds ago.
There was no respite. Adam brought his kneecap to Ilia's masked face, smashing her mouth against the joint mercilessly. More teeth loosened upon impact. Twice more this happened, Adam manipulating her with his hand at the back of her head. During this onslaught Lighting Lash became forgotten, dropped to the floor under a daze of pain. Not a second after releasing the battered girl the scabbard of Adam's sword, Blush, beat across her small face in one final swing.
His fellow faunus was flung to the floor, mask skittering across the floor in broken pieces. Battered and defeated, the humiliatingly-short skirmish was over. Adam turned to Ruby, not so much a bead of sweat on his brow. "So what are we going to do now? Killing an emissary of Sienna's is going to complicate things."
Adam's voice was a distant, muffled echo by now. Growing ever more distant at the darkness constricted her vision tighter and tighter. But, for now, Ilia still had the presence of mind to comprehend the rolling sentences. A dark liquid crawled down what little sight she had...blood...probably. It was getting hard to focus.
"It's too soon to deal with the White Fang," Ruby mused aloud. "I just got done stabilizing the downtown sectors, if a war were to break out now that peace gets thrown out the window and my grip on the politicians is over—they're tenuous enough as is. "
"That's the real reason why I called you," Adam spoke to Ruby as he sat back down on the edge of the desk. His voice gave insight into how worried he truly was. "And it gets worse. Our friend over there," he pointed to the now crying and urinating chameleon faunus with the end of his katana, "is very close to Blake. Normally I would suggest we cut any loose ends and kill the traitor along with her associates, but considering the connection you have with Blake…" Adam's sentenced trailed off, letting the silence speak the rest for him.
"Not only that," Roman cut in, "but it would seem Sienna is on to you. She may suspect you're planning against her. If her spy goes missing while under your watch, it's not gonna look good for any of us." Roman spoke to Adam as he tried to light a cigar with one of the flickering candles. The results were annoyingly predictable.
"And even if she doesn't now there's a very good possibility she would be suspicious after the fact," Ruby finished Roman's thought process. "I know I would."
"Well Sienna isn't you," Adam gave voice to his thoughts. "She's a dilettante when it comes to running an organization. Expecting her to be even half the leader you are is too much credit."
Adam looked at Roman with a shallow tilt of his head. He was still struggling with the candle. "Hell, I'm sure it would take Roman at least twice as long to screw up the White Fang this badly," he jested.
Roman's head snapped head towards the faunus, candle slamming back to the shelf, back straight like a startled meerkat. "Hey!"
A hand was raised. "The first rule of strategy is to assume your opponent is just as good if not better than you. Overconfidence leads to holes which can be exploited by the right person." Ruby interjected matter-a-factly. "I didn't get to where I am now by being careless."
Roman sighed at the interruption. As consolation for his lack of words, he raised two middle fingers to the White Fang leader.
Ilia, by this point, was disconnected from the world—lost in her own mind, comatose for all intents and purposes. It was this drooling, weeping, unconscious body that Ruby pointed to with a lacquered finger.
"Lock her up," she commanded to Adam sternly. "Keep her secret. Keep her alive. I'll contact you when I have a plan. We'll go from there. Right now I need time to think."
"What about Blake?" Adam spoke to Ruby's back. She and Roman had already began walking out of the room. Her bare steps halted while Roman continued on his way, already knowing what she would say.
"Leave her to me," she replied before resuming her pace. "I'd prefer not to kill her if possible, but I'll wait for the cards to be dealt to decide for sure."
Adam stood again and gave a shallow bow, a custom from his native home of Haven. "Understood, sir."
The negotiations for Tukson's contract was a surprisingly painless affair. Actually, the outcome was far better than he had ever anticipated, though more expensive than initially thought. But even with the price almost doubled it was well worth the extra cost, considering what he was getting.
Tukson's original plan had been to hire one or more full-time bodyguards till the day he left. The current deal was much more than that. He would be given room and board in the building that this club was attached to, as the couple actually owned the thing entirely. Tukson couldn't say for sure how it worked, but apparently this club they owned was the business side while the three-story building top-side was their residence; the home for both the owners and some of the employees
But that was only part of it. Because he was now a resident he would be living in an area constantly surrounded by a dozen or so of trained fighters, including the infamous Sascha, the monster with so much power and influence he supposedly has multiple police stations in his pocket. Well, so say the rumors at least.
The perks didn't end there. He would be given limited access to the underground club, not that he understood what purpose or attraction the place had to begin with. He would be escorted by a pair of guards every time he left to go anywhere outside—with cars sequestered away in secret garages as to prevent them from being tampered with.
Also, as a final bonus, arrangements to fly the stock of his bookstore would be made for him, as well as paid movers to help him unload and set things up at his new location. All set up in advance without him having to make a single call. What could be a better incentive for the extra money?
All in all It had eaten up a good chunk of the Lien he had saved over the years, but with everything factored in and considering the dire situation he was in, it was well worth the thirty grand. Now the only thing he had to think about was whether he was going to work this week as, aside from emptying out the safe and register, there was no reason to risk being at his store.
Tukson sat back at the polished bar as he dwelled on his situation, his old forgotten beer replaced with a newer, colder one. Junior, the bartender, was busy doing something in the room behind the shelves that displayed the immaculate brews. While Cinder had stated during their meeting that he could enjoy one free drink of the high-end side of their collection a night, the faunus didn't really want to do anything too familiar yet. The primal portion of his genetics still screamed when that woman was near; best not to risk even the slightest provocation from her.
The man looked over his shoulder. Cinder sat at one of the glass-like chairs with a Scroll in hand, messaging someone he'd hazard to guess. Mercury and Emerald had left a good number of minutes ago to do some unknown chore, heading through the ornate drapes and up the stone stairs that connected this underground labyrinth to the outside world.
After his experience on those stairs, the man in the flannel shirt couldn't bring himself to even look their way. The dozens of questions he had were currently being pushed under by the alcohol, suppressing them as best he could. For whatever the reason, Tukson just had this feeling of unease, the sense that he was better off not knowing about that… thing,but that did not stop his yearning.
He could still hear its enchanting non-voice in his head, like a beautiful choir hymning in the background: Let me make you scream! Those words played themselves on a never-ending repeat within the fissures of his cracked subconscious mind, urging him to go back into the stairwell and profess his undying love to the unknowable creature. To wrap himself back into the heavenly embrace it had offered him so willingly and let all the troubles blighting his world melt away in a tranquil euphoria.
But, as with Cinder, his body's natural instincts screamed out in terror whenever he so much as looked at the ornate drapes which hid the shaft from view, but not even that most primal of fears stopped his desire. It was the oddest thing. His body was both urging him to go but also demanding to stay away; two of the most primitive yet powerful of instincts at war with one another, fighting over what decision he should make.
Self preservation and the desire for pleasure are intrinsic parts of being sentient life. As much as humans and faunus alike seem to believe in this idea that individuals have this innate control over themselves absolutely, that was simply not how it worked. Biology sets the rules and all life has to spin their wheels at the whims of those boundaries. It's how all living things are governed, and right now two primeval motivators warred for different things inside Tukson.
The sense of self preservation has accelerated the growth of both humanity and faunus since before history was written down. It was because the cold hurt and killed clothes were made; it was because the dark hid adversaries fire was more precious than all the gold and gems in the world, for it illuminated what hid under the blanket of night while also banishing the cold. The advent of Dust only made this effect more obvious.
The desire for pleasure, while more exploited and trivialized in modern days than before it, was no less important in the survival of humans and faunus. The reason the vast majority of both species find extra pleasure in sweet and salty foods is because they are required for physiological functions, beyond simple nutrition; if sex did not feel so good then it is likely the earliest ancestors of both species would not have procreated enough if at all, thus dooming all to extinction before the first crystals of Dust were even found, or the first cloths woven together.
His internal struggle made one thing clear to him, even when trying to drink himself to obliviousness: he was getting mixed in with people far above his station.
"Cinder!" A high-pitched voice enthusiastically called out suddenly. Tukson turned around in his chair on reflex just in time to see a blur of black bursting forth from the drapes, billowing them aside like a powerful gust of air.
He followed the direction the movement made just in time to see it attaching to a now standing Cinder, causing the taller woman to spin around from the momentum. It was a girl, he concluded, decorated with jewelry in both ears and shiny rings on her right hand. A compact, petite thing she was, possessing cherubic features witch allowed Cinder to handle her like some sort of precious toy.
When the two started kissing like long-lost lovers, he felt at odds about it. On one hand it was a sweet passionate embrace from a couple that had been separated for a little while, so the romantic in him couldn't help but call it a cute reunion. On the other hand the newcomer looked a bit too small, too young. It felt wrong to watch her shamelessly trade tongues with the adult.
He wasn't really comfortable with the spectacle in all honesty, but was smart enough to not speak up. Besides that, he had much bigger problems to sort out in his head at the moment to pay any more attention to them.
Tukson gulped down a few more swigs of his drink. The former White Fang could already tell that this next week would be a turbulent one for him and his emotions.
(End of Chapter Three)
*1) The inverse of the Tree of Life in Kabbalah.
*2) Meaning "the other side"; that which is opposite to god/divine/holiness etc.
Author's Notes: 'Ya know, I wasn't expecting this to take almost two years to make, but, not gonna lie, I had no concrete idea on how this chapter would go. All in all I have completely rewritten this entire chapter, from the ground up, four different times, and because there was such long gaps in between my time writing this chapter in particular, I would constantly have to rewrite paragraphs so they met my new standard of writing. Hell, I have to stop myself from going back to the first two chapters and rewriting them. It's hard for me to even read them now, not gonna lie.
Compound the above with my full-time job and my somewhat… souring opinion of Rooster Teeth and the people of, procrastination became a rather big problem as well. But, I could never escape this story. Whenever I listen to music I get these flashes of scenes/future plot lines and it never goes away. I want to tell this story, I love the character dynamics I have in my mind, and right now it's just a matter of setting up everything the way I have it envisioned, if for no other reason than to simply get it off my chest. I have the outline for three other stories already started to work on in between my time making this chapter, but this one right now... it just keeps gnawing away at me.
Anyway, on a final note, to add onto my 20-month old Jaune statement/question from last chapter, I've actually changed my mind on that. I think I've come to a conclusion that explains why he's in so many fics, or at least a contributing factor to it: he is the only male in the main cast. Think about it. Team RWBY, all girls; half of JNPR is girls, and Ren was only relevant for a single season (4), so what other guy is there to use as a template? Sun is a side character at best, and Neptune isn't even that in terms of importance, and Adam is… Adam. The only other dude in the main casts age range is Oscar, Ozpin notwithstanding, and that has its own problems attached.
So, yeah, mystery solved, for me at least.
As a final note, feel free to critique or comment, the more detailed the better. One of my favorite parts of this is responding to people and having back and forth discussions (assuming I actually get the notifications, at least).