First Interlude
It Starts Again
Ω
Levi Ansleif awoke while Constance yet slept. His emerald-green eyes popped open, nary a blink or squint, and he sat bolt upright in the bed. The austere room he inhabited—devoid of any furnishings save for his bed and a single chair—had not one hint of light in the hours before sunrise. This was fine to him. He needed no light to see by.
The odd man went about his morning routine in silence, no light and no sound. This usually consisted of rising from bed like an automaton, dressing himself with that same lack of flair, and finally, simply leaving. But he was stopped at the door this day by a tight, bony grip on his shoulder, and Levi knew immediately who it was. Of course he did. He'd smelled the room's other occupant since rising and knew that icky-sweet, marshy scent well. 'Twas the smell of decay. A dead thing amid the dark that was still very much up and about.
"How are you today, dead one?" Levi asked.
"Oh, same old same old," it answered in its gravelly, wispy tone. A fresh wave of the putrid aroma washed out along with its words. It took all Levi had in him not to retch.
"Prithee tell, wherefore callest thou upon I?"
"Drop that shit," said the dead thing.
It released its grip on Levi, went and sat on his bed. He turned to face the thing, not really wanting to do so, and noted the sheets would need washing. Aye, the dark in his room reigned absolute, but he could see just fine all the same. And lo, he saw the ragged thing that was once—longer ago than memory stretched—a man alive and well. Saw it in its torn, molding robe. Saw its haggard and peeling face with eye sockets that held no such organs any longer. Smelled it even worse now that he looked upon it. The students would probably complain later, as its scent tended to hang around for days.
"I've come to hurry you along," said the dead one. "I feel the light getting weaker and there's not much time left."
"This isn't something to rush along, you know?" Levi said.
"Wish it were enough to just say that..." The dead thing leaned back on its hands, craned its gaze toward the unlit ceiling. "Listen though, and listen close. Hearken thine ears, if it please ye that I say; my screwups are about to come full circle. We don't have the luxury of letting things cook slowly."
"Can't rush art," Levi repeated.
"Yeah, I can, and I am."
"Then you're going to get results you didn't want. Isn't that how it went with blondie?"
"She wasn't right from the get-go," said the dead thing, sounding defensive.
"That's not what you said in Mistral," Levi pressed. "Nor is it what you said in Menagerie. Or Vacuo either…"
"Don't push me, kid." The dead thing stood suddenly, crossed the room to Levi in a flash. "I really don't like getting pushed. It makes me mad. I don't like being mad, dig me?"
"Yeah, I dig you, daddy-o."
Levi turned away, trying again not to retch. If the dead thing's scent were not bad enough then its breath would surely do the trick. He quickly began to lose this battle. Might have to note that his floor needed cleaning too.
"Suck it up and figure it out," said the dead thing. "And put a goddam rush on it, too. The light dims further every moment. Once it's gone, we're all fucked ten ways from Tuesday. Got me?"
"Yeah, yeah, I got you!" Levi called out.
To an empty room. The dead thing was gone. That came as somewhat of a relief, but the burden of their conversation nullified it. His stomach now sat in a twisted mess—for reasons beyond that awful stench—and the decent mood he'd awoken with was as spoiled as the dead thing itself. Levi turned back to the door and opened it, took one look at the well-lit hallway and shut it.
"How's about Atlanta?" he said to no one, then opened the door again.
This time he stepped through. It did not lead him into the faculty hallway of the MTU dormitory.
Ω
Atlanta's streets lay in the same apocalyptic wreck Levi had last seen them in. It almost didn't bother him at this point. He took a look around, absorbing the total ruination of it all.
A couple more skyscrapers had collapsed since last time, but at least ten of them still stood whole. Vines climbed their sides, choked the concrete and had long ago burst most of the windows. Trees grew out of nearly every crevice or opening, reaching out like bark-covered, green-fingered arms to claw at the sky. As if nature were claiming it did a better job of skyscraping. At the tippy top of each—wherever that was, even the ones that had broken and collapsed—a ring of beautiful flowers grew. Lilies and monkshoods, virginal pink and enigmatic purple. Always those same damn flowers.
Levi sighed, looked back at the ground. Observed the bedlam that had been frozen in time by the now stillborn earth. His earth. His home, once upon a time…
Cars sat as rusted, blasted out sentinels keeping eternal vigil over a city that bustled no more. Street signs stood bent and twisted, poking all sorts of funny directions. Most were melted nigh completely out of shape too, but some could still be made out. Levi saw one in particular that jutted from the side of an old Amoco station—undoubtedly put there by the big booms—that had been melted to the shape of a smile.
"At least someone's got a good outlook here," Levi said to himself.
He sighed again. Turned away from the smiling former stop sign. Started down the road toward the Georgia State Capitol. This little sojourn had a purpose indeed, but Levi wanted to take his time. It had been a while since he'd visited. The big booms had ruined the place and the rest of this earth, yes, but the coming of the light had frozen it. Just as the ruination had begun to give way to the clutches of nature, things returning to their beginning state. In a way, it was all stopped right as rebirth had begun. There were no corpses or bones to be bleached by the sun; no animals or little critters skittered about. Just the plants now frozen at the precipice of their resumed sovereignty.
And that image calmed him.
With the bilious taste of ominous knowing on his tongue, twisting his guts and burdening his heart, the sight was a blessing he would not soon squander. So, on his way, Levi took his time and stopped at every sight he felt to. Like that old donut shop he'd been to every morning on his way to work at the Capitol, where the sweet smell of pastries and icing hung ever-present on the air and old Mister Petrov always had his favorite croissant ready. Or the little newsstand that kept back a copy of his favorite magazine for him, the sections for the stock market highlighted prominently. Ah yes, and let us not forget the automotive dealership where he had bought his first vehicle; in the summer of seventy-four, there had been a baby-blue Ford sedan there that simply had his name on it. The salesman hadn't been a snake and had actually given him a fair enough price on the thing. In gratitude, Levi had returned there to have all his maintenance and even to buy his wife a car on their fifth anniversary.
Good times, those had been. Decent days now long gone, so much dust and shattered pieces—not unlike the few mostly whole skyscrapers that dotted the cityscape.
At last, the Capitol came into view, a gold dome amid torn-down and grey ruin. Levi looked up and let his eyes sit for a moment on the old Stars and Stripes atop its concrete awning. Wind no longer blew to wave Old Glory, but still, he gave her a short, contemplative glare. Then, bowing his head, he passed under her stars and stripes and entered the grand building.
The place looked quite kept-together, funny enough. Nothing like the desolation outside its doors. A few pieces of the gold-plated ceiling had caved over the ages and dusty remnants of concrete smattered the floor. But every last piece of furniture lay exactly where it had been on the last day mankind had walked within. The big booms had not touched it, a miracle Levi still could not discern the meaning of. And a miracle it was for him indeed on this visit. Since things had not gone to shit as the rest of the city, it meant he would not have long to search.
Levi stepped over a piece of gold-and-concrete ceiling, rounded the reception desk and turned left. He followed a long hallway—stepped through metal detectors whose batteries burned no longer—until it dead-ended in a three-way fork. He took the righthand path and continued along. After counting ten doors on his right, he stopped.
"Georgia State Annals," said Levi, reading the placard on the left side of the door. "Bingo, kemosabe."
The handle twisted under his grip with ghostly ease. Not a squeak or creak, not the slightest metallic groan. Even the hinges turned, opening the door before him, with the grace of a whisper. He stepped in and shut it. Old habits and all that.
He began to pace along the aisles of old, outmoded paper records. A few months before the big booms, the state had claimed they would be making the switch to digital recordkeeping. The motion had passed the House almost unanimously but gotten no further. Hellfire had rained from the skies, horrors had climbed from the cracked, split ground, and the earth—Georgia and her forty-nine sisters alongside the greater whole—had ground to a sudden, violent halt. The paper records would have become little more than dust if not for the light.
"There you are," Levi said to himself. He opened up a particular cabinet, pulled out the drawer and began to dig. "Funny how they used to say, 'All roads lead to Rome.' I seem to keep getting lead back here no matter which roads I take…"
His fingers drifted over and turned away folder after folder. All were old motions passed by the Georgia General Assembly, thick and fat with legalese, kept for reference. Which was never needed, but appearances had to be kept up of course. Good thing for him. It meant that, on that fateful day, he'd had a safe place to hide it. And now he'd come back, a chicken home to roost.
At last, Levi's roaming hands stopped. He plucked up an oddly misshapen folder, tucked it in his long-coat, and returned the drawer to the filing cabinet. A smile crept across his strangely handsome face, and not a moment after, the odd man collapsed to his knees to belt laughter.
Quite like a madman.
Ω
Levi chose the old donut shop to make his return. The light had preserved everything in a sort of off, queer stasis, but even so there was little to have.
Old, moldy, mostly rotted donuts lay scattered about. Nothing had touched them since the big booms. Maybe a few of the initial survivors had taken some, but none had come since and nothing looked disturbed. Just rotted and reclaimed by the once-ailing earth. However, Levi did spot one thing to partake of—the old, glass-front fridge just left of the register, still about a quarter full of glass-bottle Coca-Cola. Levi didn't need the calories or anything, merely wanted the sentimental taste. He took one, and as a sort of reverential thing, he then left a few paper Lien on the counter. Same as last time—he even cast a glance at the moldering bills from that previous visit.
When he finished, Levi went to the donut shop's back room. He opened up the manager's office and took a look inside. Still an empty, ghostly ruin. Once more he wished old Mister Petrov a peaceful journey on (glad he had passed quickly, being so near the first of the big booms), then shut the door. The second time he opened it, Levi stepped through into the brightly-lit, fresh-smelling hallway of the MTU faculty dormitory.
Ψ
Blake opened her eyes to the day some two hours before dawn would break. Constance slept on. Outside the window of the cheap motel—a true scarcity in such an opulent city—she heard crickets chirping and, with her preternatural ears, even the sound of some few bats still about. They swooped and dove, little dive-bombers of the dark hours, snatching small insects in their dexterous jaws and flitting off to enjoy the meal before going right back to it. In a way, this ecological cycle soothed her; the circle of predator and prey, just as hunter and hunted, spoke to her inner self.
And to that gnawing, growing lust that burned brighter with every passing day, which craved blood in recompense for loss.
Her golden eyes regarded the room, took in the dusty, musty sight of it. Her deeply attuned nose crinkled at the smell of long-settled cigarette smoke. She coughed twice, then rose from the icky-feeling covers. "Cleaned every day!" the sign out front had proclaimed. Blake severely doubted the veracity of that.
After a quick series of stretches and light exercise—cardio mostly, to limber up—she made her way to the bathroom. Quick as she could, the faunus made herself ready and quit that dank, awful little room. And with all her gear and garb in place, she left, stopping not for breakfast or even a little snack. Hunger did not call on her form. Not for food, anyroad. Instead she craved retribution, satisfaction, and cold closure. Her once-kind heart burned with hate. Her head swam with visions of violence that, should the day's hunt go well, lay tantalizingly at hand.
Ten past six was when Blake Belladonna left the cheap motel at the very edge of Constance, close enough to the city limits to see the icy mountains and snowy tundra of Mantle beyond. It would be the last time she slept in Remnant until the bloody, smoke-riddled end.
Ϯ
Qrow Branwen was not a religious man—at least, not for some good many years now—but he had more and more come to question self- and predetermination since the passing of one of his beloved nieces. One yet remained, yes and thank you, but that brought little comfort. The one who'd gone to her path's clearing had been strong, determined, and quite a warriorly picture. What could he turn to for explanation of her end, save for questions over the Fate-driven path?
He did this more and more now. He did this as he wandered across Remnant, searching for clues and tracks. He did this as he crossed deserts and forests, mountains and jungles, chasing down every last whiff of his quarry. He did this every night when he lay down for restless, tossing sleep. But perhaps worst of all, he did this in the waking hours of every day (just as this day) when the sun yet teased its arrival and he rose to the pounding of another hangover. Why? Why? Why?
Why did it happen? Why was it allowed to happen? Why had he not been able to do something about it?
There remained a hole in his memory, but he knew for certain his niece and her partner had never been meant for that contract. Not for the Winter Maiden's Tear and certainly not for the man in the mask. The Man in Black. No, that contract was to be kept aside for the veterans among the hunter and huntress elite. Those true hunters of beasts—whether man or Grimm—who had withstood both the test of time and the unending test of endless hunts.
"Shouldn't have been yours, Spitfire," he said to himself, looking at the haggard, aged face that stared back at him from the mirror. Just like he did every morning. No, he had not been able to rescind the contract after they took it, and no, he had not been able to convince any of the higher-ups to do something about it. But still he said so to himself every morning, that it should not have been hers.
…should not have been anyone's…
Qrow Branwen put away the small square of glass that served for his mirror, stood and stretched. He'd spent the last week crossing Mantle's tundra, headed for the city of Constance. Had to keep as low a profile as possible when after prey such as his. Which was precisely why he had made this crossing on foot, from the outermost shoreline he could dock at, and precisely why he had slept the nights away in snowy caves or hand-hewn dugouts for the last seven days. Now the sun rose over the horizon far behind him, cast a glittering cavalcade across the snowy expanse before him.
And at the furthest edge of his vision, Qrow saw it, that glittering city amidst a frozen wasteland.
Ω
It was around midday that a most fortuitous thing happened to Levi. After his sojourn earlier to retrieve a needed thing and relive some old memories at the same time, he had decided to simply loaf about for the rest of the day. Certainly had plenty of it to pass and then some. But on his way around, walking lazily through the city, Levi spotted the last person he had expected to see. That same red hood. That same somehow-nervous, somehow-carefree gait. And when she looked about for but a moment, he saw those same silver eyes.
Couldn't forget those, no sir, not ever.
For a moment he only watched her. It was clear as day she had not sensed his gaze, so he remained content to hang back. Then he saw her dip off through the Arboretum and quickly followed. Third Plaza bustled merrily behind him as Levi slunk into the trees and bushes and flowers, a ghost in his prance. Never lost sight of her either, that funny, red-hooded gal. It was when she stopped to actually smell some flowers that he broke cover and approached. Breathing evenly, Levi crouched beside her to observe a tulip.
Time's running out, Levi. Tick-tock, tick-tock, Levi. The light quickly fades, Levi…
"Amazing, isn't nature?" he said to her.
She tensed up immediately, stood and spun with inhuman speed. Levi thought even the dead thing might not be able to match her, had her leg not been so wounded years past. For a moment—so very brief no living thing could have sensed it—he saw fear in her silver eyes. Cautious curiosity replaced it the very next instant. Trying to appear as amicable as possible, Levi slowly stood.
"Sorry," he said. "Did I startle you?"
"A bit," said the red-hooded woman. What was her name again? "Mister Scholar, right?"
Levi nodded to her and was pleased to see her visibly relax. She seemed to remember him and he indeed remembered their first meeting, but he could not presently recall her name. Not for his unlife, as it were.
"I like to come here on occasion, contemplate the world a bit," he said, wracking his mind for her name. "It's nice to see a student doing the same. Prithee, forgive me my imprudent greeting—I got ahead of myself. So many that attend the university act like they have not the time to spare for this place. Always so busy, always so preoccupied, always so…"
He drifted off, lost his train of thought. An oh-so-brief sense of vertigo washed over the man, but he showed this not. When the red-hooded woman spoke it snapped him right from it.
"Too frantic to stop and smell the flowers?" she suggested.
"Yes." Levi smiled and barked a short laugh. "Exactly like that. No time to smell the flowers."
"It really is a shame…" she turned away from him, looked at the bed of flowers he had disturbed her from. "I'd almost like to take one. Guess that'd be rude though, huh?"
"Why would it be rude?" Levi asked, honestly confused. "Furthermore, why would you want to take any? Don't think me sentimental, but why kill such beauty for only temporary ownership?"
He watched her carefully. That question had clearly confused her, which was pleasing in a childish sort of way. By Jove, time was indeed running low. Every passing day seemed to bring him further along in this regression. Since the big booms and the light, he'd assumed he had all the time in existence to spare.
But was that really true any longer?
"I guess…" the woman muttered after a time. "I guess, I'd just like to have one. Not for me, but for someone else."
Levi crossed his arms and shifted his weight. The long-coat crackled with his movement. Suddenly, a proper question came to mind—maybe the dead thing had been right to push him?
"Someone special?" he asked, and with his eyes he implored her soul. Not much at first but it would suffice.
"Yes," she answered, sounding dreamy and suddenly lost. "Someone very special to me."
Then, she turned away and approached a nearby oak. The thing was absolutely massive, clearly a transplant from an ages-old forest. It had to be as thick as she was tall, and the canopy above blocked out nigh all the sunlight that managed to pierce the cloudy heavens. She looked up at it, into it, and Levi noted her frowning face as she seemed to become lost in herself.
Finally, the name clicked. Seems the old noggin hadn't gone out just yet.
"Ruby Rose, wasn't it?" he asked her.
"Yeah," she answered in that same dreamy voice.
"Prithee tell, what consternates thee so?"
He watched her process his words, knowing full well that was the case. Took her a bit longer than he had expected, but Ruby finally turned around and met his eyes. Again, he implored her, this time with greater force. It satisfied him to see it take proper root.
"It's…" she started, then touched her forehead. Oh dear, had he come on too strong? "Well, my girlfriend, she's going through a lot I think. Much more than she's telling me. I'm worried about her. I want to help her, work through it with her, but I'm not sure I can…"
Levi watched her start to swoon, though she didn't go the whole way. Aye, probably a bit strong, but that was good. It meant he could start the witchy-work that needed doing. And with what she'd just said, he became all the surer she was it. The light fades quick, fires burn low indeed, but maybe something could happen. Something else…
Levi smiled, and Ruby swooned further, still not losing her feet.
"Thou lookest alarmed," he said, keeping up that serene smile. "Hath I upset thee, fair Rose?"
"No, it's alright. I'm fine, really, just a bit dizzy. I think…"
Further she swooned. Further Levi's awe of her climbed, seeing that she still kept her feet. He had seen others—warriors and hunters alike—simply up and crumble beneath his imploration. How interesting indeed that she should hold.
"I believe," said Levi, turning away and relieving her for the nonce, "Miss Schnee would like that flower best. And perhaps one of those, also."
Now, as he said this, he pointed to a patch of grass where there were no flowers at all. When Ruby looked to where he pointed, there lay two lone, singular specimens—a bright-pink lily and a stalk of royal-violet monkshood. When she leaned over to pluck them, Levi felt something he hadn't believed possible since the big booms, the light, and his punishment.
He felt sorry, knowing what those flowers meant.
"Thanks," she said as she picked them. "You've got a good eye. Are you a botanist too, Mister Scholar?"
"No, just a man of many talents. Or, perhaps I should say, interests." He gave her a shallow tip of his hat. "Now, might I enquire what worries you so about her? What has your girlfriend embroiled herself in?"
Ruby sniffed the lily, then said, "There's this dance Friday. She told me she doesn't want to go, but I think there's more to it than that…"
"She doesn't want to chance being found out," Levi proposed.
"Yeah. But it's more than that even, I'm sure. I think it's also that, well… maybe she's just tired of high society?"
"Or maybe she's sick of being around all these blowhards that think they know what's what?"
She giggled at that and turned to look at him again. He felt the wind pick up a bit and play with his hair, which seemed to mesmerize her. But beneath the veneer he saw what lay in her heart. For a second time he was sorry, but also pleased by the very same. Aye, she might just be…
Might just be…
"Love's pretty fucked up," he said, turning away. It was getting hard to look at her and that upset him a bit. "Draws us into these traps, see? Makes us act all funny, screw up ourselves, stop being who we are. Really nuggles the noggin."
Don't push too hard, now.
"Nuggles?" Ruby parroted him.
Good.
"Sorry." Levi laughed. "Meant confuses, I s'pose."
"Mm…"
He looked back, watched Ruby sniff the flowers in her hands then turn to gaze at the Arboretum in whole. She looked so lost at that moment that Levi decided it was enough. Sweat was peeking at her brow and a flush had crept hard into her cheeks. The seed was planted, aye, but had it not been done so before his intervention? Levi suspected as much, and thus decided to leave well enough alone.
"Perhaps…" he began, starting to walk away. "Yes, perhaps t'would be good if the two of you shared a dance, but one of thy own making and chosen location? Hearts embroiled so would do well to heed one another. Yes, I think so…"
The strange man took four steps, turned back and sucked in a deep breath. He released it slowly—started that even breathing—as Ruby turned to look for him, perhaps to say her thanks. This was indeed the case but Levi could not hear her over the gust of his lungs. And she, in turn, could no longer see or sense him in the slightest. A handy trick.
Handy indeed…
Λ
It is often the case that when two individuals pursue the same goal or ends, Fate decrees they must meet. Knights-errant chasing down the same fell beast. Treasure hunters skulking toward a shared legend. Hunters tracking a creature through the woods, intent on catching supper, never knowing their mark is hunted by another. Yes, often will Fate decree these two travelers to meet, being that their paths lead to the same terminus. The knights-errant might bicker, the treasure hunters squabble and deceive, and the hunters fight over their quarry. For it is their wont and their lot.
And in the city of Constance, nestled amid Mantle's tundra, the two hunters—one approaching from without the city, the other hunting from within—whose prey awaited them there were indeed a part of Fate's grand machinations, headed for the same terminus. Yet, it decided they were not to meet, not on Remnant's soil.
As the day drew to a close and rain began to pour… As two roses danced within the place of their own journeys' instigation… As a woman given to the life of the hunt and a man whom liquor and sorrow had dreadfully afflicted both made their moves…
Fate decided they would not meet in this where or when.
Ω
Levi stood behind a streetlamp. The street before him lay as empty and dead as could be, soaked now with the pouring rain. He had been breathing heavily and evenly for quite a while now and it was beginning to make his head spin. The day had ended in a boggy, soggy, frigid mess of a downpour. Between that, the post-midnight dark, the too-little-light of the streetlamps, and the nigh-total barrenness of the area, it was surely a stretch of the imagination to think he might be seen. But Levi had felt eyes after him all day. He had been too busy to check into it, sure, but he still felt them. Thus, Levi breathed heavily and evenly, keeping up the glam.
It was a nifty, handy, dandy little trick after all. Why not use it?
Breathing evenly, heavily, and quietly somehow, Levi watched the front of the Siren's Call. He'd trailed the roses from the train station to the Call, and then had let them be on their merry way within. He had neither want nor need to keep complete tabs on them. There remained only one more bit of business to deal with this eve, after which he could have himself a nice little break. The students were getting one—the MTU gave two weeks at the end of the scholastic cycle, which seemed far too much to Levi—so he thought it wouldn't be uncouth to do the same. Just one more bit of business to take care of, one more loose end to tie up in a neat little bow.
With a practiced hand, Levi removed a dainty silver pocket watch from his coat. He pressed the clasp atop it, listened to the old thing pop open, and looked. It was already the next day and well into it. No less than half the city would be getting up soon for work. This worried him a little, but he put it from his mind and returned the watch to its rest. Then he continued to wait, to look, to wonder passingly about the eyes he could still feel, searching and sinister.
Those eyes were hateful; full of scorn and malicious intent, they cut as cold knives through his flesh and sent shivers all along his spine. Within the mind behind them he could feel intellect now dulled by ire. It felt familiar. Like the gaze of a friend from long ago, now resting on him with stranger's eyes—minus the bilious loathing of course.
This train of thought came to an abrupt stop when Levi spied two women exiting the Call. One had hair as white as snow and the other locks like raven feathers, their tips dipped in fresh blood. He felt his lips begin to curl upward, catlike, as the relief of his vigil's end finally drew close. Levi redoubled his breathing and reached into another pocket, this time withdrawing his keepsake from the Georgia State Capitol: a thin, leather-bound blue book. Both sides were checkered in a perfect quarter pattern, but otherwise the cover was blank. He opened it and looked at the first page, then shut it again and continued watching the women.
'Something old, something new,' he thought to himself.
They passed him walking briskly through the rain. Levi stepped out from behind the streetlamp and fell in step with them some few paces back. He made no sound, disturbed not the rain. The women chatted happily—almost drunkenly if he were to guess—with each other as they went. Levi tightened his grip on the book, pocketed it, and livened his step. Wanted to get a bit closer. Just a little…
Those eyes, oh how they carved into his back. He was sure, now, that someone watched him. Had to be close, but how could they? This glam was a gift from the dead one. Who could see through it?
Levi ignored that unsettling thought and continued drawing closer to the women, continued his steady breathing, started moving his right hand upward. With his left, he pushed the pointer and middle fingers out straight, curled the ring and pinky, hooked the thumb up and faced the palm toward them. When he felt close enough, Levi started to gesture with the right hand as well…
But was stopped.
Ψ
Blake looked at the revolver in her lap. She sat atop a small pile of pallets tucked in an alley just a few blocks down from the Siren's Call. The faunus had no idea how heavily Fate had been enacted on almost that very spot, nearly an entire year past. The only thing on her mind was the gun in her lap, sitting there and looking simply vicious. The curved sickle affixed under its barrel dripped clear from the rain, but if her plans went accordingly it would drip red ere the coming of dawn.
Oh yes, Blake Belladonna had been doing her homework well, had been carefully tracing the cowboy wannabe's steps. Might have taken all she had to find him but she had done so in the end, and that was all that mattered to her. Now, retribution was at hand. He might be the dead thing, or he might tell her how to find the dead thing. Moreover, he might tell her how to kill the dead thing, funny as that concept was. No matter what though, he would get his. For all of it—for herself, for Adam, and for Yang most of all—whether or not he knew something useful about the dead thing.
Deftly, Blake jerked the revolver to shut the cylinder. From her belt she withdrew a single shell, held it up and looked at it. The thing glinted a deep scarlet under the light of the streetlamp at the alley's mouth. Schnee Company dust and it had cost a small fortune to acquire so many, none of which sat well with her. But it would get the job done against even a tank. Mister Cowboy Hat would never know what hit him, she was sure. That put a brief smile on her face as she stowed the shell and stood.
The rain was coming down harder now and she realized, on looking at her watch, that the next day had come nearly four hours ago. That was all right though. A smell had come to her, and her sensitive nose said it was right. Leather wax and a foreign odor—it was him, indeed. No one on Remnant smelled like that foreign bit, and she had only ever known a few to smell so heavily of leather wax.
Blake Belladonna stepped from the alley, turned left and headed along. The revolver bounced in rhythm with her step, tucked neatly in its holster at the small of her back. A wicked smile curved its way across her lips.
He's close
Ω
Levi felt her long before the faunus could lay eyes on him. He had felt that gaze all night long—realizing now that she was indeed only looking for him—so before those hateful golden eyes could fall on his shimmering, glamoured, barely perceptible form, Levi knew. He cast one last glance at the women only two yards before him, then spun on his heel and ducked into a nearby alley. The strange man was certain this was a mistake; cutting the connection too soon would surely have ramifications. That hardly mattered to him at the moment, however, as he knew that being revealed would be unfathomably worse.
So, he slunk into the alley, dropped the glam completely and waited. Her footsteps never came to him, so adept was the faunus at concealing herself, but Levi knew her approach all the same. She never saw him move as she stepped in front of the alley, still following a scent for lack of any other leads. He watched her but a moment, just long enough to see her look about twice, then pounced. Like greased lightning but still slower than the red-hooded gal.
What was her name again?
Ψ
"That wasn't smart, kitty-cat."
Blake heard him, but when she tried to reach for her revolver she found her body still. It would not budge, not one inch. In the next instant she realized her breathing had stopped as well, and that was when she came closest to panicking. No training could save one from such a feral fright. Without motion or breath, the faunus kept her wits by only a tenuous grip.
"You should know to leave well enough alone, now shouldn't you?" Levi stepped out of the shadow of the alley. He was quite surprised to see her eyes turn to him, despite the glam over her. "Oh? Can still move, eh? Guess that's how you two tricked the dead one…"
Levi walked around in front of her, leaned forward and looked her over. His nose couldn't have been a foot from her own. Blake felt his eyes crawling all across her. Yet, the feeling was not alarming. The curiosity in it was palpable and not a trace of anything else lay behind his eyes. Frankly it almost insulted her.
"Damn," Levi sighed, standing straight again. "I really hate getting my hands dirty, you know? Not that I'm averse to doing dirty work, but I simply hate killing things. Especially if those things walk and talk. People, you get me? I really don't like hurting people…"
Blake's eyes would not leave the cowboy wannabe. He paced around behind her and she followed him with her gaze until she simply could no longer. Then, from behind, she felt a gust of wind and heard an old, sleepy sound. Like metal turning after ages of disuse. Along with that came the sigh of ancient wood settling into much-protested movement. Lastly, a smell from behind—foreign like the cowboy, but different—wafted to her.
"Do you remember Grisham anymore?" Levi asked.
He stepped back into her sight and Blake glued her eyes to him immediately. She watched him raise one hand and make a funny gesture. The feeling of being wholly stopped left her from navel to crown and between the shoulders. Suddenly, she could breathe and turn her head once more, and upon understanding this she wasted no time in speaking.
"Tell me about the dead one," she said.
"Why?" Levi asked, gentlemanly enough.
"Tell me about the dead one," Blake repeated.
Levi took a step back and said, "You're in no position to make demands, you know? I hold all the cards, kitty-cat. I hold your puppet strings, let's say. Dig it?"
He lifted the other hand and flexed his fingers. To her amazement, Blake found herself moving: her left leg jerked forward, body following, and she took a step toward him when the right mimicked the left.
"What the fuck is this?!" she tried to scream. It came out as a hoarse whisper.
"Fate," said Levi. "That's why you don't cross her, dig? Cross Fate and she'll cross you right back. We're all her wee puppets, but some of us get to play with the others if we're good little girls and boys."
The faunus looked deep into the emerald eyes of the cowboy wannabe. Surprisingly, she saw no malice in them. There only lay a thin curiosity and a deep, clearly visible madness within. Perhaps even a tenuous sorrow. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
"Please," Blake said, another choked whisper. "Please, tell me about the dead thing…"
"What do you want to know?" asked Levi. He sounded as calm and amiable as was surely possible. That did not make her feel any better.
"Where is he?" she asked first. Then, after a quick breath, "What does he want with Ruby? Why did he kill Yang? Why did he kill all those other people? What's his aim?"
She watched those emerald eyes. They never moved, just stared right back into her own. Suddenly, Blake felt her body lurch to the right. She began walking into the alley like a tin soldier. A thousand awful thoughts passed through her mind over what might await her, but in the end they all turned out to be wrong. Entirely flabbergasted, she only sat on a small crate near the alley's mouth.
Levi followed, hunkered down in front of her and said, "I can't tell you any of that, you know? Not even with a cherry on top of that please."
Blake watched him rummage through his coat for a moment before withdrawing a cigarette. He lit it, took three quick puffs, and sighed a cloud of rank smoke. The brim of his hat barely stopped the rain from putting it out.
"It's all hanging by a thread, girl," he said. "I can't afford to play anymore. None of us can—not me, not the dead one, and certainly not the rest of you. Most importantly, not the red-hooded girl. Ruby, wasn't it?"
Blake nodded.
"Now tell me, do you not remember Grisham at all?" Levi went on, stopping once for another puff. "This is important so answer me honestly, okay?"
His voice was so gentle. It almost sounded like her father when he had tried to coax her to telling the truth once long ago. Blake had broken one of the more expensive vases in the house, and at the time she had only just begun to learn the value of the truth. As her father had explained, 'twas better indeed to reveal it than to hide it and let it fester. The lesson had stuck.
"No," said Blake, shaking her head weakly. "No, I don't know any Grisham…"
"Grisham Devor? The old hunter that headed Beacon Academy's practical application courses?"
"Not ringing any bells," said Blake. "Why are you asking me, anyway? Does it matter who a dead woman does or doesn't know?"
Levi stood. Blake felt the hold on her start to weaken a bit. She watched him turn his gaze heavenward and begin puffing on his smoke. Looked like a train stack. An idea came to her as the cowboy wannabe seemed to lose focus.
"First of all," said Levi, "you're not dead yet. I can't raise up corpses to talk to them like the dead one, and even he can only do it if they're really fresh." He took another drag, failing to notice Blake's movements. "Secondly, yes, it does matter. It matters a whole lot if you remember him or not. Might even be the turning point of all this, knowing whether the glam is still holding or not."
Levi took another puff, blew it out. He missed the shift of Blake's hand as she reached for something behind her.
"He's not dead, cuz the glam would hold itself in place if he were. So, that being the case, I really need to know if you're ho—"
Levi moved only just in the nick of time. The curved blade of Blake's revolver missed his neck by a hair. It did, however, manage to take a chunk out of his left earlobe. The man howled a shocked bark of pain, reached for his ear with one hand and for the faunus with the other. With the hand outstretched he made a gesture.
Blake felt herself lock down entirely.
"That wasn't smart at all, you mangy bitch," Levi hissed. Blake was quite satisfied to see a fine trickle of blood between the fingers over his ear. "I tried to be nice, you know? I wasn't kidding. I don't like hurting people…"
He turned and started walking toward the mouth of the alley. Blake felt herself lifted by something unknown—levitating her from the ground nearly two feet—and floated along behind him like a balloon on a string. When they turned the corner to the left, Blake's heart sank to the pit of her stomach at the sight before her.
It was an old door, older than could be comprehended, swung wide open and attached to naught but air. Beyond what should have been the doorway of it there lay a scene of utter horror. A moonlit promenade of brick and mason work, cast bright gold and orange with the flickering flames of a massive bonfire. Lanky, hairy, deranged madmen in tattered garb stood gathered around it. Some held axes, some pitchforks or cleavers or rudimentary shields of bound planks, but every one of them carried a torch. All chanted nonsense to the thing at the center which undoubtedly was the main attraction. Blake's blood ran cold and panicked sweat pricked at her flesh on looking at it.
At the center of the mad mob, lashed with thick rope to a shoddy crucifix, was what looked uncannily like a beowolf. From the hips down its body had been torn apart. A smoldering line of intestine hung just below the navel, looked like overcooked sausage links. She wanted to turn away, wanted to puke, wanted to scream…
But Blake could do nothing at all.
"Grisham's out there somewhere," Levi said to her. "I reckon your only hope is finding him. Sorry, but I won't do it myself. If you're gonna be a dead woman, go and be one your own way. I've seen enough blood to last me forever…"
Blake did manage to turn her gaze in time to see Levi point at the door. In the next instant she was flying like a tossed ball. She felt herself pass through the door and all went blank. Save, that is, for memories that suddenly came flooding back to her. An old man with an oh-so-gentle smile, whose bombardier-blue eyes could calm even the most turbulent of hearts. A kind man who had done everything he could to prepare young hunters and huntresses for their deadly profession. A stalwart warrior whom she had had the honor of fighting beside on three occasions.
Blake remembered their old teacher from Beacon—hers and Yang's—as she flew through the most unfathomable door she had ever seen.
Ϯ
Qrow splashed his face. Somehow, the water felt good despite the cheap smell of it. Not that he was one to discriminate of course. A place to sleep is a place to sleep, no matter how dreary or drab. It did strike him as funny that such a ritzy city as Constance had a rundown little motel like this, but that was neither here nor there. The only concern on his mind was rest. He had been walking all day and into the next through snow and over ice. A rundown motel would do—would be welcomed, even, in comparison to a hand-dug cave in the tundra.
The old hunter looked up from the sink, stared at himself in the mirror. Suddenly, a pain ran through his head and doubled him over. Qrow fell to his knees, barely missing the sink with his cheek, and clutched his head. It passed as quickly as it came.
He stood, shaking his head, and looked at the mirror again.
"I'll make this right, Spitfire," he said to no one at all.
Qrow left the bathroom after that. He removed his shirt and boots then flopped onto the bed. The room was barren nearly—not even a tv set. Just the bed, a nightstand with a lamp, and a mostly functional bathroom. Qrow stared at the ceiling, feeling a bit funny after that brief pain. But he brushed it off and turned over, switched the lamp off and started toward sleep.
As he drifted off, Qrow wondered why anyone would ever think it right to assign such a dangerous mark to a single huntress. He felt then, more than ever, that he had truly failed Yang.
She never should have gone alone on that assignment.
Ω
Levi clucked his tongue, hissed at the fresh bloom of pain from his ear, and spat at the ground. After the faunus passed completely through and the warble dissipated, he grabbed the door and slammed it shut. At that very moment, the door simply ceased to be.
"Goddamnit all, this isn't good," he said to no one at all. "Not good, very bad, quite an issue indeed…"
He turned from where the door had been. Looked down the road toward the train cradle. Levi knew there was no way he could catch up to them now. Even if he could, he knew there was nothing left in him to complete the connection with. Calling that door had used him up, he could feel it. Sweat pricked at his brow and ran in rivulets down his cheeks. His blood pumped sluggish and hard through his veins. His lungs were heavy and breathing came in short, choppy, haggard gasps. Worst of all, despite the cold rain now simply pouring over him, he felt as afire as a billet of steel in a furnace.
"Shit's fucked," he said to the rain, the harsh breeze, and his own queerly-shaped shadow on the wall at his right.
At first, Levi started to walk toward the train cradle. Maybe he'd screwed up bad tonight but there was nothing for it. Better to get a little rest and have at it later, he thought. He'd gone maybe ten paces to the cradle when he felt The Call.
Levi hung his head, turned around and started walking the other way.
Λ
For twenty long, grueling, simply impassable minutes, Levi Ansleif shuffled along through the rain. The wind had picked up to a harsh billow. It came in long bursts, chilling him to the bone, and the strange man wondered if maybe the weather stabilizers might be going wonky again. He'd heard it had happened once after Constance was first built and a second time during a particularly harsh winter storm. Really though, he merely wished to think about anything at all besides his screwup. The time for screwups to be allowed was long past.
He knew the dead one would say exactly that.
By the time Levi finally arrived at the memorial park, he was shivering—teeth clacking, body nearly convulsing—and wished sorely for his warm room at the MTU faculty dormitory. When he saw the dead one leaning against the statue of the SDC founder, he knew that wish would be long from fulfilled. Hanging his head low once more, Levi approached.
"Why do you insist on making my job hell?" asked the dead one.
Levi said nothing.
"Okay," it went on, "then how about this? Why didn't you deal with the cat before the roses, hm?"
Levi lifted his head, leveled a wary stare at his accuser and said, "I didn't notice her." He knew it was a lie—well, mostly, as he hadn't been concentrating on the fact that he was being followed until it was too late—but he said it even still.
"Think I'm stupid, boy?" The dead thing pushed away from the statue, walked up to Levi until they stood far too close. "Do you think I'm not watching? Yeah, I've got my own stuff to sort out, but did you honestly believe I wouldn't know the answers before I asked the questions?"
"Look, I thought you handled the failures, okay?" said Levi. "If I'd an inkling the cat was after me, I would've taken care of her beforehand."
"Even though you hate spilling blood?"
At those words, Levi froze. Beyond simply the cold, his body locked up tight and became as a block of ice beneath his neck.
"She didn't need to die," Levi said. "Neither blondie nor the cat. They didn't have to die."
"You know death means nothing any longer."
"Even so." Levi shifted his gaze away, backed up a few steps with a struggling, stuttering gait.
"Did you cover it?" asked the dead one.
"Just like Grisham," Levi answered.
"And you're sure it's going to hold?" it pressed, stepping closer. "You seem rather exhausted, my old friend. Are you certain your glam will hold?"
"You're too close," Levi said, backing up a few steps more. "You stink to the heavens and I'm bad off enough as it is."
The dead one came closer still, and suddenly Levi felt himself wrapped up in that same hold he'd put over the faunus. Not one bit of him would move. Then, his head jerked violently, causing his neck to crackle as if threatening to break. He found himself staring into the empty, putrid eye sockets of the dead one.
"I don't give two shits if I smell bad enough to kill you, boy," it said to him, "because if you die, I'll just wake you right back up. You're mine until this is all over, come what may. We haven't forgotten that pesky little detail, now have we?"
Levi could not respond. Didn't seem to matter as the dead thing simply went on.
"You lost the connection, didn't you? Ah, yes, I felt the line quiver and snap. That's no good, Mister Ansleif, no good at all. Do you know what happens when the connection ends too soon? No? Well, allow me to elucidate…"
All of a sudden Levi felt his flesh grow hot, his mind begin to boil, and his lungs start to ache as if with powerful pneumonia. He felt his stomach try to turn inside out and vomited before he could stop himself. A horrendous delirium crept up from the back of his skull and threatened to settle in as if forever.
"See, Levi my man, people don't deal so well when having their fiber tampered with. If it's done well, fully, and discreetly, they just get a funny little ache for a bit. Like when yonder red rose swooned under your imploration, remember? But if it's cut off too soon, or if it's not done right…"
His afflictions worsened, and for the first time in a long while, Levi Ansleif called out in his mind to be put to rest once more. He screamed for the cold, yawning, restful dark he had been so cruelly snatched from.
"Well," the dead one went on, uncaring, "let's just say that poor, poor individual is in for one hell of a sick. If it doesn't outright kill them, of course. You damn imbecile…"
The dead one hissed out the last three words with such venom, Levi believed his wish might be granted. Sadly for him, the afflictions receded all at once and he dropped to his knees, undone from the hold and coughing madly. He simply could not catch his breath no matter how he tried.
"I'm not going to let you off the hook for this," said the dead one. It stepped to Levi's side and crouched by him. "Don't like blood on your hands, huh? Don't like hurting things that walk and talk, huh? Well, remember the festival I was going to deal with myself?"
Levi continued to cough, but when the dead one said nothing for a time he took it as cue to respond. Lacking words, he nodded his understanding instead. As he did so, he kept on coughing and hacking and sputtering up a storm.
"It's your job now, buddy-boy," said the dead one. "You can dip your hands in that bloodbath and leave them to rot for all I care. Doesn't that sound nice?"
Levi shook his head, went right on hacking.
"Well, that's too bad." The dead one stood. "I'm done playing nice with you. If I had the luxury of time I'd just replace you. It's rare to find someone that can stand up from the dirt, even with my help, but it does happen. More often than you'd think."
At last, Levi found some of his air. He quashed the coughs, stood slowly and raised his head. Didn't want to look at the dead thing but still did so.
"I'd rather appreciate that, actually," he wheezed.
"Just get your shit together and get your job done, mongrel," said the dead one. "Any day now, time is gonna be up and we'll all be up shit-river without paddles, floating on faulty life vests…"
"I—"
"No, you nothing," the dead thing silenced Levi with one short motion. "Listen up and listen well, savvy? You are going to keep a very close eye on the white rose. I don't care how much you have to push yourself or how bad it hurts you—you will watch her until it's clear she won't keel over dead. I have business to attend elsewhere, so this is your job. Fail it and I'll find a way to punish you, I promise."
It stopped and reached into its molding robe. A moment later the dead one held out a small silver bell to Levi. Couldn't have been longer than his middle finger and looked dainty enough to be broken by a hard sneeze.
"If it gets bad enough, ring this. I don't know if I'll be able to fix it, but I'll try."
"Then why not just fix it now, before things have a chance to get bad?" Levi asked. He took the bell gently, reverently, and stowed it in his roomiest pants pocket.
"Because trying to fix it is worse than screwing up in the first place," said the dead one.
"A last resort then?"
"Exactly."
Surprising both—though, perhaps the dead one even moreso—Levi felt a bony hand rest on his shoulder and give it a light squeeze. No violence, no malice, and no hate. That squeeze said do your best. It said there was nothing else for it. That squeeze… was almost friendly.
"I'll be back before summer rolls around, cowpoke," said the dead one. "Should nothing come of this, that is."
"Yeah, I gotcha," said Levi.
It squeezed his shoulder once more, leaned in close and said, "We have to work together on this. I know I'm not the best partner, and you're no winner either, but we need each other to work this out. Ya follow me?"
"Yeah." Levi nodded. "Yeah, I follow."
"Good."
And with that, the dead one was simply gone. In his absence the strange man felt the return of the cold, the rain, and his awful state. Yet, amazing him immensely, Levi also found himself somewhat replenished. Seems the dead thing had left him a little gift.
Just enough to get him back to the MTU faculty dormitory.
Ѩ
Levi returned to his room and slept like the dead. It was rather cruel, really, that he had to wake from it only three hours later. To Winter pounding on his door this was, and she sounded pissed. Groggy, aching terribly, and entirely unable to muster his usual chipper attitude, Levi lugged himself from the bed and answered his door.
"What do you want?" he asked upon seeing her.
Winter jolted back, perhaps unprepared for the man's tone or state. Then, with a clearing of her throat, she said, "I know you've been keeping close tabs on Weiss. So tell me, what was my sister up to last night?"
Levi shook his head, spilling about his messy, unkempt locks.
"I don't have any idea, Miss Schnee. Why? Is something amiss?"
By the look in Winter's eyes, he knew she'd bit. Hook, line, and sinker. Yet, there was no gumption in him to muster the smile that would normally have come for it. Levi simply watched the elder Schnee, his emerald eyes glaring and weary. Winter took another step back.
"I'm sure father will contact you about it soon," she said. "Frankly, I'm surprised he hasn't already. I only came to find out so I might inform him myself."
Levi could tell without peeking that Winter was full of it. Still, he had to play along. That thought soured him even worse. All games all the time, welcome to the cycle!
"I assure you, Miss Schnee, I have no idea what your younger sibling may or may not have been up to last night. And frankly, as I'm sure you can see, I'm not in the best state to find out today—that being said, if you do find out before me, go right on and let Mister Schnee know on my behalf. Would you be a dear and do that?"
He watched. Winter slunk back another step, then nodded. And with that, Levi closed the door. He wanted to return to bed and sleep a bit more but understood he could not. Thus, sighing and hemming and hawing, he made ready. No rank odor permeated the room today. Odd, really, since it usually hung around for days, but blessed and welcomed as well. It meant the dead one was not there, that it was nowhere near.
Just as he finished putting on his attire, Levi remembered fully the talk some four hours earlier. Knowing then what he had to do the strange man marched out his door, down the hall and toward the exit.
He stepped into the soggy day, breathing heavily and evenly.
Λ
We all know how it went from there, on the end of the roses. Now also, it is clear what that funky, odd, wannabe cowboy did as well. Aye, he watched those two roses, day-in and day-out for twelve days straight. There wasn't much of it to do so with, but Levi Ansleif mustered every mote of himself to keep up his cover. He watched them from the corner of the heiress's room, averting his gaze only as courtesy warranted. The dead one would have cussed him for that but Levi didn't care. Manners maketh man, and he intended to remain man so long as he could. Even if the glamour drained him wholly; even if the maddening days that passed with the same hurry of cold molasses drove him truly insane.
Let it not go unstated how relieved he felt when the fever broke from the heiress; had Ruby herself not called a doctor, Levi would have rung the bell if it continued. He knew the stakes. He knew what came next if the white rose passed. He spent the day prior to her fever's breakage clutching that dainty little bell. In the end, it was bent almost fully out of true and imprinted with the shape of his fingers. Might not have rung if he had tried.
When the day came that they went out—to Atlas City, for a concert and heart-to-heart congress—Levi decided his vigil was finally done. Yes, the dead one would have cussed him for that too, but he did not make this decision without reason. Firstly, he saw the connection had taken hold. Not fully, perhaps, but more than enough to get the job done. Secondly, he saw that his failure would not result in the catastrophic outcome both he and the dead one had thoroughly feared. But most of all, Levi saw—in the surety of their deepening bond—that the connection had not even been needed. He saw they would reach the point required of their own accord, their own volition, and their own drive.
Thus, Levi returned to his dormitory room after almost two weeks, stripped entirely of his clothes and settled into bed. He slept for three days after. Neither Winter nor any others bothered him. Ruby Rose and Weiss Schnee began their journey down a garden path of cosmic design, guided by their love and spurred by their hearts. One Qrow Branwen, an old hunter of no less reputation than the once-venerable Grisham Devor, began his hunt for a cowboy-hatted madman in the University City. And Blake Belladonna, who found herself resident of a moonlit nightmare, started the last leg of her own journey, forgotten entirely to the world of Remnant and all its inhabitants.
Just like her old teacher that she now desperately searched for.