Chapter Eight: Tempus Ut Upgrade

Monday, the 4th of November, 1889.

It's a universal rule that the first day of the working week is the most hated of all – on planet Earth, that meant that Mondays were not looked forward to by most people, much less enjoyed. However, in the case of Inspector Jaune Arc, this particular Monday proved to be especially difficult. As he was getting dressed at seven that morning, his phone rang out.

"Curses," Jaune groused as he ran to his living room, "who could be ringing me now?"

He picked up the receiver in the middle of the fifth ring.

"Hello, Jaune Arc speaking."

"Jaune, it's your mother."

The shaky tones of Xanthe Arc rang alarm bells in Jaune's head.

"Mother, what's happened?"

His mother sobbed into the phone as she spoke her answer.

"Y-your grandfather, General Augustus Arc, has p-passed in his sleep."

Half an hour later, a rather frazzled Jaune joined his mother outside his grandfather's town house in Earl's Court. No words were spoken, and the grim pair walked in with Xanthe leaning on Jaune's shoulder. Meeting him in the foyer were his greying father, Colonel Sir Noirtier Arc, and the General's physician, Dr. Peach. The latter walked forward to greet them.

"Inspector Arc, my condolences are with you and your kin."

Jaune nodded respectfully towards the woman.

"My thanks, doctor."


Turning to his father, Jaune made but one enquiry.

"Have my sisters been informed of this?"

Noirtier looked as stern as he usually did, and replied in a comparable tone of voice.

"Opal, Bridget, Sienna, and Jennifer have all been informed, while Silvia, Muriel, and Violet will be informed after their lessons today."

Jaune nodded. "Very well."

"By the way, doctor," Xanthe asked, "did the General leave a will?"

Dr. Peach nodded quickly. "Indeed he did; I bore witness to it personally, and I have it on my person. Shall I read it out to you?"

The three Arcs exchanged glances, then nodded in perfect synchronisation, and Dr. Peach read out from the letter.

"On this day, the 29th of February, 1889, I, General Augustus Lancelot Arc, hereby sign and declare my last will and testimony. I have named my physician, Dr. Alexandra Beverley Peach, as the witness to this will, and she has signed at the bottom of the document. My kinsmen will receive the following shares. To my only child, Colonel Sir Noirtier Gawaine Arc, I hand over the ownership of both my country house in Buckinghamshire where he currently resides, in addition to my town house at Earl's Court – but the latter comes with the caveat that he must allow my wife, Natalie June Arc, to reside within it if she is still living at the time of my death."

The three Arcs grimaced at this; the common cold had accounted for her just before last Easter. Flashing them an expression of sympathy, Dr. Peach continued reading.

"To my seven grand-daughters, I leave one-eighth of my fortune each, which can only be claimed when they are married. Until then, it will be held in trust."

Noirtier nodded approvingly; although his eldest three daughters were already married to respectable gentlemen amongst the aristocracy, he still cared enough for them and his younger four daughters to ensure their financial well-being.

"And to my lone grandson, Inspector Jaune Gareth Arc, I bequeath two things. First of these is the last eighth of my fortune, which is to be held in trust until the day he gets married, at which point he shall receive it. And second, I bequeath the ancestral weapon of my family, Crocea Mors."

The two remaining men of the Arc family did not take the news well. Jaune was fine with inheriting the sword, but he damned well knew that his rotten luck with women more or less put him out of contention for his share of the fortune. Noirtier, meanwhile, was furious with this decision on both counts. Xanthe Arc quickly ushered Dr. Peach out of the room, while Noirtier fired the opening salvo at full shouting volume.


"What the devil made my father think a scrawny runt like you deserve a weapon and fortune like that, eh?!"

To his credit, Jaune kept calm, and steeled his eyes as he returned his father's glare.

"Let's see; there's the fact that I'm the youngest person to have ever made it to the rank of Inspector in the whole of England's constabulary; there's the fact that I had a hand in apprehending the ones responsible for the Clockwork Pavilion disaster, and I was also responsible for busting the Phantom Gentleman last month."

Noirtier's eyes widened in equal wrath and amazement.

"You're the officer who did that? Of course a man reckless enough to cause a dirigible to violently crash into the Thames deserves Crocea Mors instead of me, a decorated war hero."

Jaune, retrieving the offending sword and shield from the wall, gave a remark that hit Noirtier where it hurt.

"Yes, a man who protects the innocent was found to be more deserving of an heirloom than a brute who massacred Zulus by the thousands, helped enslave all that remained, and called it 'civilising lesser men and lesser nations'."

Noirtier fell into a stunned silence, his face contorting into the demonic visage he used whenever he battled spear-wielders with his guns. Finally, a low growl came from his teeth.

"... just leave."

Jaune nodded sternly, and marched on out. The cabs that had taken his mother and him there were preparing to leave, but Jaune managed to get one to take him back to Soho. When he arrived in the foyer, Jaune rung Superintendent Blackford and informed him about what had happened.

"Don't worry about coming in," his boss had assured, "I'll give you today and tomorrow off to grieve as you see fit."

As he made it inside his set of rooms, the phone rang again. Picking it up without running this time, Jaune set aside any grief in his voice as he placed the sword on the table, then retrieved the receiver.

"Hello, Jaune Arc speaking."

"Jaune? It's Dr. Pyrrha Nikos here. Would you be free tomorrow afternoon, perchance?"


Tuesday, the 5th of November, 1889.

At four the following afternoon, the first ferry to Dover after the French storms arrived to port. Amongst the masses of passengers strode the albino woman. Having started to run short on her funds, she decided to be quick about making it to London.

To her consternation, the most recent dirigible had taken off already, and its replacement wouldn't be due for another hour. An hour she couldn't afford to wait around for. Making her way to the Dover Priory train station, the woman was stared at by a number of curious people as she strode on purposefully. She pointedly ignored them all as she bought her ticket.

Having boarded the newly-arrived train, the albino found herself drawn to the Eye's pull from afar. Given that she was someone who'd extensively used it, she knew instantly that the shield had been broken – and this served only to fuel her anger.

As she realised this, a waitress walked past with The Times. "Unpredicted Solar Eclipse Occurring This Afternoon," read the headline.

A solar eclipse?, the albino pondered, why does that strike me as important … no, no, NO! I need to get there at all due haste; I will NOT allow that traitor to use the Eye so recklessly!

At that precise moment, the train took off for its ninety-minute journey to the heart of London.

I guess the train's speed is all I can ask for now, the woman conceded hesitantly; I can only hope I get there in time.


At the same point in time, Pyrrha's Kensington home was being prepared for Guy Fawkes Night, before Watts's funeral tomorrow. Pyrrha and Coco usually hosted dinner for Dr. Watts and Miss Politana. Being the covert rebels they were, they'd always have a sociable night in where all manner of fun was poked at Victorian morality and mores. This year though, one of them was dead, and the other was likely condemned to the same. However, that didn't mean that Pyrrha was short on guests.

Far from it, in fact.

Just after two that afternoon, Jaune knocked on the door with Crocea Mors in his left hand.

"Up for fencing practice, Pyrrha?", he asked as she answered the door.

Pyrrha chuckled softly as she smiled at him.

"That I am, Jaune. I'll retrieve Miló and Akoúo̱ from my workshop and meet you in the back garden."

As Jaune walked outside through the spacious kitchen to limber up, Ren approached Pyrrha with his usual stoic manner as she ascended the stairs. "Pyrrha, he's mourning someone."

Pyrrha cocked her left eyebrow in suspicion.

"How do you know this, Ren? He isn't wearing anything to mark him out on that front."

Ren pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"I was reading The Times this morning and saw his grandfather's name within the obituaries."

Pyrrha held her nerve, though her empathy was evident on her face.

"Poor man," Pyrrha said finally, "but how come he was hiding his grief from me when I rang him yesterday?"

Ren pondered this for a moment. "Well, offering dinner and fencing practice likely cheered him up a bit. Though it may also be due to who was offering it."

Pyrrha didn't miss the hint Ren had shot her; much to his surprise, she didn't react adversely.

"Maybe. I'll try my best to help him through this; after all, he did the same for me when Watts got killed."

Ren nodded, and handed Miló and Akoúo̱ to his employer.

"Will you join us Ren?"

Ren shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Pyrrha. Ms. Adel wants me to help prepare the meals for tonight. In any case, Ms. Valkyrie volunteered to spar against me after dinner."

"Fair enough, Ren. I'll get to it then."


Making her way outside with a pair of fencing suits, she beheld Jaune's new weapon as they donned the white armour sets and masks.

"That's an impressive weapon set, Jaune; what is it called?"

"Crocea Mors, which means 'yellow death' in Latin. Of course, the first Arc to wield it named it after the sword Julius Caesar used."

Once again, Pyrrha was surprised pleasantly at Jaune's intellectual depth.

"Never took you for a man of the classics, Jaune."

Jaune blushed nervously. "Well, they were my favourite subjects at Eton."

Pyrrha smirked. "Obviously, Cambridge's classics faculty wasn't half as good as the Etonian one; you'd be an academic instead of a policeman if it was – and even then, Oxford's was better."

Jaune scoffed at this notion, and repaid the snark twofold. "Spoken like a first-rate Oxford moron."

Coco, who observed the repartee from behind the kitchen window, was laughing immoderately at Jaune's ludicrousness, and even Ren was nursing a smile. They both knew where Jaune's words came from; in this instance, it wasn't his mouth. Nevertheless, it had the desired effect of getting a rise out of Pyrrha.

Holding Miló in sword form in her right hand and Akoúo̱ on her left, she matched Jaune's fighting stance.

"Is that so? Well, translate this for me, master historian; inter arma enim silent leges."

Unwisely, Jaune started translating Cicero without looking.

"In times of war, the l-AUGH!"

Pyrrha had knocked him flat on his back with a well-timed discus trick from Akoúo̱.

"Falls silent," she sardonically completed.

Grousing under his breath, Jaune jumped up and re-oriented himself.

"I may not be as educated as you, but I'll have you know that I've studied fencing for years. Prepare for humiliation."

He lunged forward and started fighting.


Pyrrha was put on the defensive instantly as Jaune's swordsmanship revealed itself. Although Pyrrha was likely a better shot than Jaune with a rifle and had some experience with callisthenics, she found her swordplay outmatched by Jaune at many turns. He parried her blows expertly, thrusted his sword quickly, and moved with a composure that belied his appearance and build – even if he did lack movement speed somewhat.

However, Pyrrha noticed that his shield-work was rather primitive in comparison, and she resolved to defend his attack before she saw an opportunity to fight against Jaune's weakness. Eventually, after half an hour of sparring, he inexpertly tried to knock Pyrrha off-balance with his shield, only for her to roll underneath it and kick Jaune to the ground.

"Bollocks!", he cried as he hit the lawn.

As she stood back and took off her fencing gear, Pyrrha noticed that Jaune's eyes were anguished and ridden with pain.

Wait a minute, Pyrrha thought abruptly, his grandfather's death must have dragged him near his father again … and was the sword part of it somehow? I guess I'll find out later.

Just before the clock chimed five, Nora Valkyrie arrived. The hunting costume she wore today was rosé pink, and her riding boots had been polished for the occasion. Before joining in with the festivities, she handed Ren a package and asked him if she could leave some things in the workshop upstairs. As they returned into the dining room, Coco called out to the guests.

"Dinner is served, my friends. Come and join in!"

The selection that Coco and Ren had put out was modest, yet impressive. A whole pile of corned beef with carving knife and mustard at the ready stood in the middle of the table. A whole kilogram of mashed potatoes sat next to it, with a Greek salad and a tray of roasted carrots and parsnips completing the meal.

As usual, a pot of Irish breakfast with a milk jug stood fast near Pyrrha's seat at the table, and a bottle of Burgundy chardonnay was kept on ice for any guests who desired alcohol for their meal. Pyrrha smiled widely at her housekeeper and butler.

"You two did an excellent job; feel free to join us at the table."

Coco and Ren nodded respectfully and sat down as Pyrrha poured herself some tea.


While they were at dinner, the last guest arrived at the stroke of five-thirty. Fox Alistair, a tanned man of twenty-seven and Coco's fiancé, was dressed in black tie as his profession required, and the only difference between the mould and his manner of dress was the use of a black Inverness cape instead of a traditional dinner jacket. He donned his light-grey polarised glasses, and embraced the Frenchwoman he loved.

"Mon cher, it's good to see you well."

"Likewise, my lady," he replied as he sat down and joined in.

As they finished, the guests were led by Nora to the workshop to see what she'd brought to show them.

As it turned out, it was Magnhild in its warhammer mode. However, Pyrrha noticed that it had been improved.

"Your hammer – it looks different, Nora. What did you do to it?"

"You know those compressed rounds that Ren uses? Well, I asked Neptune if we could make something similar for fuchsia dust. It took some doing, but we found a way of making a long-lasting round with a size and blast radius similar to my grenades. I've got my own workshop outfitted to make these rounds now, and I can store eight of them in the haft on Magnhild."

"Impressive, Nora. And you fire these rounds with your hammer?" "Sort of. The firing and reloading mechanism lies in the middle of the haft, so its inactive when I'm using it as a warhammer. However, the "travel mode" is now what I like to call a 'grenade launcher'. Here, let me show you!"


Nora picked up Magnhild in warhammer form, then pressed and held the pressure plate. As the haft retracted, a second grip unfolded from the base of the hammerhead. Inside the newly-retracted haft, the firing mechanism popped out from its crevice and lined up perfectly with the barrel. Finally, a small reticle slid downwards, leaving an inch-wide barrel hole for the blasts.

"That's impressive. Having a more reliable ranged attack is a plus, I must say."

"By the way, I also modified Ren's weapons. He said he'd gotten sick of reloading six smaller rounds every time he needs to, so I've modified his weapons to use these rounds with verdant dust."

Ren then moved forward to show his employer the new weapons. The cylinder had been replaced with a single chamber, which opened to reveal a single, grenade-sized compressed verdant Dust round. But that wasn't the only change. Attached to a pivot on both barrels were a pair of long, green bayonets, which looked as though they had been infused with verdant Dust. A second trigger within the grip, when pressed, merely folded the bayonets down ninety degrees – an odd variation on the use of reverse-gripped blades.

"Impressive, Ren," Pyrrha admitted. "But what of your throwing knives?"

"I still have a couple of them on me," Ren explained, "but my pistols can be thrown in such a way that they return to me."

"Oh; like a boomerang!", Nora exclaimed. "That's amazing!"

"Well, if I were to have a weapon," said Coco jokingly, "I'd probably have a handbag that contained a Gatling gun."

Pyrrha and Nora cracked and started to laugh, while Ren smiled, Jaune allowed himself a chuckle, and Fox remained dry as always.

"That would defy physics, Coco," he said with a slight smile.


As the other four moved downstairs to partake in dessert, Jaune and Pyrrha decided to view the pending solar eclipse on Pyrrha's second-floor balcony, sitting down on the garden chairs. But there were other things plaguing their thoughts. After an agonising minute of silence, Pyrrha spoke up as the sun started to darken.

"Jaune, I – I heard about your grandfather, and I'm sorry for your loss."

Jaune sadly smiled towards Pyrrha.

"Thank you, Pyrrha. It's just been the last thing I needed to deal with after my investigation got canned. Branwen must feel so bloody proud of himself, taking all the credit for my hard work. And my father still sees me as a disappointment after all I've done for this city."

Jaune then held his head in his hands, pitifully wailing as melancholy overrode his decorum.

"I mean, I go out of my way to get this case solved, and I've worked my guts out and busted plenty of schemes and criminals before now. But the lack of respect I've had to deal with, and the herd of profoundly self-aggrandising people in both my personal and professional life … it's making me wonder whether I should continue to work in the force."

Standing up and looking at the wider world, Jaune let the darkest piece of his melancholy fly from his tongue.

"I've just about had it with all this."

To his surprise, Pyrrha jumped up and walked toward him. Before he could say anything, Pyrrha embraced Jaune warmly.

"Jaune; don't give up," Pyrrha tenderly assured. "There's no need to be ashamed of yourself, or your efforts to make things right in this world. I, for one, am proud of the person you are – and I dare say that your friends and mother would all say the same. Your kindness, integrity, earnestness and determination have helped me through the worst week of my life – and have helped comfort countless others, I'm sure."

Looking up towards a teary smile, Pyrrha continued. "Jaune, I'm honoured to know a man as mature, thoughtful and gentle as you, and I know that you will never be beaten by this. Even if we don't catch the last man, please know that I'm glad to be a part of your life."

What happened next was likely the greatest moment in Inspector Jaune Arc's twenty-two years of living. Pyrrha pulled his head in and started kissing him on the lips.

My gods, Jaune realised as he returned the kiss passionately, I never believed that someone – let alone one as accomplished as Pyrrha – could love me because of my personal qualities; especially when they're the ones that most men don't consider to be as important as their wealth, work, or appearance. Truly, this beautiful, flame-haired genius is someone worth marrying.

Pyrrha, meanwhile, was having impassioned thoughts of her own. Oh my, Jaune's an amazing kisser! I'm glad I can be here for him; not only am I doing what comes naturally to me – soothing the mind of someone who needs rest – but I'm also getting something I've never had until now; the affection of a golden-haired gentleman of integrity who loves me for myself, and not for my achievements. My place in the world feels more safe and secure with him around, and even now I'm struggling to imagine life without him.

After two minutes of extended kissing, Jaune and Pyrrha pulled away from each other's lips. Emerald eyes met with azure, two smiles formed on their faces, and the pair regarded each other in a whole new light. Both figuratively and literally, given that the sun was half-way blocked by this point.

"Pyrrha," Jaune began, "I never thought it possible until now, but I've fallen in love with you. I'm the luckiest man in the world, what with you by my side. You shine brighter than anything in the world to me."

Pyrrha's smile became even more tender as she replied in kind.

"And you Jaune, are a dream come true to me. No matter where I go or what I do, you're always in my heart. And when I'm with you, I truly feel at home."

Jaune smiled, and led Pyrrha back inside with his arm around the small of her back.


At that precise moment, Constable Burns was keeping watch over Scotland Yard's vaults. He'd been informed that Vault 4 had something extremely valuable and dangerous stored inside it, called "the Eye of Ra" or something like it.

Suddenly, a bird hit the far window of the ground floor foyer. Burns turned his head from the open passageway in reaction, then felt a truncheon hit him across the back of the head.

Unconsciousness was instant.

Coming around three minutes later, Burns ran towards the Vaults to check their contents. Fearing the worst, he checked Vault 4 first, and found it empty.

"Heavens above!", he cried as he ran towards the nearest phone in the complex. Running through the passageway and out the deadbolt door, he leaned into the booth and rang the number Jaune had given him for this contingency.

As this was happening, a Black Maria was being prepared to transfer Neo Politana to the nearest madhouse. As the groom ran inside to fetch his map, Burns's assailant calmly exited the building with a distinctive umbrella in hand, sat up top and geed up the horses. The Maria had vanished before the groom even realised his mistake and alerted the officers inside.

Having made it to Westminster without incident, the driver pulled over within the Derby Gate, and let the van's lone occupant out. She stretched her legs and turned to face her rescuer.

"Well," Neo said dangerously, "it's about time."


Pyrrha had just re-entered her parlour when the phone rang out. Picking the receiver up, she composed herself after an exhilarating experience.

"Hello, Dr. Nikos speaking."

"Dr. Nikos? It's Constable Burns from Scotland Yard. The Eye's been stolen!"

The resultant scream broke a window and utterly spooked Nora and Coco. Holding his nerve, Jaune ran into the parlour to find Pyrrha quivering with an even mix of rage and fright.

"What's wrong, Pyrrha?"

Pyrrha turned to face him with an unsettled expression.

"The Eye's been taken, and I think we'll need to hunt it down."

"The only questions are," Ren observed as he entered, "where would they go, and what would they do with such a thing?"

At that moment, Nora called out from the dining room.

"Hey guys, there's a freaky looking storm hovering over Westminster."

Ren's eyes bulged wide with shock, and his quiet voice was uncharacteristically shaky.

"Oh no."

"What's going on?!", Jaune exclaimed as Nora entered the parlour. Ren gave him a look.

"We need to get to Parliament House and fast. Bring your weapons and call for backup."

Jaune nodded, promptly calling Qrow about the mess.

One minute later, a policeman departed with a huntress, an archaeologist and her butler, and the grim quartet ran at full pelt towards the Kensington High Street station.

It sure as hell wasn't the start of a joke.


A/N: The title is a reference to RWBY Chibi - it simply means "Upgrade Time".

As for this chapter's soundtrack, it was the same song and film clip which inspired the Arkos scene - "Don't Give Up" by Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush. I hope I did the moment justice. Also, I realised four chapters too late that I made some small continuity errors regarding Jaune's father and Jaune's history prior to joining the police - I've since corrected them, so I apologise for that mistake.

The Arc sisters were interesting to name, given that I set out to make a rainbow in terms of age (with Jennifer younger than Jaune, it must be noted). For those wondering about the names seemingly without a colour reference, I've got the list here: Jennifer is the Cornish version of Guinevere, which means "white phantom"; Muriel comes from an Irish word which means "bright sea"; Silvia comes from the Latin word for "forest"; and Bridget comes from the ancient name Brigit, who was the goddess of fire in Celtic paganism.

Lastly, we're approaching the final act now. Stay tuned for the next installment, folks, and feel free to leave a favourite or review.