There are many things wrong with the spiral staircase leading up to Weiss' room. It's not just that it's unusual: the top step is so large that it could be a landing, and the steps only decrease in size as they spiral downward. His footprint is probably bigger than the bottommost step. There's no handrail for safety either. But that isn't the strangest part of the ensemble; that goes to the cat sitting on the fifth step, sparks of light flickering off its fur.

Silence reigns as man and beast size each other up.

"Weren't you sitting on my head a minute ago?"

Cosmic stardust shifts off the kitty's ears as it flicks them. "You couldn't tell?"

"Well, seeing as there are entire galaxies spinning around your body, I guess you and gravity had a falling out."

"Yeah. I moved out last week."

More silence. As far as Jaune can tell, there are no puzzles to opens doors on this phase of his journey. So is there something significant about a talking kitty blocking his way to Weiss?

"Oh, you know there's something important about this. Why else would you be talking to a figment of your imagination?"

"Y'know, I think you're right."

"I know. So take a moment to think about it. In a house full of logic and math puzzles, this is a pretty weird staircase."

{Because taking advice from a cat isn't special at all.}

Granted, if his subconscious is nagging him so hard about this that it's constructed a visual and auditory hallucination for him to group-think with, he probably better clean up his act and get with the game. The game being… a staircase which is significantly top-heavy, and in which each stair is shaped in a quarter-circle. And the spiral pattern…

"It could be a Fibonacci spiral," he muses. "The radius of the first stair and the second stair are the same, but the third stair is twice that size, the fourth is triple, and fifth is… maybe five times the size? One plus one equals two, one plus two equals three, two plus three equals five. So if you stacked the first and second stair on top of the third, they'd fit perfectly. And stacking the second and third stair on top of the fourth would be pretty snug too. Am I on to something?"

"I can't say. I'm you if you were a cat."

"I don't know about that. If you were really me, you'd be more sarcastic and demeaning."

{Miss me?}

{Go away.}

{Nope. People will say things when they see you talking to yourself.}

As far as he's aware, he's the only… no, wait. There are outlines on the walls that he'd initially ignored in the dimness of the room, but now that his attention has been drawn to them, they look… a lot like humanoid figures. His hand grazes over the leg of one such figure, plastered to the wall in an upside down position, and is startled to feel real cloth between his fingers.

"Oi. No touchie in the crotchie."

"I'm sorry!" he reflexively apologizes, before recognizing the voice of the troll duo that's haunted a few of his dreams. "…Neptune? Where's Sun?"

"Oh? Have we met? Gotta say, bro, that under normal circumstances I'd look at your face, but since mine is currently glued to the wall, I've got nothing. Sun's gone ahead. Attraction glyph only targets the screw-ups. Who are you?"

"…I'm pretty sure I'm tripping," he answers honestly. "You could be a hallucination meant to remind me of the negative consequences of submitting to misplaced peer pressure. Are you a cosmic cat?"

Neptune makes a noise that's halfway between a walrus motorboating a hippo and a cat clearing a hairball. After a few seconds of this continuously distressing sound, Jaune realizes Neptune is laughing. Laughing when certain parts of your face are stuck in place can warp even the happiest of sounds into pure horror.

"Oh man…" Neptune sniffles. "You sound a lot like the guy on the demotivational poster in my room… but he was hopeless and you're… you're really, really philosophideep. Can I have what you're taking?"

His denial is so quick that it might as well be incriminating. "I'm not on anything."

"Bro, you just told me you were tripping."

"I have horrible balance."

"Mm. That's a good one. I'd write that down if I could move. Look, dude, you smell like a fruity candle. Seriously, whatcha got?"

Jaune hesitantly pulls Reese's pen out of his pocket. Then, for no ascertainable reason, he decides to flip it up in the air for show and catch it. As it arcs beautifully in the dim space of the stairwell, he realizes that Neptune only has eyes for the wall he's glued to. Normally this would be fine, because it would mean that he wouldn't witness Jaune's failure at catching it again. But because Jaune doesn't exactly toss the pen straight above him and instead tosses it slightly forward, the device hits the wall and drops straight down the V of Neptune's spread legs.

A beat.

"Did something fall on me? I've hanging upside down for so long that I can't feel anything below my waist. …Though I guess it's above the waist now."

{Topic change!} "You said Sun went ahead of you. Anybody else?"

"Yeah, a mob came through a while ago. Their leader dude was the only one who made it through though."

"Of course Lark was. Did you catch what they figured out?"

"Sorry bro, but echolocation only really works underwater, so the most I can tell you is what anything the idiots said out loud. Like hopping on the first step." He snorts. "I swear, the fourth step sent at least eleven guys splatting into the walls before Lark figured that you weren't supposed to dance or thrust or do anything on it."

So the structure of the staircase is just a clue to which steps he's supposed to put his weight on. The Fibonacci sequence of 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, and so on. The hop on the first step. Skipping the fourth step. "So I'm probably skipping Steps 6 and 7 and jumping straight to Step 8?"

"Can't say. Didn't hear this Lark guy scream at all, so I guess he got through just fine. By the way, bro, did you drop a fire Dust crystal between my legs, or should I buy you dinner first?"

Jaune eyes the 'pen' lodged between the front of Neptune's pants and Weiss's attraction glyph.

{Nope.}

He swears that the stretch from the eighth to the thirteenth step pulls a muscle in his groin. But the important part is that he manages to stride into the next room with only a bit of limping to indicate any sort of physical distress. It's a nice room, almost like a lounge, all draped in pure white linens that reflect what little moonlight falls through the blinded windows so that, even in the darkness, Weiss in her pristine pajama dress seems to glow.

Jaune instinctively freezes as her gaze jerks in his direction. Her hair fans out behind her head at the sudden motion; without her usual combat gear, the shimmer of white feathers is all the more distinctive. She's in the middle of doing something. However, he can't tear his eyes away from hers.

Now, let it be known that Jaune has already experienced the wrath of Weiss on several occasions prior. Of the fight, flight, and freeze responses to increased adrenaline output, he is very well acquainted with the desire to dive under the nearest rock. Freeze is right up there too, though that's mostly because the pure ice in her eyes could physically manifest at any moment and freeze his knees together. But tonight, tonight of all nights, he has a cosmic cat backing him up. Or something like that. Point is, he feels a certain disconnect from his instinctive response. Call it a hallucination or a complete lack of self-preservation, but he's just… really chill right now. And that is good.

So he looks directly in Weiss's icy blue eyes and waits for her to say something. She's still staring, eyebrows raised expectantly. It's on him then. It's too bad that emotional distance from his usual nervous energy does nothing to make him less socially awkward.

"What…" {are you doing? What kind of question is that? You dolt, you're breaking into her dorm.} "Are you…" {in on the panty raid? No no no, don't even think about saying that out loud.} "Did…" {you notice the new lawn décor? You can thank Ruby for that. Your booby traps were pretty fantastic too, by the way.} "The weather…" {is great for 5 in the morning, now GET OUT.}

Eyebrows drop in disappointment before Weiss turns briskly to the blue-haired man standing beside her. "If you could get down on one knee, Lark."

Lark immediately obeys. He's so tall that, even kneeling, the top of his head reaches her shoulders. Jaune only realizes what's going on when Weiss pulls her saber from behind and rests it on one shoulder.

"That is not a good idea," he blurts.

The scowl that Lark shoots him is nothing to Weiss's piercing glower. "Excuse me?" she snaps.

He senses some lingering resentment that adds an additional bite to her tone, but he feels a certain social responsibility to inform her that Mr. SkirtChaser should not be anywhere close to Ms. SheWhoWearstheCombatSkirt. "Sky Lark is the last faunus you want by your side."

Weiss folds her arms across her chest stubbornly. As she is still holding Myrtlenaster, this causes the point of her sword to swing dangerously close to Lark's face. The big guy drops back onto his bottom and scuttles away, crab-style, in a hurry.

"After your blatant refusal of my rather philanthropic offer to become an advisor to me," Weiss barks,
"you have the nerve to barge in and deny me an applicant?"

There is probably some killing intent thrown in there. Whatever he picked up from Reese secondhand dulls his mental reflexes to the point where he's not terrified of the potential of urinary tracts ruptured by frozen pee. Thus, without fear clouding his senses, he picks up on an… unusual word. The front door, the entrance hallway, the stairs… "…Applicant? The obstacle course was an application? For that advising assistant position?"

"#2."

"Say wha?"

"Advising assistant #2."

"Why do you need a second one," says Jaune slowly, "when you already have Blake?"

Weiss plants her hands on her hips, as if the answer is obvious. "At times, a male opinion may shed a new light on an otherwise obscure situation."

"You have Lie Ren."

She waves a hand. "Bodyguard."

"Really? I thought you two were closer than that."

Hand halts mid-wave. Temperature in the room drops by a couple degrees. Jaune's body shivers; his mind does not.

"Would you like to open that window over there?" she offers. "Because I'm launching you out that way in ten seconds, glass or not."

"No need to be hasty!" Jaune backs up slowly, just far enough to a point where he can hook his foot around some anchor (the foot of a loveseat). "You need a smart mind. A man's perspective. Very logical, yes. I'd like to apologize then."

{It's been ten seconds. Not flying yet. Okay, keep going.}

"When you first presented the opportunity, I wasn't fully aware of the situation," he continues, pulling out All the Big Words, "so I handled the offer without the proper gravity; for that, I'm sorry. You have firsthand experience of what I can do; you've fought against and with me. I—"

"I'm going to have to cut you off there," she interrupts, "because you're two seconds over the additional grace period I've allotted you. So let's cut to the chase: have you reconsidered?"

She hasn't specified anything, but all three of them know what has been left unsaid. At the same time, though, Jaune recognizes her phrasing as an escape. She's giving him an out. But… when Lark first woke him up with that phone call an hour ago, when Ruby slingshotted him all the way across campus, when he hallucinated a helpful cat for Monty's sake… he'd already had a goal in mind. At the time, he hadn't actually known what it was; but he's here now, the only thing standing between Weiss and Lark. So he says just as vaguely, "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Mr. Lark beat you to it."

"He got a head start."

"It's called initiative."

"He threw cult members at the traps until something worked!"

"Resourcefulness."

"Just because he's the first man to pass your practical assessment—"

"Second."

{Third place? Aw man, you can do better.}

Reflexively, he asks, "Who was first?"

Weiss points her saber at the far corner. In the ethereal gleam of barely reflected moonlight is a perfectly rectangular block of ice encasing a certain Sun Wukong in a compromising position that makes Jaune immediately want to look away, yet keep on observing in fascination. He considers asking Did he do that by himself or did he have help?, but common sense tells him that the second half of that question will send him soaring out into the great beyond with glass shards decorating his face.

Instead, he fields, "Is he still conscious?"

"Most likely."

"Are his eyes open?"

"Also likely. It was quick. He didn't feel pain… probably."

He groans. "I'm going to have to bail him out, aren't I."

"I'm sure he'll be eternally grateful."

He hazards a glance at Weiss. Her responses seem to have… mellowed out, maybe even warmed up. She's not spitting ice anymore. Is she… playing with him? Testing him? Either way, he can probably drop some of the formalities.

"You can't be serious about Lark, are you?"

She looks up at him through her eyelashes. There's a hidden meaning in that look. If only he could face-read. "Why shouldn't I be? He brings certain… assets to the table that I don't possess as of yet."

"He brought an army with him on a panty raid, for Monty's sake!"

"That's rich," Lark finally speaks up, "coming from the Deity of Perverted Chaos."

"Says the skirt-flipping stalker!"

Lark smiles serenely. "Ms. Schnee, no matter what this degenerate says, I assure you: my only reason for being here tonight was to respond to the private and secured notification that you personally sent to my scroll. And as for my supposed-army, ask any man out there just who sent them out there. They'll all say that they came here with Mr. Arc's blessing."

If he had fur (or any sort of body hair for that matter), he would have bristled at Lark's play. He scowls at Weiss. "What do you see in this guy?"

"The same thing I see in you," she replies honestly. "Potential. I watched his initiation duel. Quick on his feet, innovative, and tougher to keep down than a cockroach in a bucket of bleach during a nuclear holocaust."

"You're too kind, ma'am."

He wants to nitpick at Lark's syrupy tone; every word is so coated with artificial sweeteners that Jaune swears his unborn grandchildren are developing cavities.

Her eyes are on him again, waiting. This time, he doesn't hesitate. "Forget about Lark. I'll be your advisor assistant dude."

"Hey, you can't just butt in," Lark protests. "You said no the first time for a specific reason. You haven't changed your mind about that, have you? You're only here because—"

"Because you're the worst person," he finishes, staring Lark down, "to be here. You… you think this is all a joke, don't you?"

A spark of… something flares to life in Lark's eyes. Not anger… action, adrenaline. It's his prey drive; he's still the hunter chasing down a terrified Rabbit, only he's moved on to bigger targets.

"I honestly can't tell," Weiss interjects, "if you're going to kiss him or punch his lights out next. Either way, if you two are going to interact, I'd rather you do so in a way I can easily quantify. A haiku-off."

"A… a wha?"

"Huh?"

"Seventeen arranged / syllables in five-seven-five: / this is a haiku."

"A conversation in haiku? Seriously?" …Huh, he's already counting. "Can I ask why… please?"

"Like the entrance door, / processing permutations: / mind exercises. / Isn't it funny / how the simplest of things / are the most complex?"

"Glorious yet short," he muses. "Simple yet mysterious. / Life? Or a haiku?"

"Anyone can make / a haiku; just stop at the / seventeenth syllab."

Jaune and Weiss give Lark the same empty-eyed stare.

"That was a haiku. / I counted on my fingers. / That is how I know."

"Technic'lly correct, / yet without feeling nor flow. / For example, this: / When it comes to life, / joy is found but in one place: / inside one's own heart."

Lark leers, "I see you driving / round town with the girl I love / and I'm like 'haiku.'"

"You ask, 'Spare some change?'" he retorts. "I say, 'Change comes from within.' / A penny for your thoughts."

"I have a fetish. / Betcha can't guess what it is! / Avisodomy. / Living ain't no fun / without explosions and shit. / Love, laugh, screw things up!"

Okay, the guy is purposely riling him up. He can't say it isn't working, despite the lax fog settled over his mind. "I wasn't joking / when I asked you if you thought / that this was a game. / Keep things black and white. / If you have something to say, / go ahead and tell us."

"A single snowflake / never feels responsible / for an avalanche."

Weiss inserts herself into the gap between Jaune and Lark, simultaneously defusing their animosity and setting off her own. "Care to repeat that again?" she asks menacingly.

Lark just smiles, like a predator playing with his food. "Your skirt might be short, / but I think it's fine that way. / Whoops, I dropped the soap."

A beat.

A shattered window and a dying scream later, Weiss turns to Jaune.

"You came back," she says cautiously.

Sensing a certain frostiness creeping back into her tone (or is it his own bones), he settles for, "I did."

"And?"

He waits.

She folds her arms across her chest.

She's going to make him say it. Fine. "If you really want me by your side to give you a piece of my mind, I'll put in my two cents."

It's as if a mask of ice disguising her true intentions shatters right then, as one side of her mouth quirks upwards ever so slightly. "Don't get cocky."

It takes him a few seconds to process this. Her stance, her tone of voice, the confidence, her presence alone… "You planned this, didn't you."

"As if," Weiss snorts. "If you really think yourself that significant, Lemming, you've got another one coming."

Warmth bubbles up within him, alongside a healthy dosing of fear. {Warm fear, mmm.} "You did," he insists. "It'd be an insult to your intelligence if you even considered for one second to take up Lark—or Sun, for that matter—as your… unless he was in on it…"

"Shut it," she growls. "Thanks to Lark, there is no window barring your exit. For the record, I would never dishonorably terminate the sanctity of a contract via defenestration. I also would rather not start a contract by the same method."

{A contract.} Just phrasing it that way puts a damper on Jaune's spirits. "Terms and conditions," he echoes faintly. "Are those still in effect?"

"Judging from the small army decorating my lawn as of now, I see little evidence of your efforts to disband your perverted fan club. That is easily enough accomplished… but the Malachite sister…s." She grimaces at having to pluralize the subject; but the acknowledgement is there, and some small part of Miltia residing within Jaune's soul rejoices. "There have been… witnesses… who perpetuate the rumor the the younger leaves your room most mornings."

"She doesn't," he lies. "And she won't," he promises. "But she won't stop being a friend," he insists. {Because soul-sharing reasons, but that's a little TMI.}

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," she counters.

"Because I should have the fr…" His mind finally processes the auditory input. "Huh?"

Weiss turns from him. "You should have the freedom to choose your own friends. I can't control that." She turns her head to glower at him over her shoulder, and Grimm if that doesn't make it like ten times more intimidating. "So keep your friends. I won't disagree. But you do realize that your position does involve a certain degree of confidentiality, right? If you ever volunteer Schnee family secrets, I'll..." She audibly swallows. "I will never forgive you."

{She might be acting. The line is cliché enough. Are those crocodile tears?} His rational mind sends out warning bells, even as she tugs on his heartstrings and he follows demurely. "Uh, well, you know my track record." {Great way to start promises, you dolt.} "But you've been through a lot since the beginning of the school year, and a lot of it because of me. So I'll… I'll do my best not to let you down."

For a long moment, Weiss remains facing away from him. Some hopelessly romantic part of his idiot heart notes how the waning moonlight creates this evanescent glow about her, how she almost glimmers in the darkness before dawn.

The peace is shattered by a dull explosion that rocks the floor beneath their feet.

Jaune stumbles; Weiss does not. With a smooth grace, she slides forward with Myrtlenaster held in a defense grip and defends Jaune from whatever may approach through the door leading downstairs, even though she's wearing a flimsy pajama dress and he's decked out with leather armor pads and Crocea Mors.

Slow, uneven footsteps. Whoever coming isn't combative. Jaune puts a hand on Weiss's shoulder, intending to tell her to stand down; both are startled at the spark of energy that passes from him to her.

"What did you do?" she hisses, her senses on high alert. In the brief second she turns to snap at him, he catches sight of her eyes: pupils blown wide, ice blue pupils barely visible. She's shivering with energy or anticipation, looking like she's ready to pounce at any second.

An echo of the Hunting flashes back to him, when he'd put his hand on her shoulder in almost the exact spot, and pushed his aura into hers to give her a boost. But before he can vocalize his theory, a body stumbles through the doorway and into the room, and Weiss is practically warping time, zipping all around her target in a Death By a Thousand Cuts technique on fast-forward.

"Stop!" he yells, jumping into the white whirlwind. He gets a slash across the forearm for his trouble, but he manages to catch a skinny arm within his hand by some stroke of odd luck. "He's… wounded…"

Wounded, yes. His shirt is practically sheer now, which… well, with his physique, could be a good thing. But that's not what draws Jaune's eyes; it's the guy's jeans. He's tied his jacket around his waist, which hides most of the damage, but Jaune's seen enough skin to realize that the crotch no longer exists.

"Bro…" Neptune laughs weakly. "It was a Dust crystal. It's a good thing I was wearing protection, or else I'd be choking you with what's left of my jockstrap."

Jaune hops forward and yanks Neptune off the red glyph developing underneath. At Weiss's furious glare, he protests, "You can't launch a pants-less guy into the middle of campus! That's, like, secondhand public indecency."

"If we're getting technical," interjects Neptune, "I'm still decent." He lifts his jacket so quickly that Jaune can't look away in time, but also in a way that still shields the horror from Weiss's pure eyes.

He's wearing a jockstrap, alright. The front has an impact-resistant cup built in and is seared with scorch marks. The hair fuzz around that area appears to have been sizzled off as well. Neptune doesn't reveal the back… fortunately, because the jockstrap doesn't appear to actually have a back.

{AAAAGGGHHHHHH BRAIN BLEACH, BRAIN BLEACH.}

Neptune turns to Weiss sweetly. "Because I'm currently lacking in the underwear department… be a good Samaritan and lend me a pair of panties?"

One half of Jaune wants to facepalm so hard that he sees stars. The other half bows down before the Ultimate Panty Master. Both halves keep watch for another glyph, and both are shocked when none is forthcoming. In fact… in fact, Weiss is… smiling.

Not the nice kind of smile either.

She swivels on a heel and walks to the other side of the lounge. Before she exits to what is probably her bedroom, she looks over her shoulder at Jaune, the same mischievous grin on her lips.

"As your first act of service, Jaune Arc of Lemming, please loan your undies to Neptune Vasilias."