Chapter 4: Contact
One of the many problems with having a broken arm was that even the most menial tasks proved stupidly difficult, no matter how hard Yang tried. But she had gotten real tired of doing nothing with her life, cooped up inside the house. Sure, she had been doing careful exercises and workouts to stay in shape and resting when it was convenient, but several hours still remained between these activities, wherein Yang thought she would die of boredom. Or maybe hang herself out of boredom. Same thing, really.
Anyway, so Yang was restless and grumpy because life sucked and everyone was having fun without her. Sun hadn't even kept his promise about visiting every day. His excuses were that he had a lot of work and that he trained regularly with his team, which were legitimate, but they still made Yang the pouty kind of miserable. At least he had come over this morning to bring her, Ruby, and Taiyang some breakfast and then stayed to chat and play a game of cards that everyone hated so much that it turned into a card-throwing competition instead. Loads of excitement—note the sarcasm. Yang would have preferred a different kind of excitement with Sun, but apparently they were forbidden from leaving Taiyang's sight. Or even sitting next to each other. And especially "no footsies under the table." Sometimes Yang wondered if her father thought she was twelve.
To say the least, after watching Sun leave shortly before lunchtime, Yang did not go back inside. She stood by the driveway, letting the breeze touch her skin and play with her hair as she soaked in the sunlight, taking a deep breath in and slowly exhaling to somewhat calm her itching need to go crazy. Recently, she was growing more and more convinced that she just might have lost her marbles.
Last night had pretty much proven that point. She had possessed—or, rather, not possessed but…did something to—another girl, and there were so many levels of weirdness to it. The worst part, however, was finding out that the other girl was real and that she and Yang were pretty much obligated to talk to each other now. Yang didn't even know what to say. She didn't know what she could say. "Hey, sorry I took over your body and definitely didn't touch your boobs" would not work. She sighed.
She needed to occupy her mind with something. It was annoying, both trying to think and not think about the text message she would inevitably have to send back, sooner rather than later. Yang shook her head and started walking, dirt crunching under her boots, which she still couldn't tie. She made her way to the garage near the back of the cabin, and once she was by the front, she stopped for a moment. The door had to be lifted open. She could totally do this. Girl power. Totes.
Yang crouched down in front of it and gripped the indentation at the bottom with her left hand. Using all the strength she had forged over the years with her perfected squat form, she pushed and pulled upwards, and, slowly, the large and heavy garage door came up with her, creaking and groaning—also with her. Once it was high enough, she simply used her hand to push it all the way in along the ceiling.
Before her was a dusty but still somewhat organized and used space. The smell of timber and gasoline reached her nose, but Yang actually liked that. The left wall had tools hanging all over it, a waist-high metal ledge along its length with other tool boxes, dirty rags, and new and old mechanical parts left on the surface. A thick chain hung from the ceiling in support of presently nonexistent motors, and behind where it was anchored were two tall pressure tanks. There were a few random things lying around, like a broom in the right front corner or extra planks of wood lining the right wall, but, otherwise, the stars of the show were the broken lawnmower and the gleaming, perfect, wonderful, and powerful yellow motorcycle, set side by side in the middle of the cement floor.
Yang blew an exasperated raspberry as she decided what to do. A couple weeks ago, she had kind of agreed to fix her neighbor's lawnmower at a price. She had done it before, it had worked, and then he had run the lawnmower over another big rock—so he brought it back. When Yang wasn't out hunting, which, she had realized, was a surprising amount of time, she freelanced as a mechanic. It wasn't all bad, considering her "business" only began when more and more neighbors started bringing their junk over to be fixed, but Yang enjoyed the work and she needed the extra money to move out eventually. She was actually fairly close to reaching her goal.
The problem with that plan was that she was pretty sure she could do just about zilch, nada, rien with her broken arm right now—the lawnmower was just too small and cramped of a piece to deal with. Yang's motorcycle, on the other hand… Well, it definitely wasn't not perfect—because it was completely perfect in every way—but it could always be more perfect. And it was right there.
She wandered inside and towards her bike, hopeful, touching the leather seat affectionately. It had actually been about two weeks now since she had last been in here. Between the missions and the nights out with Pyrrha and company (namely, Nora, Jaune, Ren, and sometimes Neptune)—and the dates with Sun—and the extra work and chores at home, and the injuries, Yang really hadn't gotten a chance to put some love into Bumblebee these days. She sorta missed tinkering on her own.
Her gaze wandered to the counter by the wall, and upon seeing the shiny sphere-like object sitting there, Yang made her way over to it with interest. It was the gyroscope she was building to incorporate into her motorcycle. It wasn't finished yet, but Yang was already super proud of her work—and super thankful to Ruby for giving her the idea. The two siblings had cooperated to create the blueprints, and then Yang had set to work on constructing the thing about a month ago. Using a convoluted system of electromagnets and sensors, the gyroscope would ideally detect if the bike was at risk of falling when the engine was off and then redistribute the force it generated by itself to push the bike in the opposite direction.
When Yang had tried explaining it to her friends, the response she had gotten was…mixed, if anything. Pyrrha had been supportive as usual, just as Sun had been, Jaune and Neptune were confused, Nora didn't see the use in putting so much work into fixing something that wasn't broken—unless, she said, if the kickstand were to mysteriously become broken, then replacing it would be great!—and Ren just…nodded.
Yang slowly shook her head again. Her friends could be so frustrating sometimes, in the best way possible. But she was looking forward to finishing the gyroscope and testing it out. Despite misleading first impressions, Yang was really good with her hands and with putting things together—and taking them apart, too. Unfortunately, she still couldn't do all that much with the gyroscope, after all. The supporting magnets needed to be bolted into place, and that was a process that required both of her hands. Yang sighed and returned to her bike, swinging her leg over the seat and sitting there grumpily for a second, frowning.
She was stalling, delaying the inevitable. It was completely insane, with no way to make heads or tails of the situation. Yet it was true.
Yang Xiao Long was switching bodies with this total stranger somewhere else in Vale. Her previous belief of her possessing some poor girl had flown right out the window when Yang had woken up drooling on her bedroom's floor, nowhere near her bed enough to assume that she had fallen out of it in her sleep. Her body had moved, had gone somewhere to do something, and this had happened while she was doing the exact same thing in someone else's body at the same time. No sleepwalking. Moreover, it absolutely explained Sun's version of her escape from the Petra Gigas.
Because she hadn't escaped, after all. They had switched places, and this other girl had escaped for her.
The revelation was of heavy consequence. Yang knew this stranger had saved her life. And all Yang had done in return was grope her and insult her surroundings…and cat. The blonde didn't often feel ashamed of her past actions, and she tried to reason that she would have been a lot more respectful if she had known she wasn't dreaming from the start, but this predicament was simply not the kind she could so easily shrug off. If it hadn't been for this girl—this person who must have experienced incredible fear, pain, and confusion at suddenly facing a Petra Gigas and somehow finding a way to get to safety despite all that—Yang would have died.
She knew she owed that Faunus girl a very sincere thank you. This was a debt that could never truly be repaid. But…maybe there were certain pieces of information that could stay hush-hush. Yang felt too embarrassed.
She pulled out her scroll and opened it. Lilac eyes stared at the messages she had sent off and the one message she had received in reply, the one she had yet to respond to. This stranger probably had no idea what was going on. It was kind of awful. But Yang could not help her trepidation. What was she supposed to say? How would she possibly explain this without sounding absolutely bonkers? Even Yang, herself, didn't have a single clue about how or why this was happening.
Deciding inaction was the biggest contributor to her anxiety, Yang bit the bullet and wrote.
I was inside you
Yang trashed this immediately.
I was the girl who maybe made you sweat last night
Nope.
I am the girl whose soul climbed inside of your body and
Literally never.
A writer Yang was not. She had half a mind to take this issue to Ruby, who, while not being much of a wordsmith, herself, had much more experience dealing with awkwardness and delivering bad news. But then Yang realized: 1. Ruby couldn't know about this body-switching thing. It was just too…out there. And she likely wouldn't even believe Yang in the first place. 2. Ruby had become awful at giving bad news—Yang could only think about the time when she had woken up from her recent injury, and she started to get annoyed again. Twenty-five years…
Then she thought about taking it to Pyrrha, whose positivity and courage always helped Yang find something to say, even if it wasn't perfect. But Yang couldn't leave the house with her dad keeping her "bedridden." Fortunately, she then realized she didn't have to travel to get Pyrrha's help.
Instead, she sent, Hey hypothetical: if u were a girl who was inside another girl and had control of her body and she just found out, what would u say to her? Yang smiled. Suddenly, her not-a-writer status was hilarious.
Only a few seconds later, Pyrrha returned with, Are you gay? and then, What about Sun?
Yea, he's prolly gay. Yang's eyes searched the air somewhere in the corner of the room. There was nothing there except a wonderful idea. And no, i'm not gay, per se. But y? U offering?
I'M ENGAGED. JAUNE IS RIGHT BESIDE ME.
That's not a no sweet cheeks
It took a moment before Pyrrha replied. In that time, Yang realized she was stalling again, what with all her jokes and bad questions and even badder come-ons, and she didn't feel any shame for it. But she should. This was a pretty important situation, and it deserved sobriety. But then again…Pyrrha.
Yang's scroll buzzed.
I'm not sure I understand the question. I assume you don't mean sex with another girl, though I imagine you also do… It'–s really hard to tell with you sometimes.
Deciding to forgo jokes for just a little bit, Yang replied, If u were in a situation where u possessed someone else, and u knew there number and u knew they could respond, what would u say?
I'd try to make sure the person is who I think she is.
Yea, got it. Next?
Yang, do you have something to tell me?
Nah. Just a random question. Bored cuz of this injuryyyyyy
Ooookayyyyyy… Well, I'd be honest with her. If I were in that position, I'd be a little scared, and I'd want to know exactly what's going on and who you are. But I don't know. Maybe I wouldn't want to know at all.
Yea, but what would u actually sayyyy
Something that comes from the heart, Yang.
Yang's shoulders slumped. All these jokes were not just delaying the inevitable; they were making the inevitable that much harder to accomplish. Pyrrha was right—she didn't know how right she was, but she was seriously and completely right. The solution to Yang's problem was not a couple magic words or diplomatic phrasing. She had figured this out already. It was initiative that would make this problem go away—initiative combined with honesty and frankness. The issue was communication, and Yang knew the only solution was to actually communicate. No more stalling.
She typed out, Ok thanks tell Jaune I say hello
A few seconds later, Pyrrha responded, He says hello back. Is there anything else you want to say to him? Just let me know if you do! :D
Yang looked forward to teasing Pyrrha and her fiancé, but she would have to do that later. Right now, Yang had a fire in her eyes and a pit in her stomach. She would text this other girl. She would be honest, direct, and sincere. And she would text her right now.
"During the Great War, the Kingdom of Atlas established a massive prison colony on an island just south of Anima. Fitting, because they called this colony 'Menagerie.' This is a word that has meant 'a collection of wild animals to be put on display,' and, largely, the only prisoners sent to Menagerie were Faunus who mined dust in Vacuo."
Blake was standing behind her desk, facing her History class and lecturing them about Menagerie. Above her was a slightly green holoscreen, showing a map of Remnant that was getting progressively closer to that southeastern island. All things considered, the class was going well. She already had her teaching legs under her and there was no one asking stupid questions. If anything could be said to be bad, though, it would literally be everything else.
Blake was exhausted. She wanted to sit down and rest while she gave this lecture, but she knew her current standing position was the only thing keeping her awake. Further, she had to be on her toes because any one of these students—or not any one of these students—could be the stalker that she maybe, most likely had. She had told herself that paranoia could wait, but she had been lying. This weirdness couldn't wait. Crime didn't rest, so neither could Blake—she would know, having been on both sides of the can't-sleep problem.
A hand gradually rose up in the amphitheater seats, and Blake just about shot it. She was jumpy, her hand perpetually stuck to the desk drawer that concealed Gambol Shroud. But she caught herself and smiled at the young man—Rock of Team AFTR—bidding him to speak.
"Were only Faunus sent?"
Blake's smile persisted. It was a bit hard to keep the façade up, considering her wellbeing, but she wanted to make sure Rock and all the other quieter students knew they were welcome to speak their minds. "At first, no. Menagerie was like any other prison colony founded by Atlas, except it was bigger and newer. Initially, Atlas' prisoners of war were brought to Menagerie alongside Faunus who disobeyed their Vacuo-based mining companies. But as the mining companies became stricter with Faunus and began instituting new racially motivated regulations, the Faunus population on the island began to boom. Then, as we shall see later, the Faunus Rights Revolution led to even more arrests, and, eventually, Menagerie became a predominately Faunus prison colony. At that point, the other prisons began transferring all of their Faunus inmates to Menagerie while all of Menagerie's humans were taken elsewhere."
She used this opportunity to switch to her next presentation material, a heatmap of Menagerie. Her attention turned away from Rock, who jotted down Blake's response in his notebook, and toward the rest of her class, sweeping her eyes across them. They were all blurs in her tiredness, but eye contact helped establish connections.
As the red specks on the overhead map began to grow and disperse, Blake said, "Menagerie began with one prison compound in Pohaku in the modern-day Wai province. Larger compounds later spread to the Ahi province cities of Mau Loa and Uhane with the largest eventually being established in Menagerie's capital of Kuo Kuana." The little red dots had grown into big dots over all the major cities Blake mentioned.
Another student raised their hand. Blake allowed them to speak. "Um, Professor Belladonna, could you write out those names? I'm not exactly sure how to spell them."
From a seat in the direct center of the class, a hushed voice caught the attention of Blake's ears. It was Argent, who, rolling her eyes, mumbled into her papers, "Just look inside your book. That's more work for the professor. Gosh."
Faraday, who sat beside her and whose face was a perpetual tomato, whispered back furiously, "Ari! Look at her ears! She can hear you!"
Argent blinked and probably died a little on the inside. "…I'm sorry," she said very, very quietly.
Oh dear. On one hand, Blake wanted laugh. But on the other hand, she wanted to cry. "Certainly," she said, keeping her amusement in check, but she knew fulfilling the student's request would be easier said than done. In fact, putting the names under or over the red dots was fairly simple in the program she was using—all she had to do was mouse over and click on the dots before typing in whatever words she wanted. Unfortunately, that meant she had to move a little and remove a hand from her desk. That meant she was liable to topple over. But the students needed to know these names. This was pressure.
With a forced look of calmness, Blake removed her hand from Gambol Shroud's drawer and stepped to her laptop before mousing over to Kuo Kuana's large dot. But as she began to hunt and peck with that same hand, the other supporting her weight on the desk, her ears flickered to a different noise in the classroom. Her bag was buzzing—her scroll was buzzing. Her typing faltered for a moment, Blake's eyes locked on the leather shoulder bag by her feet. She could see a blinking light. On instinct, she wanted to reach for Gambol Shroud. It wouldn't do much good, but the thought at least warded off her worry.
Her exhaustion made her stare at the blinking light for longer than necessary, but Blake finally tore her gaze away from it and refocused on her current task. At least, she tried to. And for the most part, she managed to keep populating the city and province names on the holoscreen—kind of a mechanical process, as she knew the locations by heart—but her mind was officially distracted.
Blake had received a message. She didn't usually receive messages—or ever, really. And there was only one person she had recently texted, the same person who had failed to reply last night and who was one of the causes of Blake's strife today. More than likely, that was them now. For her sanity's sake, Blake felt like she needed to check the message immediately. But she couldn't. It was her first semester teaching, and doing something like that would get her fired. She was anxious, but it would have to wait until after class.
After writing out all the names she had mentioned earlier and waiting a minute for the students to finish copying them, Blake carried on to the next part of her explanations. She didn't have the energy to move back to where she had been, and she did find herself occasionally glancing at the drawer where Gambol Shroud was—missing its proximity—or even down at the blinking light in her bag, but Blake put forth a long-suffering effort to keep track of what she was even saying. She could hear her voice, but the words coming out of her mouth did not always register in her brain.
Her students weren't asking many questions, though, too busy scribbling down the information, and they didn't seem confused or disinterested, either, so Blake took comfort in this. Perhaps she was still managing to be coherent despite her feeling of being completely nonsensical—which was good because she wanted her students to succeed.
"But I can assure you," she found herself saying sometime deep into the lecture, "that Menagerie is now much safer and more peaceful than it used to be since the disbanding of the White Fang and the dissolving of its political influence." There were only fifteen minutes left of class. She decided to add a personal comment, if only to reassure her students further—or maybe to reassure herself. "Last time I visited, Kuo Kuana was a lovely and warm place to vacation in—not the den of criminals the news would have you believe. This was just last summer. The citizens seem happier and the crime rate has dropped significantly within the past few years, and the current chief is collaborating with Remnant's human leaders to open up Menagerie's borders in the hopes of establishing more friendly relations."
There was a brief silence, but then a timid voice suddenly broke it, unbidden. Blake's gaze landed on Faraday as she hesitantly asked, "Professor Belladonna, I saw this on your syllabus, but…were you actually a member of the White Fang?"
Right. Blake had indeed put that on her syllabus. On all of them. Suddenly, her tiredness and stalker messages and weird visions meant very little. It shouldn't have been a surprise that one of her students was finally asking about it. In fact, Blake should have expected this, maybe even sooner than now. Yet she still felt wholly unprepared to answer. And her tiredness, although not all that important at the moment, nevertheless made it taxing for Blake to gather an intelligent response.
At least Faraday sounded like she was genuinely curious, maybe even concerned. That helped take off some of the edge her question had prompted. "Um, yes, I was," Blake finally said, but her voice came out quieter than she had wanted and she was looking down at her laptop instead of her students. She struggled to keep her composure, to remain confident, but this was the best she could do right now, given her state. "I…left when I was sixteen. It stopped standing for the values I believed in. But…well, leaving was still one of the most distressing decisions I've ever had to make."
"Do you regret it?" came Ouron's nasally voice from one of the top rows.
Blake couldn't tell if he was being snide or sincere. She also couldn't determine what he was referencing. "Do I regret what? Leaving the White Fang or being a part of it?"
"Leaving."
Ah. So, he probably was being snide. And vaguely racist, honestly. Blake sighed. "No, Ouron." She set a narrowed stare on him. "I'm not happy that I aligned myself with murderers, thieves, vandals, and terrorists. I was naïve and thought I knew everything and ended up seeing the world through a warped perspective." It was incredibly tempting to add "kind of like you," but Blake was satisfied with her subtle implication, whether he caught it or not. She let the matter go, though—Blake knew she was being petty, anyway, and that was hardly acceptable on her part—and returned her amber gaze to Faraday. "I made a lot of mistakes that I feel awful for. But I promise I'm not here to insidiously spread White Fang propaganda."
Faraday blinked a few times, but then she seemed to shrink into herself. She looked down at her papers and nodded, a curious little smile on her lips.
A hand next to Faraday went up, but Tope spoke before Blake could even acknowledge him. "Professor, did you ever kill anyone?"
On the other side of Faraday, Argent gasped, looking supremely offended.
Blake didn't know how to respond. She hadn't thought anyone would actually ask that. Despite his happy, lackadaisical expression, Tope had a lot of nerve. She didn't know if there was some kind of etiquette about asking people if they had committed murder, but still, Blake couldn't fathom that question being appropriate in any context…except maybe if it were a police interrogation, which this certainly was not. Fortunately, she didn't have to answer him. She was saved by the bell—literally. It rang, marking the end of the class.
Blake could not have let out a more relieved sigh. The class started packing their belongings into their bags, everyone's questions about the White Fang and murder being pushed aside by more important matters. Blake finally allowed herself to drop into her chair. She couldn't help it—she closed her eyes for a moment, massaging her brow with her fingers. Having cancelled her office hours for today, she was looking forward to getting home and getting some sleep. Yet her day felt far from over.
"Professor Belladonna?" a shy voice asked. "Um, are you okay?"
Blake opened her eyes, catching sight of Faraday and Argent standing by her desk, both girls looking worried. She attempted a strained smile. "Yes. Don't concern yourself over me. I just need sleep."
"Professor, I'm going to have a considerable chat with Tope," Argent declared, determined. "His question was totally indiscreet, and I'm deeply sorry you had to deal with that."
Blake really didn't have the energy to argue or tell Argent that she didn't have to bother. The poor Tope—facing Argent's anger seemed scary. Even Blake was a little intimidated by this girl's forwardness. Instead, Blake merely said, "It's okay, Argent, I promise."
"I hope you feel better soon, Professor Belladonna," Faraday said, quiet and almost squeaking.
"And if you ever need to talk to anyone—"
"We can't be friends." Blake's gaze was tired and impatient. "But thank you for the condolences."
Argent seemed like she had something else to say, some heartfelt assurance of Blake's not being alone or the strength one can draw from friendship, but Faraday was thankfully quick enough to shut her down. With a few hurried whispers to her leader and a sheepish smile to Blake, she was able to get Argent to relent and begin walking out of the room with nothing more than an "I hope you enjoy the rest of your day!" Blake sighed again, watching the two girls leave. When the door automatically swung closed behind them, and when it closed with an echoing click, Blake was alone. Finally.
In an attempt to be aloof and controlled, Blake simply looked out at the empty amphitheater while her fingertips raked slowly down her cheeks. But she was not aloof and controlled right now. Not at all. Her looking and raking lasted only a second before Blake, with a vigor she had not known she possessed, snatched up her bag and practically dumped her scroll out on to the desk. It skittered for a distance, but she made sure to grab it. As she pulled the two end grips apart, the screen lit up and revealed a text notification.
It was from the same number as last night.
It was the stalker.
My name is Yang. You probably aren't going to believe what I'm saying here because it's really weird and I'm not completely sure this is what's happening, but I think you and me have been switching bodies. It's happened twice now, and the first time it happened, you saved my life. I wanted to thank you for that (sincerely) and figure out what's going on.
Blake blinked. That was about all she could do for a minute. She reread the message several times, and, each time she did, it seemed to reveal new truths about the two "visions" she had. The fear she felt from the Petra Gigas, the pain she had felt with a broken arm, the stranger who stared back at her in the mirror, the sudden unconsciousness and eventual waking up somewhere else—and the name. Yang. The mere concept of switching bodies offended her sensibilities—because, for all intents and purposes, such an action could not be anything more than fiction. Souls or consciousness or sovereign selves did not change bodies, and they most certainly did not exchange bodies. But somehow Blake knew that this was the truth. It was the only explanation that made sense despite the fact that it was literally impossible.
Without knowing what to say, or what she could say, Blake gawked at her scroll. Her fingers, however, began slowly typing out her thoughts.
Why? Who are you? Are you stalking me?
These thoughts were genuine, Blake believed, but she did not send them. How could she? They did not solve any problem, pose any helpful question, or address the giant, humungous elephant that just rammed its way into the room. Blake deleted her message and tried again, putting forth a request that would hopefully give an answer to multiple unformed questions at once.
Describe your room, she simply replied.
It took a long, nerve-racking moment, but Blake eventually received a response.
Yeah, okay one second.
The next minute and a half was rough, to say the very least. For some reason, Blake had forgotten social codes and thought "one second" would actually be one tick of the second hand on an analogue clock. But then another second passed, and then another, and then all the tiredness and worry seemed to vanish from Blake's body, leaving her with only the thought of switching bodies.
What did this entail? Well, it meant Blake had been in this girl's body—Yang's body—while Yang had been in hers. It meant Blake had interacted with Yang's husband or father while Yang had eaten tuna and made Silver affectionate. It meant Blake had saved Yang's life while Yang had been crying—while Yang had been fearing immanent death. It meant pressure. Blake felt cold and wanted to run home and sleep away the rest of the day and forget everything about this text, but, by then, Yang had replied.
So, when you enter my room, the first thing you're gonna see is a window against the back wall. Right up against that is my bed. Beside my bed on the right wall is my dresser and mirror and a chair. There are pictures of me and my dad and my sister on that. Across from them is a closet. That's on the left wall. And then there's a big rug underneath all that.
Blake remembered every part of that room from her last vision. Either this Yang had somehow infiltrated her mind and dreams and stolen experiential information or they really had switched bodies. At this point, Blake was certain the latter was true. Somehow. It still didn't make sense.
Okay, she texted back. Now describe yourself, if you would.
Blake had wanted to say something to clarify her request, something along the lines of "I think I saw you in your mirror," but she figured it would be better if she held as many cards to her chest as possible. However, being that she had apparently saved this girl's life—and being that this had caused great distress for both of them, evidently—Blake sent another message, adding, Please.
A minute later, Yang responded.
Uh. I'm 24. I'm blonde. I'm a huntress. I have purple eyes. Broken arm right now. It's stupid. I guess I'm kind of toned but idk if that's gonna last much longer with this stupid arm.
It all checked out. To say Blake was stunned would be an understatement. But, goodness, was she stunned. Her world felt like it had just gotten turned on its head and spun around to the point where she wanted to vomit, which she presently considered doing. There were a lot of layers to this problem—Why was this happening? Why Yang? What had Yang done in her body? What had Blake done to Yang?—but Blake felt helpless trying to reveal even one. Unfortunately, she did not have time to attempt revealing any layer because Yang had texted her again.
Do you think you could describe yourself too? No pressure or anything. I just wanna know if you're who I think you are as well.
Then she texted again.
I mean, I kinda know its you because of the cat and the pennant thing, but anybody could say yes to that.
Blake wanted to refuse. She had just finished laboring over how to describe herself to her students, and she did not want to come up with a new description for the girl she was apparently switching bodies with. Moreover…describing herself physically was tough, even for Blake who considered herself a halfway decent amateur writer in secret.
In the time Blake took to deliberate, however, Yang had texted her yet again.
When Blake opened the message, she found a picture instead of words. It was Yang—the same blonde-haired, cheery-eyed, mischievous-but-beautiful girl she had seen in the mirror—but she was smiling nervously and looked like eye contact with her camera was straining on whatever resolve she could muster. She looked so different from the confidence she had seemed to emanate last night. Nevertheless, the picture made this whole situation a little more manageable. Yang looked just about as freaked out as Blake felt, and something about her smile and messages made Blake feel oddly at ease.
Well, I'm a feline Faunus. I have cat ears, black hair, honey eyes, I usually wear something on the monochrome gradient, and I'm a huntress, too.
She then added in another message, perhaps awkwardly, I'm also twenty-four.
Approaching twenty-five, honestly, but Blake didn't think that was necessary or important to mention.
Oh cool! Yang texted. I kinda figured that because of your Haven pennant. But uh do you know what's happening or what we can do to stop this?
I'm sorry, Yang, but I do not.
Do you maybe wanna call and talk about it? This arm is making texting hard.
Blake massaged the back of her neck and then passed her hand through her hair as she looked around the room again. No, she did not want to call and talk about it—but she knew she had to. The situation was highly disturbing and intrusive on so many levels—for both of them—and it had to stop. And the only way to have a chance at making it stop was talking and discussing options.
But she couldn't talk right now. She had to leave the classroom before the next professor came in. So, Blake sent off a quick Let me get home first. I'll message you in about half an hour.
She didn't wait to see if Yang responded. Instead, Blake shut her laptop and packed it into her bag with her books and scroll before pulling the strap over her shoulder. Gambol Shroud was pulled out of the drawer, rearranged from its gun form to its cleaver form, and fixed onto her back. She stood and swayed, putting a steadying hand on the desk for a moment, blinking a few times again to clear the blur in her vision. She was far too tired for any of this today. Far too tired. And she still had to walk home. Blake wanted to cry.
Nevertheless, she exhaled shakily and gathered what little determination she had before tightening her hold on her bag's strap and heading out of the amphitheater.
Screaming internally. Yang felt an urge to bash her forehead against the wall repeatedly.
I'll message you in about half an hour. How was Yang going to survive waiting that long? She was already pacing back and forth around the house, having left her room after taking that selfie, and even her home was starting to feel too small for the exercise she most likely needed.
That girl was definitely the girl. The description matched. They truly were switching bodies. And they were going to talk in…
"Ugh! How has it only been five minutes?" Yang stopped in the living room and glared at her scroll. Twenty-five minutes left to go. This was almost worse than her broken arm. She hadn't even asked for this girl's name, for crying out loud! How could she have forgotten something so basic? That was going to be one of the first things Yang would ask once they called each other.
"Yang, you're in the wayyyyy!" Ruby complained loudly. She was on the couch, trying to watch something on the holoscreen…which Yang was almost standing directly in front of.
Frustrated, Yang mumbled an apology and went to fall down on one of the armchairs nearby. By all means, she wasn't upset with the cat girl at all. It was totally normal that a person wouldn't be home. Or maybe Yang had expected her to be home because she seemed to lead a quiet life. But maybe the girl didn't. Maybe she was often not at home during the day. Maybe she had things to do. Just like how Yang had things to do when she wasn't crippled. Whatever the case, Yang was frustrated with not being able to resolve this immediately. She was supposed to be a woman of action!
Much to Ruby's audible displeasure, Yang found herself on her feet again, walking out of the living room and into the kitchen, eyes glued to her scroll. It was dumb—she knew the longer she stared, the slower time would pass.
"What are you even doing, anyway?" Ruby called out, curious and vaguely annoyed.
The blonde froze, scrambling for some kind of answer that would make a semblance of sense. "Watching basketball?" she tried.
"It's Thursday, Yang. Games aren't on until later."
"Yeah, well…" Yang narrowed her eyes at the back of Ruby's head, which just peeked over the back of the couch. "Your face."
"I'm hungry. Make us lunch."
Yang almost chucked her scroll at Ruby. Under any other regular circumstance, it would have been Yang's pleasure to cook something up for just the two of them. There were only good memories associated with Yang taking care of Ruby that way. She loved that girl to death, but right now, man, could little sisters be infuriating when they took things for granted. "Do I look like I'm in a condition to do anything remotely useful?"
Ruby's silver eyes peered back over her shoulder at Yang sheepishly, finding that—surprisingly—Yang's arm was still broken. "Oops. Right. Sorry." She jumped up from the couch. "Well, in that case, I'll make something for us!" She began striding towards Yang with a youthful, completely misplaced zeal.
Yang grimaced. "That sounds like a terrible idea." Ruby couldn't cook to save her life. Instead, before Ruby could come any closer, the older sibling set her scroll on the counter and went over to the freezer to check if there were any TV dinners she could put in the microwave.
Ruby, having given up on her stove-bound course, sat at the island counter on one of the stools. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," she said. "I was trying to be helpful, since you're crippled and in a bad mood."
The cool air of the freezer managed to calm Yang down some, but she frowned at its contents. "Yeah, I'm sorry, too." She meant it. With a bit of a sigh, Yang grabbed two packages of potato and meat dinners, shut the freezer door, and brought the meals over to the microwave. "Remind me to grill you some burgers when I can use my arm again."
"Uh-huh. Acting like I hadn't already planned on that." Ruby giggled. "But for real, why are you so focused on your scroll?"
There was no way Yang could tell Ruby the truth. While she mulled over what she could possibly tell her younger sister, Yang stuck one of the packages in the microwave and rotated her finger over the touch-pad circle to the five-minute mark. She pressed the start button, and the machine came to life with a dull, probably radioactive hum.
Finally, Yang turned towards Ruby, leaning her back on the counter by the microwave. "I'm just…really bored and restless. I don't know what to do with myself with this cast stopping me from being active. Maybe I'm going stir-crazy."
Ruby contemplated this for a couple minutes, hand stroking her tiny and beardless chin all the while. Eventually, she suggested, "Maybe you should try going out."
"Easy for you to say, Ms. Twenty-Two-and-Popular. Dad won't let me do anything, remember?" Yang wanted to pat herself on the back. Ruby had made a silent "Oh" expression. Ruby had bought Yang's excuse. "Besides, it's not like I can get anywhere with one arm."
"You've still got two legs."
Yang was unimpressed. That was their father's level of humor, and it was base. Vile. "Thanks. What a perfect solution to me wanting to handstand-walk all the way to Vale. I'll just use my legs. You know, across the water."
"You can walk onto a ferry."
"And you can take a long walk off a short pier."
The microwave dinged. Yang pulled the food out. It was very hot. She had half a mind to hand the dinner in its current state to Ruby, who couldn't handle the heat like her older sister, but Yang thought better of that. She set the food down, grabbed a placemat, fork, moved them over to where Ruby sat, and placed the food on top. Ruby had to pull her fork out from under the food. That was Yang's revenge.
"That sounds like a good idea," Ruby said, unwrapping her food. "I could absolutely go for a swim right about—" She blew on her food before taking a bite. However, she teared up and took a moment before speaking again. Her voice sounded broken afterwards. "—now. Water sounds nice."
"Fine," Yang relented, accepting the implied request. She put her own food in the microwave, set it to cook, and fetched Ruby a glass of water, filling it in the sink. Soon after, though, Ruby needed a refill, and Yang obliged that implied request, too.
"Maybe," Ruby tried again, fanning her tongue with her hand, "you should try swimming. The doctor said you could do that, didn't she?"
"The nurse, but yeah."
"So, that settles it! Go swim."
"Thanks. You have the answers for everything—like how I'm supposed to tie my swimsuit or how I'm supposed to convince dad that I should be able to go to the beach when I can't tie my swimsuit."
"Then buy a one-piece."
"Yeah, problem with that. How am I supposed to do that when I can't leave the house?"
"Internet?"
"It'll take a week to arrive."
"Well, you could always take a bath and pretend it's the beach!"
Yang was once again unimpressed. Nevertheless, she smirked. At least it wasn't dad-jokes this time. It was just Ruby's hopeless optimism. Yang had been about to say something sarcastic in reply, but the microwave dinged again. Letting Ruby off early for good behavior, Yang retrieved her food and set it next to her scroll before digging in with the nearest fork she could find. Ruby just grinned at her. Yang opened her mouth, revealing a sight which made Ruby shudder and then laugh. "Ahhhhh."
"Yang, you're gross."
The blonde had been about to retort—yet again with something sarcastic—but, yet again, she was interrupted. This time, however, it was her scroll. It buzzed and, still open, its screen illuminated with the glow of a new text message. Yang's breath caught in her throat, right alongside a piece of potato.
She choked, reaching for her scroll, and set off to her room, hacking all the way up the stairs, tears of anxiety and asphyxiation forming at the corners of her eyes.
"Yang!" Ruby called. "Are you all right? Do you need any water? Are you gonna finish your food?"
Rasping out an "I'm fine!" Yang firmly shut her door and leaned back against it, swallowing hard. The potato went down but the fear did not. It was time. Time to face the music—and the girl whose boobs Yang had groped under the impression that she had been dreaming. Moreover, it was time to talk to this girl who was simultaneously Yang's savior and victim. The potato weighed heavy in her gut.
Okay. We can call whenever you are ready.
That was the message the girl had sent. Yang breathed in then out.
Her thumb hovered over the dial-number button for a moment, hesitating at the sheer impossibility of the situation, but some kind of bravery or courage or stupidity allowed Yang to press down and begin the call. She hesitantly brought her scroll to her ear. There was a second of silence, and then it started ringing.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
This was death. Why wasn't the girl picking up?
Just as the last ring played, the sound of the call connecting interrupted it. There was another second of silence, but Yang couldn't marinate in her trepidation any longer. She was the first to say, "Hello?"
"…Hi. Um…Yang?"
Yang was replying before she even knew what she was saying. "Yup! That's me. So, like, uh, I dunno what's appropriate for this situation, but…I forgot to ask for your name. Sorry. And, uh, how are you? How's your cat?"
There was a pause, and then the girl finally responded in a methodical, careful tone. "My name is Blake. I'm not having the greatest day, to be perfectly honest, but my cat is fine. Thanks for asking. How are you?"
Yang didn't answer right away, either. She was a little stricken. That voice—the same voice that had sounded so monotone and boring when Yang had been speaking with it—was…completely different. It was dusky and mysterious and tired and entirely enthralling. Yang forgot everything else she meant to say. "Oh… Wow."
"…Excuse me?"
And then Yang felt the heat rise to her face, intense embarrassment making her scramble to come up with anything—literally anything—more intelligent. "I mean! I'm glad your cat's okay! It's just—your voice—God."
"Um, I don't… Okay. What?"
Yang mentally kicked herself. She was usually a lot smoother than this. The girl—Blake—must have been forming a very low first impression of her right now. Further, Yang kicked herself again. She was dating Sun. Enough of the goo-goo brains. There were a lot more important things to talk about. She quickly counted to three in her head and then tried again. "Sorry, I'm nervous. That wasn't supposed to come out." Yang tried to calm herself some by sitting down on her bed and focusing on what Blake had actually said. Blake wasn't having a great day. That was probably quite normal, all things considered. Yang put an effort into sounding less shrill. "Um, I know I said this through text, but I really can't express how thankful I am that you saved my life. It could have been a lot worse than a broken arm."
"I was only reacting as a huntress would." There was a pause, but Blake followed up with, more quietly, "I'm glad I saved more than just myself, though."
"Yeah, me, too." Yang hesitated, and neither girl said anything for another brief moment. This conversation truly was the epitome of awkward. Blake wasn't giving Yang much to work with. "So…you don't know anything about this, right?"
"No. I don't. I'm just as bothered as you are."
Could have fooled me. She sounded the opposite of bothered—totally composed, if not somewhat lacking energy. It was pretty amazing, given the craziness of the circumstances. "Did you know what was happening the first time?" Yang asked, curious.
"No. I was in the middle of writing a syllabus when it happened. The next thing I knew, I was out in the forest and I had to escape a Petra Gigas. I woke up beside my bed after getting your body to safety and passing out. Truthfully, I assumed both instances were visions of some kind."
And Yang had initially thought they were dreams or hallucinations and then that she was possessing another girl and finally concluding that they were actually swapping bodies. Also, Blake was a teacher? That explained…a lot. "I figured it out when I came back to myself last night and realized I was on the floor and not in my bed," Yang provided, helpfully or not. "I had already been thinking that everything seemed so real, and maybe I was possessing some poor girl in Vale. But finding myself not in the place I should have been when I woke up made me rethink my assumption. Seriously, this is so weird. How is this happening?"
"I don't know, Yang. This should be impossible. I just…" Blake fell silent, and then she started again, hesitantly, "I hope I didn't make anything uncomfortable between you and your…husband?"
Yang blinked. "My husband?" She didn't recall being married. "Tall? Blond? Unruly hair? Super cute and hunky?" Sun definitely wasn't her husband. They had only just started dating a little over a month ago.
"I didn't actually see him."
Yang blinked again. "The guy you ran into when you escaped the Grimm?"
"I don't…think so." Blake's placidity seemed to crack a little, uncertainness creeping into her otherwise cool tone. "He spoke to me from upstairs while I was…searching your living room."
Yang immediately made the connection in her mind and, nerves still affecting her reactions, started laughing. "Oh, God! Ick! No, I'm not married! That was my dad. Ew." She tried to stifle her giggles with her hand. "Don't worry, though. Everything's fine."
"…Okay. Good. I'm relieved."
Still trying to keep her laughing in check, Yang had to ask, "What were you doing in the living room?"
"Well…I guess I was looking for clues. Your mechanical engineering books lent very little insight, unfortunately."
Yang's grin didn't fade. Was that…a joke? It was hard to tell. Blake still sounded pretty serious. But it really seemed like a joke. Yang tested the waters with a chuckle and said, "What? You didn't find the meaning of life in an engine diagram? I'm sad now."
"Agreed." That was definitely amusement. It was exhausted, quiet, and barely noticeable, but Blake was amused. And it sounded great in her voice. Yang was inexplicably happy about this. But then Blake added, once more collected, "Listen, Yang. On a more serious note, I didn't get much sleep last night. I need time to process what's going on and get some rest. But…I think we still need to talk about this some more." There was a brief pause. "Are you…available on Saturday, at around noon?"
Without thinking, Yang promptly replied, "Yup! Absolutely. You wanna try meeting up?"
"…Yes. I'm going to do some research on our…predicament and share what I've found with you then. Have you ever been to Blueprint Café?"
"No, but that's the coffee shop near the airship harbor, right?"
"Yes. Meet me there at noon on Saturday. We can talk more then."
Yang nodded enthusiastically, even if she knew Blake couldn't see her. "Sounds great! I'll be there. Thank you, Blake—for, you know, talking with me and, like, saving my life and stuff."
"It's no problem. Thank you as well. Have a good day, Yang."
"Bye! Take care!"
The call ended with a click.
Yang exhaled and slowly reclined on her bed until she was staring up at the ceiling. She let her scroll fall to her side.
So…Blake. Blake was a person. Well, no duh, but considering Yang had possessed this girl's body twice and thought it was a dream for, like, one-point-two body-switches, it was pretty jarring to find that Blake was an actual, real-life person with a voice and an occasional sense of humor. This whole situation was still completely weird—and, in some ways, the call had made things weirder yet. But still…Blake. She was definitely a person. A good person who was a huntress and, apparently, also a teacher. Yang hoped to make that Petra Gigas thing up to her at some point.
But, for now, Yang had a different kind of giant problem to wrestle with: actually getting to their meeting on Saturday. All she had to do was convince her dad to let her meet Blake, lie to him about it being Blake, find a way to get all the way to the airship harbor, and have a conversation with the girl Yang had been inside of—rather, had body-switched with. This was going to be a tough one. Yang spent the rest of her day trying to devise some sort of fool-proof plan that would get her to that coffee shop. Eventually, though, Taiyang would return from Signal, Zwei running up to happily yap at him and alert Yang to his presence, and, quickly, the perfect plan would take shape.
Yang, withholding a mischievous smirk, left her bed and room and strolled her way downstairs, sing-songing, "Oh, daddy!"
SO, FUNNY STORY. YOU KNOW HOW THIS PIECE OF SHI—MINE IS ABOUT BODY SWITCHING AND WATCHING BLAKE AND YANG FREAK OUT ABOUT THAT? WELL, AN IMPORTANT PART OF THAT DYNAMIC IS HAVING ONE OF THEM REALIZE "ME-OH-MY THIS IS REAL LIFE!" A SCENE FOR THAT WAS IN MY OUTLINE FOR THIS STORY. I WAS EAGER TO WRITE IT. I HAD EVERYTHING READY FOR CHAPTER THREE. AND THEN I JUST…FORGOT. WHOOPS. SO, ANYWAY, I WROTE THAT SCENE, FIXED CHAPTER THREE, AND NOW THERE ISN'T A GAPING PLOT HOLE RUINING MY SPECIAL LITTLE NOVEL.
I MUST NOW DISCUSS THE MATTER OF SACRIFICES MADE IN THE NAME OF MY NOVEL. DEVIANTART USER JayEmEl HAS, IN THE NAIVETE OF HER HEART, TOILED UPON A DRAWING OF PROFESSOR BLAKE BELLADONNA. IT IS BEAUTIFUL. I LOVE IT VERY MUCH. I CAN LITERALLY NOT STOP CRYING, AND IT IS A PROBLEM I SHOULD PROBABLY FIX. MAYBE THE PLUMBER CAN HELP OUT WITH THIS LEAK. MAYBE HE'LL LAY SOME PIPE WHILE HE'S HERE. UNF. I'M CHASTE. ANYWAY, GO CHECK OUT HER ARTWORK PLS AND TELL HER SHE IS LOVELY AND LIKE A NICE PEREGRINE FALCON.
Also, PSA for all you youngbloods out there: Even though Yang x Sun is a present reality in this story, and even though I'm having fun with them—and they with each other—this is primarily a Bumblebee fic. Sorry for the disappointment for all y'all Solar Flare and Sunnybees shippers. Fortunately, as a consolation prize, I can offer all those injured or affected by this PSA a nice, tasty cat face.
:3c
Me-yow. EVERYTHING IS BETTER NOW. SEE YOU LATER.