Here we go.

Chapter 21

Yang's pulse raced. Her hands were on his chest, palms against the thin fabric of his shirt, and she had no idea what to do. Any control she'd had over the situation seemed to have fled, now replaced with a gnawing anxiety that left her mouth dry and legs weak. It was bad enough she felt like a frightened schoolgirl, but when she looked up into his face, it was to see his sapphire eyes challenging her to do it.

Prove it? Prove that seeing him strip was what she wanted? Yang swallowed and looked back down to his black, silk shirt. She wasn't sure what she wanted.

Up until that point, she'd always been able to convince herself what she was doing wasn't something to be ashamed of. Crimson had a distance, even if that was only a few feet, and that allowed her to believe she wasn't involved. He wasn't dancing for her and she wasn't making him… he was just doing his own thing and she, a spectator. Now, he was stood before her, his body beneath her hands, and his pulse felt very real against her fingertips.

She couldn't pretend this wasn't about her, or that it wasn't something she specifically asked for. Her hands balled into fists, clutching with it the fabric of his shirt. All it would take would be one good tug and she could pull it open. She wouldn't need the torturous effort of undoing each button one at a time. She was already paying him five hundred lien. He could buy ten quality shirts with that. All she had to do was close her eyes, take a deep breath and tear his top open. It would prove her point, she would win the challenge, and then he could get on with the show and leave her breathless – help distract her from other thoughts.

Yang's hands tightened. The muscles in her arm twitched and she made to tear it apart.

She didn't.

She couldn't.

Yang wasn't even aware Crimson had reached up to move her hands off him until he was pushing her down into the couch and taking a place beside her. She kept her head slow, humiliated that she'd been forced to back away in such a matter. No one at Beacon would ever believe her to panic like that, to be weak-willed and give up.

"I could tell you didn't really want it," he said. "You were too desperate, and that doesn't seem right. From what I know of you, Clover, you're too innocent for that."

"Innocent but visiting strip club?" she barked a laugh.

"You'd be surprised how common that is. Some come here because they feel they have to, or that it makes them brave or mature. Others feel pressured into it by friends or do it for whatever reason they have. They look uncomfortable, reluctant, and just a little bit desperate."

Her cheeks heated up at that, and she buried her face in her hands. Gods, that was not the words she wanted to hear in regards to herself.

"Not that kind of desperate," Crimson placed an arm around her shoulders, and despite how her body stiffened, she didn't find his touch to be intrusive or unsettling. It felt… friendly, comfortable. "It's the kind of desperation to make something happen, anything, so long as it means they don't have to sit there feeling awkward. That's what I get from you sometimes."

"I enjoy the dances, though…"

"You can enjoy something while still feeling out of your depth." Crimson reached over with his other hand to pour her a drink. She sipped at it, allowing the strong and bitter alcohol to wash away her shame.

"Why didn't you strip for me?" she asked.

"Because you didn't really want it. You looked to the floor, the walls, anywhere that didn't involve having to look at me. You were clearly embarrassed, and not the normal kind. You looked… ashamed." He paused to pour a glass for himself, and then gently clinked it against her own. There was something surreal about the situation, about being pressed into the side of a man she'd just paid to get naked for her. With little else to do, she tipped back the glass and drank with him. "I thought I'd test it a little," he went on. "I could have been wrong, in which case you'd have felt confident enough to do it, and I'd have continued the show from there. You didn't, though, so I guess I was right."

"You danced for me last time…" She didn't mean for it to come out as an accusation, but it did.

Crimson winced. "I was caught off-guard," he said. "It was just so much of a surprise that I automatically did what I was asked without really thinking about it."

"I enjoyed it."

"I'm good at what I do. It doesn't mean you wanted it, and you certainly didn't need it."

She felt a small thrill run through her at his casual confidence, the self-assured certainty that he could arouse her if he wanted to. She didn't doubt it. How could she when he'd done it so many times before? That same lust was quickly followed by the same guilt that plagued her, and she ducked her head down.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "And I don't mean here and with this… you never showed any interest in making me perform for you before. What changed?"

"Nothing."

"It isn't `nothing`, Clover." Crimson pulled her a little further into his side, but smiled comfortingly when she panicked. He didn't try anything, though. He just pulled her against him, so that the side of her head rested in the crook of his shoulder. "I've said before that people like to come here to talk. Right now, I can be your best friend or closest confidante. Not a word you say will ever make it past my lips. You can talk to me."

Yang sighed and allowed her eyes to drift shut. This… wasn't how she'd planned the night to go, but she couldn't help but feel relieved it had anyway. A part of her had always known the way she was dealing with her problem was wrong, but she just didn't know what she was meant to do. "Things are complicated at school," she whispered.

Crimson took her glass and refilled it for her. "Tell me about it," he said, as he handed it back to her and poured some for himself.

She tried to find the right way to explain, but her throat clammed up each time. Eventually, she glanced away and downed her drink, slamming the glass back down onto the table. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You do. You're just not sure how."

"Same thing, isn't it? If I don't want to talk about it because I don't know how to, it still means I don't want to." Yang was painfully aware of how belligerent she sounded, but Crimson simply shook with mirth beside her.

"Maybe so… why don't you have a rest?" He patted his lap with one hand. Yang glared at him suspiciously, but his smile seemed perfectly honest. "You can trust me. When have I steered you wrong?"

True, she supposed. If he tried anything, she wasn't exactly some kind of helpless waif, either. She was a huntress and a damned good one. Grudgingly, Yang allowed him to shift her down so that the back of her head rested in his lap, her hair splayed out over the couch. Her feet dangled off the end. She looked up at him and opened her mouth to speak, but paused when his hands came down to gently stroke her hair.

"Relax," he whispered, his fingers running through her tresses, as his thumbs gently rubbed her temples. "Even I can see how stressed you are."

Yang didn't respond. She was too busy feeling her body slump as the wonderful sensation took over. It was like the last time, except somehow far better because of how stressed she felt. All the worries about Jaune, Beacon and that stupid four-man date they had… they weren't solved, but they ceased to matter. They went forgotten almost immediately, with only him, her and his wonderful hands to think about.

This… this was far better than a striptease. Yang's breath came out in a long, relieved sigh.

What would her father think if he could see her, or Ruby? Here she was, laid down on a man's lap as he stroked her hair, except that the man was a stripper and she'd paid him for the privilege. Would they be ashamed of her? Probably not… Ruby would panic and assume she should have done more to help, while her dad would have been much the same. They could both be such worrywarts. They can't help me with this, though. Ruby's not exactly the best to speak with about social things, and dad… I don't want to put him through that. Taiyang went through enough every time he saw a picture of Summer, and likely her real mother too. She didn't want to stress him out any further.

"Have you ever loved someone?" she asked. She wasn't sure where the question came from, but it slipped from her lips before she could think about it. "You don't have to answer that if you don't want to."

"I haven't," Crimson said. He didn't stop massaging her, and her eyes felt too heavy to open, but it didn't sound like he was upset with her question. "I've never loved someone in a romantic way. Friendship, yes, but not love like you mean it."

"Really?" she asked. "There's no Mrs or Miss Crimson waiting at home?"

He laughed, and she felt it through his legs below her head. "If there was, they wouldn't be called that. It may surprise you, but Crimson isn't my real name."

"Gasp," Yang deadpanned. "I don't even know what to believe anymore." She giggled when one of his fingers flicked her nose. The same awkwardness that had pervaded the air before seemed gone. In its place was a strange camaraderie, a sense of comfort, like two close friends relaxing together after a hard day's work. It would have been perfect, but for the ever-present reminder both a time limit and a bill at the end of it. She ignored that bitter thought and pushed on. "I'm kinda surprised, though. I mean, you seem like the kind of person who could have any woman he wanted."

"Crimson could… but they would not be so interested in the man behind the mask."

"Ooh, terrible scars?" she teased. "Is that why you hide your face?"

"I suppose I could drop an enigmatic line about a scarred soul, but that would feel dramatic. In all honesty, I'm just a normal guy." His hands paused for a second, but continued before she could miss their presence. "It's difficult to find someone in this kind of work. People who know what you're capable of want to see it all the time… nobody wants to keep their mask on, even when they go home."

"It sounds rough…" Yang bit back a short moan when he found a particularly stiff muscle in her shoulder and eased it with his fingers. "Isn't Nina married though?"

"She's married to Brian, the dancer you saw perform with her. It's a little different when both sides know what it's like. Most of the people who work here don't have any partners… some flit between casual relationships, and those that do have more often hide what it is they do from their loved ones. It's usually the women who hide it," he added. "I suppose that's just hormones, though. Most of the men who work here aren't looking for commitment and just sleep with whoever they want."

It made sense, she supposed. The majority of the dancers she'd seen were young, for obvious reasons. Crimson had mentioned once before how everyone had a reason for doing what they did, but that for most people it was money or necessity. It wasn't hard to imagine what necessity women might have, especially those with children. Twenty-something guys, on the other hand, could afford to be a little more loose with their time. Maybe that was unfair… some would probably have kids too, but the way he explained it made it seem otherwise.

"You sound like you don't agree with it," she said.

"There's nothing wrong with what they do," Crimson said. His voice betrayed him, however, and she noticed a small hint of disapproval in it. It calmed her a little, even made her smile. "They don't force anyone, and it's no business of ours what they do with their clients after hours. I wouldn't ever want to do the same, though. I'd hate to try and live a lie like that."

"Same… if you can't be yourself, why bother?"

The words were automatic and heartfelt, but she realised the hypocrisy in them a moment later. Here she was, Clover, paying another man to pretend he cared about her. It also reminded her of what she'd initially intended to use him for… and the word `use` felt very appropriate. She'd meant for him to be nothing more than a distraction, to satisfy her base urges to try and help her forget about her complicated emotions and her friends back at Beacon. She'd seen him as just a man in a mask… someone she could use and abuse for her own benefit, then toss away. What did it matter if he agreed or disagreed? She was the customer… she could do what she wanted.

Shame washed over her once more, and she tilted her head to hide her guilt. It left her looking at his stomach, his hands still in her hair. "Sorry," she mumbled.

His hands paused. "What for…?"

"For asking you to strip," she said, "for making you strip before. I didn't even think about what it meant for you, I just felt like I needed it and decided you were convenient."

"It's fine…"

Her temper spiked and she opened her eyes to glare at him. "It's not fine," she snapped. "I treated you like you weren't even human, like you were some kind of…"

"Whore?"

"I didn't say that!"

"I don't think you meant it, either," Crimson chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm not upset. I know what you mean, though, and for what it matters; you don't need to apologise for any of it. I think it's obvious something is bothering you, so it makes sense you'd not be at your best."

Yang glowered at him for a little longer but surrendered to his touch once more when it was clear his smile was honest. "I still didn't mean what you said. I never thought of you as something like that." She'd meant more along the lines of someone she could use and throw aside, whose opinion didn't matter because he provided a service and nothing more. No matter how much she tried to find a word for such a thing, however, that damning one kept coming back. "Do people actually call you that?" she asked.

"Some do, some don't." He shrugged. "It depends on the person, what they want, and what they believe in… there are some who condemn those who would sell even the sight of their body. They call us disgusting, immoral, weak or stupid. They act like it's their given right to sit on the high horse and judge, never having experienced life as others have."

"Screw those people…"

"I'd rather not," he smiled. "Then there are those who accept what we do, but like to distance themselves from it. Rather than admit any fault of their own, they accuse us of being whores. Some even use it to get off on. There are a few women who like to call me it because it makes them feel powerful. I suppose it's not so bad, then. You know they don't mean it in a cruel way." It still didn't sound right, though, and Yang frowned from her position in his lap. "Then, there's just those that get upset," Crimson added. "The show isn't good enough, they're in a bad mood or drunk and they just throw out insults left and right. This is a club, after all. Have enough people cramped together with booze and something will go wrong."

"I don't think you're a whore," she said.

"I know."

She felt a little surprise, more at the certainty in his voice than anything else. "You do?"

"Do you think I would be this nice to just anyone?" he asked. "If I didn't care about your wellbeing, I'd have faked a smile and disrobed for you. You would have left sated, but unhappy, and I would be five hundred lien richer."

A warm glow settled on her, and for a moment she wanted to flush and giggle at it. Instead, she snuggled a little further into his lap and smiled. He could be lying, she knew. Hell, it was in his best interests to lie and keep her as a client. She didn't think he was, however, and that made her feel special. "Tell me more about how you care for me," she teased.

"Fishing for compliments?"

Her brow twitched. That line sounded familiar somehow, but with his hands on her, she couldn't place it. She grinned instead. "My ego has been known to demand satisfaction. I'm fairly high maintenance."

"Better to be that and know it, than to be someone who thinks they're low maintenance when they're not."

"Oh, I'm definitely not low maintenance," she laughed. "I mean, I'm not as bad as some people," and Weiss leapt to mind there, "but I'm not the kind of girl that would be happy with no effort being put in. I've always imagined being in a relationship where both sides try their best to make the other happy." And no one would leave, be it to their death, or for reasons unknown. She would never just up and abandon someone she claimed to love. "What about you?" she asked. "If you were one, which would you be?"

"Probably high maintenance," he admitted. "I don't think I'd ask for much, but I would probably expect it."

"Greedy~"

"You just said you were the same."

"Greedy~" she repeated with a little laugh.

"I don't need to hear that from someone paralysed from a massage."

"I'm not paralysed…"

"Prove it. Get up."

Yang flung her arms back, stretching her body over his legs as she luxuriated in his warmth. "I don't want to," she moaned. "Don't make me."

"And this is why you'd be high maintenance," Crimson sighed. He didn't stop massaging her though, which was a definite plus.

Honestly, she wasn't sure what she wanted more at that very moment. It wasn't just the physical sensations, but also the mental stress relief, the easy way she could let go of her troubling thoughts and just chat. She could do the same with Jaune, sure, but she'd have been on tenterhooks the entire time, nervous as she tried to ignore every touch. Here, there wasn't that same feeling. Crimson was a professional… and apparently someone who cared enough not to let her make a silly mistake. "Thanks, Crimson," she sighed.

"First an apology, now a thank you," he said. "What's this one for?"

"For not letting me do something I didn't really want to."

"I seem to recall I introduced myself as an entertainer, the first time we met. I wouldn't be much of one if I let a customer do something I knew they would regret. Do you want to talk about what is really bothering you?"

She did… but…

"Not yet," she begged. "One day, I promise."

His hands pushed a little closer to her scalp, and she lost herself in the feeling of his hands massaging her thoughts away. "Another time, then," he said, smiling down on her. "For now, let me help you relax."

Now that she could agree with…

/-/

Jaune's hands ached by the time the hour passed, but there wasn't a part of him that regretted it. Yang's normally neat hair was a little messier than usual, but her smile was positively radiant. She groaned as she sat up, body creaking as she stretched her neck from side to side. He placed his hands on her hips to steady her and stood up behind her. "Better?" he asked.

"So much better," Yang, or Clover as it were, smiled. "You know, you could open up a massage parlour with hands like those. I'd be your best customer."

He wished he could. He'd thought of it, once or twice, but the costs were inhibitive and real estate in Vale – safe and large capital that it was – could cost more than he would make in a lifetime as a part-time stripper. A city of opportunity, they called it. Hah… an opportunity for those who already had money, whether it be from family or elsewhere. There was a reason the criminal empire in the city was so well established. People like Torchwick and Junior were a dime a dozen, though few could match their reputations. Money was not easy to come by.

Which was why his insides squirmed when Yang fished around in her pocket and handed some over to him.

"Here," she said. "It's the five hundred I owe you."

"Keep it," he said, holding his hand out to close her fingers about the money. "You paid for a show and I didn't give you one."

"I paid to be satisfied," Yang said, pushing it back towards him. "I may have asked for a show, but like you said, I didn't want it. You gave me something better and I'm paying you for it."

He looked down at the money she'd forced into his hands. It felt heavy, more so than it ought to, and it reminded him of the cash he'd taken before, none of which he'd yet spent. He hadn't been able to bring himself to, since it didn't feel like something he'd earned.

"You don't have to," he said.

"I want to," Yang smiled and backed away. "Thanks for everything, Crimson. I'll see you again, okay?"

Again, more…? He supposed it was inevitable, but the thought made his stomach churn. He only just managed to smile and wave for her as she pushed out of the curtain and away, but it fell from his face a moment later. Helping Yang feel better wasn't a bad thing… he enjoyed it, entirely because of who she was and what she meant to him. He'd told an almost ridiculous amount of lies in that session just to make her feel better.

The idea that people often came to him for comfort, that was true – but not quite in the way he'd expressed it. None of them wanted to sit by him and talk… they wanted to hide their pain in physical affection, in touches and whispered words, in his skin and voice. He didn't care about them, either, except as people he needed to please for pay. Yang was different. She was a friend, and he wanted to help her.

But he didn't want to be paid for it. If she wanted someone to talk to, she could have come to him in Beacon and he would have been there for her. If she wanted a massage, he would have given her one for free, for hours if needs be. She didn't know he could, of course – but that didn't help the situation. What kind of friend charges another for their time? This is insane.

"Crimson," a voice from outside warned. "You've got another customer."

Jaune sighed, wiped the frustration from his face and became the man in the mask once more. "I'm ready," he said, and smiled handsomely at the middle-aged woman who entered. Not unattractive, but not attractive either, she looked him up and down like he was a piece of steak. She didn't look into his eyes, nor did she address him, even when she told him her name and asked him to show her what he had.

Crimson smiled, as he was expected to, and pushed the woman down into the warm couch. His hands fell to his waistband as he began to sway left and right.

He wished he could have gone back to Beacon with Yang.

/-/

"Hey, wait up!"

Jaune paused in the Beacon gardens and looked behind him, in time to see Yang approach with a wave. "Hello Yang," he said.

"Hey to you too, champ. I've not seen you around all day. What gives?" The blonde seemed in a good mood, especially compared to earlier the previous night. She was dressed in her usual outfit, though a few hairs out of place told of the affects her late night had on her.

He felt it too, hence his absence. "I slept in," he admitted with a little yawn. "It was a late night doing shipments for Reg, and we've got that night out tonight as well. I figured I might as well prepare by getting more sleep."

"Heh, sorry about that," Yang laughed nervously. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot with Pyrrha like that. It just sort of came out before I could really think about it."

"It's fine. Honestly, maybe it's a good thing. Pyrrha likes me, I know, but maybe she'll calm down a little once she hangs out with us. Familiarity breeds contempt, after all."

"I'm not sure that works with feelings, Jaune."

Didn't it? He wasn't so sure. He'd heard plenty of stories about people getting together, everything being new and exciting, and then quickly the relationship would fall apart. That initial spark died out, and without anything more solid behind it, the attraction was gone. Everything became mundane and dull, with people drifting apart. With that in mind, wouldn't it make sense that Pyrrha would get used to him and lose a little bit of her crush?

"It can't hurt to try," he said. "Besides, when did you become the expert on love? Last I checked, you were as single as I am."

Yang's eyes flicked away, a rare moment of hesitation before it was gone and she laughed once more. "Why are you so against it, anyway?" she asked. "She's a pretty hot girl, least as far as I can tell."

He felt a little uncomfortable at the question, especially the implication that his partner somehow wasn't good enough for him. That couldn't be further from the truth, even before the comparison between their backgrounds was brought into it. Pyrrha was a great person, with a great personality and yes – if he wanted to be shallow – she looked fantastic too. It wasn't about that, though. Jaune sighed and looked around; just to make sure the redhead wasn't nearby. "It's not that she isn't good enough," he said. "It's just… I don't feel like Pyrrha knows me well enough to have feelings for me."

"You think she's imagining it? Jaune, that's a bit insulting…"

"No, no, I think she means it," he assured the blonde. "I think she has a crush on me, but I'm not sure it's on me. It's hard to explain…"

"Sounds it," Yang mumbled, one hand on her hip.

"Ah, I've got it. Imagine if a guy came up to you today and expressed his love for you…"

"The curse of a beauty like mine," Yang flicked her hair to the side, the same hair he'd run his hands through last night, not that she knew it. He shook his head and forged on.

"This guy, he's really nice and friendly and not bad looking, either. He's your type, what type that is."

"Sounds good so far. I'm guessing there's a catch."

"There is," Jaune nodded. "The problem is, he thinks of you as some kind of perfect woman; kind, chivalrous, without fault… you can do no wrong in his eyes and no matter how many times you try to convince him otherwise, he won't believe it. He knows you, or rather, he thinks he does. He knows you, and is certain of what he knows – even if you're not."

"Ugh," Yang's face twisted a little at the thought. "Yeah, I can see why that would be weird. Pyrrha, though? I mean, she speaks the best of you, but she never seems that bad."

"Oh, she isn't," he hurried to defend his partner. "Really, Pyrrha is amazing, Yang – I'm really lucky to have her as my partner. I just wanted to give you an extreme example. The thing is… I just feel like Pyrrha's feelings came on too quick. She never got the chance to know me, the real me, before it all got clouded by rose-tinted goggles."

"Would it make a difference if she knew the real you?" Yang looked hopeful for some reason. Maybe she felt bad for Pyrrha… that seemed like something she might do. Yang was a friend to just about everyone, after all.

"Maybe," he shrugged, without any real commitment. "It's hard to say." The truth, after all, was a little more complicated than he liked to admit. He didn't want Crimson involved with any of them any further than he had to be. "What are you up to anyway?" he asked.

"Waiting for Blake," Yang shrugged. "She said she would meet me out here."

"I'm surprised she agreed to come."

"Me too… I owe her something special for it."

Jaune raised an eyebrow at that, but Yang shrugged and would say any more. It was a lost point anyway, for the dark-haired girl appeared from the nearby trees and moved towards them. She nodded to each of them. "Yang, Jaune…"

"Hey Blakey, looking good~"

The faunus sighed and rolled her eyes, but Jaune couldn't help but agree. She wore tight, black pants that led down into shin-high boots of the same colour. A belt hung around her waist, but the white top she wore exposed her stomach and a fair amount of her arms. She's going to wear that to a club? Jaune groaned internally. He was going to be beating guys off her with a stick for crying out loud.

"What?" Blake asked, eyes narrowed. "What are you staring at?"

"Your clothes, probably," Yang grinned. "You realise we're off to a nightclub, right? That's a pretty inviting outfit you're wearing."

"It's all I have," Blake growled. "It was this, my uniform or my combat outfit. Aren't we going to be sticking together, anyway? I didn't sign up to be accosted by hormonal guys."

"Eh, glare at them like that and you'll be fine," Yang said. "Come on, we should go grab Pyrrha and get this show on the road. How were Ruby and the others when you left?"

"Planning what they're determined will be the best girl's night in ever," Blake sighed. "Nora is there and already causing chaos. Part of me actually thinks I have the better end of the deal." The faunus glared at her partner, who chuckled nervously. "I'm sure that will change."

Jaune smiled as he listened to them banter between one another. Maybe Blake would be a good addition. Her sarcasm and wit would help break the ice, and so long as those two kept going on, it would keep Pyrrha from getting the wrong impression. This needed to be a fun, friendly and casual night out – one which made it clear to everyone that it was drinks between good friends and nothing more.

We'll head to the club, find a table, buy some drinks and just chat for a few hours. It'll be fine. Who knows, it might even become a regular thing.

When they reached the JNPR dorm, Yang pushed past him with a wink to hammer her fist on the wood, "Hey, Pyrrha – you ready?"

"Jaune…?"

Yang glanced back to him to roll her eyes. "Do I sound like him?" she called back. "We're all out here, though. You ready to do?"

"One second," Pyrrha's voice returned. There was some sound from within, of things being put away and someone moving about. He hadn't seen much of Pyrrha for the day. She'd gone out into Vale earlier, back when he'd been asleep, and then they hadn't bumped into one another since. Still, he trusted she'd know what kind of stuff to wear. The door opened with a lurch, and the redhead stepped out with a nervous smile. "How do I look?"

Jaune's heart fell. She was dressed in tight, denim trousers that hugged her frame and showed off her long legs. A light green top clung tightly to her bosom, with a cream jacket over the top, left open. She'd even done her hair, or maybe had it cut out in Vale. The whole outfit looked new, in fact, and did everything it could to accentuate everything good about her figure. "You look beautiful," he said honestly.

What else was he supposed to say? She looked fantastic, mature and sexy – but that was the whole point, wasn't it? It was date-wear… the kind of thing you wore to impress someone – to impress him.

"Thank you, Jaune." Pyrrha's cheeks darkened as she smiled and stepped forward. Behind him, he heard Yang laugh nervously, as though she didn't want to draw attention to herself but knew she'd messed up.

Yeah, he agreed.

This was going to be an interesting night…

I know a lot of people hate whenever I have a section which might leave Pyrrha in a bad situation, but it's honestly hard not to. I've never been a fan of the "pair off the spare" trope, since I think that does the poor girl an even worse disservice. She likes Jaune, and whether that's good or not (and we all have our views), I don't want to just "write it away" to avoid the issue. It's worth noting that I don't actually get any pleasure out of bashing Pyrrha, though, as one or two have suggested in the past. I dislike the "portrayal" of her character in the show, but don't dislike her personally.

I'll write an arkos someday too... eventually.

Also, Blake's outfit is the same as she wore in canon on the Paladin mission. And man, looking back on it, that definitely is a little more revealing than one would wear to a nightclub.

Next Chapter: 18th April

P a treon . com (slash) Coeur